Cowboy Vet
Cowboy Vet
Pamela Britton
Reviewers and readers Love Pamela Britton!
“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)
“A fairy tale that succeeds.”
—Publishers Weekly on Scandal
“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tempted
“Passion and humor are a potent combination…author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend.”
—Oakland Press
“This nonstop read has it all—sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (Top Pick) on Tempted
“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”
—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced
Dear Reader,
When I was in my teens, my friends and I had a huge crush on the large-animal vet who used to work on our horses. We would tease one another about calling the vet when our horses “sneezed” (actually just horse snorts) or when our horses needed their annual vaccinations (why couldn’t we vaccinate them more frequently?). When that vet’s truck pulled into the stable yard, we’d get as giddy as schoolgirls. Actually, I think we really were schoolgirls.
My hero in Cowboy Vet is nothing like the object of my childhood affection. (Okay, so my nose just grew a few inches.) Rand Sheppard is a culmination of all the vets who’ve worked on my horses over the years—yes, even the female veterinarians. To me, there’s nothing more heroic than the men and women who stay up late at night tending to sick animals. This book is a tribute to each and every one of them.
I hope you enjoy Cowboy Vet. If you’re in the mood to chat, feel free to drop me a line at www.pamelabritton.com. I love hearing from readers.
Pamela Britton
Cowboy Vet
Pamela Britton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAMELA BRITTON never inflicted her early, unpublished works on friends or family. Instead she passed her books to the wives of famous race-car drivers and crew chiefs. Fortunately, the response was overwhelmingly positive, so she took the plunge and submitted them. Seven publishing contracts later, Pamela’s work has been voted the best of the best by Barnes & Noble, the Detroit Free Press and Romantic Times BOOKclub. Recently one of Pamela’s novels, Scandal, outsold J. K. Rowling—for two whole days.
You can visit Pamela on her wacky Web site, www.pamelabritton.com (http://www.pamelabritton.com), or snail-mail her c/o P.O. Box 1281, Anderson, CA 96007.
This one’s for all the real-life veterinarians out there who’ve helped me with my animals over the years. You’re all the best.
Books by Pamela Britton
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
985—COWBOY LESSONS
1040—COWBOY TROUBLE
1122—COWBOY M.D.
HQN BOOKS
DANGEROUS CURVES
IN THE GROOVE
Contents
Chapter One (#u354879aa-3926-54e0-b480-327e323b4413)
Chapter Two (#uf6ee596b-a9f7-59ec-8483-908e3dad00eb)
Chapter Three (#u9a97b514-89b0-58d8-9b41-d14773579868)
Chapter Four (#u5c5c8cbb-9041-563c-97f6-19d7ecfb21d9)
Chapter Five (#uf876ead5-a42a-5aee-a172-9d8ddad478fe)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jessie the Jezebel.”
Jessie Monroe stared down at the man who’d spoken, a row of windows to the right perfectly illuminating his handsome, scowling face. The glass coffeepot she held tipped dangerously toward his lap.
“Well, well, well,” she mimicked. Her least favorite customer. “If it isn’t Dr. Dolittle.”
The restaurant seemed to grow quiet around them, everyone in the tiny diner no doubt listening in. Not surprising, since everyone supposedly “knew” what it was she’d “done” to Dr. Dolittle’s cousin.
Dr. Sheppard leaned back, the orange vinyl squeaking in a way that sounded crass. He didn’t seem to notice. “You going to pour me that cup of coffee or do I have to get it myself?”
She shifted her weight to her other leg, slowly lowering the pot, the liquid glug-glug-glugging as she poured. “Guess that answers your question, huh, Doc?”
“Guess it does.” He gave her a smile that could only be called smug as he peered at her from beneath his black cowboy hat.
“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order,” she said in a monotone, turning away from his booth without giving him another glance. Damn the man. Not only did he think he was God’s gift to women, but he always, always took pleasure in baiting her. His own form of revenge, she supposed.
“You and Dr. Cutie are exchanging evil glances again, I see,” Mavis said, her dark skin glistening beneath one of the warming lights as she picked up four plates of food and balanced them precariously up her arms. It was late spring, but you wouldn’t know it. The diner didn’t have air-conditioning.
Jessie looked over at the table. “I think he likes me about as much as I like him.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have a crush on him like half the women in this town.”
“Guess so,” Jessie said. In fact, she was probably the only woman who didn’t fancy the good doctor. Not that she didn’t understand his allure. She might not like him, but she was honest enough to admit that something in his eyes made her want to squirm.
Tall, dark and handsome he was, the term cliché and yet somehow appropriate. He looked like he belonged out on the range with a few hundred head of cattle milling nearby. There was nothing, absolutely nothing guaranteed to melt female hearts faster than a man who wore boots and who doctored furry little animals for a living.
“You gonna go back over and take his order, or shall I?” Mavis asked.
Jessie smiled. Leave it to Mavis to try to run interference. The two of them had formed a fast friendship the first day Jessie had come to work at the diner. They’d bonded over their mutual dislike of the pink polyester dresses they were forced to wear.
“No thanks, Mavis. I can handle Rand Sheppard.”
“Can you?” the man himself asked when she walked up to him a second later, order book in hand.
Jessie turned as red as the blinking Open sign, or at least it felt that way.
Damn it, she hadn’t meant him to hear. Or maybe she had. Her feelings always ran hot and cold where he was concerned. All that smirking self-confidence drove her nuts.
“Dr. Sheppard, I hate to bruise that overlarge ego of yours, but I’ve eaten men like you for breakfast.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “So I’ve heard.” He looked back at his menu. “I’ll take the Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins.”
“English muffins?” she said with a lift of her eyebrows. “Would you like some Earl Grey with that?”
“Nope. Just the muffins,” he answered gruffly, back to his usual surly self.
“Coming right up.” She tucked her pencil behind her ear, much easier to do ever since she’d chopped off all her red hair. “Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins,” Jessie called out, slipping the order sheet into the spinner, then flicking it toward Frank. “Extra arsenic,” she muttered under her breath.
But as she moved about the Kleenex box-shaped diner, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing in Rand Sheppard’s direction. It seemed every unmarried woman in town had set her cap for him—and failed to win him. And while Jessie knew better than to form a crush on the man, a part of her still wished he’d treat her as kindly as he treated everybody else. But that would never happen, she thought, watching as a man from the Diamond W slid into the booth across from Rand. Jessie had one of the worst reputations in town, one that had started when she’d—supposedly—ruined Rand’s cousin’s life.
“She only lasted two days,” she heard Rand say, over the clinking of dishes and silverware. “Shortest vet tech career at Sheppard Veterinary.”
Vet tech? He’d hired a new vet tech? What had happened to Sandy Anders, his old one? The woman was an icon at Sheppard Veterinary, almost as much a fixture as the ancient wagon wheels that guarded the clinic’s gate.
“So what are you going to do?” she heard the wrangler—Pete, she thought his name was—ask. Jessie picked up a hot plate while straining to listen. “You need help.”
“I know,” Rand answered.
She set the plate down in front of Hank, the smell of cooked bell peppers and cheese wafting up to her.
“Can I have some salt?” Hank was one of her regulars, a crusty old cowboy with a beat-up straw hat.
Jessie handed him the sugar.
“I said salt, Jessie.” He tapped the scarred white laminate turned yellow with age.
She blinked. “Oh, yeah. Sure, Hank. Salt. Sorry.”
She grabbed one of the forty salt-and-pepper sets on the bar beside the old-fashioned pie display, all the while listening in.
“You going to run another ad?” Pete asked.
“Guess I’ll have to. But I don’t hold out much hope of finding someone soon. You know how it is. Five hundred people want to work with animals, but only a few are qualified. Then they find out we’re out in the sticks and, well…”
They didn’t want to commute from the city. Jessie knew how it was. For three years she’d done the opposite commute from Los Molinos to the city—the nearby Bay Area. It’d taken her three years of night school and days of working in the diner, but she’d gotten her degree in animal science.
What Rand Sheppard didn’t know was that she, Jessie the Jezebel, was a certified veterinary technician.
And she was about to ask Rand Sheppard for a job.
FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Pete had left, Rand didn’t know what surprised him more, how hot the damn coffee was that Jessie Monroe served him, or that she slid into his booth after pouring him a cup.
“Mmph,” he mumbled, as some of the coffee dribbled back onto his chin.
“Too hot, I know,” she said.
And, as always happened when he looked at Jessie Monroe, he was struck by her eyes. Huge. And green, so green they looked like the new leaves that sprouted up around town. So green he found himself wondering yet again how the heck they could be such an impossible color. And then, as he always did when he caught himself staring, he remembered who she was.
“You could have told me it was hot,” he said, whipping the paper napkin off his place mat, the silverware tinkling as it spilled onto the Formica table.
“Why warn you? You’ve eaten here enough times to know it’s hot, and that it doesn’t taste very good.”
He did. And that irritated him all the more. She riled him. She always had—even before she’d been responsible for his cousin going to jail.
“Look,” she said, peeking over her shoulder toward the kitchen where Frank flipped bacon, oblivious to his employee’s defection, “I need to talk to you.”
Rand leaned back, his hand crumpling the napkin beneath the table. His whole body tensed, although truth be told he’d been on edge ever since he’d seen who his server was.
“What about?” he asked, his fingers digging into the paper.
“I want to work for you.”
If she’d told him she was about to rip her clothes off and dance naked, he couldn’t have been more surprised. “What?” he asked.
Actually, he might like that….
“I want to interview for your vet tech job,” she said, glancing at Frank again, the pink dress she wore gaping open as she leaned forward.
“But you’re not qualified,” he protested. Good Lord, the thought of Jessie Monroe coming to work for him…
“Actually,” she said, lifting her chin, “I am. I have a degree in animal science.”
What? “How?”
“Lots of late hours at the coffee shop while commuting to the Bay Area.”
“Which college?”
“Gavilan,” she said.
Something in his eyes must have made her think he wasn’t impressed, because she added, “It’s one of the top junior colleges in the state.”
“I know it is,” he said. It wasn’t the college she’d gone to, it was that she wanted to work as his veterinary assistant. Her. Jessie Monroe. Who as a wild-child teenager had let Tommy take the rap for her.
Rand absolutely would not hire her.
“Look, Jessie,” he said, “I’ve had hundreds of applicants—”
“Qualified applicants?” she asked, having obviously overheard him talking to Pete.
Rand tipped his head. “Some, yeah. My point being that there are people who’ve applied already, people I need to consider ahead of you.”
“But I might be better qualified than them,” she said. Her eyes seemed to shimmer. “Something you won’t know unless you interview me.”
“Nah. I’ve already looked over the applicants. A few of them have actual work experience, Jessie, not a bunch of college credits and a few lab classes under their belt.”
“How do you know that’s all I’ve got?”
“Educated guess.”
She leaned toward him. “Sometimes the most highly educated individuals are incompetent.”
“You got more than that?”
“Actually, I do,” she said proudly. “I’ve been interning at a breeding farm in the Bay Area part-time.”
“Then why don’t you go work for them?”
“Because the commute is killing me.”
He looked up at her. He didn’t really believe that excuse. “Then move to the Bay Area.”
“I don’t want to move. I like this town.”
“Jessie—”
“You just don’t want to hire me,” she interrupted.
“No. That’s not it—”
“Bull,” she said, slipping out of the booth. “Your refusal to interview me has nothing to do with my qualifications and everything to do with your cousin.”
“Well, yeah,” Rand said. “I’m not going to lie to you.”
She stared, and he could have sworn he saw hurt in her eyes. “You still think those drugs were mine?”
“With your reputation, why would I think that?”
“Because people are innocent until proven guilty.”
“There was nothing innocent about you.”
“And Tommy Lockford, cousin to the great Rand Sheppard, was a saint.”
“More of a saint than you were.” Rand took another sip of coffee, even though the topic of conversation all but turned his stomach.
“So you think.”
“So I know,” he said, throwing her words back in her face.
She shook her head, her bangs falling in her eyes. She pushed them away impatiently. “Why did I think you might give me a shot?” she muttered under her breath. “You wouldn’t hire me if I held a degree in veterinary medicine from UC Davis.”
All right. Time to cut to the chase. “You’re correct,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t.”
She stiffened.
“Order up!” Frank called.
Jessie half turned toward her boss, then looked back again. “We’re not through with this conversation, Dr. Sheppard.”
“Yes, we are,” he said in an equally stern tone. “You’re too late. I’ve already got someone in mind.”
She flicked her hair over her ears, her face coloring in a way that told him she knew he was lying.
“But if it looks like she’s not going to work out, I’ll let you know.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, walking away.
And he wouldn’t, Rand knew, because the idea of staring into those green eyes every day…well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
When he paid his bill a short while later, he realized why he was so worked up.
He didn’t want to hire Jessie because he had the hots for her.
And that was God’s honest truth.
Chapter Two
He hated her.
It was undisputable fact, Jessie thought as she finished her shift, Dr. Sheppard having long since hit the road.
By the end of the week, Jessie wished she could give herself a frontal lobotomy. Every time she recalled their conversation she went from burning mad to horribly embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him for a job.
But no matter how humiliating, she didn’t regret it. She’d do anything to break into her chosen field.
Which was probably why she found herself listening in on yet another conversation in the lineup at the espresso shop on her way to work.
“Hear he’s had a devil of a time keeping up with all the work.”
“That’s what happens when you’re the only large-animal vet in a town of two thousand.”
“Yeah,” said the first guy.
The sound of a coffee grinder filled the air; the chocolate smell of the beans made Jessie’s mouth water. If only Frank made coffee as good as this place. “I tried to get an appointment with him this morning but his receptionist said he was on his way into the clinic for an emergency surgery.”
“Gonna have a hell of a time doing that without an assistant. Or did he find someone?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Surgery? Jessie thought, placing her order a moment later. If he was supposed to do surgery he would need help. Unless he sent the animal out to another clinic. But hauling a sick animal might put too much stress on it, which meant he’d have to—
“You know what?” she said to the young woman making her drink, who raised her diamond-pierced eyebrow. “Scratch that order,” she said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
If the woman was mad at her for leaving, Jessie didn’t stick around to find out. She brushed by the people waiting in line and all but ran from the place.
Outside felt more like late winter than May. Los Molinos’s downtown strip was empty except in front of the Elegant Bean, where all the action usually took place this time of morning. Jessie snuggled into her down jacket, the faux fur around the hood tickling her cheek. The car she drove, a Honda that had seen better days, sat at the end of a string of vehicles. She was ten feet away when she saw the pool of radioactive-green coolant on the asphalt.
“Oh, Gladys,” she said, wincing and shaking her head. “Not today.”
A stream of vapor trailed her to the clinic on the other side of town. By the time she arrived, the motor gurgled as if it were on its last legs—and it probably was. She ignored it, choosing to deal with her engine’s lack of performance later, after she’d talked to Rand. If she talked to him.
That was a big if, she thought as she slipped out of her car into the cool morning air, her cheeks momentarily heated, saunalike, by condensation leaking from her radiator. On the glass door, the words Los Molinos Veterinary Clinic stood out in white letters. Her heart pounded like the horses that ran behind the low buildings.
Unfortunately, that same heart stopped the moment she saw who manned the front desk: Pauline Patterson, her childhood nemesis. Her old schoolmate really should have outgrown her animosity toward Jessie, but had never forgiven her for stealing the object of Pauline’s affection back in the seventh grade.
Oh, great.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at Jessie. She still wore her brown hair feathered back even though Jessie was pretty certain that style hadn’t been popular since the seventies—long before either of them had been born.
“Is Dr. Sheppard in?” Jessie asked, inwardly wincing at the malice she saw in the woman’s expression. Jeez. What would she have to do? Whip herself with rosary beads and wear a crown of thistles?
“What do you need to see him about?”
“I swallowed a mouse and I need his help getting it out,” Jessie said, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it’d seen better days. The faux leather bag was peeling away from its cotton backing. She hid it under her armpit. Not that it mattered. Pauline’s eyes hadn’t left her own.
“Okay, seriously. I heard he was on his way here with an emergency surgery. I wondered if he might need help.”
“He’s not available right now.”
She hadn’t asked if he was available, Jessie almost pointed out. “Is he prepping for surgery?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Did Jessie have to pull a gun on her? “Okay. Well, will you tell him I stopped by? And that I’m available to assist?”
“You?” Pauline asked, her fleshy arms coming to rest on her desk. “Available to assist?”
“Yes, me,” Jessie said, holding on to her temper by a thread.
“Since when do you know anything about veterinary medicine?”
“Since I graduated with an A.A. in veterinary science.”
Pauline huffed in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said, “you got it over the Internet.”
Okay, that did it. “Pauline,” Jessie said softly, drawing on the psych class she’d been forced to take for college credits, “I really don’t understand your animosity. But I wish we could bury the hatchet, especially since I’d like your help in convincing Dr. Sheppard to hire me.”
Silence. “You want Dr. Sheppard to hire you?” From the expression on Pauline’s face, it was as if Jessie had announced her intention to cure cancer using nothing more than nose drops.
“Why not?” Jessie said. “I’m local. I love animals. And I have a degree.”
“Well, I’m sure Dr. Sheppard will be thrilled to hear all about your qualifications, but no amount of schooling can teach a person integrity.”
If Jessie didn’t leave now, she’d do something she might regret. “Just tell Dr. Sheppard I dropped by, ’kay?” she asked. “Can you do that?”
All she got in response was what might be an attempt at a smile.
Jessie shook her head, turned around—
And ran smack dab into Dr. Sheppard.
“Jessie Monroe.”
“Hello, Rand,” she said, clutching his arms at the same time he held her by the shoulders, his black hat knocked askew, his big hands warm even through her thick coat.
His expression, however, was cold. “What are you doing here?”
HE KNEW HE SOUNDED RUDE, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.
“I stopped in to see if you needed help with your surgery.”
The surgery? How had she known…? It really didn’t matter. He glanced at Pauline. “Did Dr. Franklin call?”
His receptionist shook her head, her face creased in a frown. “Sorry, Doctor. He’s out of the office for the week.”
“Well, did you ask if his assistant could come?”
“There’s nobody.”
Damn it. He’d been dreading this exact scenario. In vain he’d tried to get a qualified vet tech out here to help out. Failing that, he’d tried to get an out-of-area vet to be on call. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for some reason every vet within a sixty-mile radius was either already on call for another clinic or out of the office.
“Where’s Brandy?”
“She’s in the back, cleaning kennels.”
“Get her out here. I’m going to need her help with a C-section.”
“But—”
Rand didn’t wait to hear her response. Brandy wasn’t qualified, but she would do. God willing, there’d be no complications from surgery that might require another pair of skilled hands.
“Rand, wait,” Jessie said, following him outside to the horse trailer hooked up to his black, one-ton truck. Valerie, the owner of the mare—a college-age kid Rand knew wouldn’t be able to afford the coming vet bill—stared at him with wide eyes. The mare on the other end of the lead rope stood with her head down, her chestnut sides dark with sweat.
“I don’t have time to wait,” he said, signaling the mare’s owner to follow. “I’ve got a foal to get out.”
“I can help with that,” Jessie stated, stepping up alongside him, her short red hair framing her face.
“Brandy can help,” he said curtly. That was all he needed—Jessie to mess things up.
His vet clinic was set up like most—main office at the front, equine exam room behind that, with a surgical facility and medical barn out back. He slid open one side of the double doors between the office and the surgical room, flicking on a light. “Bring her in here.”
“Dr. Sheppard,” Valerie said, “You know I can’t pay—”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
When his gaze drifted past the frightened girl, he saw Jessie trailing in their wake.
“Jessie. Really. I don’t need your—”
“Stuff it,” she said. “You’ve got no assistant. I’m it.”
He didn’t have the energy to fight her—or the time. He led Jessie and Valerie to the surgical room.
Things happened in a hurry. The mare’s water had broken nearly an hour ago. That meant the foal might have been oxygen-deprived for nearly a half hour. Not good.
The first test of Jessie’s skill came within minutes. “Can you do a prep for me?” he asked.
“Where are the clippers?”
“Third drawer on the right.”
She nodded; he turned away, gathering the medication he’d need.
The sound of the clippers filled the room as Rand hung the IV set on the hook suspended above the mare’s back. His needle primed, he turned, surprised to see Jessie swabbing the area around the mare’s jugular she’d just clipped, the stringent smell of alcohol filling the room.
“Ready,” she said, stepping back.
Brandy showed up then, slowly shuffling her feet. Rand concealed his displeasure. The girl was never in a hurry to go anywhere, which meant trouble in a vet clinic, where seconds might count. Frankly, he probably would have fired her if he wasn’t so short-staffed. He’d have to talk to her about that. Again.
“Lead her up,” he told Brandy, signaling for the mare’s owner to step back.
Brandy tried, but the tired mare didn’t want to move.
“G’yup there,” Jessie said before he could. “Go on.” She slapped the horse on the rump and clucked.
That did the trick. Rand quickly administered the valium. Within seconds the big chestnut’s knees buckled, then she went down. It took both Jessie and Rand to hook the unconscious mare to the hoist that would move her into position on the padded operating table.
“That’s it,” he said, the tricky procedure accomplished in a matter of minutes. Precious minutes.
Damn.
“Brandy, get the—”
But Jessie was already one step ahead of him, searching through drawers and finding the mouth tube.
“Can I do anything?” Brandy asked, fiddling nervously with the end of her brown ponytail. He’d had her assist with other surgeries, but she was still so new that she approached each procedure with trepidation.
“Just stand there for now.” He inserted a catheter in the mare’s vein as Jessie handed him the ends of the IV set. When he was done with that, she hooked the mare to the respirator and vital-signs monitor near the horse’s head.
Impressive.
It was all he had time to think before he was busy getting instruments ready for the next step.
“You might want to go outside,” he told Valerie.
The young girl didn’t need to be told twice. She knew what was coming and knew it wouldn’t be pretty. The question was, how would Jessie take it?
“What about me?” Brandy asked.
“Stay here. I might need you.”
The sound of the hair trimmer buzzed through the air again, Jessie prepping the surgical area without glancing up. His estimation of her skills rose with each swipe of the clippers. She didn’t need to be told where he’d be cutting. She obviously knew. And she knew how big an area to clip, too.
“You’ve done this before,” he said.
“Once or twice,” she offered, grabbing the Betadine she’d pulled off the counter, liberally swathing the area.
The breeding farm, he surmised. So she really had worked for one.
“Ready?” Jessie said, stepping out of the way, the latex gloves he hadn’t even seen her pull on covered with the yellow-brown solution.
“Ready,” he said, removing his cowboy hat and slipping on his own gloves.
He made the first incision, then looked sideways at Jessie. She didn’t flinch.
Good.
He took the next instrument from her hand. In a matter of minutes he’d reached the foal, the mare’s steady vital signs a rhythmic beep-beep-beep in his ears.
“Almost there,” he said, reaching his gloved hand into the quarter horse’s distended abdomen.
“Ooh, gross,” Brandy said.
Rand ignored her. “Damn breeders are growing them bigger and bigger,” he said, feeling around for a leg. “The mares just aren’t equipped for a baby bred from a sixteen-two-hand stallion. Seems like I’m doing more and more of these of late.”
“Sixteen-two?” Jessie asked.
He nodded, tongue between his teeth as he reached farther inside. “And that’s on the smaller end of the scale. I’m seeing seventeen-hand stallions advertised in the Quarter Horse Journal.”
“Jeez.”
And then he had it, his hand closing around a miniature hoof. After a tug that seemed almost too infinitesimal to do much, the foal slipped from the mare’s abdomen.
“There we go.”
“Oh, wow,” Brandy gasped, reflecting how Rand felt every single time he welcomed a foal into the world. But it was far too soon to know if this little guy would be sticking around.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a scalpel, which he used to rip open the placenta.
“Not breathing,” he said. “Damn it.”
He stuck his finger up the tiny foal’s nostril, cleaning it out and then blowing into it in the hopes that he could jump-start the baby’s lungs.
One breath.
Two.
The foal’s chest suddenly twitched.
“Holy cow,” Brandy said when the newborn’s eyes opened.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a stethoscope. Rand checked the foal’s gum color. Within seconds they’d turned a healthy shade of pink.
“So far so good,” he said, clearing more of the placenta from around the animal and then grabbing the stethoscope.
He checked the baby’s heart, then the lungs. Clear of liquid. The foal tried to sit up, its unused neck muscles straining.
“Well?” Jessie said, and for the first time he heard emotion in her voice.
“I think he’ll be all right,” Rand murmured. “Brandy, come on over here and wipe the little guy down while Jessie and I close up.”
Chapter Three
She’d impressed him.
Jessie wanted to punch the air as she exited the post-op stall ahead of Dr. Sheppard. She didn’t, but it was damn hard not to smile.
The smell of fresh pine shavings filled the air, the horizontal aluminum bars that allowed people to see into the stalls gleaming in the late-morning light. It was a state-of-the-art barn, complete with closed-circuit cameras, heaters and even giant fans for those days when the Los Molinos mercury rose too high.
“So,” she said, leaning against the bars and staring at the mare and foal. The foal was trying hard to stay balanced on his new legs. “When do you want me to start?”
No answer.
“Well?” she asked, glancing at him, her euphoria at a job well done making her bold.
“Jessie,” he said, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I appreciate your help today, but I’m still not going to hire you.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, Rand, you couldn’t have done that surgery without me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, crossing his arms. He stared down at her in that serious way of his. The expression always made her uncomfortable. “Brandy could have helped.”
“And lost you valuable time. That girl doesn’t know OB pullers from a lead rope.”
“She doesn’t need to know,” he said. “I could have told her what was needed.”
Jessie stared up at him. “Look,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. His eyes darted downward.
She stiffened.
Had he just—?
Nah, she told herself. He hadn’t just looked at her breasts. No way. Dr. Rand Sheppard wouldn’t give her a second glance.
She pulled her shoulders back nonetheless, under the pretext of hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, her elbows bent so that her breasts strained against the white T-shirt she’d worn beneath her beat-up jacket.
He glanced down again, only this time his eyes narrowed and he frowned, his mouth a flat line. “Look at what?”
He was checking her out.
Jessie couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t happy about it, she could tell, but that’s what he’d just done.
She pulled her shoulders back even more, thrusting a hip out for good measure. “Look,” she said, making her voice softer, “I understand you don’t like me.” But you like my breasts. “Let’s put that aside for a moment,” she said rocking slightly. “You’re in a bind.”
“I could hire somebody tomorrow if I wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?” she asked.
“Because they’re not qualified. Everyone who’s applied so far has no experience and minimal education.”
“Which just proves my point…or the point I was about to make. Hire me until a qualified applicant comes along.”
He glanced down. And there it was again: the look. The one he tried too hard to deny—sexual interest.
He found her attractive.
In-ter-resting.
“If you find someone tomorrow, I’ll leave,” she added. “But I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
“I still don’t think—”
“Rand,” she said, clutching his arm.
He acted as if she’d touched him with a twelve-gauge needle.
“Don’t—” he pulled back “—touch me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
After all these years. After all the surly expressions. All the barbed comments. All the sarcastic retorts. He found her attractive.
“Sor-ry,” she said. She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.
“I don’t like to be touched,” he muttered.
“That must play hell on your love life.”
He didn’t answer.
She bit back a laugh. “As I was about to say,” she resumed, “I don’t mind being temporary help. Heck, it’ll give me experience I can put on my résumé. Or are you willing to put the lives of the animals at risk by having someone like Brandy assist while you’re out on calls?”
His lips went tight.
She knew she had him then.
“I’ll bow out of your clinic the minute you find a suitable replacement.”
A horse neighed, the answering calls momentarily filling the barn. Rand turned away, staring down the long aisle.
“Fine,” he said, glancing back to her. “But it’ll just be temporary.”
“Got it,” she said, trying hard to conceal her delight. “Temporary. When do you want me to start?”
Again he looked pained. “Tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
He shook his head.
Probably he needed to get his wandering eyes under control.
“Call me if you need me,” she said.
All he did was nod.
Dr. Sheppard found her attractive.
Miracles would never cease.
IT’D BEEN A MOMENT of insanity. An act of desperation brought on by a long night spent keeping a colicky horse alive, followed by the emergency C-section.
At least that’s what he told himself the next morning, because there was no other reason he’d invite Jessie to work for him.
It’s just temporary, he told himself as he slipped into the warm clinic.
“Morning, Doctor,” Pauline said, shooting him a jowly smile that never failed to make him smile back.
“Mornin’, Pauline.”
Rand flipped through the mail he’d forgotten yesterday, thanks to back-to-back emergency calls. He’d sunk into bed exhausted, and praying that nobody’s horse would founder or get colic or need emergency sutures.
“You’ve got three small-animal appointments, two need shots and one has a foxtail down his ear—or so the owner thinks. The foxtail is coming in first thing,” Pauline said, peering over the eye-level counter that surrounded her like a corral. “I’ve scheduled your large-animal clients for this afternoon.”
“Thanks,” Rand said, tapping the edges of the envelopes on the Formica counter where they kept the patient sign-in sheet on a clipboard.
“And Jessie Monroe is waiting for you in your office.”
The look Pauline gave him suggested he’d invited her least favorite politician to join him.
“I didn’t know what to do with her, so I put her in there.”
“Thanks,” he said again. He’d deal with the censure he saw in the receptionist’s eyes later.
His office was at the corner of the main clinic. It was a comfortable room that he’d paneled with real oak. Various western-themed items hung on the wall, from the skull of a cow to the horns of a watusi. Pictures of cowboys rounding up cattle hung on three walls; the fourth wall had windows that overlooked the front parking lot.
Jessie sat in one of the leather armchairs, the deep rust of the tanned hide matching the streaks in her red hair. She shot up when she saw him.
“Sleep in?”
“No,” he said tersely, although that’s exactly what he’d done.
She smiled. He ignored her, flipping through the mail stacked on his desk.
“I wasn’t sure what time I was supposed to be here this morning.”
“When we open is fine.”
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
He had, at least a hundred times. Seeing her in front of him only reinforced his misgivings.
“Haven’t changed my mind,” he said, setting the mail down and moving behind his desk. He felt a lot better with something between them. “Not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Just that you should remember you’re here on a trial basis.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Good, because I just got three résumés in today’s mail. If any of them look promising I’ll have Pauline arrange an interview.”
“I wonder what the odds are of that happening,” he thought he heard her mutter.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” she said, sitting up straighter. “So, then, since you’re not going to run me off with a shotgun, what do you want me to do?” Her smile was a little too bright.
“I’ve got clients coming in this morning. I’ll expect you to do the pre-exam. This afternoon we’ll go out on a few calls. You’ll ride along. In between, help Brandy clean the kennels and the stalls.”
“Terrific,” Jessie said with another gamine smile.
“You won’t think it’s terrific when you see some of the animals we’re treating. Colitis is going around.”
She winced. The bacterial disorder caused horses about as much discomfort as it did humans, and it wasn’t pretty.
“I’m sure Brandy will be happy to have your help.”
“I’m sure she will,” Jessie said.
“But our first order of business will be checking the mare and foal you helped deliver yesterday. I glanced in on them a few times last night and I’m concerned the foal isn’t nursing properly.”
She nodded. “Will do. Boss.”
Rand narrowed his eyes. It was the damnedest thing. Every time he met her gaze he felt almost itchy.
It was a feeling that followed him all the way out of the clinic. Rand scratched at the back of his neck and wondered if he’d picked up poison oak from one of the animals he’d treated.
“I can look in on them on my own,” she said, walking beside him. “You know, if you’ve got better things to do.”
She was peering up at him, and he noticed she had freckles sprinkled across her petite nose and high cheeks. But it was her lips that caught his attention. Their fullness specifically.
“No,” he said. “I want to check the foal’s motor skills this morning.”
She nodded and the two of them padded down the rubber-matted aisle. It was his favorite time of day, when all the horses were munching their food, their teeth grinding against the alfalfa a rhythmic sound accompanied by the rustling of hooves in shavings.
“You know, Rand,” she said. “You’re very lucky.”
He glanced down at her and wondered if her hair was naturally that red or if she dyed it. “What do you mean?”
“You have all this,” she said, splaying her arms. “Every morning.”
“Yeah?”
“I would give anything to surround myself with horses.”
Something about the way she said it made him stop. Some people came to horses late in life. Some people never came to them at all. Jessie had grown up in a trailer park on the outside of town—a single-wide her mom supposedly still occupied—far away from the world of tiny foals and fancy barns.
“Maybe one day you will,” he said.
Jessie smiled wistfully. “Well, in the meantime, this will do,” she said, dropping her arms. “Thank you for hiring me. Even if it’s for a day”
“You’re welcome,” Rand said, wondering why he suddenly felt like a heel.
Chapter Four
Jessie watched him walk away.
They’d checked on the foal, who seemed to be doing marvelously. Rand hardly cracked a smile as he finished his exam. When he left he didn’t even glance at her, just ordered her to help Brandy muck out stalls.
Jessie went to the groom stall he’d mentioned, finding a rake leaning in a corner and a wheelbarrow tipped upward so that the rim rested against the rubber-padded wall.
If he wanted her to clean stalls, she’d clean stalls. She’d be the best damn stall cleaner he’d ever seen.
So that’s what she did, working through the morning and occasionally catching glimpses of Dr. Doom through the horizontal bars. She waited for him to call her in to help him with some of his small animals, but apparently, despite what he’d told her earlier about doing pre-exams, Brandy was his assistant of choice. That seemed silly. Brandy didn’t know a thing, but Jessie supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She had a feeling Rand would give her a wide berth whenever possible.
Story of her life.
When it was time to go out with him on his afternoon calls, she’d been so busy all morning she was almost relieved at the prospect of sitting in his truck.
“We’ve got five calls to make,” he said, the two of them stopping next to his one-ton. “While we’re out with clients I’ll expect you to gather my supplies, keep control of the horses and, if I don’t need you for either of those two things, to stay out of my way.”
“Yeah…okay,” she said, all but sighing as her butt made contact with the seat. Jessie didn’t feel his stare at first, and when she did, she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“If you’re not up to this, Jessie, say the word and you can stay here at the clinic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look apprehensive.”
“Not apprehensive, just tired,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch my second wind in a minute.”
“You sure?”
“Let’s go,” she urged, giving him a wide smile.
They set off, Jessie staring out at the rolling hills, the scenery speeding by, all the while wondering if she’d deluded herself when she’d leaped to the conclusion that Rand found her attractive. Today he appeared to have himself well in hand, his shoot-Jessie-down radar firmly in place.
But still, some little devil made her straighten up, made her turn her body toward him and ask, “So, Dr. Sheppard…dating anyone?”
He did a double take. “Who wants to know?”
Me, she wanted to say, but only because she thought it’d be hilarious to see his reaction. “Just curious,” she said. “All the single women in town go gaga over you. I was wondering if one of them had caught your attention.”
“And if one had?” he asked, scanning her with a quick flick of his eyes.
“I would offer her my sincerest condolences and then give her the business card of a good psychologist.”
He sent her another quick glance, only this time his eyes were narrowed beneath his black hat. “You know, for someone already on shaky ground, you sure do like to mess with me.”
“I try,” she said.
They both lapsed into silence, which lasted until their first stop, a fancy ranch-style home—butter-yellow—with a prefab barn out back. A fresh-faced girl who didn’t appear old enough to have lost her baby teeth came outside to greet them, her boots and riding pants proclaiming her to be of the hunter-jumper set, the expression on her face announcing her to be a bona fide member of the Gaga for Dr. Sheppard Club.
It was a beautiful facility, especially impressive considering it was privately owned. Jessie forced herself not to stop and admire the luxurious surroundings, but focus on why they were here. A horse stood on crossties in the middle of the aisle in the barn, a big gray with white dapples along his neck and body.
“Hey, Lacy,” Rand said. “How you doing?”
“Fine,” she said, “but I wish Mongo was better.”
Forget the barn—and Rand—Mongo was gorgeous.
His head looked as sculpted as an Arabian’s, his body thick with muscles. But his feet were huge. Platter-size, actually. Warm blood, she thought. A type of equine developed from draft horse stock that usually came in two sizes: large and extra large. And an extra, extra large price tag.
“I just don’t know what could be wrong with him,” his owner was saying. “He came back from the desert circuit fine. I even gave him a week off. But when I took him out this morning, he could barely walk.”
Rand nodded, running his hand down the horse’s legs and checking for elevated pulse points that might indicate lameness. He also checked for heat and swelling, his expression perplexed when he didn’t appear to find anything.
“I don’t see anything yet, Lacy. Hey, Jessie, get me the hoof testers.”
She nodded and quickly fetched the tong-shaped instrument that reminded her of a fireplace tool, watching as he used it to apply pressure in various spots on each of the horse’s hooves.
“Nothing so far,” he said, straightening.
“Really?” Lacy asked.
“Really,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean he might not be injured higher up. Jessie, trot him out so we can see what happens.”
“Maybe I should do that,” Lacy said. “He’s kind of a handful on the ground.”
“No, no,” Jessie said. “I can do it.” She smiled at the woman.
“He sure has gotten big, Lacy,” she heard Rand say, tipping his hat back to get a better look.
“I know. Do you remember when my mom and dad bought him? Best graduation present I could ever have gotten. I’ve won just about everything there is on him.”
Graduation? The girl was old enough to have graduated from high school? And she’d gotten a twenty-thousand-dollar horse for a present? Maybe a forty-thousand-dollar horse. Must be nice.
But when Jessie asked the animal to walk forward, she forgot all about the price because it quickly became obvious that Mongo was indeed a handful. Actually, he was a terror, she thought when he tried to nip her arm.
“Careful,” Rand said.
“Maybe I should do it,” Lacy repeated.
Jessie shook her head. “No, no. It’s okay. I can do it.”
If she had to walk naked, up a cactus-infested hillside, barefoot, she’d do that before letting Mongo’s owner do her job.
“Come on, Mongo,” Jessie muttered, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
The gelding dug in his heels. She tugged harder.
It was like pulling against a tractor…or an oil derrick.
“Maybe I should—” interrupted the owner.
“No, no. I’ve handled animals his size before.”
Oh, yeah? When?
“Come on,” she said again, flicking the excess lead rope behind her so that it slapped the gelding’s belly.
He shot forward so fast she felt like a mouse tethered to a hot air balloon.
“Holy—” She cut off her curse because all at once she had to keep up with the beast, and to do that she had to run. For every three steps she took, the horse took one. Jessie was forced to half hop, half skip to keep up.
The distinctive clip-clop-clunk of a horse whose gait was off rang out. The animal’s head bobbed every time his right front hoof hit the ground.
“Poor baby,” she said, forgetting her animosity.
“Okay, that’s far enough,” Rand called.
“Whoa,” Jessie ordered.
The horse kept going. Big surprise.
She planted her heels.
And he still kept going.
Her feet left furrows in the ground. She would have laughed, but she was too busy trying to stop the horse. Jessie called out a stern “Whoa” again before something embarrassing could happen, such as losing her footing.
But the horse, in the perverse way of equines, didn’t want to whoa. Jessie could have sworn she saw the beast wrinkle his nose at her.
That did it.
She pulled on the rope with everything she had, giving herself rope burn in the process, and digging her feet into the ground as if she was anchoring the Titanic. And in a way, she was.
Mongo, likely stunned by the sudden dead weight, stopped.
“Good boy,” she wheezed, out of breath. She resisted the urge to double over and gasp.
“Okay,” she heard Rand call. Was that amusement in his voice? “Bring him back.”
“Great,” she muttered. “I was afraid he’d say that.” And then she turned and peered up at the huge gray. “If you do that again, I’m calling Alpo.”
The horse’s head flicked up; his ears swiveled back and forth, back and forth.
“Yeah, that’s right. Alpo. Or maybe Elmer’s Glue. Or the restaurant down the street from where I live. Whatever. Just don’t cross me.”
She eyed the horse. He eyed her back. She then slid the end of the braided cord through the gelding’s halter, just below his chin, the rope serving as a makeshift chin strap. “Let’s see how you like this,” she said, taking a deep breath before setting off again.
He didn’t want to trot, and she really didn’t blame him. If her foot hurt, she wouldn’t want to run, either. But she made him move by using the same technique as before—a flick of the rope—except this time she was prepared for his quick lunge forward. And this time when she asked him to stop, he obeyed, the pressure on his chin obviously doing the trick.
“Yup. Right front,” Rand said as she halted, winded—but trying not to look it. And even though his eyes were shaded by his hat, she could see his amusement.
Miracle of miracles.
“Thought you were going for a ride there,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“You really think it’s the right front?” Lacy asked. “I thought it was the left rear.”
“Nope. It’s the front. Jessie, we’ll need to take X rays. Do you know how to do that?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Good. Then hand Mongo off to Lacy and help me set up the equipment.”
WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG with him? Rand thought as he gathered the square X-ray plates. He was supposed to be checking a horse for soundness and all he could think about was how impressive Jessie had looked bravely trotting that big gelding back and forth.
And how a smile changed the color of her eyes.
“Here,” he said, handing her the thick film.
“Hey!” She shifted quickly to avoid dropping the plates.
“Sorry,” he muttered, turning to grab the portable machine, which resembled a tiny generator more than a piece of high-tech equipment.
“What’s wrong?” Jessie asked, her head tipping sideways so that her red hair touched her shoulder.
He released a breath, easing his neck. She had every reason to stare at him that way. She was doing a good job—a damn good job—and he’d yet to commend her on it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, scratching his neck again. Damn poison oak, or whatever it was. “You’re doing a great job, Jessie,” he admitted. “I thought for sure that horse was going to drag you all the way to the main road.”
“Me, too,” she confessed again, and there was that smile…
He used the brim of his hat to shield his eyes. “When I find someone for my clinic, you won’t have to worry about getting a recommendation from me.”
Then why don’t you hire her?
“Really?” she asked.
Because I believe in self-preservation.
“Really.”
“Oh, jeez, thanks. You have no idea how much easier it’ll be for me to find a job with a recommendation from an actual vet, not one of my instructors, or the people I’ve been interning for.”
The grin she gave him was open. Free.
Special.
“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.
Lord, he better find somebody soon.
Very soon.
Chapter Five
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Pamela Britton
Reviewers and readers Love Pamela Britton!
“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)
“A fairy tale that succeeds.”
—Publishers Weekly on Scandal
“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tempted
“Passion and humor are a potent combination…author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend.”
—Oakland Press
“This nonstop read has it all—sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (Top Pick) on Tempted
“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”
—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced
Dear Reader,
When I was in my teens, my friends and I had a huge crush on the large-animal vet who used to work on our horses. We would tease one another about calling the vet when our horses “sneezed” (actually just horse snorts) or when our horses needed their annual vaccinations (why couldn’t we vaccinate them more frequently?). When that vet’s truck pulled into the stable yard, we’d get as giddy as schoolgirls. Actually, I think we really were schoolgirls.
My hero in Cowboy Vet is nothing like the object of my childhood affection. (Okay, so my nose just grew a few inches.) Rand Sheppard is a culmination of all the vets who’ve worked on my horses over the years—yes, even the female veterinarians. To me, there’s nothing more heroic than the men and women who stay up late at night tending to sick animals. This book is a tribute to each and every one of them.
I hope you enjoy Cowboy Vet. If you’re in the mood to chat, feel free to drop me a line at www.pamelabritton.com. I love hearing from readers.
Pamela Britton
Cowboy Vet
Pamela Britton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAMELA BRITTON never inflicted her early, unpublished works on friends or family. Instead she passed her books to the wives of famous race-car drivers and crew chiefs. Fortunately, the response was overwhelmingly positive, so she took the plunge and submitted them. Seven publishing contracts later, Pamela’s work has been voted the best of the best by Barnes & Noble, the Detroit Free Press and Romantic Times BOOKclub. Recently one of Pamela’s novels, Scandal, outsold J. K. Rowling—for two whole days.
You can visit Pamela on her wacky Web site, www.pamelabritton.com (http://www.pamelabritton.com), or snail-mail her c/o P.O. Box 1281, Anderson, CA 96007.
This one’s for all the real-life veterinarians out there who’ve helped me with my animals over the years. You’re all the best.
Books by Pamela Britton
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
985—COWBOY LESSONS
1040—COWBOY TROUBLE
1122—COWBOY M.D.
HQN BOOKS
DANGEROUS CURVES
IN THE GROOVE
Contents
Chapter One (#u354879aa-3926-54e0-b480-327e323b4413)
Chapter Two (#uf6ee596b-a9f7-59ec-8483-908e3dad00eb)
Chapter Three (#u9a97b514-89b0-58d8-9b41-d14773579868)
Chapter Four (#u5c5c8cbb-9041-563c-97f6-19d7ecfb21d9)
Chapter Five (#uf876ead5-a42a-5aee-a172-9d8ddad478fe)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jessie the Jezebel.”
Jessie Monroe stared down at the man who’d spoken, a row of windows to the right perfectly illuminating his handsome, scowling face. The glass coffeepot she held tipped dangerously toward his lap.
“Well, well, well,” she mimicked. Her least favorite customer. “If it isn’t Dr. Dolittle.”
The restaurant seemed to grow quiet around them, everyone in the tiny diner no doubt listening in. Not surprising, since everyone supposedly “knew” what it was she’d “done” to Dr. Dolittle’s cousin.
Dr. Sheppard leaned back, the orange vinyl squeaking in a way that sounded crass. He didn’t seem to notice. “You going to pour me that cup of coffee or do I have to get it myself?”
She shifted her weight to her other leg, slowly lowering the pot, the liquid glug-glug-glugging as she poured. “Guess that answers your question, huh, Doc?”
“Guess it does.” He gave her a smile that could only be called smug as he peered at her from beneath his black cowboy hat.
“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order,” she said in a monotone, turning away from his booth without giving him another glance. Damn the man. Not only did he think he was God’s gift to women, but he always, always took pleasure in baiting her. His own form of revenge, she supposed.
“You and Dr. Cutie are exchanging evil glances again, I see,” Mavis said, her dark skin glistening beneath one of the warming lights as she picked up four plates of food and balanced them precariously up her arms. It was late spring, but you wouldn’t know it. The diner didn’t have air-conditioning.
Jessie looked over at the table. “I think he likes me about as much as I like him.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have a crush on him like half the women in this town.”
“Guess so,” Jessie said. In fact, she was probably the only woman who didn’t fancy the good doctor. Not that she didn’t understand his allure. She might not like him, but she was honest enough to admit that something in his eyes made her want to squirm.
Tall, dark and handsome he was, the term cliché and yet somehow appropriate. He looked like he belonged out on the range with a few hundred head of cattle milling nearby. There was nothing, absolutely nothing guaranteed to melt female hearts faster than a man who wore boots and who doctored furry little animals for a living.
“You gonna go back over and take his order, or shall I?” Mavis asked.
Jessie smiled. Leave it to Mavis to try to run interference. The two of them had formed a fast friendship the first day Jessie had come to work at the diner. They’d bonded over their mutual dislike of the pink polyester dresses they were forced to wear.
“No thanks, Mavis. I can handle Rand Sheppard.”
“Can you?” the man himself asked when she walked up to him a second later, order book in hand.
Jessie turned as red as the blinking Open sign, or at least it felt that way.
Damn it, she hadn’t meant him to hear. Or maybe she had. Her feelings always ran hot and cold where he was concerned. All that smirking self-confidence drove her nuts.
“Dr. Sheppard, I hate to bruise that overlarge ego of yours, but I’ve eaten men like you for breakfast.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “So I’ve heard.” He looked back at his menu. “I’ll take the Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins.”
“English muffins?” she said with a lift of her eyebrows. “Would you like some Earl Grey with that?”
“Nope. Just the muffins,” he answered gruffly, back to his usual surly self.
“Coming right up.” She tucked her pencil behind her ear, much easier to do ever since she’d chopped off all her red hair. “Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins,” Jessie called out, slipping the order sheet into the spinner, then flicking it toward Frank. “Extra arsenic,” she muttered under her breath.
But as she moved about the Kleenex box-shaped diner, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing in Rand Sheppard’s direction. It seemed every unmarried woman in town had set her cap for him—and failed to win him. And while Jessie knew better than to form a crush on the man, a part of her still wished he’d treat her as kindly as he treated everybody else. But that would never happen, she thought, watching as a man from the Diamond W slid into the booth across from Rand. Jessie had one of the worst reputations in town, one that had started when she’d—supposedly—ruined Rand’s cousin’s life.
“She only lasted two days,” she heard Rand say, over the clinking of dishes and silverware. “Shortest vet tech career at Sheppard Veterinary.”
Vet tech? He’d hired a new vet tech? What had happened to Sandy Anders, his old one? The woman was an icon at Sheppard Veterinary, almost as much a fixture as the ancient wagon wheels that guarded the clinic’s gate.
“So what are you going to do?” she heard the wrangler—Pete, she thought his name was—ask. Jessie picked up a hot plate while straining to listen. “You need help.”
“I know,” Rand answered.
She set the plate down in front of Hank, the smell of cooked bell peppers and cheese wafting up to her.
“Can I have some salt?” Hank was one of her regulars, a crusty old cowboy with a beat-up straw hat.
Jessie handed him the sugar.
“I said salt, Jessie.” He tapped the scarred white laminate turned yellow with age.
She blinked. “Oh, yeah. Sure, Hank. Salt. Sorry.”
She grabbed one of the forty salt-and-pepper sets on the bar beside the old-fashioned pie display, all the while listening in.
“You going to run another ad?” Pete asked.
“Guess I’ll have to. But I don’t hold out much hope of finding someone soon. You know how it is. Five hundred people want to work with animals, but only a few are qualified. Then they find out we’re out in the sticks and, well…”
They didn’t want to commute from the city. Jessie knew how it was. For three years she’d done the opposite commute from Los Molinos to the city—the nearby Bay Area. It’d taken her three years of night school and days of working in the diner, but she’d gotten her degree in animal science.
What Rand Sheppard didn’t know was that she, Jessie the Jezebel, was a certified veterinary technician.
And she was about to ask Rand Sheppard for a job.
FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Pete had left, Rand didn’t know what surprised him more, how hot the damn coffee was that Jessie Monroe served him, or that she slid into his booth after pouring him a cup.
“Mmph,” he mumbled, as some of the coffee dribbled back onto his chin.
“Too hot, I know,” she said.
And, as always happened when he looked at Jessie Monroe, he was struck by her eyes. Huge. And green, so green they looked like the new leaves that sprouted up around town. So green he found himself wondering yet again how the heck they could be such an impossible color. And then, as he always did when he caught himself staring, he remembered who she was.
“You could have told me it was hot,” he said, whipping the paper napkin off his place mat, the silverware tinkling as it spilled onto the Formica table.
“Why warn you? You’ve eaten here enough times to know it’s hot, and that it doesn’t taste very good.”
He did. And that irritated him all the more. She riled him. She always had—even before she’d been responsible for his cousin going to jail.
“Look,” she said, peeking over her shoulder toward the kitchen where Frank flipped bacon, oblivious to his employee’s defection, “I need to talk to you.”
Rand leaned back, his hand crumpling the napkin beneath the table. His whole body tensed, although truth be told he’d been on edge ever since he’d seen who his server was.
“What about?” he asked, his fingers digging into the paper.
“I want to work for you.”
If she’d told him she was about to rip her clothes off and dance naked, he couldn’t have been more surprised. “What?” he asked.
Actually, he might like that….
“I want to interview for your vet tech job,” she said, glancing at Frank again, the pink dress she wore gaping open as she leaned forward.
“But you’re not qualified,” he protested. Good Lord, the thought of Jessie Monroe coming to work for him…
“Actually,” she said, lifting her chin, “I am. I have a degree in animal science.”
What? “How?”
“Lots of late hours at the coffee shop while commuting to the Bay Area.”
“Which college?”
“Gavilan,” she said.
Something in his eyes must have made her think he wasn’t impressed, because she added, “It’s one of the top junior colleges in the state.”
“I know it is,” he said. It wasn’t the college she’d gone to, it was that she wanted to work as his veterinary assistant. Her. Jessie Monroe. Who as a wild-child teenager had let Tommy take the rap for her.
Rand absolutely would not hire her.
“Look, Jessie,” he said, “I’ve had hundreds of applicants—”
“Qualified applicants?” she asked, having obviously overheard him talking to Pete.
Rand tipped his head. “Some, yeah. My point being that there are people who’ve applied already, people I need to consider ahead of you.”
“But I might be better qualified than them,” she said. Her eyes seemed to shimmer. “Something you won’t know unless you interview me.”
“Nah. I’ve already looked over the applicants. A few of them have actual work experience, Jessie, not a bunch of college credits and a few lab classes under their belt.”
“How do you know that’s all I’ve got?”
“Educated guess.”
She leaned toward him. “Sometimes the most highly educated individuals are incompetent.”
“You got more than that?”
“Actually, I do,” she said proudly. “I’ve been interning at a breeding farm in the Bay Area part-time.”
“Then why don’t you go work for them?”
“Because the commute is killing me.”
He looked up at her. He didn’t really believe that excuse. “Then move to the Bay Area.”
“I don’t want to move. I like this town.”
“Jessie—”
“You just don’t want to hire me,” she interrupted.
“No. That’s not it—”
“Bull,” she said, slipping out of the booth. “Your refusal to interview me has nothing to do with my qualifications and everything to do with your cousin.”
“Well, yeah,” Rand said. “I’m not going to lie to you.”
She stared, and he could have sworn he saw hurt in her eyes. “You still think those drugs were mine?”
“With your reputation, why would I think that?”
“Because people are innocent until proven guilty.”
“There was nothing innocent about you.”
“And Tommy Lockford, cousin to the great Rand Sheppard, was a saint.”
“More of a saint than you were.” Rand took another sip of coffee, even though the topic of conversation all but turned his stomach.
“So you think.”
“So I know,” he said, throwing her words back in her face.
She shook her head, her bangs falling in her eyes. She pushed them away impatiently. “Why did I think you might give me a shot?” she muttered under her breath. “You wouldn’t hire me if I held a degree in veterinary medicine from UC Davis.”
All right. Time to cut to the chase. “You’re correct,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t.”
She stiffened.
“Order up!” Frank called.
Jessie half turned toward her boss, then looked back again. “We’re not through with this conversation, Dr. Sheppard.”
“Yes, we are,” he said in an equally stern tone. “You’re too late. I’ve already got someone in mind.”
She flicked her hair over her ears, her face coloring in a way that told him she knew he was lying.
“But if it looks like she’s not going to work out, I’ll let you know.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, walking away.
And he wouldn’t, Rand knew, because the idea of staring into those green eyes every day…well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
When he paid his bill a short while later, he realized why he was so worked up.
He didn’t want to hire Jessie because he had the hots for her.
And that was God’s honest truth.
Chapter Two
He hated her.
It was undisputable fact, Jessie thought as she finished her shift, Dr. Sheppard having long since hit the road.
By the end of the week, Jessie wished she could give herself a frontal lobotomy. Every time she recalled their conversation she went from burning mad to horribly embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him for a job.
But no matter how humiliating, she didn’t regret it. She’d do anything to break into her chosen field.
Which was probably why she found herself listening in on yet another conversation in the lineup at the espresso shop on her way to work.
“Hear he’s had a devil of a time keeping up with all the work.”
“That’s what happens when you’re the only large-animal vet in a town of two thousand.”
“Yeah,” said the first guy.
The sound of a coffee grinder filled the air; the chocolate smell of the beans made Jessie’s mouth water. If only Frank made coffee as good as this place. “I tried to get an appointment with him this morning but his receptionist said he was on his way into the clinic for an emergency surgery.”
“Gonna have a hell of a time doing that without an assistant. Or did he find someone?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Surgery? Jessie thought, placing her order a moment later. If he was supposed to do surgery he would need help. Unless he sent the animal out to another clinic. But hauling a sick animal might put too much stress on it, which meant he’d have to—
“You know what?” she said to the young woman making her drink, who raised her diamond-pierced eyebrow. “Scratch that order,” she said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
If the woman was mad at her for leaving, Jessie didn’t stick around to find out. She brushed by the people waiting in line and all but ran from the place.
Outside felt more like late winter than May. Los Molinos’s downtown strip was empty except in front of the Elegant Bean, where all the action usually took place this time of morning. Jessie snuggled into her down jacket, the faux fur around the hood tickling her cheek. The car she drove, a Honda that had seen better days, sat at the end of a string of vehicles. She was ten feet away when she saw the pool of radioactive-green coolant on the asphalt.
“Oh, Gladys,” she said, wincing and shaking her head. “Not today.”
A stream of vapor trailed her to the clinic on the other side of town. By the time she arrived, the motor gurgled as if it were on its last legs—and it probably was. She ignored it, choosing to deal with her engine’s lack of performance later, after she’d talked to Rand. If she talked to him.
That was a big if, she thought as she slipped out of her car into the cool morning air, her cheeks momentarily heated, saunalike, by condensation leaking from her radiator. On the glass door, the words Los Molinos Veterinary Clinic stood out in white letters. Her heart pounded like the horses that ran behind the low buildings.
Unfortunately, that same heart stopped the moment she saw who manned the front desk: Pauline Patterson, her childhood nemesis. Her old schoolmate really should have outgrown her animosity toward Jessie, but had never forgiven her for stealing the object of Pauline’s affection back in the seventh grade.
Oh, great.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at Jessie. She still wore her brown hair feathered back even though Jessie was pretty certain that style hadn’t been popular since the seventies—long before either of them had been born.
“Is Dr. Sheppard in?” Jessie asked, inwardly wincing at the malice she saw in the woman’s expression. Jeez. What would she have to do? Whip herself with rosary beads and wear a crown of thistles?
“What do you need to see him about?”
“I swallowed a mouse and I need his help getting it out,” Jessie said, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it’d seen better days. The faux leather bag was peeling away from its cotton backing. She hid it under her armpit. Not that it mattered. Pauline’s eyes hadn’t left her own.
“Okay, seriously. I heard he was on his way here with an emergency surgery. I wondered if he might need help.”
“He’s not available right now.”
She hadn’t asked if he was available, Jessie almost pointed out. “Is he prepping for surgery?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Did Jessie have to pull a gun on her? “Okay. Well, will you tell him I stopped by? And that I’m available to assist?”
“You?” Pauline asked, her fleshy arms coming to rest on her desk. “Available to assist?”
“Yes, me,” Jessie said, holding on to her temper by a thread.
“Since when do you know anything about veterinary medicine?”
“Since I graduated with an A.A. in veterinary science.”
Pauline huffed in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said, “you got it over the Internet.”
Okay, that did it. “Pauline,” Jessie said softly, drawing on the psych class she’d been forced to take for college credits, “I really don’t understand your animosity. But I wish we could bury the hatchet, especially since I’d like your help in convincing Dr. Sheppard to hire me.”
Silence. “You want Dr. Sheppard to hire you?” From the expression on Pauline’s face, it was as if Jessie had announced her intention to cure cancer using nothing more than nose drops.
“Why not?” Jessie said. “I’m local. I love animals. And I have a degree.”
“Well, I’m sure Dr. Sheppard will be thrilled to hear all about your qualifications, but no amount of schooling can teach a person integrity.”
If Jessie didn’t leave now, she’d do something she might regret. “Just tell Dr. Sheppard I dropped by, ’kay?” she asked. “Can you do that?”
All she got in response was what might be an attempt at a smile.
Jessie shook her head, turned around—
And ran smack dab into Dr. Sheppard.
“Jessie Monroe.”
“Hello, Rand,” she said, clutching his arms at the same time he held her by the shoulders, his black hat knocked askew, his big hands warm even through her thick coat.
His expression, however, was cold. “What are you doing here?”
HE KNEW HE SOUNDED RUDE, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.
“I stopped in to see if you needed help with your surgery.”
The surgery? How had she known…? It really didn’t matter. He glanced at Pauline. “Did Dr. Franklin call?”
His receptionist shook her head, her face creased in a frown. “Sorry, Doctor. He’s out of the office for the week.”
“Well, did you ask if his assistant could come?”
“There’s nobody.”
Damn it. He’d been dreading this exact scenario. In vain he’d tried to get a qualified vet tech out here to help out. Failing that, he’d tried to get an out-of-area vet to be on call. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for some reason every vet within a sixty-mile radius was either already on call for another clinic or out of the office.
“Where’s Brandy?”
“She’s in the back, cleaning kennels.”
“Get her out here. I’m going to need her help with a C-section.”
“But—”
Rand didn’t wait to hear her response. Brandy wasn’t qualified, but she would do. God willing, there’d be no complications from surgery that might require another pair of skilled hands.
“Rand, wait,” Jessie said, following him outside to the horse trailer hooked up to his black, one-ton truck. Valerie, the owner of the mare—a college-age kid Rand knew wouldn’t be able to afford the coming vet bill—stared at him with wide eyes. The mare on the other end of the lead rope stood with her head down, her chestnut sides dark with sweat.
“I don’t have time to wait,” he said, signaling the mare’s owner to follow. “I’ve got a foal to get out.”
“I can help with that,” Jessie stated, stepping up alongside him, her short red hair framing her face.
“Brandy can help,” he said curtly. That was all he needed—Jessie to mess things up.
His vet clinic was set up like most—main office at the front, equine exam room behind that, with a surgical facility and medical barn out back. He slid open one side of the double doors between the office and the surgical room, flicking on a light. “Bring her in here.”
“Dr. Sheppard,” Valerie said, “You know I can’t pay—”
“I know. Don’t worry.”
When his gaze drifted past the frightened girl, he saw Jessie trailing in their wake.
“Jessie. Really. I don’t need your—”
“Stuff it,” she said. “You’ve got no assistant. I’m it.”
He didn’t have the energy to fight her—or the time. He led Jessie and Valerie to the surgical room.
Things happened in a hurry. The mare’s water had broken nearly an hour ago. That meant the foal might have been oxygen-deprived for nearly a half hour. Not good.
The first test of Jessie’s skill came within minutes. “Can you do a prep for me?” he asked.
“Where are the clippers?”
“Third drawer on the right.”
She nodded; he turned away, gathering the medication he’d need.
The sound of the clippers filled the room as Rand hung the IV set on the hook suspended above the mare’s back. His needle primed, he turned, surprised to see Jessie swabbing the area around the mare’s jugular she’d just clipped, the stringent smell of alcohol filling the room.
“Ready,” she said, stepping back.
Brandy showed up then, slowly shuffling her feet. Rand concealed his displeasure. The girl was never in a hurry to go anywhere, which meant trouble in a vet clinic, where seconds might count. Frankly, he probably would have fired her if he wasn’t so short-staffed. He’d have to talk to her about that. Again.
“Lead her up,” he told Brandy, signaling for the mare’s owner to step back.
Brandy tried, but the tired mare didn’t want to move.
“G’yup there,” Jessie said before he could. “Go on.” She slapped the horse on the rump and clucked.
That did the trick. Rand quickly administered the valium. Within seconds the big chestnut’s knees buckled, then she went down. It took both Jessie and Rand to hook the unconscious mare to the hoist that would move her into position on the padded operating table.
“That’s it,” he said, the tricky procedure accomplished in a matter of minutes. Precious minutes.
Damn.
“Brandy, get the—”
But Jessie was already one step ahead of him, searching through drawers and finding the mouth tube.
“Can I do anything?” Brandy asked, fiddling nervously with the end of her brown ponytail. He’d had her assist with other surgeries, but she was still so new that she approached each procedure with trepidation.
“Just stand there for now.” He inserted a catheter in the mare’s vein as Jessie handed him the ends of the IV set. When he was done with that, she hooked the mare to the respirator and vital-signs monitor near the horse’s head.
Impressive.
It was all he had time to think before he was busy getting instruments ready for the next step.
“You might want to go outside,” he told Valerie.
The young girl didn’t need to be told twice. She knew what was coming and knew it wouldn’t be pretty. The question was, how would Jessie take it?
“What about me?” Brandy asked.
“Stay here. I might need you.”
The sound of the hair trimmer buzzed through the air again, Jessie prepping the surgical area without glancing up. His estimation of her skills rose with each swipe of the clippers. She didn’t need to be told where he’d be cutting. She obviously knew. And she knew how big an area to clip, too.
“You’ve done this before,” he said.
“Once or twice,” she offered, grabbing the Betadine she’d pulled off the counter, liberally swathing the area.
The breeding farm, he surmised. So she really had worked for one.
“Ready?” Jessie said, stepping out of the way, the latex gloves he hadn’t even seen her pull on covered with the yellow-brown solution.
“Ready,” he said, removing his cowboy hat and slipping on his own gloves.
He made the first incision, then looked sideways at Jessie. She didn’t flinch.
Good.
He took the next instrument from her hand. In a matter of minutes he’d reached the foal, the mare’s steady vital signs a rhythmic beep-beep-beep in his ears.
“Almost there,” he said, reaching his gloved hand into the quarter horse’s distended abdomen.
“Ooh, gross,” Brandy said.
Rand ignored her. “Damn breeders are growing them bigger and bigger,” he said, feeling around for a leg. “The mares just aren’t equipped for a baby bred from a sixteen-two-hand stallion. Seems like I’m doing more and more of these of late.”
“Sixteen-two?” Jessie asked.
He nodded, tongue between his teeth as he reached farther inside. “And that’s on the smaller end of the scale. I’m seeing seventeen-hand stallions advertised in the Quarter Horse Journal.”
“Jeez.”
And then he had it, his hand closing around a miniature hoof. After a tug that seemed almost too infinitesimal to do much, the foal slipped from the mare’s abdomen.
“There we go.”
“Oh, wow,” Brandy gasped, reflecting how Rand felt every single time he welcomed a foal into the world. But it was far too soon to know if this little guy would be sticking around.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a scalpel, which he used to rip open the placenta.
“Not breathing,” he said. “Damn it.”
He stuck his finger up the tiny foal’s nostril, cleaning it out and then blowing into it in the hopes that he could jump-start the baby’s lungs.
One breath.
Two.
The foal’s chest suddenly twitched.
“Holy cow,” Brandy said when the newborn’s eyes opened.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a stethoscope. Rand checked the foal’s gum color. Within seconds they’d turned a healthy shade of pink.
“So far so good,” he said, clearing more of the placenta from around the animal and then grabbing the stethoscope.
He checked the baby’s heart, then the lungs. Clear of liquid. The foal tried to sit up, its unused neck muscles straining.
“Well?” Jessie said, and for the first time he heard emotion in her voice.
“I think he’ll be all right,” Rand murmured. “Brandy, come on over here and wipe the little guy down while Jessie and I close up.”
Chapter Three
She’d impressed him.
Jessie wanted to punch the air as she exited the post-op stall ahead of Dr. Sheppard. She didn’t, but it was damn hard not to smile.
The smell of fresh pine shavings filled the air, the horizontal aluminum bars that allowed people to see into the stalls gleaming in the late-morning light. It was a state-of-the-art barn, complete with closed-circuit cameras, heaters and even giant fans for those days when the Los Molinos mercury rose too high.
“So,” she said, leaning against the bars and staring at the mare and foal. The foal was trying hard to stay balanced on his new legs. “When do you want me to start?”
No answer.
“Well?” she asked, glancing at him, her euphoria at a job well done making her bold.
“Jessie,” he said, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I appreciate your help today, but I’m still not going to hire you.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, Rand, you couldn’t have done that surgery without me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, crossing his arms. He stared down at her in that serious way of his. The expression always made her uncomfortable. “Brandy could have helped.”
“And lost you valuable time. That girl doesn’t know OB pullers from a lead rope.”
“She doesn’t need to know,” he said. “I could have told her what was needed.”
Jessie stared up at him. “Look,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. His eyes darted downward.
She stiffened.
Had he just—?
Nah, she told herself. He hadn’t just looked at her breasts. No way. Dr. Rand Sheppard wouldn’t give her a second glance.
She pulled her shoulders back nonetheless, under the pretext of hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, her elbows bent so that her breasts strained against the white T-shirt she’d worn beneath her beat-up jacket.
He glanced down again, only this time his eyes narrowed and he frowned, his mouth a flat line. “Look at what?”
He was checking her out.
Jessie couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t happy about it, she could tell, but that’s what he’d just done.
She pulled her shoulders back even more, thrusting a hip out for good measure. “Look,” she said, making her voice softer, “I understand you don’t like me.” But you like my breasts. “Let’s put that aside for a moment,” she said rocking slightly. “You’re in a bind.”
“I could hire somebody tomorrow if I wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?” she asked.
“Because they’re not qualified. Everyone who’s applied so far has no experience and minimal education.”
“Which just proves my point…or the point I was about to make. Hire me until a qualified applicant comes along.”
He glanced down. And there it was again: the look. The one he tried too hard to deny—sexual interest.
He found her attractive.
In-ter-resting.
“If you find someone tomorrow, I’ll leave,” she added. “But I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
“I still don’t think—”
“Rand,” she said, clutching his arm.
He acted as if she’d touched him with a twelve-gauge needle.
“Don’t—” he pulled back “—touch me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
After all these years. After all the surly expressions. All the barbed comments. All the sarcastic retorts. He found her attractive.
“Sor-ry,” she said. She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.
“I don’t like to be touched,” he muttered.
“That must play hell on your love life.”
He didn’t answer.
She bit back a laugh. “As I was about to say,” she resumed, “I don’t mind being temporary help. Heck, it’ll give me experience I can put on my résumé. Or are you willing to put the lives of the animals at risk by having someone like Brandy assist while you’re out on calls?”
His lips went tight.
She knew she had him then.
“I’ll bow out of your clinic the minute you find a suitable replacement.”
A horse neighed, the answering calls momentarily filling the barn. Rand turned away, staring down the long aisle.
“Fine,” he said, glancing back to her. “But it’ll just be temporary.”
“Got it,” she said, trying hard to conceal her delight. “Temporary. When do you want me to start?”
Again he looked pained. “Tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
He shook his head.
Probably he needed to get his wandering eyes under control.
“Call me if you need me,” she said.
All he did was nod.
Dr. Sheppard found her attractive.
Miracles would never cease.
IT’D BEEN A MOMENT of insanity. An act of desperation brought on by a long night spent keeping a colicky horse alive, followed by the emergency C-section.
At least that’s what he told himself the next morning, because there was no other reason he’d invite Jessie to work for him.
It’s just temporary, he told himself as he slipped into the warm clinic.
“Morning, Doctor,” Pauline said, shooting him a jowly smile that never failed to make him smile back.
“Mornin’, Pauline.”
Rand flipped through the mail he’d forgotten yesterday, thanks to back-to-back emergency calls. He’d sunk into bed exhausted, and praying that nobody’s horse would founder or get colic or need emergency sutures.
“You’ve got three small-animal appointments, two need shots and one has a foxtail down his ear—or so the owner thinks. The foxtail is coming in first thing,” Pauline said, peering over the eye-level counter that surrounded her like a corral. “I’ve scheduled your large-animal clients for this afternoon.”
“Thanks,” Rand said, tapping the edges of the envelopes on the Formica counter where they kept the patient sign-in sheet on a clipboard.
“And Jessie Monroe is waiting for you in your office.”
The look Pauline gave him suggested he’d invited her least favorite politician to join him.
“I didn’t know what to do with her, so I put her in there.”
“Thanks,” he said again. He’d deal with the censure he saw in the receptionist’s eyes later.
His office was at the corner of the main clinic. It was a comfortable room that he’d paneled with real oak. Various western-themed items hung on the wall, from the skull of a cow to the horns of a watusi. Pictures of cowboys rounding up cattle hung on three walls; the fourth wall had windows that overlooked the front parking lot.
Jessie sat in one of the leather armchairs, the deep rust of the tanned hide matching the streaks in her red hair. She shot up when she saw him.
“Sleep in?”
“No,” he said tersely, although that’s exactly what he’d done.
She smiled. He ignored her, flipping through the mail stacked on his desk.
“I wasn’t sure what time I was supposed to be here this morning.”
“When we open is fine.”
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
He had, at least a hundred times. Seeing her in front of him only reinforced his misgivings.
“Haven’t changed my mind,” he said, setting the mail down and moving behind his desk. He felt a lot better with something between them. “Not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Just that you should remember you’re here on a trial basis.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Good, because I just got three résumés in today’s mail. If any of them look promising I’ll have Pauline arrange an interview.”
“I wonder what the odds are of that happening,” he thought he heard her mutter.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” she said, sitting up straighter. “So, then, since you’re not going to run me off with a shotgun, what do you want me to do?” Her smile was a little too bright.
“I’ve got clients coming in this morning. I’ll expect you to do the pre-exam. This afternoon we’ll go out on a few calls. You’ll ride along. In between, help Brandy clean the kennels and the stalls.”
“Terrific,” Jessie said with another gamine smile.
“You won’t think it’s terrific when you see some of the animals we’re treating. Colitis is going around.”
She winced. The bacterial disorder caused horses about as much discomfort as it did humans, and it wasn’t pretty.
“I’m sure Brandy will be happy to have your help.”
“I’m sure she will,” Jessie said.
“But our first order of business will be checking the mare and foal you helped deliver yesterday. I glanced in on them a few times last night and I’m concerned the foal isn’t nursing properly.”
She nodded. “Will do. Boss.”
Rand narrowed his eyes. It was the damnedest thing. Every time he met her gaze he felt almost itchy.
It was a feeling that followed him all the way out of the clinic. Rand scratched at the back of his neck and wondered if he’d picked up poison oak from one of the animals he’d treated.
“I can look in on them on my own,” she said, walking beside him. “You know, if you’ve got better things to do.”
She was peering up at him, and he noticed she had freckles sprinkled across her petite nose and high cheeks. But it was her lips that caught his attention. Their fullness specifically.
“No,” he said. “I want to check the foal’s motor skills this morning.”
She nodded and the two of them padded down the rubber-matted aisle. It was his favorite time of day, when all the horses were munching their food, their teeth grinding against the alfalfa a rhythmic sound accompanied by the rustling of hooves in shavings.
“You know, Rand,” she said. “You’re very lucky.”
He glanced down at her and wondered if her hair was naturally that red or if she dyed it. “What do you mean?”
“You have all this,” she said, splaying her arms. “Every morning.”
“Yeah?”
“I would give anything to surround myself with horses.”
Something about the way she said it made him stop. Some people came to horses late in life. Some people never came to them at all. Jessie had grown up in a trailer park on the outside of town—a single-wide her mom supposedly still occupied—far away from the world of tiny foals and fancy barns.
“Maybe one day you will,” he said.
Jessie smiled wistfully. “Well, in the meantime, this will do,” she said, dropping her arms. “Thank you for hiring me. Even if it’s for a day”
“You’re welcome,” Rand said, wondering why he suddenly felt like a heel.
Chapter Four
Jessie watched him walk away.
They’d checked on the foal, who seemed to be doing marvelously. Rand hardly cracked a smile as he finished his exam. When he left he didn’t even glance at her, just ordered her to help Brandy muck out stalls.
Jessie went to the groom stall he’d mentioned, finding a rake leaning in a corner and a wheelbarrow tipped upward so that the rim rested against the rubber-padded wall.
If he wanted her to clean stalls, she’d clean stalls. She’d be the best damn stall cleaner he’d ever seen.
So that’s what she did, working through the morning and occasionally catching glimpses of Dr. Doom through the horizontal bars. She waited for him to call her in to help him with some of his small animals, but apparently, despite what he’d told her earlier about doing pre-exams, Brandy was his assistant of choice. That seemed silly. Brandy didn’t know a thing, but Jessie supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She had a feeling Rand would give her a wide berth whenever possible.
Story of her life.
When it was time to go out with him on his afternoon calls, she’d been so busy all morning she was almost relieved at the prospect of sitting in his truck.
“We’ve got five calls to make,” he said, the two of them stopping next to his one-ton. “While we’re out with clients I’ll expect you to gather my supplies, keep control of the horses and, if I don’t need you for either of those two things, to stay out of my way.”
“Yeah…okay,” she said, all but sighing as her butt made contact with the seat. Jessie didn’t feel his stare at first, and when she did, she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“If you’re not up to this, Jessie, say the word and you can stay here at the clinic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look apprehensive.”
“Not apprehensive, just tired,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch my second wind in a minute.”
“You sure?”
“Let’s go,” she urged, giving him a wide smile.
They set off, Jessie staring out at the rolling hills, the scenery speeding by, all the while wondering if she’d deluded herself when she’d leaped to the conclusion that Rand found her attractive. Today he appeared to have himself well in hand, his shoot-Jessie-down radar firmly in place.
But still, some little devil made her straighten up, made her turn her body toward him and ask, “So, Dr. Sheppard…dating anyone?”
He did a double take. “Who wants to know?”
Me, she wanted to say, but only because she thought it’d be hilarious to see his reaction. “Just curious,” she said. “All the single women in town go gaga over you. I was wondering if one of them had caught your attention.”
“And if one had?” he asked, scanning her with a quick flick of his eyes.
“I would offer her my sincerest condolences and then give her the business card of a good psychologist.”
He sent her another quick glance, only this time his eyes were narrowed beneath his black hat. “You know, for someone already on shaky ground, you sure do like to mess with me.”
“I try,” she said.
They both lapsed into silence, which lasted until their first stop, a fancy ranch-style home—butter-yellow—with a prefab barn out back. A fresh-faced girl who didn’t appear old enough to have lost her baby teeth came outside to greet them, her boots and riding pants proclaiming her to be of the hunter-jumper set, the expression on her face announcing her to be a bona fide member of the Gaga for Dr. Sheppard Club.
It was a beautiful facility, especially impressive considering it was privately owned. Jessie forced herself not to stop and admire the luxurious surroundings, but focus on why they were here. A horse stood on crossties in the middle of the aisle in the barn, a big gray with white dapples along his neck and body.
“Hey, Lacy,” Rand said. “How you doing?”
“Fine,” she said, “but I wish Mongo was better.”
Forget the barn—and Rand—Mongo was gorgeous.
His head looked as sculpted as an Arabian’s, his body thick with muscles. But his feet were huge. Platter-size, actually. Warm blood, she thought. A type of equine developed from draft horse stock that usually came in two sizes: large and extra large. And an extra, extra large price tag.
“I just don’t know what could be wrong with him,” his owner was saying. “He came back from the desert circuit fine. I even gave him a week off. But when I took him out this morning, he could barely walk.”
Rand nodded, running his hand down the horse’s legs and checking for elevated pulse points that might indicate lameness. He also checked for heat and swelling, his expression perplexed when he didn’t appear to find anything.
“I don’t see anything yet, Lacy. Hey, Jessie, get me the hoof testers.”
She nodded and quickly fetched the tong-shaped instrument that reminded her of a fireplace tool, watching as he used it to apply pressure in various spots on each of the horse’s hooves.
“Nothing so far,” he said, straightening.
“Really?” Lacy asked.
“Really,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean he might not be injured higher up. Jessie, trot him out so we can see what happens.”
“Maybe I should do that,” Lacy said. “He’s kind of a handful on the ground.”
“No, no,” Jessie said. “I can do it.” She smiled at the woman.
“He sure has gotten big, Lacy,” she heard Rand say, tipping his hat back to get a better look.
“I know. Do you remember when my mom and dad bought him? Best graduation present I could ever have gotten. I’ve won just about everything there is on him.”
Graduation? The girl was old enough to have graduated from high school? And she’d gotten a twenty-thousand-dollar horse for a present? Maybe a forty-thousand-dollar horse. Must be nice.
But when Jessie asked the animal to walk forward, she forgot all about the price because it quickly became obvious that Mongo was indeed a handful. Actually, he was a terror, she thought when he tried to nip her arm.
“Careful,” Rand said.
“Maybe I should do it,” Lacy repeated.
Jessie shook her head. “No, no. It’s okay. I can do it.”
If she had to walk naked, up a cactus-infested hillside, barefoot, she’d do that before letting Mongo’s owner do her job.
“Come on, Mongo,” Jessie muttered, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
The gelding dug in his heels. She tugged harder.
It was like pulling against a tractor…or an oil derrick.
“Maybe I should—” interrupted the owner.
“No, no. I’ve handled animals his size before.”
Oh, yeah? When?
“Come on,” she said again, flicking the excess lead rope behind her so that it slapped the gelding’s belly.
He shot forward so fast she felt like a mouse tethered to a hot air balloon.
“Holy—” She cut off her curse because all at once she had to keep up with the beast, and to do that she had to run. For every three steps she took, the horse took one. Jessie was forced to half hop, half skip to keep up.
The distinctive clip-clop-clunk of a horse whose gait was off rang out. The animal’s head bobbed every time his right front hoof hit the ground.
“Poor baby,” she said, forgetting her animosity.
“Okay, that’s far enough,” Rand called.
“Whoa,” Jessie ordered.
The horse kept going. Big surprise.
She planted her heels.
And he still kept going.
Her feet left furrows in the ground. She would have laughed, but she was too busy trying to stop the horse. Jessie called out a stern “Whoa” again before something embarrassing could happen, such as losing her footing.
But the horse, in the perverse way of equines, didn’t want to whoa. Jessie could have sworn she saw the beast wrinkle his nose at her.
That did it.
She pulled on the rope with everything she had, giving herself rope burn in the process, and digging her feet into the ground as if she was anchoring the Titanic. And in a way, she was.
Mongo, likely stunned by the sudden dead weight, stopped.
“Good boy,” she wheezed, out of breath. She resisted the urge to double over and gasp.
“Okay,” she heard Rand call. Was that amusement in his voice? “Bring him back.”
“Great,” she muttered. “I was afraid he’d say that.” And then she turned and peered up at the huge gray. “If you do that again, I’m calling Alpo.”
The horse’s head flicked up; his ears swiveled back and forth, back and forth.
“Yeah, that’s right. Alpo. Or maybe Elmer’s Glue. Or the restaurant down the street from where I live. Whatever. Just don’t cross me.”
She eyed the horse. He eyed her back. She then slid the end of the braided cord through the gelding’s halter, just below his chin, the rope serving as a makeshift chin strap. “Let’s see how you like this,” she said, taking a deep breath before setting off again.
He didn’t want to trot, and she really didn’t blame him. If her foot hurt, she wouldn’t want to run, either. But she made him move by using the same technique as before—a flick of the rope—except this time she was prepared for his quick lunge forward. And this time when she asked him to stop, he obeyed, the pressure on his chin obviously doing the trick.
“Yup. Right front,” Rand said as she halted, winded—but trying not to look it. And even though his eyes were shaded by his hat, she could see his amusement.
Miracle of miracles.
“Thought you were going for a ride there,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“You really think it’s the right front?” Lacy asked. “I thought it was the left rear.”
“Nope. It’s the front. Jessie, we’ll need to take X rays. Do you know how to do that?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Good. Then hand Mongo off to Lacy and help me set up the equipment.”
WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG with him? Rand thought as he gathered the square X-ray plates. He was supposed to be checking a horse for soundness and all he could think about was how impressive Jessie had looked bravely trotting that big gelding back and forth.
And how a smile changed the color of her eyes.
“Here,” he said, handing her the thick film.
“Hey!” She shifted quickly to avoid dropping the plates.
“Sorry,” he muttered, turning to grab the portable machine, which resembled a tiny generator more than a piece of high-tech equipment.
“What’s wrong?” Jessie asked, her head tipping sideways so that her red hair touched her shoulder.
He released a breath, easing his neck. She had every reason to stare at him that way. She was doing a good job—a damn good job—and he’d yet to commend her on it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, scratching his neck again. Damn poison oak, or whatever it was. “You’re doing a great job, Jessie,” he admitted. “I thought for sure that horse was going to drag you all the way to the main road.”
“Me, too,” she confessed again, and there was that smile…
He used the brim of his hat to shield his eyes. “When I find someone for my clinic, you won’t have to worry about getting a recommendation from me.”
Then why don’t you hire her?
“Really?” she asked.
Because I believe in self-preservation.
“Really.”
“Oh, jeez, thanks. You have no idea how much easier it’ll be for me to find a job with a recommendation from an actual vet, not one of my instructors, or the people I’ve been interning for.”
The grin she gave him was open. Free.
Special.
“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.
Lord, he better find somebody soon.
Very soon.
Chapter Five
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Pamela Britton
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Cowboy Vet, электронная книга автора Pamela Britton на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы