Which was like her boss. She shouldn’t be surprised.
Her visitor shifted then, turning his head slightly, and she caught sight of the scars. Once again she noticed the starlike pattern of the way they shot across his face. The scars should have made her sympathetic and him appear more human.
“It was an accident,” she told him, clumping toward him in her too-large rubber boots.
When she was only a few feet away, she came to a stop and put her hands on her hips. “You know there are accidents. What you do for a living proves that. No one hurts a child on purpose. Okay, a few do, but I would guess the kids you usually see have been hurt because of something unexpected. That’s what today was about.”
She didn’t know why he’d wanted to see her but guessed it had something to do with threatening her, or worse.
“Obviously Fluffy isn’t therapy-dog material,” she continued, speaking quickly so he couldn’t talk. “Max warned me, but I didn’t listen. I wanted her to make it because she has such a good heart. She loves everyone. Maybe not gracefully or obediently, but there’s still love and that’s not wrong. I wanted to give her the chance to prove herself. I know you don’t understand, but I swear if you say she’s just a dog, I’ll attack you with this hose and make you scream like a girl.”
She took a breath, waiting for him to laugh, or smile or start yelling. Instead he stood as still as stone, watching her.
She let her breath out. He was a medical professional. Was he going to tell her there was something seriously wrong with her? And if he did, would she have to listen?
Montana stepped out of her rubber boots. If she was about to be drummed out of her perfect career, she wasn’t going to endure it with her feet sweating.
“Say something,” she commanded. “Or did you come all this way to attack me with your ray gun vision?”
“What do you do here?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
He motioned to the kennel behind her. “Tell me about the work you do.”
Maybe it was just her, but wasn’t he the one with the advanced medical training?
“I work with therapy dogs.”
His eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth tightened.
Figures, she thought. She’d finally gotten him to show a little emotion and it turned out to be annoyance. Be careful for what you wish for and all that.
“Therapy dogs are used for a variety of purposes. They’re different from service dogs, who are trained to help people with specific problems. Like Guide Dogs for the Blind and so on.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“Okay.” She paused, not sure what he wanted to know. “Our dogs are used to provide comfort and companionship. We visit nursing homes and the hospital. Seniors’ centers. There are a couple of dogs who spend afternoons at a group home for mentally challenged adults. I recently started a reading program. Kids who have trouble reading are often more comfortable reading to a dog than a person.”
She explained a little about the program and how, now that school was out, they’d gotten permission to try the reading program at a local library.
“You mentioned hospitals, which means you bring dogs to hospitals.” He was making a statement, not asking a question.
“Yes. Usually the visits go better than they did today.”
“I should think so.”
She bristled. “You know, you could have been nicer. It was, as I’ve explained several times, an accident.”
“It’s not my job to be nice. It’s my job to help my patients heal.”
She opened her mouth to snap back at him, only to remember that Mayor Marsha wanted her to be charming and convince him to stay in town.
She was so the wrong person for the job, Montana thought, dropping her arms to her side.
“If Fluffy were aware of what she’d done, she would be very sorry.”
The man continued to stare at her without speaking.
It was probably good that he had such a sucky personality, she thought, wishing he would get to the point and leave. If he was charming and gorgeous, women across America wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I want a therapy dog for one of my patients.”
The words were so unexpected, she could have sworn she hadn’t heard him correctly. Montana blinked several times. “You want a therapy dog?”
“Yes.”
“In the hospital?”
“Yes.”
What about the germs? What about infection and whatever else he’d yelled about that morning?
She decided it was better not to ask.
“A live dog, right?”
He sighed heavily. “A live dog would be best. My patient is a nine-year-old girl named Kalinda. She was badly burned when the family barbecue exploded a few days ago. She’s had one surgery and is facing dozens more. Her parents are trying to cope. Kalinda is in pain and shock.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I do have her mother’s permission to be telling you this.”
“Okay.”