Moonlight on My Mind Read Online Free PDF Page B

concerned about the cut of her clothes and the curl of her hair than any reasonable person ought to be. To see her remove her gloves to pet not just a dog, but a three-legged mongrel, struck him as slightly absurd.
    “How many mail coach victims have there been?” she asked, her voice tight.
    “Four since the New Year. Mr. Jeffers is always running late, and the townspeople refuse to put their dogs on a lead. ’Tis bound to result in the odd collision.”
    “I see you make a hobby out of lopping off their limbs.”
    The reminder sent Patrick cursing under his breath. He had almost forgotten the bundle he carried, so disarming was the sight of Miss Baxter crouching in his dusty foyer. He strode down the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. A plaintive bleating came from the part of the house that had once served as the front parlor, but though it was almost time for the orphaned lamb’s bottle, he ignored it for the moment.
    He settled the newest patient down on the kitchen table and carefully unwrapped his coat from the injured dog’s body. Another jacket, ruined. This business was sending him to the poorhouse, sure enough.
    Miss Baxter’s heels clicked on the weathered floorboards behind him. “Do you live here all alone? Honestly, you are the son of an earl. You could afford a domestic servant or two.”
    Patrick didn’t answer. No sense telling her he refused to accept a single sovereign from his father while he languished in this self-imposed exile. No doubt Miss Baxter had never turned down a farthing in her sweet, pampered life.
    He forced his gaze to remain on the mess of the dog’s leg instead of pulling to her. It was not an easy battle, because the sight of her was like a brightly colored lure, flashing end over end in turbulent water.
    A lid clanged loudly somewhere behind him. “Do you even cook in here at all?” she mused. “These pans appear unused.”
    Irritation yanked at the edges of his temper. By the devil , would she not shut up?
    “The kettle works.” In fact, he kept it heated and at the ready, but his answer seemed to do little to deflect her prying. He swallowed his frustration over the feminine invasion and began a more thorough exam of his newest patient. The dog he had carried from Main Street was still unconscious, which concerned him. While there was no obvious damage he could see other than the mangled limb, the animal’s sluggish return to wakefulness suggested it might have sustained an injury to its head in addition to its leg.
    But its continued state of unconsciousness might also present an opportunity. If he moved quickly, he could take off the crushed leg without the animal waking. But quickly was a bit of a stretch, given his lack of an assistant.
    He glanced dubiously at Miss Baxter, who had moved on to the side counter and was running a bare, elegant finger over his clean, washed tools. No, she would be no help. Quite the opposite. James MacKenzie, his friend and former roommate, had once helped Patrick with these more challenging procedures, but the man was probably sitting down to supper in his new house across town, wallowing in what appeared to be a healthy dose of marital bliss.
    There was no one here but the infinitely nosey Miss Baxter.
    “I thought you were taking the dog to surgery.” She held up a long-handled implement with a vise clamp on the end. She raised it for a closer examination, squinting at it like a seventy-year-old woman who had lost her quizzing glass. She turned it left and then right, her lips pursed in study. “This is your kitchen,” she continued. “Surely you don’t see patients in here .”
    Patrick considered telling her he used the thing to castrate calves. Decided better of it.
    After all, she might decide to use it on him.
    Instead, he reached for the surgical instruments he kept in the nearby cupboard, right next to his meager tin of tea leaves and the shaker of salt. “One table’s as good as another. I am not a particular