by Dani Harper
“I appear to be dealing with someone who shouldn’t be allowed to own animals. That cow should have been brought in immediately, not a day later. Better yet, it should have been a farm call. You should have called us to come out. We could have fixed it on the spot so the animal didn’t have to go through the additional stress of being transported.”
“That’s the opinion of someone with a shiny new diploma who thinks she’s better than everyone else. It’s your word against mine.”
“That’s the opinion of a trained veterinarian. You’ll find it holds up well in court.”
He took a quick step toward her and she braced herself, brought her fists up to ready in a classic Tae Kwon Do stance. Suddenly Mountney stopped dead, his eyes traveling upward and over her head. There was something else besides temper in his face now. A flicker of fear? To her surprise, he backed up a step, then another. Tried to speak and couldn’t seem to get anything out. Finally he spun on his expensive boot heel and stormed to his truck, a shiny club cab pickup in metal flake cherry. He spun gravel as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Jillian whipped around, thinking it was Connor behind her. “Hey, I had this under control. You didn’t need to—”
She was struck speechless as she found herself face to face with James Macleod. More like face to chest, since he was so tall.
“You’re right, you didn’t need any help,” he said. “But the man’s a bully, and sometimes the best way to deal with a bully is to stack the odds against him. I figured if he saw he was outnumbered, he might take up a lot less of your valuable time.”
The timbre of James’s voice stroked something deep inside her. Her cheeks went hot as her body clenched then went liquid. Get a grip, girl! Her body ignored her, making her annoyed at herself and now twice as annoyed at James. She scowled up at him even as she ran a hand through her disordered hair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around and interfere with my work?”
“I didn’t interfere. Didn’t say a single word.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at him, and he had the nerve to look innocent. It wasn’t a look that suited his rugged features. “I’m not going to say thanks.”
“ ’S not required. You didn’t ask me for help.”
“I didn’t need help. What I need right now is to get back to work. Maybe if you had a job, you’d have a lot less time on your hands to spend meddling with mine.” She saw the flash in his eyes as the dart hit home, and was feeling just petty enough to enjoy his irritation. Jillian knew she’d be mortified, even ashamed, later, but right now, she didn’t want to be the only one frustrated and annoyed.
“As a matter of fact, doc, I’m here on business. I need a vet’s signature so Birkie or Caroline can dispense some things on my list.”
“What list?”
He shoved a sheaf of paper into her hands. “This list. It’s for Connor’s farm. And since I have some feed to load, I’ll pick up these papers and the stuff later. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood then, but I doubt it. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a good humor yet.”
“I’m just fine until you show up.” Dammit! Would he quit looking at her with those eyes? Who told him he could have such sexy eyes? “And don’t think for a moment that I’m going to apologize for hitting you the other day.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure not apologizing for kissing you. Might do it again too. Consider yourself warned.”
She stood with her mouth open as he walked away. And cursed herself for noticing how well those jeans hugged that muscled butt.
“I know it’s close to closing, hon. But Connor’s still out in the corral with that injured heifer, and I need to ask if you’re up to seeing just one more appointment today.” Birkie held up a file.
Although she had endless patience for the animals that needed her help, Jillian found it was often downright difficult to extend that patience to some of the owners. Especially the ones who came in near the end of the day. Still, it wasn’t the animals’ fault if their owners couldn’t bring them in when Jillian was feeling more tolerant. James’s comments about her mood sprang to mind, and she worked up a smile for her friend. It turned out to be a faint one, but it was a smile. “I’d be glad to. Not a wild elephant with a toothache, is it?”
“Nope, just a small dog. It’s the owner that’s wild.”
Jillian didn’t dare ask, just took the file marked “Pinky” and headed for the exam room. She was scanning Connor’s notes when Charmaine Forrester breezed in. Or rather, her hair did.
Platinum curls were piled high atop the woman’s head, where they tumbled down in a caricature of an outdated Nashville style. The fluffy cascade almost hid a tight black T-shirt and finally ended where rhinestone-studded jeans seemed painted over sharp narrow hips. Jillian found herself mentally calculating as to which weighed more, Charmaine or her garish hair.
As the young vet watched, fascinated, the woman pulled a shoulder bag from under her bleached tresses, drew out a silky mass of white and black hair and plunked it on the stainless steel table. There it coalesced into a purebred Shih Tzu.
“This must be Pinky,” Jillian managed at last and automatically ran her hands over the dog’s body. Thin, too thin. Female, and with the permanently enlarged teats of a creature who’d given birth in recent months and not for the first time. The dog’s ankle-length coat was dull and falling out. Her eyes were dull as well. “What seems to be wrong with her?” she asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with her,” snapped Charmaine. “I just want to know if it took.”
“If what took?”
“Well, the breeding of course.” The woman looked at Jillian as if she was an idiot. “I paid two hundred bucks for Pinky to have an afternoon with a purebred stud, and I don’t want to pay another two hundred if I don’t have to. It’s bad enough that it costs me forty dollars to see you to find out. Where’s that good-looking Connor, anyway?”
Jillian ignored the question. “Normally we do a blood test to check for a hormone called relaxin, but this dog is obviously in no shape for breeding.” She wished she’d had more time to read the file. “When was her last litter, and how many litters has she had?”
“Why she’s had lots, because that’s her job, to make cute little puppies. Isn’t it, girlie-girl?” Charmaine hugged the dog to her and made smoochy noises at it. Pinky regarded Jillian with weary eyes.
She tried another tactic. “Guess you get a good price for those puppies, huh?”
“Six hundred dollars each, purebred, unregistered. If I get a real good stud and can register the puppies, I charge another three hundred.” The woman bounced Pinky up and down. “She usually has six puppies too, and last time she had eight,” she announced proudly.
Eight? Jillian imagined the tiny dog struggling to feed eight growing puppies. The nutritional demands of lactation called for high-quality food and lots of it, but even if Pinky was being fed like a champ—which she somehow doubted—the dog wasn’t getting any real recovery time. She took a deep breath and sucked back her anger, remembering the words of one of her instructors: Most pet owners who fail to care for their pets do so out of ignorance rather than malice. There must be a persuasive argument that this client could respond to.
“Can you hurry it up with the blood test, doc? I’ve got a nail appointment.”
So much for the educational approach. “A nail appointment? You’re using your dog as a goddamn puppy machine and you’re worried about a nail appointment?
“Hey, who the hell do you think you—”
Jillian cut her off. “This dog is exhausted. Do you get that? Completely and totally exhausted. Don’t you care about her at all?”
“Don’t you tell me I don’t care about my girlie-girl. What the hell do you know?”
“I know that Pinky’s practically skin and bones. She doesn’t have the physical resources to produce a litter. And if you keep pushing her to breed, Pinky’s going to die an early death, either during whelping or, if she surviv
es that, from eclampsia when she tries to feed more pups.”
Charmaine’s face turned scarlet under her makeup and she clutched the dog to her, although whether to protect it or shield herself, Jillian couldn’t guess. “How dare you say things like that to me! Pinky’s been doing this for years. She’s a . . . she’s a career mom and she’ll be just fine.”
The argument gained both volume and intensity, and moved out into the empty waiting room until Charmaine Forrester finally whirled on her high-heeled boots and left in a huff, slamming the door so hard that the adoptions bulletin board fell from the wall in a flurry of papers, tacks, and photos.
Jillian stalked back down the hallway, clenching and unclenching her fists. It was some minutes before she was able to calm down. And a few more before she realized what an unprofessional ass she’d been to lose her temper like that. Arguing with a client, for God’s sake. Sure, she’d confronted that Mountney character, but she’d kept her cool and reported him to the authorities afterward. But she’d actually yelled at Charmaine.
She didn’t know where Caroline and Birkie were or what they must be thinking, but she was dead certain they’d heard it all. Connor might have heard it too, if he’d come in. Crap. If he’d been three counties away, he’d still have heard it all. Embarrassed color flamed bright along her cheekbones. Crap, crap, crap. She didn’t want to lose her first real job because she couldn’t control herself. Could I have been more of an idiot? What would her “Client Relations” instructor say? She’d done exactly what he had emphasized a vet should never do—gotten emotionally involved.
Jillian sank into a chair at the lunchroom table and laid her head on her arms. She should find Connor immediately and explain—no, not explain, there was no explanation, no excuse for her behavior. Apologize, that was what she should do first. Then resign. Maybe—
“Do you always beat yourself up like this?”
Jillian sat up quickly and scowled. Of all the people she’d rather not deal with right now, James was right at the top of her list. “What do you want?”
He pulled out the chair next to hers, flipped it around and straddled it with his arms resting on the back. “I want to know what’s got you so upset.”
She goggled at him. “You must be the only person in a two-mile radius who didn’t hear me yelling at Charmaine Forrester. I could lose my job over this. I should lose my job.”
“Your job’s safe enough. If Connor fired his staff for getting exasperated with clients like that one, he’d have no one left to work for him. Including himself. By the way, Birkie says to thank you for saying a few things that she’s been dying to say for years. She may start a fan club for you.”
“I . . . oh, jeez, it was so damn unprofessional.” Jillian blew out a breath and ran a nervous hand through her hair, not realizing that it made it stick straight up in several places.
“No argument there. So tell me why you became a vet.”
“What?”
“Tell me why you decided to become a vet. I want to know.”
She eyed him suspiciously but his face seemed sincere enough. “I care about animals,” she said, hesitating. Oh, what the hell. “Okay, so I love animals. I’ve been crazy about animals since I was a kid. But I respect them too. I like being around them and learning all that I can about them and from them.” Her voice was clear and steady now. “I want to make things better for them whenever I can.”
James nodded. “So wasn’t that at the root of your argument with Charmaine? You didn’t argue with her over her choice of hair color or her political persuasion. You wanted to make things better for that worn-out little dog.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s what it boiled down to, but I probably just pissed off Charmaine.”
“You sure did. Birkie says the woman’ll have a terrific time telling the story to everyone she knows.”
Jillian winced and put a hand to her forehead. “Great. Just great. She’ll never come back, never take that poor dog to a vet again.”
“It’s not all bad. She’s going to rehearse everything you said over and over to herself and everyone who’ll listen. So some of it might sink in eventually. And out of everyone she tells, there’s probably plenty of people who will agree with you, enough to sprinkle a little doubt in her mind.”
“Plus she’s one hell of a drama queen.” Zoey Macleod was standing in the doorway. “If you knew Charmaine, you’d know she’s addicted to drama, especially if it involves her. So she’ll definitely continue to take Pinky to an animal clinic. Wanna guess which one?”
She hesitated, trying to read the answer in Zoey’s freckled face. “Here?” she ventured.
“Without a single doubt. She couldn’t resist the possibility of another scene. Know how I know that?”
Jillian studied her until the truth dawned on her. “Connor! Connor told her off?”
“Oh, you bet he did. Raised his voice on more than one occasion too. Ask Birkie about it sometime. And there’ve been a few other clients who have managed to push his buttons too. The point is that you can’t care about animals and always keep your professional detachment in place. I’m not saying you shouldn’t try—you don’t want to start abusing clients—but there’s always going to be a few who drive you absolutely crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me on that. I had old Mick Kuchabsky in my office for an hour today, complaining and cussing about everything from the last week’s editorial to the size of the print.”
“Did you yell at him?”
“Eventually, but he’s ninety-six and deaf as a post so it didn’t faze him. I felt a little better though.” Zoey winked and checked her watch. “Just stopped by to collect Connor—he should be cleaned up by now. We’ve got dinner at the Watsons’ tonight, so I’ll see you folks later.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” The relief was like cool rain on a hot summer day. Jillian closed her eyes and just breathed it in for a long moment. Opened her eyes to see James looking at her with decided amusement in those impossibly blue eyes. It rankled for a moment, but then she reminded herself that he had been kind. Which was more than she had been the last time she’d seen him. “Guess I should say thanks to you too. I know you were trying to make me feel better.”
“Don’t know if I succeeded. You look pretty tired.”
“It’s been a long day. I just need a nap and I’ll be fine.” And sex, she needed sex too. Lots of sex. At this time of day she’d usually think only food, shower, sleep, but having James nearby was making her hormones hum. It was a shame his shirt was buttoned today. “I gave those papers to Birkie.”
“I know, thanks for signing them. I just picked up the order from her.”
He seemed to be looking at her very intently. Her own gaze traveled over his strong features and rested on his lips. She knew just what they tasted like, and a shiver raced down her spine. She wanted to taste them again. I’ve got to get out of here. “Good. Um, that’s good. Glad I could help. See you.” She had no choice but to be abrupt, not when she had to order her eyeballs to quit staring at the man, force her body to get up, and command her legs to carry her out of the room.
Her hormones protested loudly all the way to the livestock wing. She hung her stethoscope on the cattle stanchion, stripped off the lab coat and ran through several hyungs in her scrubs. Right, left, hook, turn. Rhythm, power, control, balance. Finally, drenched in sweat, she had to admit defeat. She had not achieved the calm she sought, hadn’t even managed to vent much of her frustration. Sighing heavily, she trudged to her apartment and stood under the shower. Continued to stand there long after the hot water ran out.
Chapter Eighteen
Evenings were going to be the hardest, he knew that now. James could see the thumbnail shell of the moon sailing high and bright in the star-studded sky. The breeze whispered and called to him as he sat on the front steps of the cabin. The tendrils of air, ripe with forest scents, enticed him to give in, to leap away from his two-legged self and be one with the night. It was like entreati
ng a parched man in a desert to leap into a cool oasis pool.
He gritted his teeth and turned away, determined to stay his set course and remain completely human. His wolf side was just too unpredictable. But God, it was hard to resist Changing and running free. Almost physically painful. I wonder if addicts feel like this? Needing that one thing that gets them through another day, another hour. James shoved those thoughts aside and tried to focus on something else.
Like his family. His brothers and sister had entered the yard as wolves, but they’d acted more like big dogs, leaping on him joyfully and knocking him flat. When they’d finally Changed, they’d hugged the breath out of him, couldn’t stop touching and patting him all night as if to reassure themselves he was real. They talked all night too—or rather, his brothers and sister had talked. James found himself with very little to say. After all, what had he done over the past three decades that was worth talking about? His baby sister, Kenzie, had two doctorates. Two, for God’s sake. Devlin was a published author. Culley ran a successful business.
And then Connor’s wife had come in. Zoey. She was beautiful, he’d known that, he’d noticed her from a distance in her human form as she came and went from the farm, watched her with the Pack in her wolfen form too. But as a wolf himself, he’d never approached her, never talked to her, never known how smart or funny or kind she was, or how devoted to his brother. Connor had found his true mate, and they were as happy now as they appeared in the wedding photos on the living room wall.
Photos that included every member of the family but James Macleod. Not only had he not known about the wedding, he couldn’t even remember what part of the country he’d been wandering at the time.
Rip Van Winkle. That was what Culley had called James. After the man in the old folk tale who went to sleep for many years, and awakened to find that life had gone on without him. Culley had meant it as a joke, and James had smiled at the time but inside, he was horrified by all that he’d missed.
