Читать книгу Cowboy M.D. - Pamela Britton - Страница 13

Ali didn’t sleep well that night, though to be honest, she never slept well in strange places.

Anticipation, she told herself, slipping from beneath the covers. Mr. Clean eyed her in protest as she disturbed whatever feline dream he’d been enjoying.

Anticipation because today she got to work with animals again. It’d been far too long, and if she were honest with herself, she liked the idea of a little hard work. Maybe it’d help her sleep better. Lord knew, medicine didn’t work.

“Wish me luck,” she said to Mr. Clean as she patted his head. The cat didn’t even look up from his food. Her rolling stomach reflected her anxiety.

It was a windy morning, the warm air pushing against her and flinging apart the denim jacket she’d tugged over a long-sleeved T-shirt. Overhead a hawk tried to circle, his body buffeted left and right as he fought the current. A gorgeous day, despite the wind. The rippled surface of the lake glowed as gray as pewter in the early morning light.

“Ms. Forester, Ms. Forester!”

Ali turned. The cabins were far enough away from one another that the boy from dinner last night, Sam, appeared to come from out of nowhere. His brown hair was completely mussed—as if he’d ran from his bunkhouse before brushing his hair.

“Hey, Sam,” she said, smiling.

“Can you believe it? We get to put medicine in cows.”

Her smile grew. “Yes, we do,” she said. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious. It sure beat a day at the hospital, that’s for sure. She took his hand and headed up the path toward the corrals.

“Sam, hold up!” His sister, Kimberly, emerged from between the tall oaks just as Sam had, her hair pulled back in a braid. “Dad’s going to drive us up in one of the Gators.”

“I can walk,” Sam said.

Sam’s sister pressed her lips together. She was only a few years older than Sam, maybe twelve, but she acted like a protective mom. She kind of had to. The boy and girl didn’t have a mom; Martha Sheppard had filled Ali in on the details of their troubled life last evening.

“You shouldn’t walk long distances, you know,” Kimberly said, flicking her braid over one shoulder.

“I’ll be fine.”

But Kimberly wasn’t about to take no for an answer, her blue eyes far too mature for her age. “Will you drive us up, Ms. Forester?”

“I suppose I can do that,” Ali said, wondering what was going on. Why didn’t Sam’s sister want him to walk? And why was Sam so petulant?

“Good. I’ll go tell my dad,” Kimberly said.

“What was that all about?” Ali asked when she’d slipped back through the trees.

“She thinks I’m handicapped.”

“Why?”

“Because of this,” the little boy said, lifting up his pantleg to reveal a metal brace that ended just above his knee.

“Oh.” Ali had enough experience with handicapped kids to know better than to ask what had happened. Instead she treated it as though it was no big deal. “C’mon. My own, private miniature Tonka truck is parked over here.”

She caught the surprise in Sam’s eyes, followed immediately by relief. He took her hand as they headed toward the parking area.

Nick’s Gator was already gone, Ali noted, not at all surprised. Sam took the front seat, his sister reappearing a few minutes later.

“Dad said he’d meet us up there.”

“Let’s go then,” Sam said with the impatience of a racehorse.

The Gator was no harder to drive than a golf cart. Easier, actually, and faster. But Ali pretended she didn’t know how to drive, swerving back and forth, back and forth. They were all giggling when they arrived.

To be honest, if Nick’s mom hadn’t given her instructions on how to find the corral, Ali would have found it anyway. Richter scales were probably registering the sound of all those cows. What looked to be a hundred head groaned and moaned as they waited for their turn in the “squeeze,” a device Martha had explained was the cowboy equivalent of a giant binder clip. The sides pushed together, holding the cow still, the bovine’s head collared in front.

“Wow,” Sam said. “It looks painful.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ali said, repeating what Martha had told her. “It just keeps them still while they’re being doctored up.”

“What kind of cows are they?” Sam asked, his eyes on the tall pipe panels that held the cows back, almost as if privately gauging their strength. Ali had just done the same thing.

“Black Angus,” a man said.

Ali turned, spying Nick’s double, only taller and friendlier-looking, with black hair and a tan cowboy hat.

“Oh,” Sam said. “Black Angus. I’ve heard of them.”

“Well, I think they smell,” Kimberly said, waving a hand in front of her face, her adorable little nose wrinkled.

“You’ll get used to it after a while,” the man said.

“As if.” Kimberly pinched off her nostrils.

“Rand Sheppard.” The man came forward and took Ali’s hand. “And you must be Nick’s future wife.”

The comment startled a chuckle out of her. “Guilty,” she said. “But we haven’t settled on a date yet.”

“Oh? I could have sworn I heard Mom on the phone with caterers this morning.”

“I think she was probably ordering my dress.”

It was his turn to chuckle, a deep baritone that probably sounded an awful lot like Nick’s—if he ever laughed. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an electronic date book, something Ali thought seemed mighty fancy for a cowboy. Raising a brow, he said, “Try to steer clear of the next two weeks, if you can. Work’s going to keep me too busy to stand up for my brother.”

That made her laugh, especially when he pretended to wait for her response. She liked Nick’s brother instantly.

“Seriously,” he said, pocketing the device. “Don’t mind my mother. She’s just overzealous at times.”

“So I hear. But I really don’t think she’s trying to set me up with anybody. We’re just having fun with it now.”

Again Rand raised his brows—even higher this time—as if to ask, “Don’t be so certain.”

Ali laughed again.

“Who’s this?” he asked, peering down at the boy.

“This is Sam, and the one with the nose between her fingers is Kimberly. We’re all here to help.”

“Well, good,” Rand said. “We can sure use it.”

“Actually, I think I’ll stay here and wait for Dad.” Kimberly sounded as if she’d sucked on helium.

“Okay. Sam and Alison, why don’t you follow me and I’ll show you what to do.”

“Cool,” Sam said.

“You be careful,” his sister called out.

“Sooo,” Ali drawled, trying to sound only mildly curious as they walked toward the corral.

“Where’s my fiancé?”

“He went to get more vaccine.”

“You’re out of vaccine?”

Rand stopped at the fence of the corral. “We have to keep it refrigerated and there’s only so much room in the coolers.” He pointed to the white cooler on the ground. “We have to go back for more periodically.”

“You’ve already vetted some cows?”

“At least fifty,” he said.

At her and Sam’s surprise, he added, “There’s really not much to it. We just inject them with serum, take care of any cuts and bruises and send them on their way.”

And just as he finished saying that, Ali heard the sound of a Gator. She looked to see if it was Sam’s father, but it was Nick, looking the epitome of a modern-day cowboy inside his mechanized horse, his tan hat pulled low over his brow.

He pulled up not five feet from where they stood, lifted a cardboard box and walked to the cooler.

“You get the wormer, too?” Rand asked.

“’Course,” Nick answered, kneeling to transfer the contents of the box to the cooler.

He didn’t even smile at her.

Ali tried not to feel wounded.

“You ready to get started then?” Rand asked.

“Yeah.”

“You rolling them, or am I?”

“I’ll do it,” Nick said.

Ali waited for him to at least acknowledge her. But all he did was transfer the medicine, stand and then put the empty box in the back of his Gator. When he turned back around, he had a plastic oar in his hand—seriously, an oar.

“Whoa,” Ali said, holding up her hands. “You don’t have to beat me away.”

He looked down at her from beneath the brim of his hat, his lips compressed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Oh, good. For a moment there I thought I was a goner”

“Tempting,” she heard him mumble. “But no.”

He left her standing there.

Well, that wasn’t very encouraging.

“What the heck is that?” she asked Nick’s brother.

“It’s for scaring the cattle,” he said, stepping up next to the pipe-panel fence. The cattle were lined up inside a narrow chute, head to tail, their frightened calls turning to howls of terror when Nick shook the thing above their heads. They charged forward, a few trying to back away. Something clattered shut. Ali looked toward the sound. A ranch hand had shut a panel, locking one cow inside the squeeze.