A Baby on the Ranch: A Baby on the RanchRamona and the Renegade

by Marie Ferrarella

  From where he stood, it only made sense. Currently, Mona had no pet roaming around the house, a condition that he considered rather unusual for her. Growing up, Mona was constantly bringing home strays, nursing them back to health. Having a pet right now would definitely take the edge off of being alone.

  “It’s only logical,” Joe argued. “How are people going to trust a vet with their pets if that vet doesn’t even have a dog or a cat of her own?”

  Mona laughed and shook her head. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

  It was a teasing remark. She wasn’t prepared for the seriousness of his expression—or of his tone—as Joe answered, “Yes, I am.”

  He meant it, she thought. The next moment she told herself not to make a big deal of it. He said a lot of things with that solemn look on his face. It was just his way. It didn’t mean anything.

  In any event, it wasn’t so much a case of what Joe had just said, that people would regard her with suspicion if she didn’t have a pet of her own. He probably believed that if she was busy nursing the dog, she would stop dwelling on the things that made her unhappy.

  He was probably right, she mused.

  Besides, she’d been on the lookout for a new pet ever since Lloyd, her beloved Labrador, had died six months ago at the age of thirteen.

  Still cradling the stray against her, she looked up at Joe and quietly said, “Thank you.”

  And then she turned her attention to the animal. The mongrel was badly in need of a bath, but from what she could see at first glance, the dog didn’t appear to be injured. Right now, her first order of business was to see about feeding him. Cleaning him up could wait.

  “You hungry, Apache?” Mona asked her newfound friend.

  Joe frowned, looking from the dog to her. “Apache?” he questioned. “You’re actually going to call the dog Apache?”

  Her smile widened. The smile infiltrated her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Why?” he asked, mystified.

  “Because he looks like an Apache.” Before Joe could say anything in protest to the comparison, she added pointedly, “Just look at the nobility in those eyes.” She turned slightly so that the dog’s face was more visible to Joe. “He’s had his share of troubles and managed to survive and still come out whole. Still able to hold his head up high.” She scratched the dog under his chin as she continued. The dog looked as if he’d just crossed over to heaven. “If that isn’t a good description of an Apache, I don’t know what is.”

  “You know, if you ever decide to stop being a vet, you could always become a politician.”

  Mona met his suggestion with a pronounced shiver. “God forbid. Anyway, I just got started finally putting all that veterinarian schooling to work. I don’t plan to stop for another fifty, sixty years.”

  Mona didn’t know the meaning of the word stop, Joe thought. She was relentless when she wanted something or had her mind set on an idea.

  “If I know you, you’ll just be getting your second wind by then,” he said.

  Tickled, Mona laughed, really laughed. As always, the sound got under his skin, doing things to him with an increased urgency that could easily turn out to be his undoing.

  Time for him to get going. Before the temptation to stay grew to be too big to resist. Or conquered.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said to Mona, then pet the dog’s head. The dog didn’t even seem to notice. His entire focus was on Mona. “You, too, ‘Apache.’”

  Just for a second, the dog shifted his eyes toward him, as if the animal sensed that was his new name. God, now Mona had him attributing a complex thought process to a dog.

  With the dog still in her arms, Mona accompanied Joe the short distance to the door.

  “Thank you for this,” she said warmly, affectionately leaning her cheek against the top of Apache’s caramel head.

  Much as he would have liked to take the full credit for this, it was all just happenstance. The animal had picked the right time to cross his path. Two minutes either way and the dog would have still been roaming the streets.

  Moving Apache over to her left side, Mona impulsively rose up on her toes and expressed her gratitude with a kiss.

  She’d intended to kiss Joe on the cheek, but just before she made contact, Mona swayed, her balance shifting, and she suddenly wound up brushing her lips against his mouth instead. Memories of the first night she’d returned to Forever flashed through her head. The next second, heat pulsed through the rest of her.

  The identical kind of heat, it turned out, that now wound its way through Joe. He’d felt it the instant her lips had touched his. Had there not been a dog between them, he might have been seriously tempted to push things further. Might have anchored her in place by taking hold of her upper arms with his hands and then brought her closer to him as he did his damndest to deepen the kiss.

  To bond their souls a little more.

  But the dog had started whining again, the jarring noise shattering the moment and the things that might have been.

  Know just how you feel, Apache, he thought as he stepped back. It was obvious to him that the old adage about no good deeds going unpunished was true. Just as well. If he’d gone ahead and done what he’d wanted to do, there would be no end to the consequences.

  The yearning he felt refused to go away. He did what he could to ignore it.

  “If you need anything,” he said to Mona, “just give me a call.” Then, in case she took that to be some sort of open invitation to follow up on that fleeting kiss, he added, “I am the acting sheriff until your brother gets back, so it’s my job to look out for everyone in Forever. You included.”

  She smiled at him. The smile seemed to pierce his chest and go straight into his heart. It was a damn silly notion considering the way he felt about complications.

  “Nice to know.” She raised Apache’s paw and pretended that the dog was waving goodbye. Assuming a light-pitched voice she said, “‘Thanks for not hitting me with your car, Sheriff Joe.’”

  Joe said nothing. He merely rolled his eyes, turned on his heel and walked out.

  The sound of her laughter, even after she closed the door, followed him down the short walkway, and he could have sworn he heard it even as he got into the Jeep.

  With determination, he started his car and pulled away, knowing that if he lingered even a second longer, he wouldn’t be going anywhere except inside her home again.

  And this time, the stray he’d be bringing to her would be him.

  He had a feeling that this more than anything else was why Rick had left him in charge. The position was a safeguard against his acting impulsively. In other words, being acting sheriff was supposed to keep him on the straight and narrow. And that in turn meant that he couldn’t allow himself to follow any basic instincts that reared their heads while Rick was gone.

  “Think of everything, don’t you, Rick?” he murmured under his breath, addressing his words to the man who was not there.

  Chapter Ten

  “Morning, Sheriff.”

  Alma and Larry’s voices blended together in a singsong cadence as Joe walked into the office the following day.

  He had never cared very much for Mondays and this Monday promised to be a trying one.

  Today was the day he assumed his new—albeit temporary, he silently emphasized—post.

  Going toward his desk, he muttered a barely audible, “Morning, Alma. Morning, Larry,” in response. He made his way around Larry.

  Just before he was about to sit down, Alma placed herself between him and his chair.

  Joe sighed. He’d already braced himself this morning, expecting to be the target of a great deal of ribbing today and probably for the next few days. Hopefully this wouldn’t last the entire time the sheriff was gone, but to be honest, he wouldn’t bet on it.

  When Alma continued to place herself in his way even as he tried to move around her, he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “You can’t sit here,” she to
ld him, her heart-shaped face the picture of innocence.

  It was going to be a long Monday. “And just why is that?”

  “Because this isn’t your desk right now.” Turning, Alma pointed toward the small, crammed, glass-enclosed area that served as Rick’s office. “That’s where the sheriff sits,” she informed him brightly.

  Joe knew that if he gave even so much as an inch and allowed her to win this round, Alma and Larry were seriously going to ride roughshod over him. He intended to hand Rick back the office just the way that he had found it—running smoothly.

  “That’s where the sheriff sits when the sheriff is Rick,” Joe corrected, then nodded toward his own desk. “And this is where the sheriff sits when the sheriff is me.” He looked from one deputy to the other. Maybe it was better to cut to the chase right from the beginning. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. Maybe even less, but leaving me in charge is something that Rick decided on his own, so let’s just all try to get through it, okay?”

  Larry grinned. “Who says we don’t like it?” he asked. And then he laughed when Joe looked at him in confusion. “This gives us one hell of an opportunity to hold your butt to the fire.”

  Joe closed his eyes as he took his seat. “Now, there’s a pretty image,” he muttered.

  Alma grinned wickedly. “Depends on what side of the fire you’re on.”

  When he opened his eyes, Alma was still watching him.

  “You do wear your jeans a whole lot better than Larry does,” she told him, a wicked grin on her face.

  “I take exception to that,” Larry protested.

  “Don’t you two have work to finish?” Joe asked.

  He heard the front door opening behind him and was grateful that Pete McKay chose that moment to walk into the sheriff’s office.

  For about ninety seconds.

  It turned out Pete was there to file a complaint regarding the “noise pollution” he was forced to endure. Joe knew from experience that it wasn’t the first time, but this time, he was in charge.

  He listened to the retired hardware-store owner rant for a couple of minutes, sprinkling twenty-dollar words in between two-dollar phrases.

  “You know, Pete, you might try talking like a regular person,” Joe suggested patiently. He displayed no emotion one way or another. “It’s not ‘noise pollution,’ it’s a damn dog barking.”

  “It’s a lot of damn dogs barking,” the old man corrected angrily. “And it’s getting worse.”

  Joe was fairly certain the problem wasn’t getting worse because the noise was increasing. The reason lay elsewhere. “That’s because you retired, Pete, and you’re home all the time.” He saw a reasonable solution. “Ever think of going back to work?”

  “Can’t,” the old man bit off bitterly. He blew out an annoyed huff because he apparently had no one to blame for this but himself. If there had been someone else, Joe knew the old man would have loudly informed him of it. “I sold the hardware store to Jim Phelps last month.”

  Joe was aware that Larry and Alma were taking in every syllable while pretending to be busy.

  He paused for a moment, thinking, then said, “Well, you could try offering to go back as a consultant.” He saw Pete’s sour look deepen. “I’m sure Jim could use you. There’s a lot of stored-up knowledge in that head of yours, Pete,” Joe said, laying it on thicker than he might have normally. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Joe had a feeling that this display of even worse temper than usual was because the man, a lifelong bachelor with no family to speak of, had just recently retired and, devoid of hobbies, he had nothing to do with his days and nights. Every minor irritation grew to the size of a pending war.

  Pete’s frown grew so deep, it created ruts in his forehead. The old man waved an impatient hand, dismissing the suggestion. “Why bother? Phelps won’t want me hanging around.”

  “Not hanging around, mentoring,” Joe told him. He saw a flash of interest enter the man’s dark gray eyes. “You could give advice, show people how things are done. Maybe even hold some do-it-yourself classes in the back of the store once in a while. I’ll talk to Jim about it,” Joe promised. “And in the meantime, I’ll ask Doc if he could do something about the noise. Does that work for you?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” The snow-white head bobbed up and down as Pete appeared to consider what had just been said. “That works for me.” Satisfied, Pete turned on his well-worn heels and headed for the door. He paused only long enough to say, “Thanks,” before he closed the door behind him.

  The moment the door clicked into place, Joe exhaled. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon. A long one. It took him a second to realize that instead of mercilessly tag-team ribbing him, Alma and Larry were applauding and giving him a standing ovation.

  Alma stopped clapping and dropped her hands to her sides. “You know, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time.”

  “At one time?” Larry echoed with a hoot. “Hell, that’s the most he’s ever said in a week. A month,” he corrected.

  Joe decided that he could do with some air—and some time away from his deputies. Getting to his feet, he reached for his hat that he’d tossed on the edge of his desk.

  “Where’re you going?” Larry asked.

  Joe had never liked being questioned. Now was no exception. “I told Pete that I’d have a talk with Doc, so I’m going to go have a talk with Doc. That all right with you, Larry?”

  Larry held his hands up as if he were surrendering and pretended to back away. “You’re the boss, Joe.”

  “Ha!” was the only comment Joe made as he left the office.

  He knew that Larry and Alma didn’t really mean anything by the ribbing. They, and Rick, were as close to family as he had these days and this was what families did: they drove each other crazy. Except for his real family. They had gone out of their way to ignore him when he had been thrust into their midst, a recently orphaned ten-year-old boy.

  Foregoing his Jeep, Joe opted to walk to the vet’s. It was too beautiful a day not to enjoy at least some of it.

  With his long stride, he got to Doc Whitman’s fifteen minutes later. Years ago, Doc had bought the old Sutherland house and converted the bottom floor into an animal clinic. The veterinarian lived on the second floor. It had three bedrooms, but he kept two locked up for the most part, claiming to need very little in the way of space.

  They had that in common, he and Doc.

  McKay’s house bordered the animal clinic on the left. There was enough room between the two buildings for any loud sounds coming from the clinic to be fairly muffled by the time they reached the old man’s walls. Joe suspected that McKay had lodged the complaint because he just needed an excuse to come into the sheriff’s office and interact with another human being.

  Some people couldn’t handle loneliness without it changing them. Joe had gotten fairly used to it himself. Until Mona had come back.

  Joe blocked the thought and went up the front steps to the animal clinic’s front door. As he did, he noted that McKay’s 1983 Impala wasn’t in his driveway. Hopefully, the old man had taken his advice and gone to see Jim Phelps about helping out at his former hardware store.

  Knocking on the door, Joe walked into the clinic just as Shirley Hoffman exited one of the exam rooms, one arm draped over her daughter, Celeste’s, shoulder. Celeste, twelve, was carrying her pet guinea pig, the obvious reason for the visit.

  The visit had to have come out all right, Joe judged. The little girl was smiling.

  Shirley paused at the empty receptionist’s desk. The receptionist had decided last week to move to Seattle with her boyfriend and Doc had yet to find someone to take her place. Shirley put her purse on top of the desk and rummaged for her checkbook.

  “How much do I owe you, Doctor?” she asked.

  Her question was directed to Mona, who had come out behind her. Mona joined the woman, still making notes in the very thin folder she carried.

 
She wore a white lab coat and looked exceedingly professional—for Mona. The image of her, wearing the lab coat, high heels and nothing else, flashed through his mind.

  The image stirred him.

  “Nothing,” Mona answered. When the woman looked at her quizzically, Mona explained, “The first visit is free.”

  “But this isn’t our first visit,” Shirley protested, although even from where he was standing, Joe could see that the woman looked hopeful.

  “I meant, the first visit for me,” Mona told her. She nodded toward the animal in the carrier that Celeste was holding. “Just make sure Ginny takes the medicine I gave you. She needs to take it until it’s all gone,” Mona emphasized.

  That was when Shirley released the breath she was holding. “I don’t know how to thank you. Celeste is so attached to that animal.”

  “No need for thanks, that’s what I’m here for,” Mona assured her, walking the pair out the front door.

  “You’re here to drive Doc to the poor house?” Joe asked after Shirley and Celeste were gone.

  Aware that he was there, she’d acknowledged him with a nod until her business with Shirley and her daughter was finished. Now that they were alone, Mona was mildly curious what he was doing here.

  “Shirley’s husband lost his job last month,” she told him. “They’re having a tough time of it.” She’d gotten that information from her brother as a quick review of what had been going on since she was last home. “Besides,” she said with a careless shrug, “I’m only doing what Doc would do if he were here.”

  Joe realized that he’d missed that little fact. Ordinarily, Doc would have come out by now, drawn by the sound of voices if nothing else. “Doc’s not here?” he questioned.

  As she spoke, Mona began neatening the reception desk. With mail, flyers and folders scattered about, the surface currently resembled no-man’s-land. “No.”

  “Where is he?” Joe pressed when she didn’t elaborate beyond the one-word answer.

  At times, he got the distinct feeling that she enjoyed pressing his buttons. All of them. At the same time.

  “He drove over to the Jessup ranch first thing this morning. One of Drew Jessup’s prize stallions is acting colicky.”