Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,11
gray cat perched on his shoulder. Jake dived for the Dane’s leash, but it was too late. The dog lunged at the cat, who catapulted itself onto Jake’s chest. Brutus changed direction in midair, striving for a hunk of gray fur from the cat’s tail. The cat turned around and made a quick swipe at the dog’s nose. The dog gave a loud yelp and retreated to a corner, where he had an accident.
“He’s just a puppy,” Mrs. Newfarmer apologized. “Do you have a mop?”
Amy almost fainted at the sight of tiny pinpricks of blood oozing through Jake’s shirt. “You’re wounded!”
“Nothing several hundred stitches couldn’t cure,” Jake said.
Allen saluted his injured partner. “Dr. Disaster strikes again.”
Jake began carefully unbuttoning his shirt. “I wasn’t overwhelmed by your bravery, Allen.”
“I was right behind you. I would have done something, but you were in my way.”
Amy winced at the scratches on Jake’s bare chest. This job is going to be a lot like teaching first grade, she thought. Wiping up puddles and administering first aid. Her experience in nursing had been mainly in the area of cut fingers and skinned knees, but she was sure she could transfer her knowledge to cat punctures.
“Poor Jake,” she soothed in her most sympathetic first-grade voice. “If you come back to the lavatory, I’ll clean up those mean scratches and you’ll be just fine.”
Jake gave Allen an eat-your-heart-out look and followed Amy into the hallway.
Amy almost fainted for the second time that day when Jake removed his shirt. He had a great body, with an enchanting thin line of hair traveling the length of his hard, flat stomach—pointing like an arrow to places she’d rather not think about right now.
She soaked a clean washcloth in warm water but stopped short of applying it to Jake’s chest, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment. There’s nothing wrong with touching a man’s bare chest to administer first aid! she told herself. Lord, she was such a ninny!
The problem was, this was no ordinary chest. It was warm and gorgeous and absolutely mesmerizing, and it belonged to Jake.
Jake removed the cloth from her hand and dabbed at his scratches. “Are you okay? You look all flushed.”
“It’s your chest. It’s, it’s … got holes in it.”
He poured antiseptic onto a cotton ball and applied it to the ragged red lines. “They really aren’t so bad.”
“Does this happen often?”
“Every time Daisy Mae enters this office. I keep extra shirts in my desk drawer just in case a dog shows up.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Bottom drawer on the left-hand side.”
Amy went to the office, opened the drawer and, sure enough, she found a whole stack of shirts fresh from the cleaners. She selected a blue button-down and helped him slide into it. “I suppose you have all your shots up to date … like tetanus and rabies and stuff.”
“Worried about me?”
“Of course. I don’t want to be out of a hunk … I mean a job.”
Amy cracked her knuckles. She wanted to drop right through the floor. She was acting like a blithering idiot. Jacob Elliott in unbuttoned splendor sent her blood pressure soaring. This was probably very healthy. She wouldn’t even have to jog tonight. Her heart rate couldn’t get any faster.
The front door opened and closed and opened and closed. The sounds of chattering people drifted in from the waiting room. “Boy” Amy said, “things get busy around here.”
“Maybe you could sit at the front desk and do receptionist things. And you could try to find some folders for me. We have a filing system, but things don’t always get put back immediately.”
“I could do that. I could put things back immediately, and I could find folders.” Anything to get away from his naked chest! Amy glanced at Jake, then practically ran to the desk.
She smiled at the roomful of people and swallowed hard at the mess in front of her. Don’t panic, she told herself. One thing at a time. There must be an appointment book … somewhere. She stacked the folders in alphabetical order and filed them in the cabinets behind her desk. She located the elusive appointment book, unplugged the recorder, and began taking phone messages.
Allen and Jake watched in amazement from the hallway. “Son of a gun,” Allen said. “Maybe we did need a receptionist.”
Only an hour later, Amy was beginning to feel comfortable. She had established some semblance of order to the office, and she was surrounded by people and animals, which, she decided, was actually quite nice.
The door opened and a