by Stasia Black
He glanced around and saw a short, compact woman with three little girls crowded around her. “Hi guys, I’m Dr. Hunter.”
Their eyes were all fearful as he came in. The littlest girl was sniffling. Hunter wasn’t great with kids’ ages but he thought they were all between five and ten, maybe.
“Who do we have here?” Hunter leaned down on his haunches and looked at the dog.
“That’s Jupiter,” the middle tallest girl said. She had big plastic glasses and frizzy brown hair similar to her mother’s. “My dad ran over him.”
The mother looked mortified and hurriedly stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Pam. My husband wasn’t looking where he was going this morning. He was in a hurry and he backed out of the garage without looking.”
The youngest girl burst into tears and the mom stopped and turned to her daughter. “Oh honey, it’s going to be okay. The doctor here is going to make Jupiter feel better.”
“Let’s see what’s going on with him. How old is he?”
He reached for Jupiter, keeping his eyes on the dog and off Isobel as she transferred the dog into his arms.
“Just a little over ten months,” Isobel answered.
Hunter shifted the dog in his arms and felt down along the problem leg. The dog whined the same way he had when Isobel touched him. Hunter suspected a break but there was only one way to be sure.
“Okay,” Hunter stood up, holding the dog to his chest. “I’m gonna take this handsome guy to x-ray. We’ll be right back with some more answers for you.”
“Is Jupiter going to be okay?” the girl with glasses asked.
Hunter offered her a gentle smile of assurance. “We’ll go get a picture of his bones and then we’ll have a better idea of what we need to do to fix him up. Okay?”
She nodded reluctantly. Isobel hurried to open the door for Hunter.
The x-ray room was just a couple doors down and Isobel opened that door for him as well. He kept it clinical as he told her where the lead aprons were and put everything in place to get the images they needed.
He lifted Jupiter off the x-ray table when Isobel said softly, “You were good with the girls back there. It’s got to be hard when you can’t promise that their dog will be okay.”
Hunter didn’t say anything as the printer spit out the x-ray film. He silently handed Jupiter off to Isobel. She took the dog and scratched his head, being careful not to jostle his back leg.
“I mean, in college, they try to prepare you for that part of the job. I spent a semester volunteering at a clinic but I still never got used to it.”
The room was dark apart from the light box on the wall that Hunter slapped the x-ray films against. The atmosphere was a little too intimate. He didn’t want to bond with Isobel about the difficulties of being a vet. Because of course it was hard being part of the worst day in a child’s life when they had to say goodbye to a beloved animal. But the truth was, he’d gotten so used to it, it bothered him less and less over the years. Which bothered him even more.
Hunter frowned when he saw the x-ray against the light. “I was afraid of that,” he murmured.
Isobel came close. And flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Hunter gritted his teeth but pointed out the break even as she said, “Ouch. His femur. That won’t be easy to brace.”
She ducked her head down to nuzzle the dog.
“We can’t just use a standard cast,” he said. It was too high up on his back leg. “But we can try a Thomas brace to put the leg in traction. It’ll at least give him a chance.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed into the dog’s ear.
She was sensitive. Not always the best quality in a vet.
Which was a good thing, he tried to remind himself. He was supposed to be trying to get her to quit. Not be working with her like they made a good team.
Because they didn’t. At all.
He turned and abruptly left the room without another word. Her footsteps followed behind him. He ignored her as he stepped back into the room with the family and explained the x-ray and the brace he’d be putting on. He also tried to set their expectations—only time would tell how the dog healed with the brace and lots of rest.
The girls nodded bravely and then they went to wait out in the hall while Hunter pulled out the coil of aluminum tubing he used for this sort of thing. With a small heating element, he started molding a cone-shaped frame.
“Oh.” Isobel sounded startled. “You don’t use a pre-made frame? You make it from scratch?”
“All different shapes of animals,” was all he said. Plus, he saw no need for fancy equipment when he could make the same thing for ten bucks with materials from the hardware store. Folks around here could rarely afford the extra expense and sometimes any little cost saving measures he could find meant the difference between a client having to choose to put down a family pet or being able to treat them instead.
Hunter went over and gave the dog a sedative, then fit the round part of the cone he was shaping around Jupiter’s hip joint to check the fit. The hoop needed to be a little narrower. He went back to his heating element and rod to shape the aluminum some more.
He ignored Isobel for the next thirty minutes as he set the dog’s leg, then fit the Thomas brace into place and taped the leg down to keep it in traction. If Jupiter didn’t overexert himself too much, the leg had a good chance of healing up just fine.
He finished the last bit of tape around the frame, then, on a whim, reached into his drawer and pulled out a glittery silver smiley face sticker and placed it on top of the tape right below the hip.
He picked up Jupiter and turned to go take him back to the little girls and their mom. Which was when he caught Isobel watching him. With this little smile and her eyes all soft. It made his neck feel hot.
He frowned and headed for the door. “Clean up in here. It’s 12:45. We were due at the Anderson farm fifteen minutes ago.”
Chapter 10
ISOBEL
Four farm calls and one hundred and thirty miles later, Isobel was ready to pummel Hunter Dawkins’ handsome face in.
Had she actually thought he was sweet earlier today taking care of that family dog? Temporary insanity, that was her only defense. And she was definitely cured, that was for damn sure.
He hadn’t let her touch another animal all day. She’d been relegated to watching him handle cases from the background. So far in the background, in fact, she’d barely been able to see what he was doing half the time.
I know you city folk think cows are cute and just part of the scenery, but they pack a nasty kick. It’s best if you watch from behind the fence.
Hunter had said that right in front of the farmer who’d called them out. If Isobel’s face had flamed any hotter she would have spontaneously combusted.
Then there were the endless hours on the road. Hunter was apparently the only large animal vet in two counties. And Wyoming? Yeah. It was a big damn state.
She’d thought he was joking when he told her how few veterinarians there were. Five and a half hours later, she believed it.
But she swore, if she had to spend one more minute locked in the cramped cab of Hunter’s truck with him, she’d scream.
Did he have to take up so much space? He drove with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right arm draped lazily between them, taking up about three-fourths of the entire bench seat. She’d been crammed up against the passenger side door for several hours between all the farms because she didn’t want to accidently touch him and have him thinking that she was trying to play handsy with him.
Not to mention, the music. God, if she heard another pop country singer twanging about how all they needed in life was beer, their truck, God, and the USA, she might just throw the door open and leap out of the moving vehicle.
A commercial for Chevy trucks ended and then the twanging steel guitar started up, followed by a man with a deep southern voice singing, “You can take a man’s steer but don’t you dare take his beer—”
&nbs
p; Enough!
She reached over and pushed the off button on the console.
Ah. Blessed silence. Finally. She relaxed back in her seat with a relieved sigh.
Until Hunter flicked the radio back on the next second.
“—take your dreams but you’ll never give up Jim Bean.”
Isobel’s mouth dropped open.
She punched the radio off again, then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Hunter.
His hand shot out almost before she was even settled. He cranked the volume up and started singing along, picking up right in the middle of the line.
“—ever choke, you can rely on Jack and coke. Whoa-a, they’re never gonna steal our pri-ide. We got the Lord on our si-ide.”
“Fine,” she said, having to all but yell to be heard over Hunter and the God-awful music. “Play your stupid music. Unlike some people, I’m not a child.” She huffed out so hard some of the shorter hair that framed her face flew up in a little cloud. Arms still crossed, she angled her body resolutely away from Hunter.
The music turned down and Hunter stopped singing.
“You sure throw a hissy fit like one.”
It would be bad to punch the driver of a moving car, right? Instead she dug her nails into her arms and clenched her jaw, staring out at the passing countryside and not dignifying his comments with a response.
Thankfully, they arrived ten minutes later. She was out the door almost the instant the truck came to a stop.
It was a smaller farm unlike some of the bigger operations they’d been by today. They stopped in front of a ranch house with a large barn in the distance. The sun was low on the horizon and Isobel held her hand over her eyes to look out in the direction of the barn. It had a gated area off to the side where she saw several cows meandering.
She felt Hunter come up beside her but she didn’t look at him. He passed by and went up to the door, knocking on it with several swift, decisive raps.
They stood waiting for several long moments before it opened, a baby’s wailing greeting them. A harried man stood there with an angry, red faced baby in his arms. He bounced her up and down and tried to put a pacifier in her mouth, to no avail.
“Shh, shh,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Brenda, the vet’s here.”
Something was shouted back but Isobel couldn’t make it out over more young children’s voices screaming in the background.
The man hiked the baby up to his shoulder and rubbed her back, continuing to bounce, while he looked apologetically at Hunter and Isobel. “Sorry about all this. It’s a bit hectic around here. The kids didn’t get their naps today.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jonathan. You said you had a heifer that was giving you some trouble calving?”
Jonathan nodded. “She’s out in the yard beside the barn. She’s been in labor for a few hours and isn’t moving along as quick as I’d like. Got two more that should be freshening any day now. I’d go down and show you but—” The baby on his shoulder let out a particularly ear-piercing wail and they all winced. “She’s teething.”
Aw, poor kiddo. And poor dad, if the bags underneath the man’s eyes were any indication.
“We’ll go take a look,” Hunter said.
Jonathan nodded gratefully.
Hunter turned and headed back to the truck, where he hopped up and opened the big utility box he had installed at the back. Isobel took note of every instrument he grabbed—calf puller, chains, surgery toolbox, and the lariat.
“Are you going to actually let me within three feet of the animal this time?” she asked when he hopped back down from the truck bed.
“I’ve assisted with calvings before, you know. Several times.” Okay, it had only been twice. And the first time she’d just watched from a distance. But the second time she’d been one of the people with her hands on the calf puller, yanking the baby calf into the world. As part of one of her labs at Cornell, she’d spent a week at a dairy farm in upstate New York.
Hunter didn’t respond. He just kept walking out toward the gated off pen beside the barn. What, was he just going to give her the silent treatment now? And he’d called her childish!
“Melanie told me you were short-staffed,” she had to all but jog to keep up with his long-legged stride, “and you yourself said I’d only be going on these calls with you until I was prepared enough to do them on my own. As a third-year veterinary student, I’m qualified to practice in a clinic part-time. But how will I be able to do any of that if you never let me touch any of the animals?”
He stopped walking, so suddenly it took several steps for Isobel to realize it and stop as well. She paused and looked back at him.
He had a patronizing smile on his face. “Fine. You want to be the veterinarian, working all on her own? Here’s your chance. This is now your case.” He dropped all the tools he was carrying at his feet and stepped back, his hands up.
She narrowed her eyes at him. What kind of trick was this?
But he just backed away and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with that same stupid smirk on his stupid face.
She didn’t try to hide her annoyance as she reached over and picked up the instruments he’d dropped. It was awkward to carry them all. She kept dropping one thing or other. She didn’t dare look up at Hunter, knowing she’d just find him smirking at her.
She only managed to carry everything by tucking the calf puller and lariat underneath her arms, hanging the chains around her shoulders, and picking up the surgery kit. It was all heavier than she expected and the trek to the barn far longer than it initially looked.
But finally they got there. The heifer’s plaintive mooing could be heard from the opposite end of the yard. She stood, pawing at the muddy ground, the whites of her eyes showing as she looked around wildly.
Shit. Isobel had forgotten how big cows were in person. She frantically tried to remember everything she’d learned on the couple occasions she’d seen this done.
First, get the cow in a stable position.
Both cows she’d seen give birth had been laid down on their side. But she knew that sometimes cows gave birth standing up.
She bit her lip, setting down her equipment beside the gate as they entered the yard. She felt Hunter’s eyes on her as he hopped up to sit on the fence and watch the show. Judging her. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking his direction or showing him how much this whole thing unnerved her.
He was such a jerk. She’d just wanted to assist him, not have to do the whole thing by herself. Much less with him watching on.
You can’t do this. All you’ll ever be is a failure. Who are you kidding?
Isobel shut her eyes for a brief second and breathed in a deep breath to clear her stepmother’s voice out of her head.
Turned out that wasn’t the best move because the side yard didn’t smell awesome. She’d forgotten that about her week at the dairy farm too. Animals stank. ‘Shit happens’ was more than just a saying on a farm.
Okay, time to stop overthinking this and just get it done.
She picked up the lariat and approached the laboring cow. Lassoing a cow couldn’t be that big a deal. At least not for a cow about to give birth. Right?
Isobel walked toward the cow, her arms out to the side, the loop of the lariat ready.
“Hi there, Bessie. We’re gonna take this nice and easy, okay?” That wasn’t a tremble in her voice. Nope. Not at all. She cleared her throat. “I’m here to help.” She smiled.
Apparently the cow didn’t buy it because when Isobel took another step forward, the cow skittered sideways and then past her, dragging her water bag with her as she went. In humans, women’s water just broke. In cows sometimes, like with this cow apparently, it slipped out intact like a giant water balloon hanging out her back end.
Oh the joys of veterinary medicine.
Isobel approached the cow again. She crouched lower and tried to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible. “Nice cow. We�
��re all friends here.”
The cow bolted again. When Isobel jolted to run after her, she slipped in the mud—at least she hoped it was mud—and fell on her ass.
The loud masculine laughter from behind her did nothing to lighten her mood. She set her jaw, ignored the squelching mud that splattered all over her eight-hundred-dollar riding boots, picked up the lariat, and approached the cow again.
She finally got the rope around the heifer’s neck on the sixth try. Which was good because she didn’t think it would be very compassionate of her to start screaming four letter words at a pregnant cow. Hunter on the other hand, now him she’d be happy to give an earful. If she was acknowledging his presence, that was.
Which she wasn’t.
He did not exist.
It was just her and Bessie.
“Sorry,” she said, yanking on the rope to urge the cow back toward the gate, “I’m stereotyping by calling you Bessie, aren’t I? I’m sure you are a very unique cow with your own individual spirit. How about you work with me to get this baby born and we’ll come up with a name that reflects your incredibly complex and personal style, what do you say?”
The cow let out a plaintive mooooo.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“All right. Over here. This way. Atta girl.”
Finally, Isobel managed to get the cow to the fence near the eight-foot long swinging gate door. Before the cow could run away or move again, Isobel dropped the lariat and hurried to the gate to pull it toward them to enclose the heifer. Finally the heifer was secure, nose toward the apex of the V created by the side of the fence and the gate. Bessie wasn’t going anywhere till her calf was born. The whole close-the-cow-in-with-the-paddock-door thing was another trick she’d learned from the dairy farm.
“Maybe Cassandra?” Isobel offered conversationally while she knelt down to open up the surgical box and grab out a long plastic sleeve. She fit the glove on over her left hand and then pulled the sleeve all the way up her arm to her shoulder. “Or something classic, like Helen?”
