Practice Makes Perfect by Kathryn Shay Page B

the diagnosis. That kind of dedication and joy was more attractive than the sexiest fashion model. It spoke to something deep inside him. All the reasoning in the world couldn’t convince him to stay away from her.
    At least she wasn’t swimming alone. The pool area was quiet. Her house lights were on, but he guessed she was in the yard. It had been ninety degrees today, and the temperature hadn’t dropped much. Over the fence, he saw her. She was staring out at the trees in the back of her property. Her hands were braced on the wooden fence; the whole area was lit by several citronella candles that rimmed the perimeter. Opening the gate, he unleashed the dog and whispered, “Okay, Scalpel, do your thing.”
    Glad to be free of restraint, Scalpel scampered in as Ian called out, “Hel-lo.”
    She turned as they crossed to her. When he got closer, he sighed inwardly. He didn’t expect this.
    “I might have guessed you’d come,” she said.
    Would she have put on the skimpy hot-pink bikini if she’d known for sure?
    Before he could comment, she glanced down at the dog.
    Scalpel stared up at her adoringly.
    “He brought you a present.”
    Paige bent over and took the sack out of Scalpel’s mouth. She scratched behind the dog’s ears enthusiastically. “What’d you bring me, boy?”
    He barked and nuzzled her neck. Ian watched that long, slender neck and wished he’d worn more than the navy swim trunks and T-shirt. Surreptitiously, he lowered the towels he carried to cover his lower half.
    Standing, she opened the sack. “Champagne?”
    “Saying Cristal is only champagne is like calling Everest a hill.”
    “Ah, I see.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “What’s it for?”
    “You saved Sean Corriddi’s life today, Paige. I looked up infant botulism on the Net.” He was serious now. “Delayed diagnosis can be fatal, and it’s often misdiagnosed as sudden infant death syndrome.”
    Paige shuddered.
    “You’ve lost patients, haven’t you?”
    She nodded. Her big blue eyes were wide with sadness.
    “Me, too.” He nodded to the champagne. “We should celebrate our successes.”
    For a moment she studied him, then said, “All right.”
    Scalpel barked. Her gaze dropped to the dog. “Ian, what’s he got around his neck?”
    “A towel.”
    She leaned over and pulled it off him. “Granny’s baby,” along with a decal of a black lab, was stitched across the bottom of a piece of red terry cloth. “Where did you get this?” she asked.
    “My mother embroidered one for Scalpel and one for Derek’s dog. She said it looked like she’d never have any human grandbabies so she made these for Scalpel and Slide Rule.”
    “Let me guess. Your brother’s an engineer.”
    “Close, an architect.”
    Paige scanned him “You have your swimsuit on.”
    “Yeah, well, just in case you invited me and Scalpel to swim, I thought we should be ready.”
    “He’s a regular Mark Spitz, I’ll bet.”
    “And Greg Louganis on the diving board.”
    Scalpel barked and Paige left to get glasses, shaking her head. Ian had the bottle uncorked by the time she came back out with some strawberries, which she held up. “These bring out the flavor of the bubbly.”
    “I know.”
    “Of course you would.”
    He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’d put on a white lacy cover-up, but he could still see her curves—more generous than her day clothes revealed.
    He poured the Cristal, set the bottle down and raised his glass. “Here’s to successful diagnoses.” He smiled.
    She didn’t drink. She just held his gaze. Finally she said, “And to experience. Needed to make those successful diagnoses.”
    His heart lightened. She’d forgiven him. Maybe even believed he was right to get her to work at the Center.
    They sipped the champagne. It was dry, and the bubbles tickled his nose. “Let’s sit.”
    Taking chairs next to each other, they faced the pool. Wordlessly they drank the wine and watched the water. The night was sultry