"Yeah right.” What did Cait know?
Retrieving the glass, he held it over the filly's umbilicus and then shook the container so that the entire stump was well coated. “I'll leave you with a handful of these syringes. You should repeat this process two or three times a day for the first forty-eight hours."
"Dolan, don't be stubborn and miss out on someone like Tracy. I mean even if she—” Cait grew quiet, quickly turning towards the foal. “So is this little baby the cutest thing you've ever seen?"
Dolan and Cord shared a knowing glance. Cait was hiding something.
"Spill it?” Dolan demanded, closing in on her.
Cait looked askew rubbing her palms on her jeans. “Are you talking to me?” Too much innocence in her voice was a dead giveaway.
"You know damn well he's talking to you.” Cord had his back. “If you know something, tell him."
"It's not my place,” she insisted.
Both of them nailed her with a steely glare.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay.” Releasing a heavy sigh, she planted her palms on her slender hips. “Tracy has a child."
"What?” Dolan and Cord said in unison. Taylor Tweeds snorted her displeasure with their raised voices.
"Actually it's her nephew,” she clarified in a whisper.
Dolan's heartbeat eased some.
"Her sister was killed in a horse accident. Tracy's the boy's guardian. For all purposes she's his mother now.” Cautiously she watched Dolan.
"She never mentioned—I mean.” He paused. Tracy had a child.
"Did you ever give her an opportunity?” Cait asked. “Sometimes you two are more interested in physical activities. Talking takes the backseat with you boys."
"Ah, honey.” Cord reached for her.
She dodged his grasp, but Dolan saw the amusement in her eyes. “Don't, ‘Ah, honey’ me. It's true."
"It's just that you are so fucking sexy. I can't keep my hands off of you,” Cord confessed with laughter in his tone.
Dolan could have kicked himself. Tracy had tried to talk to him the last time they were together, but he had been more interested in physical activities as Cait put it so delicately. Had this been what Tracy had wanted to talk about or had it something to do with Zach?
"Do you love her?"
"What?” he turned his attention back to Cait.
"I said, ‘Do you love her?’”
Did he? Of course he did. “The night we all had dinner together I asked her to move in with me."
Cord choked. Cait slapped her husband hard on the back.
"That's before I found her in Zach's arms.” The thought made the knot in Dolan's gut twist.
"Did you let her explain?” Cait asked condescendingly. “Or did you stomp out of the room leaving her to fight off that bastard alone?"
Holy shit. Had he left her unprotected? Had Zach taken advantage of her? The fire in his blood roared to life again. He'd kill the sonofabitch.
"Soooo.” Cait held on to the last letter. “You condemned her without knowing all the facts. Hung her without a trial."
Cord pulled her into his arms. “I think you got your point across, dear."
Yep. She did that quite well.
"I guess the only other question is, does it matter that she has a child?” Cait had a way of cutting through the chase and getting straight to the point.
He didn't even have to think twice. The answer was no. He wanted Tracy. If she came with a child then Dolan would welcome the boy into their lives.
"What do I do now?” The lost voice he heard didn't sound like his own, which proved he had it bad for Tracy.
"Grovel? Apologize? Beg?” Cait suggested with a gleam in her eyes. “Now finish checking my mare and filly and get the hell out of here."
This love thing could really hurt a man's pride. Yet when he looked at Cord gazing upon Cait with so much love, Dolan knew it was worth it.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seventeen
Tracy needed to get out of town to reevaluate the situation. She finished washing her hands and dried them off. For two hours she had tried to get Dolan off her mind, but it did no good. The more she thought of him, the more depressed and angrier she got. He hadn't even given her a chance to explain how she wound up in Zach's arms.
As she walked out of the examination room, she recalled the fury in Dolan's eyes—eyes turned accusingly on her.
How dare he.
She swatted at the lock of hair that fell before her eyes, boots clicking against the title floor as she entered the empty waiting room. The light scent of antiseptic was present. Florence, the middle-aged receptionist, stopped typing and looked up as she passed by.
"I'll be in Dr. Zimmerman's office if you need me,” Tracy threw over a shoulder.
"Yes, Dr. Marx.” The click of Florence's long nails on the keyboard followed.
With each step through the sterile hallway Tracy's footsteps grew heavier. She was running away, going back to the only place she had ever felt safe—home.
Stopping before the door that sported Dr. Zimmerman's name plate, she raised her hand and then hesitated.
Dammit. This was unprofessional and immature.
"Shake it off,” she chastised as her arm lowered to her side. “Just start anew."
Which meant exactly what?
Whatever it was, she had to deal with it. This was her career. She stood a little taller. So what if she'd screwed up? She could make it right. It wasn't too late to put Dr. Crane out of her mind and focus on what was important, her career and Sheldon.
She was about to leave when the door jerked open, startling her. Zach's face was still flushed, cheeks red. He glared at her, not even attempting to camouflage his animosity.
"Move aside, boy, and let her in,” Dr. Zimmerman demanded. She peered over Zach's shoulder and his father waved her in.
His son eased to the side, but not very quickly, each step a show of pain across his face. Pride squeezed her chest, knowing she had contributed to his discomfort. Her only disappointment was that she hadn't incapacitated the sonofabitch completely.
Straightening the collar of her medical jacket, she stepped inside. “I'm sorry. I thought you were alone.” A variety of reasons why she might want to see him ran through her mind, but none of them seemed to work. Think. There had to be something they needed to discuss.
"No need for apologizes.” A grey eyebrow rose. “Junior was just leaving."
"But, Dad—"
"No,” he said sharply, the finality in his tone obvious. “It's a losing venture. Besides you look like you need to ice those.” He glanced down at his son's crotch and then pulled his gaze toward her. “Your doings?"
Heat burned her face. Her mouth opened to respond but nothing came out. Like an idiot she just stood there.
"Fuck this,” Zach growled, striking her shoulder with his as he pushed by her.
Dr. Zimmerman shook his head, a father's frustration shown in his concerned expression. “Close your mouth, dear.” He limped around the big mahogany desk and took a seat.
She blinked, snapping her mouth closed. “Sir, I—"
He held up a hand. “Let me apologize for him.” He inhaled and then slowly released the air in his lungs. “Are you okay?"
Lord have mercy. This must not be the first time Zach had accosted someone in the office. She was dumbfounded, searching for something intelligent to say, but the only thing that came out was, “Huh?"
Dr. Zimmerman eased back in his chair. “He's a little reckless, especially when it comes to women and Dolan. Those boys have been at each other since they were kids.” Silence stretched between them. His scrutinizing stare a little unnerving. “So, did you patch things up with Dolan?"
Fuckfuckfuck. He knew about them?
She licked her lips. Her backbone straightened. “I'm not sure what you're talking about.” The lie stuck in her throat.
He stared at her a moment longer. “I'm old, not blind. Not much goes
on around here that I'm not privy to.” He paused before adding, “Besides I was standing around the corner. Saw each of you exit the supply room. Didn't take much to put it all together."
Tracy's stomach rolled. She was going to be sick. Everything she'd worked for was slipping through her fingers. “I'm so sorry. I'll tender my resignation immediately."
He slammed a palm against the desk, making her jump. “The hell you will.” He paused. His voice softened when he spoke again. “Dolan needs someone like you. The boy's lonely and misguided."
Lonely? Misguided? Were they talking about the same person?
"He's a good man.” Dr. Zimmerman's expression was weary. “Solid. Just a little wild. He needs a woman who can tame him."
Tame him? She didn't want a man who needed tamed. She had responsibilities, goals. What was she thinking getting involved with him? “I'm not the one."
Dr. Zimmerman rubbed his chin. “He must think so or he wouldn't be so upset."
"His pride was bruised. He'll get over it.” But could she? Could she see him every day and not yearn to touch him—kiss him?
Yes. She didn't have a choice.
He pushed his chair further beneath the desk. “We okay?"
"What about your son? I don't want any problems with him.” No way did she want to fight the man every time they crossed paths. Next time he laid a hand on her she would emasculate him.
"You won't. I've asked him not to come around the office. Boy has caused enough problems.” Sadness rimmed his eyes.
"Then we're good.” A weight lifted from her shoulders, but she still felt exhausted from the day's events. “My schedule is clear. If you don't mind I think I'll call it a day."
Dr. Zimmerman nodded. He looked fatigued as he turned his attention to a report on his desk. Without another word she let herself out.
Standing on the other side of the closed door, she leaned against it. She could do this—she had to. Opportunity like this didn't knock every day. What happened between her and Dolan was in the past. Resolve in place, she pushed away from the door and headed for her office. As she reached for the doorknob, Courtney came around the corner, out of breath.
"Dr. Marx, Dawn's Break caught her leg in the rungs of her corral. I can't get Dr. Crane on his cell phone."
Tracy didn't think twice before releasing the door. “Let's see what she's done to herself."
Courtney led the way outside. As they turned the bend, Tracy saw Kerry holding the sorrel's halter. The filly's nostrils flared. Her eyes laden with anxiety as she danced around.
"I think she's more scared than hurt,” he offered, fighting to control her. She stomped her injured leg, digging her hoof into the dirt. “Doesn't appear to be broken. But I don't know how long she had been tangled in the fence."
A light sheen of perspiration blanketed the horse's neck. The pungent scent mingled with the smell of fear. Tracy eased toward the skittish horse, jerking against the man's hold.
"Easy, girl.” She hummed, growing closer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dolan approaching. Her attention was stolen for just a moment, but long enough that she didn't see the horse break Kerry's hold or twist and kick out with her hind leg.
It happened so quickly. Pain splintered in her head. Her feet ripped out from beneath her as darkness swallowed her up.
The breath in Dolan's lungs froze. The horse spun and kicked, her sharp hoof slamming into Tracy. Her head snapped backward, hair flying in all directions. As her feet came off the ground and she soared through the air, he hit a dead run. Landing with a sickening thud, she didn't move. Courtney released a high pitch scream. While in the background he heard Kerry struggling to get the horse under control.
Tracy's beautiful hair was matted with blood, covering her face as he fell to his knees beside her. Carefully, he brushed the hair from her eyes and the wound that bled profusely. The acrid scent was heavy in the warm air. A chill shook him.
He tried to remain calm, but his heart was pounding erratically, chest taut. It was a struggle to breathe. “Courtney, call 911.” The young girl was rooted where she stood. Her eyes were panic ridden. “Courtney,” he yelled.
She startled into action, running towards the facility.
Dolan's first instinct was to jerk Tracy into his arms, but he didn't dare move her in case the impact had caused a neck or spine injury. Instead he placed his hand against the wound, hoping to stop the flow that continued to leak between his fingers.
Kerry drew nearer, careful to keep the nervous horse away. “Is she okay?"
Helplessness pulled at Dolan like a drowning man forced deeper and deeper into the depths. His stomach rolled as he continued to check her vitals. His hand shook so badly, he fumbled to find a pulse. “I don't know.” For a moment, he couldn't find the beat. He released her wrist and placed his fingers to her throat. Panic like he had never felt before iced his veins as he sought a palpitation. Her face was unnaturally pale. Pressing lightly on the artery just below her jaw, he felt the faint beat.
Dawn's Break whinnied and stomped her hoof. “Pen that damn horse and get me a blanket,” Dolan barked. The last thing they needed was for Tracy to go into shock.
Time was elusive. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours that ripped at his heart. “Wake up, darlin'.” The sound of running footsteps tore him out of the daze that had gripped him. Courtney had returned, joined by the rest of the staff, including Doc Zimmerman.
Leaning on his cane, he asked, “What happened?"
Emotion lodged in Dolan's throat as he tried to respond but couldn't. She had to be all right. If only she'd wake up. He needed to see her turquoise eyes.
"Oh.” Her weak moan was the most wondrous sound he'd ever heard. Relief rushed over him like a warm breeze. She raised her arm and started to sit up, but he restrained her with his free hand.
"Be still, honey. You've been hurt."
"Hurt?” Her voice was slurred. Her eyes remained closed.
Kerry smoothed a horse blanket over her as Courtney handed him a handful of sterile bandages. He used them to apply pressure against the wound as the technician began to tell Zimmerman what had happened. By the time she finished, the cry of sirens rose. Shortly afterwards the flash of red and blue lights appeared over a hill.
As the fire truck came to abrupt stop, four firemen jumped from the vehicle. One carried a large first aid kit; another held a backboard and head immobilizer.
A tall blond man began to don latex gloves as he knelt beside Dolan. His nametag identified him as Sturgen. The fireman gave him a warm smile. “We'll take over. What happened?"
As Dolan explained the incident, Sturgen took Tracy's vitals. Another fireman removed the bandage and examined the wound. Ripping open several packages of gauze pads, he reapplied pressure against the wound while a third fireman immobilized her neck and head.
"Can you tell me your name?” Sturgen asked.
She wedged her eyes open when one of the firemen inserted an intravenous line. “Is all this necessary?"
"Darlin', answer his question.” Dolan gripped her hand tightly. She frowned as if she would refuse, yet she conceded.
"Dr. Tracy Marx."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His little redhead was proud of her title. Sturgen looked toward him for confirmation.
He nodded.
"What day is it, Dr. Marx?"
"Wen—No it's Thursday."
Sturgen asked a couple more question and thankfully, she answered them clearly and correctly.
"Can you take this thing off my neck now?” she grumbled, reaching up to tug it as pain twisted her expression.
"Not until a doctor has examined you,” Dolan answered before Sturgen could. She could have a concussion, internal bleeding. She wasn't coming home until he knew she was well.
"It's not n—"
"Don't argue with me. You're going to the hospital,” he stated firmly. Releasing her hand, he pushed to his feet. Her precious blood was all over his hands and
even his jeans and shirt. As the firemen loaded her onto the backboard and then into the back of their vehicle, he made a quick call to her uncle to let him know what happened.
As he climbed into the back of the emergency vehicle, Doc Zimmerman said, “I'll have one of the staff drive your truck to the hospital. You'll call as soon as you know something?"
"Yes.” He had completely forgotten about how they'd get back home. The doors closed and he turned to find her staring at him.
"Why are you here?” she asked.
"Because it's where I belong.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eighteen
The rest of the day was spent on one test after another. Night came and went. Each time a nurse woke Tracy, Dolan was there watching intently. Yet as her eyelids slid open this morning, the recliner he had been sitting in was empty. Disappointment seeped into her bones. Had it been her imagination? Had she dreamt his presence? She touched the bandage on her forehead and winced. Clearly the accident had been real as was the sterile hospital room she glanced around. The only dash of color was the beautiful flower arrangements that sat about.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. She couldn't believe she was in this situation. What did the doctor say? A mild concussion and eight stitches. Luck had been on her side. A chill slid up her spine, remembering the ill-fate her sister had met.
"Sheldon,” she whispered, tossing back the sheet and blanket. There was so much she had to do. He was arriving on Saturday. Lord. That was tomorrow, if today was Friday. Plus she needed to check on Ice Princess and what about the office? Attempting to rise, she stopped midway when she heard the door open.
"Auntie!” Her chest tightened at the sound of her nephew's small voice, but how? She couldn't believe her eyes as the auburn-haired three-year-old bounded through the door. Suddenly he came to an abrupt halt. Frowned and pointed to her head. “Owie."
He looked so cute. She couldn't help laughing which made her wince once more. Owie was right. Pain splintered to the very roots of her hair. She inhaled, pushing aside the discomfort. “How did you get here?"
Take Me Again Page 17
