“Oh,” she said softly, obviously already in love with the animal. She glanced up at Patrick as she stroked the fur beneath the dog’s chin, making him wonder what he had to do to get the same kind of attention. “I’ll bet she was abandoned and looking for a warm and dry place to sleep.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe how many pets are dropped off by the side of a road or dumped in an empty field by people who have grown bored with them.”
He frowned at that. “Why wouldn’t they take them to a local shelter?”
“Because then they’d have to own up to their abandonment rather than pretend the animal just ran away,” Brooke explained, as she continued to stroke and soothe the dog. “Although sometimes pets do escape through an open door or window and race off in search of adventure, then can’t find their way home again.”
“So someone might be looking for her?”
“It’s possible. She doesn’t have a collar, which means no tags, although she might be microchipped.”
“How can you find that out?”
“I have a portable scanner in the truck,” she said, giving the dog a last scratch behind the ears and rising to her feet.
She was back in only a few minutes, with the scanner in hand. She set it on the floor so the dog could sniff it and know there was no reason to be afraid.
“How do you know where to look?” Patrick asked, as she scanned the dog’s back.
“Microchips are implanted just beneath the skin, right between the shoulder blades,” she told him. “Although they can sometimes migrate to other places.”
But she finished her check and shook her head as she set the scanner aside again.
“No microchip,” he realized. “So what am I supposed to do with her now? Should I put up flyers saying ‘Found Dog’?”
“You could,” she said. “But if someone was looking for a lost pet, they probably would have called the clinic.”
“How about flyers saying ‘Dog Looking for a Good Home’?”
“Isn’t this a good home?”
“I’ve got enough other animals to take care of without adding a dog to the mix,” he said. Though this one really did seem to be a sweet-natured creature, and he’d often wished for a dog when he was younger.
“She wouldn’t be much trouble,” Brooke assured him. “Have you given her anything to eat?”
“I opened a can of stew,” he admitted. “It was the only thing I could find that seemed suitable.”
“Did she like it?”
“Gobbled it up like she was starving,” he said. “Though she certainly doesn’t look as if she is.”
“You think she’s overweight?” Brooke asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“You don’t?”
“No,” she said. “I think she’s pregnant.”
* * *
“I’m done with my fort!” Brendan announced as he entered the barn.
“Did you leave any snow on the ground?” Brooke asked, noting the amount of white stuff that covered her son.
He grinned, his white teeth a contrast to his red cheeks. “I made snow angels, too.”
Then he spotted the dog.
“You got a dog?” he said, looking at Patrick with wide eyes.
“I think it might be more accurate to say that she got me,” the rancher replied dryly.
Brendan dropped to his knees, far enough away so that the animal wouldn’t feel threatened, and tugged off his snow-covered mittens. “What’s his name?”
“Her,” Brooke automatically corrected him.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have a name,” Patrick said. “Or if she does, I don’t know what it is.”
“How come?”
“Because she’s not my dog.”
“She should have a name,” Brendan said. “Maybe you could call her Chewie.”
“Chewie?” Patrick echoed dubiously.
“Because she’s furry, like Chewbacca,” the boy explained.
“But she’s a girl,” Brooke said again.
Her son shrugged, clearly unconcerned about the gender implications of the suggested name, as the dog inched closer to the boy. When she was close enough, she nudged his arm with her nose, as if asking to be petted. He lifted his hand to oblige, and she licked his palm, making him giggle.
“Look, Mom. She likes me.”
“Well, you are a pretty likable kid,” she said.
Brendan flashed her a quick smile before shifting his attention back to the dog, stroking her gently.
“And Chewie’s a good dog,” he said. “Aren’t you, Chewie?”
“How about Princess?” Brooke suggested as an alternative moniker.
“How about we stop trying to give the dog a name?” Patrick countered.
“Why are you afraid of naming her?” she asked.
“Because my grandfather always said that as soon as you name a stray, it becomes yours,” he admitted.
“I’m pretty sure she’s already yours,” Brooke said.
“Princess is almost as good a name as Chewie,” Brendan decided, siding with his mother. “If you think it’s better for a girl dog.”
Patrick’s sigh was filled with resignation. “I don’t care. You can call her whatever you want, because she’s not going to be here very long.”
“Want to bet?” Brooke challenged with a smile.
He shook his head. “I’m not keeping the dog and I’m definitely not keeping any puppies.”
“She’s gonna have puppies?” Brendan was clearly thrilled by the idea.
His mom nodded.
“When?” the little boy wanted to know.
“I’d guess in about four to five weeks,” she said.
“Can you guess how many?” Patrick asked.
“Sure, I could guess,” she told him. “But that’s all it would be. If you want an accurate number, you could bring her into the clinic for an X-ray.”
“If you aren’t gonna keep the puppies, what’ll happen to them?” Brendan asked, sounding worried.
“I’ll find homes for them,” Patrick promised.
“We could take one,” her son offered helpfully.
“No, we can’t,” Brooke said firmly.
Brendan’s face fell. “Why not?”
“Because puppies are a lot of work and I don’t have the time or the patience to train one.”
“I could help,” he said.
“I’m sure you’d like to help,” she acknowledged. “But who would look after a puppy all day when I’m at work and you’re at school?”
“Maybe we could get two puppies,” he suggested. “Then they could look after each other.”
“A creative argument,” Patrick said, sounding impressed by the boy’s reasoning.
“But not a convincing one,” she assured him, before turning to her son again. “Brendan, two puppies would be twice as much work—and twice as much money.”
He pouted. “You never let me have anything I want.”
She held his gaze for a minute, waiting for him to acknowledge the inaccuracy of his own words.
“You always say no when I ask for a puppy,” he clarified.
“For the same reasons I just explained,” she agreed.
“But I really want a puppy,” Brendan told her.
“I know,” she said. “But a puppy really wouldn’t be happy trapped inside our apartment for twenty hours every day.”
“Your mom’s right,” Patrick chimed in, surprising Brooke by speaking out in support of her position. “A puppy needs a lot of attention and exercise and training.”
She knew Brendan would have folded his arms over his chest if his hands hadn’t been busy stroking the dog. Instead his lower lip poked forward to express his unhappiness that the ad
ults were siding against him.
“Of course, the puppies are going to have to stay with their mom for several weeks after they’re born,” the rancher continued.
“At least six weeks,” her son interjected.
Patrick nodded. “At least six weeks,” he confirmed. “And during that time, if they’re still here, you can visit them anytime you want.”
“Anytime?” Brendan echoed hopefully.
“So long as it’s okay with your mom,” Patrick agreed.
* * *
A few days later, when Brooke returned to the Silver Star, she noticed a woman at the paddock fence, feeding treats to the horses. She had long dark hair and was wearing a fleece-lined denim jacket over faded jeans tucked into well-worn cowboy boots. Aware that she’d jumped to conclusions about Patrick’s relationship with a female visitor to the ranch once before, Brooke cautioned herself against doing the same thing this time. But considering the rancher’s reputation as a player, and the fact that he hadn’t made another move on her since the kiss—aside from some casual flirting, which she suspected came as naturally to him as breathing—it wasn’t unreasonable to conclude that he was seeing someone.
Brooke grabbed her backpack and the bag of puppy food she’d brought and headed toward the barn.
The brunette quickly moved away from the paddock and headed in the same direction. “Good morning,” she said brightly.
Brooke echoed the greeting as the brunette hurried ahead to open the heavy barn door.
“Thanks.”
“You must be the new vet,” the other woman said, as she followed Brooke down the center aisle to Ranger’s stall.
She dropped the bag of dog food just inside the enclosure where the canine had taken up residence, then nodded. “Brooke Langley.”
“I’m Sarah,” the brunette said.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Brooke said, as she turned her attention to the stallion. Well accustomed to the routine by now, Ranger patiently complied with her directions as she tied him.
Sarah watched Brooke as she worked. “I feel so guilty that I was out of town when he was injured,” she said. “I’ve been helping Patrick exercise the horses and I can’t help but wonder if Ranger escaped the paddock because he needed a good run.”
“You spend a lot of time here, then?” Brooke asked, her curiosity piqued by the woman’s revelation.
“It’s a good excuse to get away from Miners’ Pass.”
She recognized the most exclusive address in town, where she knew Patrick’s family lived in one of the biggest of the big houses on the street. “Did you grow up near Mr. Stafford?” she asked, deliberately using the rancher’s formal title.
“Too close for comfort sometimes,” Sarah said wryly.
The girl next door, Brooke guessed.
“He was a complete pain in my ass growing up, and yet I can’t help but miss him now that he’s gone,” she confided. “But I guess most little sisters probably feel that way about their big brothers.”
“So you’re Patrick’s other sister,” Brooke realized, as she began wrapping Ranger’s hoof again.
“Have you already met Jenna?”
“Not formally, but our paths kind of crossed,” she said.
“And since I look nothing like Jenna, you probably thought I was one of Patrick’s legions of female admirers,” Sarah guessed, sounding amused.
“The possibility crossed my mind.”
“He does have a reputation,” his sister acknowledged. “Though the trail of broken hearts isn’t quite as long or wide as the rumor mill would lead you to believe. In fact, I wouldn’t say the hearts were even broken—more likely just a little bit dented.
“Because for all his faults, and I know he has them, Patrick is unflinchingly honest with the women he goes out with to prevent anyone getting hurt. Those who do are the ones who refuse to believe him when he says he isn’t looking for any kind of long-term relationship.”
“How admirable,” Brooke remarked dryly, at the same time wondering if Patrick’s sister was trying to send her a message. Of course, the rancher had already relayed that message himself—loud and clear.
Sarah chuckled. “I can see why my brother likes you.”
Before she could figure out an appropriate response to that, she heard the barn door opening again, followed by the sound of boots on concrete before Patrick appeared.
“Are you still here?” he asked.
“I’m just finishing up,” Brooke told him.
The rancher shook his head. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Apparently I’m the one who’s worn out my welcome,” Sarah remarked.
“I didn’t say that,” her brother disagreed. “But when you left the house, almost an hour ago, you told me that you were leaving.”
“And I am.” Sarah touched her lips to Patrick’s cheek, then waved in the vet’s direction. “It was nice to meet you, Brooke.”
“You, too, Sarah.”
“If I’d realized she was still here, I would have come out to rescue you sooner,” Patrick said to Brooke, when Ranger had been returned to his stall.
“Did I look like I needed rescuing?”
“No,” he admitted. “But Sarah can be nosy at times, especially when she’s prying for details about a woman in my life.”
“I’m not in your life,” she pointed out. “Just on the periphery.”
“For now,” he said, with a grin that sent a jolt of awareness through her body.
“I brought a bag of special puppy food for Princess,” she said. “It will ensure she gets the energy and calcium she needs.”
“That was a subtle shift in the conversation,” he teased.
Brooke shrugged. “I don’t have time for subtlety. I’ve got a bearded dragon with a possible respiratory infection waiting for me at the clinic.”
“You treat lizards?”
“They aren’t my specialty, but I’ll check it out and refer it to a reptile vet, if necessary.”
“Fair enough. But one of these days, when you’ve got some time, we’ll get back to this conversation—and other unfinished business.”
It was easy enough to disregard his words, but the intensity of his gaze reminded Brooke of the single kiss they’d shared—and tempted her with the promise of so much more.
* * *
Brooke Langley and Lori Banner became best friends in third grade when they realized they shared the same initials in reverse order. They stayed best friends through elementary and high schools before going away to different colleges. Now that Lori worked in the radiology department at Memorial Hospital in San Diego, the friends didn’t get to see one another very often, but they did FaceTime once a month and texted whenever there was news to share, or just because.
So when Lori had reached out to say that she was going to be in town for the weekend, of course Brooke was eager to see her, and they made plans to meet at Diggers’ for dinner Saturday night.
“Are you goin’ on a date?” Brendan asked, as he watched his mom brush mascara onto her lashes in preparation for a rare girls’ night out.
Brooke chuckled at that. “No, honey. I’m having dinner with Aunt Lori tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Why don’t you ever go on dates?”
She slid the wand back into the tube and twisted it closed.
“Because I’ve already got a number one guy,” she said, playfully ruffling his hair.
“But it’d be kinda cool if you had a boyfriend,” he said. “’Cause then you could get married and he’d be my dad.”
Aching for her little boy, she turned away from the mirror to give her full attention to him.
“A few dates doesn’t necessarily lead to marriage,” she cautioned.
“I know,” he said. “But you’ve gotta start somewhere,
right?”
“And I know you’d really like a dad,” she said. “But you’ve got an awesome grandpa who’s taking you go-karting at Adventure Village tonight.”
“Grandpa’s the best, but a grandpa’s not the same as a dad.”
“No, he’s not,” she agreed.
“So I’m just sayin’, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to go out on dates sometimes,” he continued, clearly unwilling to let the subject drop.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised. “But right now I need to finish getting ready so I’m not late meeting Aunt Lori, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
Half an hour later, after she’d left Brendan with her parents, she was walking toward Diggers’ when she saw her friend approaching from the other direction.
“Good timing,” they said in unison. Then they both laughed.
After sharing a quick hug, they entered the restaurant, already chatting away as if it had only been days rather than weeks since they were last together.
“I’m so glad you were available tonight,” Lori said when they were waiting for their meals.
“I would have canceled any other plans to make myself available,” Brooke assured her, although they both knew that the chances of her having plans more elaborate than a bowl of popcorn and a movie with her son were slim to none. “Now tell me what inspired this impulsive trip home.”
“I met someone,” her friend blurted out, obviously unable to contain the happy news a moment longer.
“Someone from Haven?” Brooke guessed.
Lori shook her head. “No, he lives in California.”
“Then why are you here instead of there?”
“Because, as you know, I have a habit of jumping into relationships with both feet and I’m determined to take things slow this time.”
“In other words, the only way you could be sure you wouldn’t jump his bones was to leave the state,” Brooke teased.
“Something like that,” Lori agreed. “And he’s a firefighter, with fabulous muscles in addition to great bones, so I think I deserve some credit for holding out this long.”
A Chance for the Rancher Page 8
