Chapter
Seventeen
“The cow had a little problem, that’s all. She
threw a big calf. These things happen all the time with livestock.
You’re not a cattle rancher, so I don’t expect you to
understand.”
Jillian folded her arms and glared up
at the dark-haired man. Gerald Mountney Junior looked too well
dressed to be a serious farmer. Although his tanned face was almost
magazine-cover perfect, she could see something worse than cruelty
behind it. Indifference. “I understand that the cow had a prolapsed
uterus. And it’s a hell of a lot more than a little problem when an
animal in that condition doesn’t receive timely medical attention.
It’s a wonder she isn’t dead.”
It was a veterinarian’s nightmare.
Sometimes after a cow gave birth, the powerful contractions would
push part of the actual uterus outside of the body, where it was
susceptible to both massive infection and injury. As the responding
vet, it was up to Jillian to wrestle the swollen, discolored organ
back into place and put in the stitches that would hold it there.
It had been a long, difficult, miserable job with no guarantee that
the creature would survive. Her arms felt like spaghetti and would
likely be sore for days.
“ ‘Medical attention’ is what I’m
paying you for.” The smile became a hard
line, the black eyes narrowed and glittered with anger. The smooth
voice rose. “You just stick to your cutting and sewing, and leave
the opinions to an experienced cattleman.” He began to push past
her, but she quickly stepped in front of him.
“If you’re such an experienced
cattleman, maybe you could explain to me why you dumped the cow in
one of our corrals without telling anyone. And why you disappeared
so we didn’t even know whose animal it was when we finally found
it.” Jillian met the man’s eyes without a flinch. “And every
experienced cattleman I know hangs around to give us a hand with
their animal. They don’t drop it off like goddamn dry
cleaning.”
His face was far less attractive when
it was flushed purple with rage. “I don’t know who the hell you
think you are, but you have no fucking idea who you’re dealing
with.”
“I appear to be dealing with someone
who shouldn’t be allowed to own animals. That cow should have been
brought in immediately, not a day later. Better yet, it should have
been a farm call. You should have called us to come out. We could
have fixed it on the spot so the animal didn’t have to go through
the additional stress of being transported.”
“That’s the opinion of someone with a
shiny new diploma who thinks she’s better than everyone else. It’s
your word against mine.”
“That’s the opinion of a trained
veterinarian. You’ll find it holds up well in court.”
He took a quick step toward her and she
braced herself, brought her fists up to ready in a classic Tae Kwon
Do stance. Suddenly Mountney stopped dead, his eyes traveling
upward and over her head. There was something else besides temper
in his face now. A flicker of fear? To her surprise, he backed up a
step, then another. Tried to speak and couldn’t seem to get
anything out. Finally he spun on his expensive boot heel and
stormed to his truck, a shiny club cab pickup in metal flake
cherry. He spun gravel as he pulled out of the parking
lot.
Jillian whipped around, thinking it was
Connor behind her. “Hey, I had this under control. You didn’t need
to—”
She was struck speechless as she found
herself face to face with James Macleod. More like face to chest,
since he was so tall.
“You’re right, you didn’t need any
help,” he said. “But the man’s a bully, and sometimes the best way
to deal with a bully is to stack the odds against him. I figured if
he saw he was outnumbered, he might take up a lot less of your
valuable time.”
The timbre of James’s voice stroked
something deep inside her. Her cheeks went hot as her body clenched
then went liquid. Get a grip, girl! Her body
ignored her, making her annoyed at herself and now twice as annoyed
at James. She scowled up at him even as she ran a hand through her
disordered hair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow
me around and interfere with my work?”
“I didn’t interfere. Didn’t say a
single word.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at him, and
he had the nerve to look innocent. It wasn’t a look that suited his
rugged features. “I’m not going to say thanks.”
“ ’S not required. You didn’t ask me
for help.”
“I didn’t need
help. What I need right now is to get back to work. Maybe if you
had a job, you’d have a lot less time on your hands to spend
meddling with mine.” She saw the flash in his eyes as the dart hit
home, and was feeling just petty enough to enjoy his irritation.
Jillian knew she’d be mortified, even ashamed, later, but right
now, she didn’t want to be the only one frustrated and
annoyed.
“As a matter of fact, doc, I’m here on
business. I need a vet’s signature so Birkie or Caroline can
dispense some things on my list.”
“What list?”
He shoved a sheaf of paper into her
hands. “This list. It’s for Connor’s farm. And since I have some
feed to load, I’ll pick up these papers and the stuff later. Maybe
you’ll be in a better mood then, but I doubt it. I don’t think I’ve
seen you in a good humor yet.”
“I’m just fine until you show up.”
Dammit! Would he quit looking at her with those eyes? Who told him
he could have such sexy eyes? “And don’t think for a moment that
I’m going to apologize for hitting you the other day.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure not apologizing
for kissing you. Might do it again too. Consider yourself
warned.”
She stood with her mouth open as he
walked away. And cursed herself for noticing how well those jeans
hugged that muscled butt.
“I know it’s close to closing, hon. But
Connor’s still out in the corral with that injured heifer, and I
need to ask if you’re up to seeing just one more appointment
today.” Birkie held up a file.
Although she had endless patience for
the animals that needed her help, Jillian found it was often
downright difficult to extend that patience to some of the owners.
Especially the ones who came in near the end of the day. Still, it
wasn’t the animals’ fault if their owners couldn’t bring them in
when Jillian was feeling more tolerant. James’s comments about her
mood sprang to mind, and she worked up a smile for her friend. It
turned out to be a faint one, but it was a smile. “I’d be glad to.
Not a wild elephant with a toothache, is it?”
“Nope, just a small dog. It’s the owner
that’s wild.”
Jillian didn’t dare ask, just took the
file marked “Pinky” and headed for the exam room. She was scanning
Connor’s notes when Charmaine Forrester breezed in. Or rather, her
hair did.
Platinum curls were piled high atop the
woman’s head, where they tumbled down in a caricature of an
outdated Nashville style. The fluffy cascade almost hid a tight
black T-shirt and finally ended where rhinestone-studded jeans
seemed painted over sharp narrow hips. Jillian found herself
mentally calculating as to which weighed more, Charmaine or her
garish hair.
As the young vet watched, fascinated,
the woman pulled a shoulder bag from under her bleached tresses,
drew out a silky mass of white and black hair and plunked it on the
stainless steel table. There it coalesced into a purebred Shih
Tzu.
“This must be Pinky,” Jillian managed
at last and automatically ran her hands over the dog’s body. Thin,
too thin. Female, and with the permanently enlarged teats of a
creature who’d given birth in recent months and not for the first
time. The dog’s ankle-length coat was dull and falling out. Her
eyes were dull as well. “What seems to be wrong with her?” she
asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with her,” snapped
Charmaine. “I just want to know if it took.”
“If what took?”
“Well, the breeding of course.” The
woman looked at Jillian as if she was an idiot. “I paid two hundred
bucks for Pinky to have an afternoon with a purebred stud, and I
don’t want to pay another two hundred if I don’t have to. It’s bad
enough that it costs me forty dollars to see you to find out.
Where’s that good-looking Connor, anyway?”
Jillian ignored the question. “Normally
we do a blood test to check for a hormone called relaxin, but this
dog is obviously in no shape for breeding.” She wished she’d had
more time to read the file. “When was her last litter, and how many
litters has she had?”
“Why she’s had lots, because that’s her
job, to make cute little puppies. Isn’t it, girlie-girl?” Charmaine
hugged the dog to her and made smoochy noises at it. Pinky regarded
Jillian with weary eyes.
She tried another tactic. “Guess you
get a good price for those puppies, huh?”
“Six hundred dollars each, purebred,
unregistered. If I get a real good stud and can register the
puppies, I charge another three hundred.” The woman bounced Pinky
up and down. “She usually has six puppies too, and last time she
had eight,” she announced proudly.
Eight? Jillian imagined the tiny dog
struggling to feed eight growing puppies. The nutritional demands
of lactation called for high-quality food and lots of it, but even
if Pinky was being fed like a champ—which she somehow doubted—the
dog wasn’t getting any real recovery time. She took a deep breath
and sucked back her anger, remembering the words of one of her
instructors: Most pet owners who fail to care for
their pets do so out of ignorance rather than malice. There
must be a persuasive argument that this client could respond
to.
“Can you hurry it up with the blood
test, doc? I’ve got a nail appointment.”
So much for the educational approach.
“A nail appointment? You’re using your dog as a goddamn puppy
machine and you’re worried about a nail appointment?
“Hey, who the hell do you think
you—”
Jillian cut her off. “This dog is
exhausted. Do you get that? Completely and totally exhausted. Don’t
you care about her at all?”
“Don’t you tell me I don’t care about
my girlie-girl. What the hell do you know?”
“I know that Pinky’s practically skin
and bones. She doesn’t have the physical resources to produce a
litter. And if you keep pushing her to breed, Pinky’s going to die
an early death, either during whelping or, if she survives that,
from eclampsia when she tries to feed more pups.”
Charmaine’s face turned scarlet under
her makeup and she clutched the dog to her, although whether to
protect it or shield herself, Jillian couldn’t guess. “How dare you
say things like that to me! Pinky’s been doing this for years.
She’s a . . . she’s a career mom and she’ll
be just fine.”
The argument gained both volume and
intensity, and moved out into the empty waiting room until
Charmaine Forrester finally whirled on her high-heeled boots and
left in a huff, slamming the door so hard that the adoptions
bulletin board fell from the wall in a flurry of papers, tacks, and
photos.
Jillian stalked back down the hallway,
clenching and unclenching her fists. It was some minutes before she
was able to calm down. And a few more before she realized what an
unprofessional ass she’d been to lose her temper like that. Arguing
with a client, for God’s sake. Sure, she’d confronted that Mountney
character, but she’d kept her cool and reported him to the
authorities afterward. But she’d actually yelled at
Charmaine.
She didn’t know where Caroline and
Birkie were or what they must be thinking, but she was dead certain
they’d heard it all. Connor might have heard it too, if he’d come
in. Crap. If he’d been three counties away, he’d
still have heard it all. Embarrassed color flamed bright
along her cheekbones. Crap, crap, crap. She
didn’t want to lose her first real job because she couldn’t control
herself. Could I have been more of an idiot?
What would her “Client Relations” instructor say? She’d done
exactly what he had emphasized a vet should never do—gotten
emotionally involved.
Jillian sank into a chair at the
lunchroom table and laid her head on her arms. She should find
Connor immediately and explain—no, not explain, there was no
explanation, no excuse for her behavior. Apologize, that was what
she should do first. Then resign. Maybe—
“Do you always beat yourself up like
this?”
Jillian sat up quickly and scowled. Of
all the people she’d rather not deal with right now, James was
right at the top of her list. “What do you want?”
He pulled out the chair next to hers,
flipped it around and straddled it with his arms resting on the
back. “I want to know what’s got you so upset.”
She goggled at him. “You must be the
only person in a two-mile radius who didn’t hear me yelling at
Charmaine Forrester. I could lose my job over this. I should lose my job.”
“Your job’s safe enough. If Connor
fired his staff for getting exasperated with clients like that one,
he’d have no one left to work for him. Including himself. By the
way, Birkie says to thank you for saying a few things that she’s
been dying to say for years. She may start a fan club for
you.”
“I . . . oh, jeez, it was so damn
unprofessional.” Jillian blew out a breath and ran a nervous hand
through her hair, not realizing that it made it stick straight up
in several places.
“No argument there. So tell me why you
became a vet.”
“What?”
“Tell me why you decided to become a
vet. I want to know.”
She eyed him suspiciously but his face
seemed sincere enough. “I care about animals,” she said,
hesitating. Oh, what the hell. “Okay, so I
love animals. I’ve been crazy about animals since I was a kid. But
I respect them too. I like being around them and learning all that
I can about them and from them.” Her voice was clear and steady
now. “I want to make things better for them whenever I
can.”
James nodded. “So wasn’t that at the
root of your argument with Charmaine? You didn’t argue with her
over her choice of hair color or her political persuasion. You
wanted to make things better for that worn-out little
dog.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s what it
boiled down to, but I probably just pissed off
Charmaine.”
“You sure did. Birkie says the woman’ll
have a terrific time telling the story to everyone she
knows.”
Jillian winced and put a hand to her
forehead. “Great. Just great. She’ll never come back, never take
that poor dog to a vet again.”
“It’s not all bad. She’s going to
rehearse everything you said over and over to herself and everyone
who’ll listen. So some of it might sink in eventually. And out of
everyone she tells, there’s probably plenty of people who will
agree with you, enough to sprinkle a little doubt in her
mind.”
“Plus she’s one hell of a drama queen.”
Zoey Macleod was standing in the doorway. “If you knew Charmaine,
you’d know she’s addicted to drama, especially if it involves her.
So she’ll definitely continue to take Pinky to an animal clinic.
Wanna guess which one?”
She hesitated, trying to read the
answer in Zoey’s freckled face. “Here?” she ventured.
“Without a single doubt. She couldn’t
resist the possibility of another scene. Know how I know
that?”
Jillian studied her until the truth
dawned on her. “Connor! Connor told her
off?”
“Oh, you bet he did. Raised his voice
on more than one occasion too. Ask Birkie about it sometime. And
there’ve been a few other clients who have managed to push his
buttons too. The point is that you can’t care about animals and
always keep your professional detachment in place. I’m not saying
you shouldn’t try—you don’t want to start abusing clients—but
there’s always going to be a few who drive you absolutely crazy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust me on that. I had old Mick Kuchabsky in
my office for an hour today, complaining and cussing about
everything from the last week’s editorial to the size of the
print.”
“Did you yell at him?”
“Eventually, but he’s ninety-six and
deaf as a post so it didn’t faze him. I felt a little better
though.” Zoey winked and checked her watch. “Just stopped by to
collect Connor—he should be cleaned up by now. We’ve got dinner at
the Watsons’ tonight, so I’ll see you folks later.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” The relief was
like cool rain on a hot summer day. Jillian closed her eyes and
just breathed it in for a long moment. Opened her eyes to see James
looking at her with decided amusement in those impossibly blue
eyes. It rankled for a moment, but then she reminded herself that
he had been kind. Which was more than she had been the last time
she’d seen him. “Guess I should say thanks to you too. I know you
were trying to make me feel better.”
“Don’t know if I succeeded. You look
pretty tired.”
“It’s been a long day. I just need a
nap and I’ll be fine.” And sex, she needed sex too. Lots of sex. At
this time of day she’d usually think only food,
shower, sleep, but having James nearby was making her
hormones hum. It was a shame his shirt was buttoned today. “I gave
those papers to Birkie.”
“I know, thanks for signing them. I
just picked up the order from her.”
He seemed to be looking at her very
intently. Her own gaze traveled over his strong features and rested
on his lips. She knew just what they tasted like, and a shiver
raced down her spine. She wanted to taste them again. I’ve got to get out of here. “Good. Um, that’s good.
Glad I could help. See you.” She had no choice but to be abrupt,
not when she had to order her eyeballs to quit staring at the man,
force her body to get up, and command her legs to carry her out of
the room.
Her hormones protested loudly all the
way to the livestock wing. She hung her stethoscope on the cattle
stanchion, stripped off the lab coat and ran through several
hyungs in her scrubs. Right,
left, hook, turn. Rhythm, power, control, balance. Finally,
drenched in sweat, she had to admit defeat. She had not achieved
the calm she sought, hadn’t even managed to vent much of her
frustration. Sighing heavily, she trudged to her apartment and
stood under the shower. Continued to stand there long after the hot
water ran out.