LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Doc’s face paled slightly as he reached for the vial with one hand, fumbling for the glasses he wore on a gold chain around his neck. He perched the spectacles on his nose and studied the vial for several long moments, head tipped back, bringing the tube close and then holding it far away and squinting at the label. Finally he laid the container carefully on the desk, and with a heavy sigh he moved around and sank into the desk chair, folding his arms across his chest and staring noncommittally up at Sara.

  “Well, my dear? What is it you have to say to me?”

  The time had come for a showdown, and Sara wanted to sound totally in control, but she was sure her voice wouldn’t behave. She was right. It quivered with the force of her emotion as she began, “I know I got this job mostly because you and my stepfather are old friends, Dr. Stone, but I think by now I’ve proved I can do my job, in spite of the fact that both you and Floyd don’t respect the agreement we had about working hours or time off. You’re both taking advantage of me.”

  The older man didn’t so much as blink at her. He sat absolutely silent, watching her with that disconcerting stare that revealed nothing about what he might be feeling or thinking.

  Sara cleared her throat. “I’ve gone along without saying anything, because I love the work, and also because, of course, I need the job. However..”

  This was the part that was the hardest, and the thing that needed saying the most. Sara was pretty certain that in a few minutes, she’d be without a job or even a recommendation that would help her to find another, but there was nothing for it except to be honest now that she’d gone this far.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw Angus, dead in the other room.

  “You’ve made two serious errors in your treatments within the last month that I know of, as well as being careless about infection with those syringes. Because I’m the new vet around here, people are quick to blame me for these mistakes instead of you,” Sara blurted. “There isn’t much I can do about what people say,” she continued, “but when animals die needlessly, the way the shepherd just did, I can’t morally sit by and watch it happen, either.”

  She swallowed hard. “You gave me a chance when you hired me. I feel I owe you a chance as well, so I won’t say anything about this latest accident today. But if something like this happens again, I have to tell you that I’ll report it to the Board of Veterinary Surgeons.”

  Doc Stone didn’t blink an eye. “Is that all, Sara?” he demanded frostily. His attitude, his total lack of response or regret over what he’d done to Angus jarred her and made her even angrier than she had been, taking away any trace of nerves and leaving her cold and empty inside.

  She’d undoubtedly lost her job, anyway, so she might as well say everything she had to say. “No, it isn’t all,” she replied evenly. “I think you ought to be aware that Floyd’s drinking is affecting his work to such a degree that he’s barely useful around here. He’s late for work constantly and can’t be relied on. For the sake of the next vet you hire, something ought to be done.”

  There. She’d made a job of it that time, all right. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly breathe, and her stomach churned, but somewhere inside she felt more at peace with herself than she’d felt for weeks.

  She waited for Doc to fire her. He sat in exactly the same position, without changing expression, for several moments. Then he raised his eyebrows and said dryly, “Well? Am I to assume that’s everything you have to say, young woman?”

  Unable to utter another word, she simply nodded. And waited.

  “I’ll have a word with Floyd. You mustn’t be too hard on him, there are circumstances...” Doc’s voice died away without finishing the sentence, and still Sara waited.

  “Well.” Doc unfolded his arms and put his palms on the desk with something like a sigh. “I suppose I should call the major and give him the news about his dog.”

  “I already did,” Sara said. “He wasn’t exactly friendly. I simply said that the operation had been extensive, and there were no guarantees with injuries of that sort.”

  “I'll have a word with him myself later today. Now we ought to see to the patients who are waiting, don’t you think?” He got up slowly. “Are there calls to make?”

  Dumbfounded, she nodded.

  “Very well then, off you go and take care of them.” He slipped his glasses off his nose. “I’ll try to keep more regular hours from now on,” he said gruffly. “You’re off Saturday afternoon, aren’t you? And Sunday?”

  He knew very well what days she was supposed to have off.

  “I worked all last Saturday, so I’d like this Thursday afternoon off instead, please,” she heard herself saying in a firm tone, and he simply nodded.

  Sara walked out of the office in a daze, catching sight of Floyd’s wide backside scurrying into the other room as she opened the door. Undoubtedly he’d had his ear pressed to the keyhole and had heard every single word she’d said about him. Well, eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, Gram always maintained.

  Sara gathered the things she’d need for the afternoon calls and made her way out to the truck as if she were a robot. Sliding behind the wheel, she sat staring out without seeing a thing.

  Had the scene in there actually happened or had she only dreamed it? She’d imagined it over and over in her mind, with her boss furious and hollering at her, and not a thing accomplished except the loss of her job.

  Instead, Doc had sat quietly and seemed to listen, not even reacting when she told him her decision about reporting him.

  She reached down and turned the key in the ignition. Actually she probably hadn’t accomplished one single thing except to get all of it off her chest. She’d bet money that Doc and Floyd would go right on doing their disappearing acts.

  And would Doc go right on endangering the lives of his patients? If he did, would she have the courage to do what she’d threatened, and report him?

  Nothing ever was easy. She’d overcome one major hurdle, only to find herself with a whole new set of problems to worry over. But at least she still had a job, which was amazing.

  She checked the call list and figured out in her mind what roads she had to follow to get to the right farm. Flipping through the list of calls, she cursed under her breath. They were going to take her all afternoon and evening, even if everything went perfectly, which it never did.

  Oh, well. Being a vet kept her so busy that at least she didn’t have time to worry herself into a nervous breakdown. She pulled over and unearthed her cell. Best call home right now and let them know she wouldn’t make it home for supper.

  Five minutes later, Sara was back on the road, feeling worse than she had before she made the call. Mitch had left word with Jennie that he’d drop in at Bitterroot after supper tonight, supposedly to help Dave with the installation of the wiring for the new electric range Jennie and Gram had ordered this morning, but Sara guessed that he’d been hoping she’d be there as well.

  She wouldn’t get to see him. She slammed the truck door hard and scowled at a stray dog wagging its scrawny tail at her from the sidewalk.

  Damn it all, anyway. Being a vet kept her so busy she didn’t even have time for falling in love properly.

  Tuesday and Wednesday were exceptionally hectic, but they were also pleasantly surprising to Sara. Both mornings, Floyd actually arrived at work on time, without a visible hangover. And Doc appeared promptly to take over the office on Tuesday so she could do calls and then was on time to do them himself on Wednesday.

  Sara got to the office early on Thursday. She unlocked the door, and Tinker and Agnes immediately wound themselves around her ankles in an ecstasy of welcome.

  “What have you girls done with old Sylvester?” Sara asked, bending to give each cat a personal greeting. The feisty old neutered tom was nowhere to be seen, even though Sara called him several times and filled the food dishes, which usually brought him on the double.

  “Have you ladies locked Sylvester up somew
here to teach him manners?” Sara teased as the dainty females began to eat, politely sharing with each other this morning. There was none of the usual hissing and bullying that would have taken place if the domineering male had been present.

  “Well, he’ll turn up soon enough and make your lives miserable again,” Sara assured them, plugging in the coffee and checking the morning’s list of appointments.

  Scheduled for surgery first thing was Emily Crenshaw’s cat, Queenie. Sara had discussed the situation with Doc the day before.

  “The cat has to have a diaphragmatic hernia repaired, and the owner is destitute, so as long as you agree, I’ll do the surgery free of charge and take the cost of medication out of my salary,” she explained.

  “Crenshaw is the woman’s name? Emily Crenshaw?” Doc Stone inquired, and Sara nodded.

  “Do you know her?”

  “Yup.” Doc’s expression, as usual, revealed nothing.

  “I felt sorry for her. She adores that cat, and she’s so darned poor,” Sara said, hoping that Doc would open up about Miss Crenshaw, but he didn’t say another word.

  “It’s okay about the operation, then?” Sara persisted, and Doc peered up at her over his glasses. “Certainly,” he said dryly. “If you want to donate your time and part of your salary to Emily Crenshaw’s cat, that’s entirely up to you, my dear.”

  Something in his tone made Sara uneasy, and she’d spent a few moments wondering if perhaps she’d made a mistake about the woman’s financial situation.

  But Sara’s assessment of Emily Crenshaw as destitute was reconfirmed when she arrived with Queenie clutched in her arms shortly before 8:00 a.m. that Thursday. The woman wore the same black bowler hat and threadbare black coat she had worn the week before, and this time Sara took careful note of every detail.

  Emily’s purse was green plastic, with one strap mended with tape. The stockings on her veined legs were full of runs, and Emily had a pair of decrepit looking running shoes on her narrow feet.

  She simply had no money, that was clear.

  Sara gently took Queenie from Emily’s arms. “C’mon, Queenie, there’s a good cat.”

  Sara no sooner had her arms around the animal than Queenie turned from a laconic, placid bundle into a ferocious, hissing maniac. Sara had scratches up and down her arms and across one cheek by the time she finally managed to contain the feline inside a cage in the infirmary.

  “She’ll have to stay here overnight,” Sara told Emily after the cat was safely stowed away. “You can come and pick her up in the morning.”

  She eyed the animal warily. “Has she been this bad-tempered for long?”

  The cat had struggled last week when Sara examined her, but today she was absolutely ferocious. “Poor Queenie,” Emily was moaning, wiping her eyes with a tissue from the box on Sara’s desk. “She’s never been away from me overnight, that’s what’s wrong. She senses I’m leaving her. She sleeps right beside me, has a special pillow all her own, you know.”

  Sara dabbed with antiseptic at the deep scratch on her arm and winced, trying her best to dredge up the proper amount of sympathetic comfort for Emily and not feel animosity for Queenie.

  “We’ll take good care of her, and of course she’ll be quite groggy, so she won’t be too upset at being away from you,” Sara assured the pathetic woman, walking with her to the door.

  When Emily finally left and Sara began preparing for the operation on the cat, she was grateful that Floyd again arrived on time to help. They had all they could do to hold the cat down long enough to administer the anesthetic.

  Queenie was like a wild thing, crouching and attacking, biting and hissing and refusing to be petted or gentled.

  Floyd used a canvas restraint to protect Sara and himself, but Queenie managed to inflict damage despite it.

  “That’s a nasty bit of business, that unfortunate animal,” Floyd pronounced darkly, holding a bit of gauze to his thumb. Queenie had bitten a hunk out of him before she finally succumbed to the drug that put her to sleep so Sara could get on with the operation.

  “At least a hernia isn’t too difficult to repair,” Sara foolishly declared. “It won’t take long at all.”

  Two and a half hours later, she wished fervently that she’d never laid eyes on Queenie. Everything that could have gone wrong with a supposedly straightforward procedure had, and at one point Sara had been certain she was going to lose the cat from hemorrhage.

  Several of Queenie’s vital organs were protruding through the large tear in her diaphragm. There were adhesions to deal with, and each stage of the operation took twice as long as it ought to have. After what seemed an eternity, Queenie was once again in the infirmary, stable and sleeping peacefully, and Sara could hurriedly turn her attention to the other appointments for the morning, apologizing to disgruntled people who’d been waiting for a long time.

  Doc was only a little late, arriving before she was finished with the morning’s work.

  “That hernia operation delayed everything,” she apologized, and he seemed to hide a grin as he turned toward his office.

  She’d have to phone Jennie and Adeline and tell them she couldn’t make it for the trip out to visit Ruth this afternoon. Her heart sank. She’d been looking forward to an afternoon away from animals and their problems, an afternoon of old-fashioned woman talk...with maybe a chance to spend a few minutes with Mitch thrown in as a bonus.

  “I couldn’t believe how many problems that cat gave me,” she admitted to Doc. “If the woman were paying for it, I’d charge her double and a half.”

  “Happens sometimes, always at the most inconvenient moment,” he said laconically, adding, “You’re off this afternoon, anyway. I’ll take over from here. Floyd can phone and postpone the non-emergency farm calls. We’ll do them first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Feeling like a kid let out of school, Sara drove as fast as she dared back to Bitterroot. She’d shower quickly and put on a dress for a change, that nice midnight-blue cotton that Jennie had picked out for her weeks ago and that she’d never worn... and maybe pin her hair up in a high and complicated bun at the back and put a bit of makeup on.

  She grinned at herself in the truck mirror. After all, it was time Mitch saw her in something other than blue jeans and work clothes. Trouble was, to get herself done up she was facing what she’d always labeled Too Much Fuss About Nothing.

  And for once in her life, she was looking forward to the effort.

  Chapter Eight

  By eight o’clock that evening, Sara was slumped in a battered deck chair beside the pool at Bitterroot, letting the water drip from her body and her skin dry in the warm evening air.

  She’d forged up and down the pool until she was exhausted. The saloon was quieter tonight than usual, which was why she’d chanced putting on her bathing suit and taking a swim. With any luck, no eager cowboy would wander out and notice her and decide she really needed company.

  As a precaution, she’d positioned herself so that her chair back shielded her from the doorway that led to the saloon across the courtyard.

  She shook her sopping hair out of her eyes and wondered if any trace of the careful makeup she’d applied that afternoon still lingered after forty minutes spent churning up and down the swimming pool.

  Probably not. Wasted effort, getting all dressed up and fixing her hair that way. Mitch had been conspicuously absent all afternoon.

  Ruth had finally mentioned that Wilson and Mitch were miles away, helping a neighbor with haying. So much for putting on a dress, Sara thought with a wry grin. At least her mother and grandmother had been pleased for once with the way she looked, although Gram hadn’t been fooled for a second as to the real reason for Sara’s finery.

  But all she’d said was, “You clean up real pretty, child.” And then she’d winked knowingly.

  Sara heard the sharp clip of boots on the cedar decking behind her, and her heart sank.

  Damn.

  She was going to have to deal with o
ne of the cowboys from the saloon after all, which would probably mean getting up and retreating to her cabin fairly quickly, depending on how much the guy had had to drink.

  The footsteps came right up behind her chair and stopped.

  “I hear the visit with Mom went really well,” Mitch said. “I thought about you the whole damn time I was slaving on the tractor out in those fields today, Doc.”

  He came around and sat down in the other deck chair, looking freshly showered, wearing clean denims and an open-necked light green shirt that matched his eyes... and, of course, his Stetson was tilted jauntily over his forehead.

  Sara sat straighter in the chair, wishing she’d at least worn her newer bikini. The old red one she had on was faded to a tired, streaked pink, and the elastic was none too good in the bottoms.

  “We had a super visit,” she assured him, with just the slightest trace of a catch in her voice. “I think it did your mom a world of good.”

  It felt absolutely wonderful to have him sitting there, grinning his crooked grin at her while his eyes quietly made a sweep up and down her almost naked body and then narrowed.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, in quite a different tone than before, deep and meaningful. “I wish I’d brought my swimsuit, the water looks great.”

  But it wasn’t the water he was looking at, and his gaze made Sara much warmer than she’d felt moments before.

  “Dave probably has a spare set you could borrow...” she began, but Mitch shook his head.

  “I’ll bring my suit next time. Tonight I want to spend a quiet hour or two just talking with you, if that’s possible,” he explained, glancing over at the saloon, where voices and music from the jukebox were spilling out into the early July twilight. “Are we likely to have a chance for that, sitting out here? And what’s the probability factor for an emergency call from the clinic tonight?”

  He wasn’t being sarcastic at all, Sara realized, just practical. After all, evening calls for her from the clinic were commonplace, and the night she’d asked him for dinner, she’d ended up working.