Читать книгу Cowboy Vet - Pamela Britton - Страница 11

He hated her.

It was undisputable fact, Jessie thought as she finished her shift, Dr. Sheppard having long since hit the road.

By the end of the week, Jessie wished she could give herself a frontal lobotomy. Every time she recalled their conversation she went from burning mad to horribly embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him for a job.

But no matter how humiliating, she didn’t regret it. She’d do anything to break into her chosen field.

Which was probably why she found herself listening in on yet another conversation in the lineup at the espresso shop on her way to work.

“Hear he’s had a devil of a time keeping up with all the work.”

“That’s what happens when you’re the only large-animal vet in a town of two thousand.”

“Yeah,” said the first guy.

The sound of a coffee grinder filled the air; the chocolate smell of the beans made Jessie’s mouth water. If only Frank made coffee as good as this place. “I tried to get an appointment with him this morning but his receptionist said he was on his way into the clinic for an emergency surgery.”

“Gonna have a hell of a time doing that without an assistant. Or did he find someone?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Surgery? Jessie thought, placing her order a moment later. If he was supposed to do surgery he would need help. Unless he sent the animal out to another clinic. But hauling a sick animal might put too much stress on it, which meant he’d have to—

“You know what?” she said to the young woman making her drink, who raised her diamond-pierced eyebrow. “Scratch that order,” she said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

If the woman was mad at her for leaving, Jessie didn’t stick around to find out. She brushed by the people waiting in line and all but ran from the place.

Outside felt more like late winter than May. Los Molinos’s downtown strip was empty except in front of the Elegant Bean, where all the action usually took place this time of morning. Jessie snuggled into her down jacket, the faux fur around the hood tickling her cheek. The car she drove, a Honda that had seen better days, sat at the end of a string of vehicles. She was ten feet away when she saw the pool of radioactive-green coolant on the asphalt.

“Oh, Gladys,” she said, wincing and shaking her head. “Not today.”

A stream of vapor trailed her to the clinic on the other side of town. By the time she arrived, the motor gurgled as if it were on its last legs—and it probably was. She ignored it, choosing to deal with her engine’s lack of performance later, after she’d talked to Rand. If she talked to him.

That was a big if, she thought as she slipped out of her car into the cool morning air, her cheeks momentarily heated, saunalike, by condensation leaking from her radiator. On the glass door, the words Los Molinos Veterinary Clinic stood out in white letters. Her heart pounded like the horses that ran behind the low buildings.

Unfortunately, that same heart stopped the moment she saw who manned the front desk: Pauline Patterson, her childhood nemesis. Her old schoolmate really should have outgrown her animosity toward Jessie, but had never forgiven her for stealing the object of Pauline’s affection back in the seventh grade.

Oh, great.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at Jessie. She still wore her brown hair feathered back even though Jessie was pretty certain that style hadn’t been popular since the seventies—long before either of them had been born.

“Is Dr. Sheppard in?” Jessie asked, inwardly wincing at the malice she saw in the woman’s expression. Jeez. What would she have to do? Whip herself with rosary beads and wear a crown of thistles?

“What do you need to see him about?”

“I swallowed a mouse and I need his help getting it out,” Jessie said, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it’d seen better days. The faux leather bag was peeling away from its cotton backing. She hid it under her armpit. Not that it mattered. Pauline’s eyes hadn’t left her own.

“Okay, seriously. I heard he was on his way here with an emergency surgery. I wondered if he might need help.”

“He’s not available right now.”

She hadn’t asked if he was available, Jessie almost pointed out. “Is he prepping for surgery?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Did Jessie have to pull a gun on her? “Okay. Well, will you tell him I stopped by? And that I’m available to assist?”

“You?” Pauline asked, her fleshy arms coming to rest on her desk. “Available to assist?”

“Yes, me,” Jessie said, holding on to her temper by a thread.

“Since when do you know anything about veterinary medicine?”

“Since I graduated with an A.A. in veterinary science.”

Pauline huffed in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said, “you got it over the Internet.”

Okay, that did it. “Pauline,” Jessie said softly, drawing on the psych class she’d been forced to take for college credits, “I really don’t understand your animosity. But I wish we could bury the hatchet, especially since I’d like your help in convincing Dr. Sheppard to hire me.”

Silence. “You want Dr. Sheppard to hire you?” From the expression on Pauline’s face, it was as if Jessie had announced her intention to cure cancer using nothing more than nose drops.

“Why not?” Jessie said. “I’m local. I love animals. And I have a degree.”

“Well, I’m sure Dr. Sheppard will be thrilled to hear all about your qualifications, but no amount of schooling can teach a person integrity.”

If Jessie didn’t leave now, she’d do something she might regret. “Just tell Dr. Sheppard I dropped by, ’kay?” she asked. “Can you do that?”

All she got in response was what might be an attempt at a smile.

Jessie shook her head, turned around—

And ran smack dab into Dr. Sheppard.

“Jessie Monroe.”

“Hello, Rand,” she said, clutching his arms at the same time he held her by the shoulders, his black hat knocked askew, his big hands warm even through her thick coat.

His expression, however, was cold. “What are you doing here?”

HE KNEW HE SOUNDED RUDE, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.

“I stopped in to see if you needed help with your surgery.”

The surgery? How had she known…? It really didn’t matter. He glanced at Pauline. “Did Dr. Franklin call?”

His receptionist shook her head, her face creased in a frown. “Sorry, Doctor. He’s out of the office for the week.”

“Well, did you ask if his assistant could come?”

“There’s nobody.”

Damn it. He’d been dreading this exact scenario. In vain he’d tried to get a qualified vet tech out here to help out. Failing that, he’d tried to get an out-of-area vet to be on call. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for some reason every vet within a sixty-mile radius was either already on call for another clinic or out of the office.

“Where’s Brandy?”

“She’s in the back, cleaning kennels.”

“Get her out here. I’m going to need her help with a C-section.”

“But—”

Rand didn’t wait to hear her response. Brandy wasn’t qualified, but she would do. God willing, there’d be no complications from surgery that might require another pair of skilled hands.

“Rand, wait,” Jessie said, following him outside to the horse trailer hooked up to his black, one-ton truck. Valerie, the owner of the mare—a college-age kid Rand knew wouldn’t be able to afford the coming vet bill—stared at him with wide eyes. The mare on the other end of the lead rope stood with her head down, her chestnut sides dark with sweat.

“I don’t have time to wait,” he said, signaling the mare’s owner to follow. “I’ve got a foal to get out.”

“I can help with that,” Jessie stated, stepping up alongside him, her short red hair framing her face.

“Brandy can help,” he said curtly. That was all he needed—Jessie to mess things up.

His vet clinic was set up like most—main office at the front, equine exam room behind that, with a surgical facility and medical barn out back. He slid open one side of the double doors between the office and the surgical room, flicking on a light. “Bring her in here.”

“Dr. Sheppard,” Valerie said, “You know I can’t pay—”

“I know. Don’t worry.”

When his gaze drifted past the frightened girl, he saw Jessie trailing in their wake.

“Jessie. Really. I don’t need your—”

“Stuff it,” she said. “You’ve got no assistant. I’m it.”

He didn’t have the energy to fight her—or the time. He led Jessie and Valerie to the surgical room.

Things happened in a hurry. The mare’s water had broken nearly an hour ago. That meant the foal might have been oxygen-deprived for nearly a half hour. Not good.

The first test of Jessie’s skill came within minutes. “Can you do a prep for me?” he asked.

“Where are the clippers?”

“Third drawer on the right.”

She nodded; he turned away, gathering the medication he’d need.

The sound of the clippers filled the room as Rand hung the IV set on the hook suspended above the mare’s back. His needle primed, he turned, surprised to see Jessie swabbing the area around the mare’s jugular she’d just clipped, the stringent smell of alcohol filling the room.

“Ready,” she said, stepping back.

Brandy showed up then, slowly shuffling her feet. Rand concealed his displeasure. The girl was never in a hurry to go anywhere, which meant trouble in a vet clinic, where seconds might count. Frankly, he probably would have fired her if he wasn’t so short-staffed. He’d have to talk to her about that. Again.

“Lead her up,” he told Brandy, signaling for the mare’s owner to step back.

Brandy tried, but the tired mare didn’t want to move.

“G’yup there,” Jessie said before he could. “Go on.” She slapped the horse on the rump and clucked.

That did the trick. Rand quickly administered the valium. Within seconds the big chestnut’s knees buckled, then she went down. It took both Jessie and Rand to hook the unconscious mare to the hoist that would move her into position on the padded operating table.

“That’s it,” he said, the tricky procedure accomplished in a matter of minutes. Precious minutes.

Damn.

“Brandy, get the—”

But Jessie was already one step ahead of him, searching through drawers and finding the mouth tube.

“Can I do anything?” Brandy asked, fiddling nervously with the end of her brown ponytail. He’d had her assist with other surgeries, but she was still so new that she approached each procedure with trepidation.

“Just stand there for now.” He inserted a catheter in the mare’s vein as Jessie handed him the ends of the IV set. When he was done with that, she hooked the mare to the respirator and vital-signs monitor near the horse’s head.

Impressive.

It was all he had time to think before he was busy getting instruments ready for the next step.

“You might want to go outside,” he told Valerie.

The young girl didn’t need to be told twice. She knew what was coming and knew it wouldn’t be pretty. The question was, how would Jessie take it?

“What about me?” Brandy asked.

“Stay here. I might need you.”

The sound of the hair trimmer buzzed through the air again, Jessie prepping the surgical area without glancing up. His estimation of her skills rose with each swipe of the clippers. She didn’t need to be told where he’d be cutting. She obviously knew. And she knew how big an area to clip, too.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

“Once or twice,” she offered, grabbing the Betadine she’d pulled off the counter, liberally swathing the area.

The breeding farm, he surmised. So she really had worked for one.

“Ready?” Jessie said, stepping out of the way, the latex gloves he hadn’t even seen her pull on covered with the yellow-brown solution.

“Ready,” he said, removing his cowboy hat and slipping on his own gloves.

He made the first incision, then looked sideways at Jessie. She didn’t flinch.

Good.

He took the next instrument from her hand. In a matter of minutes he’d reached the foal, the mare’s steady vital signs a rhythmic beep-beep-beep in his ears.

“Almost there,” he said, reaching his gloved hand into the quarter horse’s distended abdomen.

“Ooh, gross,” Brandy said.

Rand ignored her. “Damn breeders are growing them bigger and bigger,” he said, feeling around for a leg. “The mares just aren’t equipped for a baby bred from a sixteen-two-hand stallion. Seems like I’m doing more and more of these of late.”

“Sixteen-two?” Jessie asked.

He nodded, tongue between his teeth as he reached farther inside. “And that’s on the smaller end of the scale. I’m seeing seventeen-hand stallions advertised in the Quarter Horse Journal.”

“Jeez.”

And then he had it, his hand closing around a miniature hoof. After a tug that seemed almost too infinitesimal to do much, the foal slipped from the mare’s abdomen.

“There we go.”

“Oh, wow,” Brandy gasped, reflecting how Rand felt every single time he welcomed a foal into the world. But it was far too soon to know if this little guy would be sticking around.

“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a scalpel, which he used to rip open the placenta.

“Not breathing,” he said. “Damn it.”

He stuck his finger up the tiny foal’s nostril, cleaning it out and then blowing into it in the hopes that he could jump-start the baby’s lungs.

One breath.

Two.

The foal’s chest suddenly twitched.

“Holy cow,” Brandy said when the newborn’s eyes opened.

“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a stethoscope. Rand checked the foal’s gum color. Within seconds they’d turned a healthy shade of pink.

“So far so good,” he said, clearing more of the placenta from around the animal and then grabbing the stethoscope.

He checked the baby’s heart, then the lungs. Clear of liquid. The foal tried to sit up, its unused neck muscles straining.

“Well?” Jessie said, and for the first time he heard emotion in her voice.

“I think he’ll be all right,” Rand murmured. “Brandy, come on over here and wipe the little guy down while Jessie and I close up.”