by Dani Harper
“No big deal. Just checking on Jillian, that’s all. Making sure she’s okay.”
“Every single day?”
“Look, I figure it keeps the damn wolf from looking in on her while I’m asleep. Just being proactive.” It was true that James didn’t trust his alter ego, but he wasn’t about to mention how much he had come to look forward to going to the clinic. It wasn’t something he admitted to himself. He never stayed long, a few minutes only. Enough to catch a glimpse of her. Sometimes to exchange a couple of words with her, hear her voice.
“Good Christ, James, it’s pretty obvious to everyone that you like her a lot. Why the hell don’t you ask her out? Come to think of it, if you’re so damn concerned about her safety, it would be a lot easier to keep an eye on her—and the wolf—if you were in a relationship. Maybe you should think about that.”
What? “Maybe you should mind your business. I’m not interested.”
Connor’s expression was smug. “Not interested. Sure. You must have mentioned her a half dozen times over supper last night. And at the clinic this morning I thought you were going to flatten Martin Bell when he asked where the little blond girl with the great ass was.”
James flicked a murderous glance at the smirk on his older brother’s face. Surely he hadn’t mentioned Jillian that much. Connor was exaggerating, right? “Maybe I get tired of hearing jerks like Bell shoot off their mouths. So what?” And dammit, she did have a great little behind.
“So you’re asking me to believe you’re not the least little bit interested in Jillian Descharme? She’s just a responsibility, someone you feel obligated to look out for, but nothing more?”
“I’m not asking you anything. Just leave it alone, Connor.” It was all he could do to keep from shouting at his brother. Deep inside James was uncomfortably aware his anger was little more than a flimsy shield, and that pissed him off even more. He’d made a decision, goddammit! Decided it was best to stay away from Jillian, to resist the attraction he felt for her. Because in order to keep her safe, he could not have a future with Jillian Descharme.
He hadn’t expected it to be so damn hard.
Jillian paused long enough from eating her triple-fudge mocha almond ice cream to down more aspirin. It wasn’t her best choice, she supposed, but neither was letting her wrenched shoulder throb constantly. She’d delivered a 90-pound foal, and both her arms were now strained and bruised, while the shoulder hurt like hell. At least the mare came through the event just fine, and the foal was healthy and sound. Jillian might be sore, but she also had a sense of satisfaction that she wouldn’t trade.
Birkie offered her a brown plastic bottle. “Chocolate syrup?”
“Does it come with a straw?”
They both giggled. The two were sitting on Jillian’s couch with their feet propped comfortably on the sagging coffee table. The clinic usually closed at five, but thanks to a number of emergencies, they hadn’t had a chance to shut the doors until nearly seven. Connor had headed home to Zoey, while Birkie and Jillian ate dinner in the staff room. They’d elected to have dessert—or “a sanity refill” as Birkie called it—in front of Jillian’s tiny TV. There wasn’t much to watch, but they were both too tired to care. Birkie picked a rerun of a gardening show and left the volume on low just for background chatter.
“I see James dropped by again,” she said. “What did he have to talk about today?”
“Nothing really. We never seem to have much of a conversation. Besides I was, well—” Frankly, Jillian had been thinking about how much she’d like to jump James, but she wasn’t about to say that. “I was really tired, and I left.”
“Left?” Birkie snorted, leaned forward and pointed her spoon at the younger woman. “Honey, the moment you get too tired to spend time with a handsome man who’s smitten with you, you are definitely working too hard. Sounds like we got you some days off just in the nick of time.”
“I . . . you . . . he is not smitten with me. He doesn’t even know me. And I don’t even know him. And what kind of an archaic word is smitten anyway?”
“Ha. Smitten’s a perfect word for someone who shows up here every single day.”
“Oh, come on. Davis Jenkins is in here daily, and he’s definitely not fond of any of us.”
“Davis just likes to complain and drink up the free coffee in the waiting room while he does it. James Macleod, on the other hand, likes you quite a bit.”
“Since when?”
“Oh, I’d say since all the way back to when Ruby brought Cujo in. You didn’t see the way James was looking at you. I did, though. I stood in the doorway and watched him hold that dog. Ruby was talking a mile a minute about the price of lamb, but he wasn’t listening to a word. His eyes were on you the whole time.”
“He was probably just interested in what I was doing. More people than you might think like to watch stitching and surgery and all kinds of things like that. That’s why reality TV is so popular.”
“And that’s why he was staring at your face?”
“He was not.”
“Was too. Was today as well, when you were treating that pony that ran into a hornet’s nest.”
“Well, if he was, I didn’t notice.” She wasn’t about to admit that it gave her a pleasant little flutter to know that he might have been looking at her. “The pony sure calmed down a lot when James came along, though. The owner wasn’t any help at all.”
“Don’t forget how James hot-footed it out to the corral that time he saw Gerald Mountney Jr. giving you a bad time.”
“I didn’t need any help.”
“Course not. But that’s not the point. The point is that James was prepared to dive in and do whatever was necessary. He would have defended you if you’d wanted him to, you know.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s a guy thing. So?”
“So he didn’t. Because he also knew you didn’t want him to. That tells me he’s thought about you and how you think, how you feel. Therefore he likes you. A lot.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Are you sure you’re not a detective or something? Do you keep notes on all this stuff?”
“Just observant, hon. And even an old duck like me isn’t going to turn down an opportunity to observe someone like James Macleod. Especially that mighty fine butt of his.”
“Birkie!”
“Just stating a fact, hon.” Birkie’s grin was unrepentant. “Privilege just to see a butt like that. . . .”
Jillian poked fiercely at her ice cream with a tightly held spoon as she told herself she didn’t give a damn about James’s butt, the fact that she’d once wanted to compare it to the rest of his appealing physique notwithstanding. And for the five hundredth time she ruthlessly yanked her mind back from the sexy dream she’d had in the night about him. Much more of this and she was so going to order a shiny new vibrator off the Internet. Maybe that blue one . . .
“Come to think of it, seeing Mountney peel out of here with his forked tail between his legs was a close second,” Birkie added. “But James’s butt is still at the top of the list, don’t you think?”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I admit it. James is hot, and I’m attracted. I don’t know what difference it makes. Maybe he looks at me, maybe he even kind of likes me—maybe. But it’s not like he’s ever asked me out. We never really talk. We probably have nothing in common.”
“Bah. I’ll bet you have plenty in common. For one thing, both of you are very talented with animals. James has taken over Connor’s farm for him, and you’d better believe that place is going to flourish from now on. He’s already made a lot of changes.”
“I heard something about that. I guess it’s a good thing for Connor. He’s so busy, I don’t know how he ever had time for a farm.”
Birkie carefully spooned a chocolate-covered almond out of her ice cream, savored it for a long moment. “Connor bought the place about ten or eleven years ago at an auction. He wanted to live out of town, and he liked the land. Big p
lace and pretty too, backing right onto the Peace River. But you’re right, he just hasn’t had the time to make the farm produce. Really, the place is just a catchall for some of the unwanted animals he comes across in his practice.”
“God knows there’s too many of those.”
“Amen. And we try to find homes for as many as we can, but when we can’t, the creature generally finds its way to Connor’s farm. He must have quite a menagerie by now.”
“So James is managing the place for him?”
“Yup. More than a manager, though, he’s a full partner in the operation. Moved into a house of his own out there too.”
“Huh. Guess he’s not homeless and jobless anymore.” Jillian found herself unexpectedly relieved.
“Exactly. So when are you going out to visit the Macleod farm?”
“What? When Connor invites me, I guess. I’d say when James invites me, but I’ll be old and gray before that happens.”
Birkie made little tsk-tsking noises. “My dear, you have to be a lot more proactive if you ever expect to get to know James any better.”
“I know that look. What you really mean is devious. I don’t know if I’m that interested.”
Her friend just looked at her.
“Okay, okay, I am. Just out of curiosity, mind you.”
“Of course. So when do you want to visit James on his home turf?”
Jillian put up her hands. “I give up. You’re the mastermind, you tell me.”
“Well, it just so happens I have some plants and things for Connor. Maybe you could find time to do me a favor on your day off, make a little delivery?”
Chapter Nineteen
As a veterinarian, Jillian had been to countless farms. But she’d never assign the word beautiful to any of them. The Macleod farm was an exception. A long wooded lane led to a sprawling two-story house nestled in the trees. The old building had been made over into something that spoke of both history and comfort. The roofed porch that wrapped around two sides of the house had a charming assortment of mismatched chairs and rockers scattered about, and a couple of hanging swings. Pots of newly planted flowers sat in groups everywhere. Carefully tended beds of yellow daylilies and purple irises flanked the steps. The effect was one of invitation, of welcome.
She parked the truck in front of the steps, took Birkie’s trays of plants to the porch and set them carefully in front of the door. She knew there was no one at the house. Connor was in surgery this afternoon. There was no sign of anyone else either. No sign of James, and that was a bit of a letdown, even if she knew he was likely busy. It was a sunny and pleasant day, however, and who could blame her if she decided to walk around a little?
Most farmyards were as clear-cut and visually barren as the fields beyond them but not here. Jillian counted five species of trees she knew and two she didn’t in tall dense stands between every building. And every barn and shed was freshly painted in clean bright white with simple black trim to match the house. A refreshing change from the usual garish red barn paint most farmers favored, when they bothered to paint anything at all.
The buildings, although in good repair, looked to be of the same era as the house. The fencing, however, was a sharp contrast. No battered wood here, no patched and spliced wire. Instead, steel rails gleamed between steel posts, all in basic black. Jillian recognized the brand label as top of the line. No haphazard enclosures here either, but tidy, organized corrals and paddocks, linked in places by modern chutes. A clean and efficient operation yet far from sterile, Jillian thought. Animals probably enjoy living here. God knows there’re enough of them. Dogs, cats, goats, chickens, and even a couple of outsized pigs seemed to have the run of the place. She couldn’t help smiling as she recognized a few of the dogs, knew Connor had adopted them when their owners had requested euthanasia for reasons of convenience rather than mercy. They bounced over to her, swarmed her with affection. She laughed and tried to distribute petting and head rubs to all.
A sudden voice made her jump. “Looking for something?”
The dogs left her at once in favor of James. Jillian saw with interest that they didn’t jump and leap but sat grinning at his feet. He gave them each a quick pat and turned his attention back to her. “What brings you out here?”
“Birkie sent some bedding plants over for Connor. I didn’t know what to do with them.”
“Where are they?”
“On the porch.” She stood open-mouthed as he immediately strode across the yard in the direction of his brother’s house. She walked quickly but was forced to break into a jog just to try to catch up. Jillian made it to the bottom of the steps just as James scooped up the trays from in front of the door.
“I’m sorry, should I have put them somewhere else?”
“Anywhere but with Connor. I don’t know how anyone so gifted with animals can have such a black thumb when it comes to plants.”
Jillian looked around at the abundance of flowers spilling out of pots and overflowing the garden on either side of the steps. “He seems to do all right with these.”
James shook his head as he swept by her with the trays. “Zoey filled the pots while I cleaned up the garden. Connor had thistles the size of trees growing here.”
“What kind of plants did Birkie give you?” She was trying to be pleasant but it was irritating to have to hurry to keep up again. She nearly ran into him when he stopped abruptly.
“You don’t know them?”
“No. I studied zoology not botany. I can recognize a few things like the geraniums on the porch, but these have no flowers.” She was surprised to see him—what? It wasn’t a smile or a grin, but the ghost of each, a faint crook of one corner of his mouth. Still it had the effect of lightening his face, easing the fierce brow, although those blue Viking eyes were just as piercing. Jillian scanned the trays he was holding and pointed to a dark-leafed plant. “So what’s this one here?”
In answer he pulled off a leaf and crushed it under her nose.
“Recognize it now?”
“It’s familiar but I can’t place it.”
“Basil. Haven’t you ever cooked with fresh basil?”
“I’ve never even cooked with the dried up stuff in the little jars. But I’ve eaten Birkie’s homemade pizza so at least I know that I like basil.” She pointed to another one. “What’s this one that looks like tubular grass?”
“Chives.”
“Are they all herbs?”
“Most of them. Connor is actually a decent cook when he has the time.”
“Connor? Our Connor? The same man who gets so busy he forgets to eat? He must only cook about once a year then.”
James chuckled at that and set off across the yard again. At a more leisurely pace.
“I have to say that this place looks terrific.” Jillian was able to fall in step—almost. His legs were still a lot longer than hers. “I see a lot of farms, but this one really stands out. What do you produce here?”
“Nothing much yet. There’s lots of preparation to be done before we raise anything.”
“I’d love to hear about it.” Then she had a brainwave that Birkie would be proud of. “Or I’ve got time for a tour if it’s easier to show me.”
He glanced at her as if to see if she was sincere, then stopped at a shed and tucked the plants inside. “These will be out of the sun here. I’ll get them later.”
The tour began with the closest corral, which contained three enormous Highland bulls. Their sweeping horns reminded Jillian of the Texas Longhorn of cowboy movie fame, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Their shaggy fur and stocky build was more reminiscent of Ice Age oxen. It was a breed that Jillian hadn’t encountered close up yet, and she got closer than expected as James led her right inside the corral with the creatures. They nosed their way over to him with an amiability she’d seldom seen in cattle, stood patiently as James scratched their foreheads under the fringe of long hair that hid their eyes. “Hardy beasts,” he was saying. “Well suited to the k
ind of winter we get up here in northern Canada.” He talked about their history, the pros and cons of using them as a beef-producing breed.
She thought at first that the bulls were unusually gentle, but the experience was repeated with each enclosure. Jillian began to understand that there was something unusual about James, not the animals. Did he have some sort of calming influence or aura, something that animals were able to sense? Was that why he had been able to restrain Cujo? And that poor pony that had been badly stung by a nest of hornets. It had been a frightened wreck. Until James came by. The animal had settled down immediately and allowed Jillian to treat it. Too bad James couldn’t calm the owner as well, but you can’t have everything.
Jillian glanced up at James as they walked among the corrals. He was relaxed, at home here. The warrior visage was softened, nearly nonexistent, as he spoke of his visions for the farm. He had a deep passion for what he was doing, she realized. Just as she felt a soul-deep fervor for veterinary medicine, James Macleod had an affinity for the earth. It was easy to listen to him. She’d never paid much attention to agriculture, outside of the health of livestock. Now she was getting a glimpse of how much farming was both an art and a science.
The horses in the far paddock spotted James and trotted over at once, just as every other creature here had done. With a start, Jillian realized she was more than a little envious of that. With the exception of dogs, most animals didn’t run up to greet a person unless they were hoping for food.
Certainly livestock seldom showed interest when most farmers approached unless grain was involved. And animals definitely didn’t run up to veterinarians. Well, except for Poodle. He always seemed pleased to be at the clinic, but the old Siamese cat was decidedly eccentric.
“You’re like the Pied Piper,” she blurted as a pig that must weigh close to 600 pounds ambled over to receive a scratch on the head from James.
“Why is that?”
“They all adore you. Look at the parade behind us, for heaven’s sake.” Jillian waved her free hand at the entourage that followed them. Dogs certainly, but also cats, goats, two pigs and an assortment of chickens and geese. “Why do they do that?”
