at me. It’s making me nervous.”
Crap. She searched for a reasonable explanation. “Just wondering how you got pulled into this.”
An eyebrow arched up. “You were all damsel-in-distress last night, remember?”
She sat up straight, a little indignant at the comparison. “I do not damsel-in-distress.”
“Then I’ll just saddle up my white horse and ride out of here.” He pushed his chair back from the table.
“I do appreciate your coming to my aid, though,” she said quickly to mollify him, and he pulled his chair back again. “But you were already involved in this circus.”
“It’s not a circus. It’s a fair ,” he corrected.
“Whatever. How’d you get sucked into Mrs. K’s pet project anyway?”
He shrugged. “With all the animals, it made sense for the clinic to be a sponsor, and it’s important to participate and be a part of things and . . . um . . .” He trailed off almost sheepishly.
She didn’t believe that at all and couldn’t believe he thought she might. She just looked at him and shook her head.
“Fine.” He sighed. “I have a hard time telling little old ladies no, okay? You happy now?”
That made her laugh, and it took the edge off, making her feel almost normal around him again. “Yep. That’s kind of how I got into this. I’d hate to think I was the only weenie in town.”
Tate frowned at the “weenie” comment, but he let it pass. “It’s diabolical; that’s what it is. I think this is why we’re raised to respect our elders. It makes us easy pickings later, because we can’t say no without being rude and bringing down the wrath of our ancestors on our heads.”
It would have been funny if it hadn’t been absolutely true. “And that’s why I’m reluctantly running achildren’s fair complete with a face-painting booth and—” She squinted at Tate’s list. He had the handwriting of a doctor, all right. “What are ‘dours’?”
“That’s ‘clowns.’” He crossed it out and rewrote it a bit more legibly.
She repressed a shudder. Clowns creeped her out, but now probably wasn’t a good time to mention it. “See? It really is a circus.”
Tate’s cup was nearly empty, and habit had her taking it for a refill before he could ask. On her way back, she grabbed a lemon bar from the pastry case to take with her to the table as a thank-you.
Setting it beside Tate’s coffee, she said, “You are an angel and a saint to help me with this.”
Tate looked at the lemon bar and then at her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I’m helping you with this ,” he said emphatically, indicating the mess on the table. “ Just this part. The getting-you-sorted-out part.”
“You can’t be serious.” At his nod, she added a guilt-laden wheedle to her voice. “You can’t abandon me in my hour of need.”
“I’m not. I’m here in your hour of need. But only this particular hour of need. No way am I getting hip deep in this.”
Doing her best to flutter her eyelashes and look pitiful, she said, “I’m still damseling and distressing, though.”
Tate rolled his eyes at her sudden about-face. “You are not sucking me in. I will get you going in the right direction. I will sign your checks and back your plays, but the details are all you.”
She tried to flutter again. “Tate . . .”
“You are not a sixty-something-year-old woman, so I can still tell you no.” He grinned at her. “Flutter those eyelashes all you want, honey. It won’t work on me.”
“Fine.” She pulled the lemon bar back to her side of the table. “But I’m blaming you if it all goes to hell.”
“I have no problem with that,” he countered. “But I do want that lemon bar.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, picking it up as if about to take a bite. His eyebrows went up. This was suddenly fun.
“Even if I told you I’d decoded Mrs. K’s notes and had all the answers you seek?”
She paused, the lemon bar inches from her mouth. “Do
Crap. She searched for a reasonable explanation. “Just wondering how you got pulled into this.”
An eyebrow arched up. “You were all damsel-in-distress last night, remember?”
She sat up straight, a little indignant at the comparison. “I do not damsel-in-distress.”
“Then I’ll just saddle up my white horse and ride out of here.” He pushed his chair back from the table.
“I do appreciate your coming to my aid, though,” she said quickly to mollify him, and he pulled his chair back again. “But you were already involved in this circus.”
“It’s not a circus. It’s a fair ,” he corrected.
“Whatever. How’d you get sucked into Mrs. K’s pet project anyway?”
He shrugged. “With all the animals, it made sense for the clinic to be a sponsor, and it’s important to participate and be a part of things and . . . um . . .” He trailed off almost sheepishly.
She didn’t believe that at all and couldn’t believe he thought she might. She just looked at him and shook her head.
“Fine.” He sighed. “I have a hard time telling little old ladies no, okay? You happy now?”
That made her laugh, and it took the edge off, making her feel almost normal around him again. “Yep. That’s kind of how I got into this. I’d hate to think I was the only weenie in town.”
Tate frowned at the “weenie” comment, but he let it pass. “It’s diabolical; that’s what it is. I think this is why we’re raised to respect our elders. It makes us easy pickings later, because we can’t say no without being rude and bringing down the wrath of our ancestors on our heads.”
It would have been funny if it hadn’t been absolutely true. “And that’s why I’m reluctantly running achildren’s fair complete with a face-painting booth and—” She squinted at Tate’s list. He had the handwriting of a doctor, all right. “What are ‘dours’?”
“That’s ‘clowns.’” He crossed it out and rewrote it a bit more legibly.
She repressed a shudder. Clowns creeped her out, but now probably wasn’t a good time to mention it. “See? It really is a circus.”
Tate’s cup was nearly empty, and habit had her taking it for a refill before he could ask. On her way back, she grabbed a lemon bar from the pastry case to take with her to the table as a thank-you.
Setting it beside Tate’s coffee, she said, “You are an angel and a saint to help me with this.”
Tate looked at the lemon bar and then at her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I’m helping you with this ,” he said emphatically, indicating the mess on the table. “ Just this part. The getting-you-sorted-out part.”
“You can’t be serious.” At his nod, she added a guilt-laden wheedle to her voice. “You can’t abandon me in my hour of need.”
“I’m not. I’m here in your hour of need. But only this particular hour of need. No way am I getting hip deep in this.”
Doing her best to flutter her eyelashes and look pitiful, she said, “I’m still damseling and distressing, though.”
Tate rolled his eyes at her sudden about-face. “You are not sucking me in. I will get you going in the right direction. I will sign your checks and back your plays, but the details are all you.”
She tried to flutter again. “Tate . . .”
“You are not a sixty-something-year-old woman, so I can still tell you no.” He grinned at her. “Flutter those eyelashes all you want, honey. It won’t work on me.”
“Fine.” She pulled the lemon bar back to her side of the table. “But I’m blaming you if it all goes to hell.”
“I have no problem with that,” he countered. “But I do want that lemon bar.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, picking it up as if about to take a bite. His eyebrows went up. This was suddenly fun.
“Even if I told you I’d decoded Mrs. K’s notes and had all the answers you seek?”
She paused, the lemon bar inches from her mouth. “Do
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