Suddenly Cooper’s expression shifted from amused to frosty. “And what would be wrong with that?” She met Felicity’s eye. “I had you pegged as some ivory tower liberal. But I swear, if you start quoting Bible passages or redneck shit at me, I will kick you out; I don’t care what the net worth of your boss is.”
Surprise flooded Felicity. “You’d toss away a potential large donation due to some perceived political differences?”
“Homophobia is not a political difference. It’s a people difference.” Cooper glared at her. “It’s a who-you-are-at-your-core difference. So what’s it going to be? Because even if you don’t care that you just insulted me, I won’t expose you to vulnerable clients, a not insignificant number of whom are on the street because their families found out about their sexuality.”
Insulted me. As in…Cooper was a lesbian?
“I didn’t realize you were…” Felicity waved her hand. Although come to think of it, she felt a bit stupid not to have at least considered the possibility immediately.
“Well, I am. So if you are homophobic, I can pull over right now and we can go our separate ways.”
“Of course I’m not homophobic.” Felicity huffed. “My God, two of my last three lovers were women. So sue me if I don’t want to look like some clichéd bad-butch movie stereotype.” She folded her arms. “I have standards.”
Cooper braked. Hard. “So you’re a butch-hating bi? That’s supposed to be better?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a bad-fashion-hating bi. I’ve seen butches in sinfully gorgeous suits, and I’ll have you know they’re beautiful. Or handsome. Whichever. It’s the clothes, not the person I object to. Would it kill some people to make an actual effort? How limited is their imagination? Jeans, boots, tees, and flannels? Every single day?” She let her Midwest accent off the leash. “Are they off to a rodeo? Or to plow a field before climbing into their truck?”
Cooper went completely still.
Suddenly Felicity realized why. Cooper was wearing jeans, boots, a T-shirt, and a flannel shirt. That exact butch-trucker look that Felicity had just run her mouth off at. She swallowed. For some reason—and this really was quite mystifying—she truly didn’t want Sandy Cooper angry at her. Especially since, despite everything Felicity had just said about that fashion combination, Cooper looked fine. So. Fine.
“Do I offend your eyeballs, Ms. Simmons?” Cooper asked silkily.
“No!” Felicity said quickly. “Quite the opposite.”
Why had she said that? She groaned inwardly. “Can we just enter it into the record that I’m neither conservative nor homophobic nor butch hating nor whatever else you’re unraveling over and get on with this?”
Cooper’s eyes now held an amused glint.
Great. Felicity’s unfortunate slip had not gone unnoticed, it seemed.
“You like my look on me? Even though I’m not…off to a rodeo? Or…plowing fields? Or climbing into my big bad truck?” She punctuated each word as though it belonged to an erotic movie title.
Did she have to do that? Felicity ground her jaw and forced herself not to picture Cooper wrestling things or climbing into trucks with that superb round ass of hers. “Can we just…drive?” She pounded that last word with venom.
With a chuckle, Cooper took off again, weaving in and out through traffic, once more hitting a speed Felicity found disconcerting. That wasn’t the only disconcerting thought occupying her.
Felicity wanted Dr. Sandy Cooper. Every way there was.
What a fucking disaster.
* * *
Lucille turned out to be a cat. An old thing with tatty ears, eternally pulled-down whiskers, and wide eyes that looked utterly pathetic. And Felicity was in love.
Damn it. It was the real reason she never wanted a pet. She was mad about them. Dogs and cats and anything furry and cute, and she couldn’t stop the grabby hands and ache to cuddle. It was beyond unseemly; it was appalling. And she knew what she was like, what would happen next. She’d get attached—and that would not end well.
It was bad enough riding with Brittany, being two feet away from an animal so beautiful that all she wanted was to pet it and murmur that fact into its floppy brown ears… Well, as long as it kept the slobbering to a minimum.
Cooper had left Brittany guarding the van, its window down a little, and Felicity could still see that brown nose poking out, avidly sniffing the world.
Animals were Felicity’s Achilles’ heel. They had so much power and made her so weak. They sucked you in, made you fall for them, and they could break your heart into bits and pieces. She wasn’t about to put herself through that. Never again. No, she was a focused and professional woman who did not have time for…fluffballs. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still ache to hug the most pathetic-looking puss she’d ever seen in her life.
She forced herself to watch impassively as Cooper inspected the animal, which was curled in her lap, while chatting to the owner. The woman, Norma, according to the name atop Cooper’s notes, was sixty-something with tired eyes, missing teeth, a thin gray frizz of hair capping off weathered dark-brown skin, and as many scars as her cat had.
Felicity’s heart melted all over again when the cat stretched, offering its belly for a rub. Christ. Maybe she should sit on her hands. Or focus on its ugly bits. Felicity bit her lip.
“I’m worried about Lucille,” Cooper told the woman. “Gastroenteritis doesn’t just affect humans. It’s really painful for animals. It can be life-threatening if they become dehydrated.”
“I get her plenty to drink,” Norma snapped. “You saying I’m neglecting her?”
“Not at all. But even with the best intentions, it’s harder for animals on the street to get ideal nutrition.”
Norma glowered. “We don’t just eat out of trash cans, you know.”
“I know.” Cooper shot her a worried look. “I really wish you’d let me get her properly looked at. The vomiting could be a sign of something worse.”
“And have ’em take her off me? Say I’m a bad owner? I might trust you, but not them. I hear stories.”
“We have a little clinic at Living Ruff that should be all that’s needed to check her out thoroughly,” Cooper said kindly. “No need to involve anyone else at this stage.” Her fingers drifted tentatively to the cat’s belly, assessing. Lucille immediately pushed a paw against Cooper’s hand, not once showing claws, but the message was clear.
Cooper immediately shifted her hand. “Lucille is lovely. I just want her around as long as we can manage it.”
“I look after my girl. Not like some of those assholes around here, breeding them and fighting them for money. I’d never do that.”
“I know. I can see how much you love her.” Cooper smiled gently. “You know how to get in touch if you decide to go ahead with a full checkup.”
“I have yer number.” Norma waved at a battered iPhone poking out from a haphazard pile of supplies.
“Good. Meanwhile, I have some food for her, if you need spare.”
“Like I said, we make do,” Norma said, her chin stiff and proud, but her eyes darted to the bag of food next to Cooper’s feet. “Not gone broke yet from mah singin’. Secret’s to get a good spot, lots of people. ’Sides, soul ain’t never goin’ out of style.”
“Can’t argue with that. So”—Cooper patted the bag—“what about I leave you some? Lucille needs the best she can get right now. I’ve included an electrolyte solution to rehydrate her and get some nutrients back in her. It’s chicken-flavored to make her drink it.”
“All right, then. Thanks.”
Cooper put a bulging plastic bag of pet food and liquids beside her. “Are you both okay for warmth?”
“Yes,” Norma said. This time there was conviction in her eyes.
“Good.” Cooper eased the cat back over to Norma, gave it a scratch behind one ear, then smiled. “You’re adorable, Lucille. Right, Felicity?” She turned to look at her.
Felicity froze, not expecting to be drawn into any kind of conversation. They’d talked about this! “Ah…” Her gaze darted back to the cat with its enormous, beautiful eyes. “It’s a cat. I’m sure all cats are equally valid to their owners.”
What the hell kind of answer was that? Felicity’s cheeks grew warm, and she leaped to her feet. “I’ll, uh, be in the van.”
She felt Norma’s hostility as she bolted and dimly heard Cooper apologize for her.
