Wrangling His Sexy Assistant: Beckett Brothers Book Two

by North, Leslie

  "I love you, too, Mom. And I’ll be back in just a few more weeks, but I want to get this training in large animals while I have the chance…Yes, I’ll call on Friday if you’ll promise me you’ll do your exercises every day this week…You know I love you, no matter what, but the doctors like you to keep them up daily. And make Dad do them too, you don’t want him to get fat."

  Hunter closed his eyes, the painted wood cold against his cheek. Poor woman. And poor, poor Kit. How had they managed when she was still a kid? Had they hired someone to help when her mother wasn’t able? At what point had Kit become the caretaker instead of the cared for?

  "There, see? I told you I could make you laugh. I know no one can do it like me. I’m your own personal stand-up act."

  Hunter’s chest contracted at the tone in Kit’s voice. So tender and caring. He realized that the family roles were truly reversed: Kit was the parent, and her mother the child. He remembered his own father’s final days, lying there dying of cancer. Even at the end, when his sons had needed to help him walk between the bed and the bathroom, he’d still been their father. He was their father to the moment he died. In charge, taking care of them and everything around them. To be without that, to become the parent to the person who’d given you life? Hunter couldn’t imagine it.

  "I love you, too, Dad, and I promise this will all be over soon…yeah, I know you’re proud of me…"

  Hunter jerked away from the door, suddenly ashamed that he’d intruded on Kit’s privacy. But as he walked down the hall to his own office, he couldn’t find it in him to regret what he’d learned. Kit was an amazing woman. In more ways than Hunter had ever dreamed.

  * * *

  Kit was still fretting over the call with her parents when she unlocked the door to her apartment a block off Main Street. She’d gotten a great deal on a little unit that sat over a widow’s garage, just a few blocks from Hunter’s office, and near all the businesses she used regularly—pharmacy, grocery store, Liquor Bonanza. The thought of liquor coupled with her parents made her think she should have hit Liquor Bonanza before she made it home.

  She swung the door open just as a flash of headlights spun across her walls. She turned to look at the driveway below her and smiled when Ava and Mary Beth, the housekeeper at Bran’s ranch, climbed out of a car.

  Mary Beth carried a bottle of wine, and Ava did a little dance.

  "She’s home, she’s home!" Ava called.

  "Just barely," Kit replied. "C’mon up."

  After all three women were inside the tidy apartment and Kit had supplied a corkscrew and glasses, they sat down on the overstuffed sofa, poured the wine, and raised their glasses.

  "Here’s to the beginning of another week," Ava said.

  "Cheers!" Kit and Mary Beth echoed.

  After a long, slow sip, Kit looked at her friends. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

  Ava and Mary Beth exchanged a look. "Uh, you never told us about the date," Ava said. She might as well have followed it up with "duh."

  Kit took another very long sip of wine. Some might have accused her of stalling. They would have been right.

  "We vaccinated sheep," she said, a little too brightly. "Then we ate lunch. Then we helped with a foaling." She smiled like a maniacal chipmunk and hoped that would be enough.

  "Huh-uh," Mary Beth said, shaking her head. "That’s not gonna’ do it, girlfriend."

  Kit sank into the cushions of the sofa. "We had fried chicken for lunch?" Her voice sounded smaller, less confident.

  Ava narrowed her gaze and pursed her lips.

  Kit sighed. "Fine. We worked really well together with the sheep, we laughed and had a great time at lunch, and after the foal was born, I threw myself at him and he kissed me."

  "I knew it!" Ava pumped a fist in the air in triumph, while Mary Beth whistled.

  "Stop, stop," Kit interrupted as the other two women clinked their wine glasses together. "It’s not like that."

  "Oh?" Mary Beth winked at Ava. "What is it like?"

  Kit’s mind flashed to the Andersons’ barn, Hunter’s big warm body enveloping hers, his hands gliding over her skin, lips tasting her as if she were fine whiskey. Then she looked up at Ava and Mary Beth’s expectant faces.

  "It was great—like really great…" She felt her face flush. "But it was a mistake, and we won’t be making it again."

  "Damn," Mary Beth muttered, "your kiss was the most exciting thing to happen to me all month."

  "Why?" Ava asked gently. "Why was it a mistake?"

  Kit shifted to face the other two more fully and set her nearly empty glass on the painted wood coffee table. "He’s my boss—"

  Ava scoffed. "Don’t get me started on that whole thing."

  Kit gazed at her indulgently. "But, he’s my residency supervisor. I’m not sure if there’s some rule against it, but it seems…tacky. Plus my favorite professor in vet school was apparently Hunter’s favorite, too, and Dr. Marshall called him up and told him he has all these expectations of what Hunter will teach me."

  "Well, old Dr. Marshall might not know that Hunter’s been teaching you the best stuff already." Mary Beth giggled at her own joke, and Ava rolled her eyes.

  "But mostly, I’m going back to Houston as soon as this residency is done. Hunter lives here. I have a practice to run there. There’s no point in getting all mixed up with one another."

  "What about just for fun?" Ava asked. "I mean, you’re both consenting adults. If you agree it’s only temporary, you could squeeze in a lot of fun between now and the end of your residency."

  "Ooh, yes," Mary Beth cooed, holding up a hand. "I vote for that."

  Kit stood and made her way to the kitchen for another bottle of wine. "Y’all are a terrible influence, and Ava Beckett, am I right that you have a deadline on a book this week?"

  There, that ought to get them off her non-existent love life.

  Ava immediately buried her head in her arms and groaned in existential pain. "Nooo. Don’t say it. If you don’t say it, then it can’t be true," she wailed.

  Works every time, thought Kit. Now if only she could distract herself from the subject of Hunter so easily.

  7

  Hunter leaned down to grab his medical bag, and as he went to straighten, he found himself looking right at Kit’s very healthy chest. She always dressed appropriately for work—clothes that could withstand pet hair and other less-appealing things but that were professional and neat. Today, she had on a light denim button-up blouse with khaki pants and her Beckett Vet Clinic jacket over it all.

  But the damn blouse was fitted, following her every curve exactly. Three of the mother of pearl snaps were undone, and if she moved a certain way, Hunter caught flashes of red silk. It was enough to make a lesser man cry. As it was, Hunter, being the pillar of self-control, had merely spent the entire morning watching for any brief peek of silk or lace or creamy smooth skin, and he felt like a total pervert because of it.

  Now he was half bent over, a med bag in his hand, and he couldn’t manage to remember to stand up because, well, there were Kit’s breasts. He nearly groaned at his own stupidity.

  "Are you okay?" Kit asked from across the room where she was sorting pathology slides. "Did you hurt your back?" She started to move toward him, concern furrowing her brow.

  "No!" he snapped as he finally straightened. He rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen up as he stood. "No," he repeated in a lighter voice. "Everything’s great. So are you ready to go?"

  "Just let me grab my purse, and I’m all set," she chirped happily.

  Hunter felt a throb deep in a place he shouldn’t be focusing on right now. It had been over a week since their mistake in the Andersons’ barn, and Hunter could now say unequivocally—spending time with Kit Cowie was killing him. Bit by aroused bit, Hunter was being murdered by his unrequited lust.

  As they walked to his truck, he tried to focus on the visit they were about to make.

  "So my little brother, Scout, is the foreman out at
Foster’s."

  "Really?" Kit asked as she buckled in and Hunter caught a flash of red lace. "If he’s working with cattle, why doesn’t he just share the ranch with Bran?"

  Hunter started up the big diesel engine and rolled out of the parking lot, returning Nadine’s wave as that lady stood in front of the diner across the street, surveying her kingdom.

  "Well, you know, Bran has asked the same thing more than once, but he doesn’t understand the dynamic of being the youngest of three boys. Scout’s whole life was spent trying to catch up, trying to stand out, and trying to rate something that wasn’t handed down twice over.” Hunter flipped on the turn signal. “He doesn’t want to work for Bran, and I can respect that. Unfortunately, I think he got himself into a situation that’s not going to pan out."

  "Oh? What’s that?" Kit shifted and Hunter caught a whiff of lavender. Lord, he’d come to love that scent. He smelled lavender in his dreams sometimes. It was embarrassing.

  "Scout started working for the owner of this dairy operation because the old man indicated he might be willing to sell it to Scout when he retires. Only trouble is, it’s looking like he’s never going to retire."

  "Oh, no," Kit lamented. "Poor guy, that is disappointing."

  Hunter nodded as they hit the empty road to the farm, and he pushed on the gas pedal. "It is, but Scout’s a smart guy. I have faith he’ll figure it out, one way or another."

  Yes, thought Hunter as they rolled down County Road 3, Scout was smart. He’d never jeopardize his professional reputation chasing after a woman. If only Scout’s older brother were that smart.

  * * *

  The cows were depressed. Or so it looked to Hunter as he stood with Scout and Kit, staring down one of the long aisles of the milking barn.

  "So the new equipment hasn’t worked with any of them?" he asked.

  Scout scowled. "Nope. I’ve tried it three days in a row, then had to bring back in all the old equipment each time. It’s made milking last twice as long and screwed up the other work as a result. Not a one of my crew can get them to take to the damn things. And these new attachments were supposed to be the best of the new technology."

  "Well, like I told you on the phone, I’m happy to take a look, but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be."

  They walked down the aisle where the cows faced out, and Hunter saw nothing but bored, morose cattle. Kit insisted on chucking each one under the chin as they passed.

  "I had them load up these seven so you can check it all out," Scout told them as he reached the last cow in the line and stood, arms crossed.

  In modern dairy operations, barns were built with a raised platform that housed the main aisle and the milking stalls. Cows faced that main aisle. At the back of their stalls lay another aisle, this one several feet lower than the stalls so that milkers were nose-to-rump with the cow and could attach and remove milking equipment without straining and bending.

  Hunter leaned down and looked to the back of one of the empty stalls. He saw one of his brother’s milkers waiting.

  "You ready for me to hook ‘em up?" the woman asked.

  "Whenever you are," Hunter answered. She gave him a thumbs-up and passed the word to the other milkers.

  A few minutes later, seven cows were lowing in distress as the brand-new and very expensive milking equipment was attached to their udders and the vacuums were turned on.

  Hunter and Kit followed Scout as he showed them the fit from the rear side of the cows, then took them back to the front where they were greeted with more lowing and complaints from Bossy and her besties.

  "They’re not happy," Hunter said, stating the more-than-obvious.

  "But you can see the equipment’s on right, we can get some milk out of 'em, but it’s not happy milk, and it’s not much."

  Hunter stroked the nearest cow and made soothing noises. She leaned into his hand, then lowed, long and pathetic.

  Kit walked up and down, talking to each cow, bending down to inspect the equipment between their legs.

  "What do you think?" he asked her. "Any great ideas?"

  She stood straight and approached the brothers, her expression showing her thoughts were focused on something the rest of them couldn’t see yet.

  "You said this equipment has a lighter suction than the older model?" she asked Scout.

  "Yeah, it’s supposed to be more comfortable for them, not less. The idea is that it fits more exactly and exerts the pressure in a precise spot so it’ll stimulate the milk release without so much suction."

  "I wonder if it’s just that it feels different to them and so that’s disconcerting," she suggested.

  "Well, that could be," Hunter agreed, "but what the hell do you do about it?"

  He saw her hesitate for a moment, but then she stood a little taller and continued. "I was reading a study in Large Animal Quarterly the other day…"

  Hunter nodded encouragingly. This was what he was here for, this was what Dr. Marshall wanted him to do—encourage Kit to be the vet she was well on the way to being. Help her gain the confidence and experience to do her thing, because her thing was going to be good. He could feel it.

  "It was a study about increasing milk production, but it might work to make them more comfortable in this situation, too."

  "Well, get on with it," Scout prompted impatiently. "Until I figure out how to solve this, the farm is out tens of thousands of dollars."

  Kit absently patted a cow on the nose. "Music," she said simply. "They discovered that playing certain types of classical music increased milk production by over four percent."

  Hunter nodded. He remembered skimming that article. He couldn’t possibly read every study that came across his desk, so he focused on the medical ones, but he often saw the titles and abstracts for others.

  "What kind of classical music?" Scout asked, wrinkling his nose to indicate if it wasn’t country, he wasn’t interested.

  "I’ll show you." Kit pulled her phone from her pocket and opened up her Spotify app. Soon a lilting concerto was floating through the air, and the nearest cows began to quiet down.

  Scout looked at Hunter, who raised an eyebrow in response. That was all it took.

  "Lonny!" Scout called to one of the milkers working below deck. “Get me that wireless speaker you guys use."

  Five minutes later, music filled the air around the cows, and the lowing had stopped. The milkers reattached the equipment and turned it on.

  "We got milk flowin’ like it should, boss," Lonny yelled from the lower deck.

  "Well, I’ll be damned," Scout murmured.

  Kit grinned from ear to ear, and Hunter nearly burst with pride.

  "That’s my girl," he turned his head to whisper.

  She wasn’t actually his, but Hunter sure felt like she was for that brief moment. And she wasn’t only gorgeous, she was smart as a whip and fun to boot. The trifecta of every man’s dream.

  And Hunter knew he’d be dreaming about Kit Cowie long after she’d left them all in the North Texas dust and headed back to Houston.

  8

  The decision to go to the Roadside Rancher after helping Scout’s cows had happened very naturally. Kit had mentioned she was hungry, Hunter had suggested they stop for some dinner, and now here they were.

  “I can’t wait to tell Dr. Marshall about your discovery today,” Hunter told her. He lifted his beer and toasted her before taking a sip. They’d sat at the bar in the busy honky-tonk, where they could also order food, and they’d both rotated their tall stools enough to face one another as they waited for their burgers. “He gave me a ration of grief when we talked for not taking on a resident sooner. Now you’ll make me look like a genius supervisor.” He grinned, and Kit’s heart went a little wiggly inside her chest.

  “Well,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see the flush she could feel in her cheeks. “Some supervisors wouldn’t have let me make that suggestion, so thank you.”

  Hunter scoffed. “Some supervisors are more worried about l
ooking good in front of patients and staff than they are in fixing the animals’ troubles. I haven’t supervised someone before because I don’t have the time, and I’m not in the habit of doing things halfway, and not because I’m threatened by new expertise.”

  Kit believed him. Hunter wasn’t pretentious or insecure, he was steady, determined, and exacting—of himself more than others, even.

  “Well,” she said somewhat shyly, “I think you’re doing a great job so far. You might even want to reconsider supervising more often.”

  The waiter set their burgers down, and they both dug in, silently relishing the warm meal. When Kit finally came up for air, she saw Hunter staring at her.

  “Do I have food on my face?” she asked self-consciously.

  He shook his head as if trying to get rid of an annoying fly.

  “No, no, I was just thinking how much things have changed around the office in the short time you’ve been here.”

  “Hopefully for the better,” she muttered.

  He laughed and gave her hand a squeeze.

  After they’d each ordered another beer, Hunter leaned back in his seat and gave her an assessing look. “Tell me, you want all these large animal hours, but your dad’s practice is house pets. I know you find the big guys interesting, but what will you do with the certification? The practice is in Houston, right?”

  Kit sighed. She’d been asked this so many times by so many people. How could she possibly explain that she didn’t actually want to take over her dad’s practice? What she really wanted was to have her own clinic like Hunter’s. Somewhere she could see large animals every day, be an important part of a small community instead of simply one more overpriced vet practice in a huge city. But that wasn’t possible. Not unless her father sold his practice, and that had never been in the plans. And really, how ungrateful did you have to be to turn down a successful family business?