LITMIR.BIZ

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go ahead,” Ian said. “It’s your company’s event, after all.”

      My alien gave another squirm, and I flinched.

      Fleur took a huffy breath. “Well, right-o,” she said. “See you at the base, then.”

      “I may have to leave before then,” he said. “I’m on call at the animal hospital tonight.”

      Her mouth tightened briefly, but she covered with a quick smile. “Well, I’ll probably see you down there, at any rate. Great! Thanks for staying with poor Callie! You’re a prince.” She made a move toward him, almost like she was going to hug him, but Ian just stood, hands still in his pockets, and Fleur retreated. The sound of her hiking boots faded within seconds.

      Ian sat down next to me. “You okay?”

      “I’m great, Ian,” I lied. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

      “Can I take your pulse?” he asked.

      “No. I’m fine. It’s just … I skipped lunch. That’s all. I really don’t need a nurse. Or a vet.”

      He didn’t answer, just stared off into the woods, which were lovely, dark and deep, just as Robert Frost said, and unlike the poet, I wouldn’t have minded going to sleep right now.

      The only sound was birdsong, the rustle of the wind in the pines and Bowie’s slight snore. The alien seemed to be quieting down (please, God), and the sweet and piney breeze seemed to blow away that sick, foggy feeling bit by bit. My stomach emitted a small groan, but nothing like before.

      “Maybe you could eat some grass and throw up,” Ian suggested. “Works for dogs.”

      I glanced at him. He was still looking off into the woods, and I studied his craggy profile. “Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have any Tums or anything.”

      “Sorry,” he said, cutting his eyes to me.

      I felt heat rise in my face. Those eyes were startlingly direct. “So, are you from around here, Ian?” I asked.

      “I moved here from Burlington two months ago,” he said.

      “Where’d you grow up?”

      He looked back into the woods. “All over.”

      “Army brat?” I guessed.

      “No.” He didn’t elaborate.

      “So,” I said after realizing he was done with that subject. “Fleur invited you to our little thing.”

      “Yes,” he said, reaching down to pet Bowie, whose tail thumped appreciatively. “I was under the impression that it was more of a town-sponsored thing. Open to the public.”

      “Oh. Well, sorry for ruining it for you,” I murmured.

      “I can’t believe anyone would buy something called Cleanse ‘n Purge,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

      Ah, dang it. Humiliation and me—no bounds. “Bowie, would you please bite Dr. McFarland?”

      Bowie rolled onto his back. Here’s my stomach, in case anyone’s in a scratching mood, he was clearly saying. I obliged, since I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

      My GI distress seemed to have subsided. “I should probably head down,” I said. “I’m feeling better. Thanks for waiting. You can join the others.”

      “I’ll walk with you,” he said, surprising me. He stood up, offered his hand and, after a second, I took it.

      It was a good hand, callused and warm and strong, what you’d expect from a man who made animals better. A current of electricity ran up my arm and straight to my groin, and it took me a moment to realize that Ian had let go, though my hand was still extended. Blushing yet again, I put said hand to use, grabbed Bowie’s leash and started down the path.

      “This is a beautiful spot,” Ian said.

      “You should come back,” I said. “Think that view’s pretty now, wait about six weeks.”

      We walked along in companionable silence, my stomach still somewhat sore but without the lancing pain of earlier. Bowie sniffed and tugged until I decided to let him off the leash, so he could bound ahead.

      “Nice dog,” Ian said.

      “Thanks. How’s Angie? She’s not a hiker?”

      “I didn’t realize dogs were allowed,” he said. “But she’s fine. Thank you.”

      I swatted at a few mosquitoes, which were attracted to my sweat, as I was clad in plastic. Something BTR’s research and development might want to work on. I glanced at Ian, who looked as cool as if we were in Siberia. Those Arctic eyes were just about the same color as the sky today. Ian was tall, too, about six-two, and I had a sudden urge to see him without his shirt. Bet it was nice under that shirt. Bet he looked pretty damn—

      “So. Your boss. Mark,” Ian said, interrupting my lustful thoughts. “That was the guy you were crying over in the DMV?”

      My jaw clenched. My stomach, too, resulting in another gurgle. “Yes,” I said tightly. “Why do you ask?”

      “No reason. It was a memorable day, that’s all.”

      “Indeed,” I muttered. He didn’t say anything else. A mockingbird trilled above us. My stomach twinged as if answering, but no sounds emerged, thankfully. “Do you have any siblings, Ian?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

      He glanced at me as if assessing my ulterior motive in such a devious and personal question. “Um … yes. I do. Alejandro.”

      “Ooh, I love that name! Wasn’t Zorro’s name Alejandro?”

      “I don’t know.” His mouth pulled up one side.

      “Alejandro McFarland. I wouldn’t put those two names together.”

      “We have different fathers. His last name is Cabrera.”

      “Better,” I said. “Is he gorgeous? He sounds gorgeous.” I was rewarded by a quick smile, complete with attractive laugh lines fanning out from his rather shockingly lovely eyes. Pleased, I blushed a little and looked away.

      “Callie,” Ian said, “when you mentioned doing some PR for me, how would that work?”

      Well, knock me over with a feather! “Is business down?”

      “A little,” he said, not looking at me. “What did you have in mind when you came into the office that day?”

      I had nothing in mind, Ian, as I was, in fact, checking you out. “Um, well … basically, we’d make you seem really … approachable.” He didn’t say anything. “I’m sure you’ve heard people tell you over and over again how great and sweet and wonderful Dr. Kumar is, which is all absolute fact. So, of course, you’re going to look a little, er, frosty compared to him. Don’t worry. We’ll make people like you.”

      He gave me a veiled look. “By which you’ve just implied that people currently don’t.”

      “Oops.” I laughed. “No, no. Well, we’ll make them like you more. Don’t worry. That’s a specialty of mine.”

      He said nothing.

      “See, we’d turn you—Ian, this standoffish guy who dislikes single women—into the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Warm, fuzzy, affectionate. The warm and fuzzy campaign. It’ll be great!”

      “I don’t dislike single women, Callie,” he said coolly. “I just don’t appreciate them wasting my time by pretending to have a sick animal.”

      “Touché, Dr. McFarland,” I answered. “Not that I’m copping to anything, of course.”

      “Nor do I want to pretend to be something

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