The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

My friend couldn’t have looked more confused if she’d tried, and her tone was dubious. “If you slept with another dude, um . . . how sure are you that you like Clay?”

I frowned. “It’s complicated.”

His words from our first conversation came back to me in a rush. I’m about as complicated a person as you can get.

The door to the operating room swung open, interrupting my thoughts, and Dr. Johnston stuck her head in. She was a short woman in her fifties with thick glasses and long bangs, but they couldn’t hide the excitement dancing in her eyes. “The truck’s pulling up, ladies.”

Cassidy and I followed her out to the side entrance of the clinic, along with the rest of the doctors and staff, and waited in the hot evening sun for our guests to arrive. A white, unmarked commercial truck lumbered through the clinic’s empty parking lot and pulled to a stop with the soft hiss of its brakes.

For a moment, I forgot about everything else and remembered how much I loved my job. Even the bad days where I came home covered in fur or had stains on my scrubs from sick animals, taking samples, and lab work.

Animals always kept it interesting, and I loved the variety of patients we treated, big and small. Being one of the largest clinics in Nashville meant we had a lot of specialized machines, and that included an open-air MRI. It was image diagnostic equipment big enough for horses and cattle.

And today it’d be used to scan a Sumatran tiger.

There’d been several cars following in a line, and while they parked, the truck driver and passenger worked to get the back door up. There were two people inside, a man and a woman who were both wearing dark gray scrubs with the zoo logo over the pocket. They must have ridden along in the back to monitor the sedated tiger.

The metal rolling cage had circular holes for airflow, so I only got a glimpse of the orange inside as zoo staff brought the cage down via the truck’s liftgate and then began rolling it toward the entrance.

“Dr. Eckhart?” Dr. Johnston asked the man, looking for the vet in charge.

He craned his neck and looked around. “He rode behind us. I think he’s still in his car.”

They couldn’t stop moving because they’d lose momentum, plus there was an incline to get in the building, and the tiger inside was at least two hundred and fifty pounds. I sprang into action, putting my hands on the back of the cage and helped push—

“Lilith, wait here and show the rest of the team where to go,” Dr. Johnston said.

I wanted to grumble in disappointment, but I should have expected this. I’d become the face of the clinic, and the doctors had praised me for my excellent ‘people skills.’ Whenever an owner was being difficult, I was the one who had to get on the phone or step into an exam room to assist.

So, I stood in the walkway and watched as everyone else got to head inside. It’d be crowded in the MRI room, and this meant I’d be one of the last ones in. Fuck, I was going to be stuck in the back.

I sighed, turned, and ran face first into a chest covered in gray, which was a wall decorated with a stethoscope.

“Whoa,” the man said. As I bounced off him, his hands instinctively came up and grasped my arms, steadying me. His sharp intake of breath made my heart skip, and then stop altogether when I lifted my gaze to his.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped.

He’d been introduced to me as Mr. E. Why hadn’t he corrected Clay and said it was Dr. E? It was right there on the name badge clipped to his scrubs.

Dr. T. Eckhart, DVM.

Thoughts flew threw my brain at a million miles an hour, and the dumbest one won out. I looked like shit. The makeup I’d put on this morning was long gone. Rather than heels, I wore a pair of slip-resistant rubberized shoes. My hair was up in a messy bun, with extra emphasis on messy.

And no matter how careful I was, it seemed like every day I ended up with poop, pee, vomit, or blood on me . . . and today I had the full compliment.

He was a veterinarian though, so maybe he understood. He gazed at me like he didn’t see any of it, he only saw me. And while I looked like garbage, he looked impossibly good. All confident and sexy and like a man who worked in my field and loved the same things I did.

I was almost too stunned to speak, so it came out hushed. “Travis?”

It was the first time he’d heard his name in my voice, and while his eyes softened, his hold on me tightened. Had he done it to prevent himself from pulling me deeper into his embrace?