Long Haired Persian by Liz Stafford Page A

ever met could handle a woman who owned a business. Sure, at first they smiled and acted all proud when they introduced her to their friends. Then weeks passed; the men grew aloof and stopped calling. She couldn’t count the times she’d checked her cell phone to make sure it was charged.
    Oh, who was she kidding? Deep inside, she knew what it was they couldn’t handle—a woman who worked twenty hours a day. Two years ago, she’d had to make the choice: put the energy into the business or a man. There just wasn’t enough to go around. So, the clients’ pets became her children. All the woolgathering brought the devastating reminder that this man was indubitably and unquestionably off-limits.
    Inside of ten minutes, they were at the clinic with the cat lying on the cold metal table. Tonya performed a thorough exam, then patted the man’s trembling fingers that held onto his cat. She raised her wait-finger again and rushed to the back to turn on the x-ray machine, praying for the damage to the cat—and her heart—to be minimal.
     

Chapter Two
     
    Gaspar Zakaria watched the doctor leave. All five feet, eighty pounds of her. Doctor, his ass. The little thing couldn’t be more than thirteen years old. In a minute, she’d come through that door accompanied by one of her parents, who really was a vet, and they’d all share a hearty laugh. That flowing golden blonde hair and smooth makeup-free face did nothing but add to doubts about her age.
    But therein lay the problem. In thinking her a child, he’d acted like a child himself and pretended he couldn’t speak English. Oh well, what was the harm? If she could fix Shamira, they could go their separate ways and he’d never have to see this woman-child again. Never have to admit his mistake. And his lie. Gaspar hated people who lied.
    The door opened and she came in. She’d divested herself of the sweatshirt. Hot damn! He’d been thinking of her as a doll. A Kewpie doll. The kind with the big, round eyes and plump baby’s body. But this was no Kewpie doll. She was a Barbie doll—like the ones his sister used to play with—a living, breathing, anatomically correct Barbie doll. His eyes must have bugged out or something because she laughed.
    “Most people react that way the first time.” She tilted her head to look up at him.
    “S’cuse?”
    “When I— Oh never mind.”
    Gaspar raised his brows at her.
    “Let’s start over.” She turned and took a white lab jacket from a stand in the corner. When she slipped her arms into the sleeves, her breasts popped forward and made him ache in a bunch of places at once. She straightened the coat but didn’t button it. There was a blue and white nametag on the left breast pocket, but he couldn’t read it. Darn, why hadn’t he worn his glasses? If he had, the darned cat wouldn’t have gotten out of the car in the first place.
    The vet stuck out her hand. “Doctor Tonya Lansing, veterinarian extraordinaire.”
    He couldn’t stop his hand from jumping into hers. His name almost squirted from his mouth. He managed to stop it just in time.
    She laughed. “Name. What is your name?”
    He nodded, pretending to understand…and reluctant to remove his hand from her very soft one. If he did, though, the tremors might stop shooting up his arm.
    She stabbed a finger between those gorgeous breasts. “Tonya.” Then she poked him in the chest and waited.
    God, please get him out of this before the lie snowballed into an avalanche. “Gaspar Zakaria.” He pointed to the cat. “Shamira.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, Gaspar and Shamira, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Well, the x-ray machine should be warmed up by now. Shall we go?”
    Tonya gently picked up the cardboard, still under his cat, and carried it to the other room. She slid the cardboard from under Shamira and gestured for Gaspar to stay outside the room. A true foreigner would question this, but Gaspar knew well the need to stay away from the