Читать книгу Cowboy Vet - Pamela Britton - Страница 12

Jessie watched him walk away.

They’d checked on the foal, who seemed to be doing marvelously. Rand hardly cracked a smile as he finished his exam. When he left he didn’t even glance at her, just ordered her to help Brandy muck out stalls.

Jessie went to the groom stall he’d mentioned, finding a rake leaning in a corner and a wheelbarrow tipped upward so that the rim rested against the rubber-padded wall.

If he wanted her to clean stalls, she’d clean stalls. She’d be the best damn stall cleaner he’d ever seen.

So that’s what she did, working through the morning and occasionally catching glimpses of Dr. Doom through the horizontal bars. She waited for him to call her in to help him with some of his small animals, but apparently, despite what he’d told her earlier about doing pre-exams, Brandy was his assistant of choice. That seemed silly. Brandy didn’t know a thing, but Jessie supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. She had a feeling Rand would give her a wide berth whenever possible.

Story of her life.

When it was time to go out with him on his afternoon calls, she’d been so busy all morning she was almost relieved at the prospect of sitting in his truck.

“We’ve got five calls to make,” he said, the two of them stopping next to his one-ton. “While we’re out with clients I’ll expect you to gather my supplies, keep control of the horses and, if I don’t need you for either of those two things, to stay out of my way.”

“Yeah…okay,” she said, all but sighing as her butt made contact with the seat. Jessie didn’t feel his stare at first, and when she did, she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“If you’re not up to this, Jessie, say the word and you can stay here at the clinic.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look apprehensive.”

“Not apprehensive, just tired,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch my second wind in a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Let’s go,” she urged, giving him a wide smile.

They set off, Jessie staring out at the rolling hills, the scenery speeding by, all the while wondering if she’d deluded herself when she’d leaped to the conclusion that Rand found her attractive. Today he appeared to have himself well in hand, his shoot-Jessie-down radar firmly in place.

But still, some little devil made her straighten up, made her turn her body toward him and ask, “So, Dr. Sheppard…dating anyone?”

He did a double take. “Who wants to know?”

Me, she wanted to say, but only because she thought it’d be hilarious to see his reaction. “Just curious,” she said. “All the single women in town go gaga over you. I was wondering if one of them had caught your attention.”

“And if one had?” he asked, scanning her with a quick flick of his eyes.

“I would offer her my sincerest condolences and then give her the business card of a good psychologist.”

He sent her another quick glance, only this time his eyes were narrowed beneath his black hat. “You know, for someone already on shaky ground, you sure do like to mess with me.”

“I try,” she said.

They both lapsed into silence, which lasted until their first stop, a fancy ranch-style home—butter-yellow—with a prefab barn out back. A fresh-faced girl who didn’t appear old enough to have lost her baby teeth came outside to greet them, her boots and riding pants proclaiming her to be of the hunter-jumper set, the expression on her face announcing her to be a bona fide member of the Gaga for Dr. Sheppard Club.

It was a beautiful facility, especially impressive considering it was privately owned. Jessie forced herself not to stop and admire the luxurious surroundings, but focus on why they were here. A horse stood on crossties in the middle of the aisle in the barn, a big gray with white dapples along his neck and body.

“Hey, Lacy,” Rand said. “How you doing?”

“Fine,” she said, “but I wish Mongo was better.”

Forget the barn—and Rand—Mongo was gorgeous.

His head looked as sculpted as an Arabian’s, his body thick with muscles. But his feet were huge. Platter-size, actually. Warm blood, she thought. A type of equine developed from draft horse stock that usually came in two sizes: large and extra large. And an extra, extra large price tag.

“I just don’t know what could be wrong with him,” his owner was saying. “He came back from the desert circuit fine. I even gave him a week off. But when I took him out this morning, he could barely walk.”

Rand nodded, running his hand down the horse’s legs and checking for elevated pulse points that might indicate lameness. He also checked for heat and swelling, his expression perplexed when he didn’t appear to find anything.

“I don’t see anything yet, Lacy. Hey, Jessie, get me the hoof testers.”

She nodded and quickly fetched the tong-shaped instrument that reminded her of a fireplace tool, watching as he used it to apply pressure in various spots on each of the horse’s hooves.

“Nothing so far,” he said, straightening.

“Really?” Lacy asked.

“Really,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean he might not be injured higher up. Jessie, trot him out so we can see what happens.”

“Maybe I should do that,” Lacy said. “He’s kind of a handful on the ground.”

“No, no,” Jessie said. “I can do it.” She smiled at the woman.

“He sure has gotten big, Lacy,” she heard Rand say, tipping his hat back to get a better look.

“I know. Do you remember when my mom and dad bought him? Best graduation present I could ever have gotten. I’ve won just about everything there is on him.”

Graduation? The girl was old enough to have graduated from high school? And she’d gotten a twenty-thousand-dollar horse for a present? Maybe a forty-thousand-dollar horse. Must be nice.

But when Jessie asked the animal to walk forward, she forgot all about the price because it quickly became obvious that Mongo was indeed a handful. Actually, he was a terror, she thought when he tried to nip her arm.

“Careful,” Rand said.

“Maybe I should do it,” Lacy repeated.

Jessie shook her head. “No, no. It’s okay. I can do it.”

If she had to walk naked, up a cactus-infested hillside, barefoot, she’d do that before letting Mongo’s owner do her job.

“Come on, Mongo,” Jessie muttered, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

The gelding dug in his heels. She tugged harder.

It was like pulling against a tractor…or an oil derrick.

“Maybe I should—” interrupted the owner.

“No, no. I’ve handled animals his size before.”

Oh, yeah? When?

“Come on,” she said again, flicking the excess lead rope behind her so that it slapped the gelding’s belly.

He shot forward so fast she felt like a mouse tethered to a hot air balloon.

“Holy—” She cut off her curse because all at once she had to keep up with the beast, and to do that she had to run. For every three steps she took, the horse took one. Jessie was forced to half hop, half skip to keep up.

The distinctive clip-clop-clunk of a horse whose gait was off rang out. The animal’s head bobbed every time his right front hoof hit the ground.

“Poor baby,” she said, forgetting her animosity.

“Okay, that’s far enough,” Rand called.

“Whoa,” Jessie ordered.

The horse kept going. Big surprise.

She planted her heels.

And he still kept going.

Her feet left furrows in the ground. She would have laughed, but she was too busy trying to stop the horse. Jessie called out a stern “Whoa” again before something embarrassing could happen, such as losing her footing.

But the horse, in the perverse way of equines, didn’t want to whoa. Jessie could have sworn she saw the beast wrinkle his nose at her.

That did it.

She pulled on the rope with everything she had, giving herself rope burn in the process, and digging her feet into the ground as if she was anchoring the Titanic. And in a way, she was.

Mongo, likely stunned by the sudden dead weight, stopped.

“Good boy,” she wheezed, out of breath. She resisted the urge to double over and gasp.

“Okay,” she heard Rand call. Was that amusement in his voice? “Bring him back.”

“Great,” she muttered. “I was afraid he’d say that.” And then she turned and peered up at the huge gray. “If you do that again, I’m calling Alpo.”

The horse’s head flicked up; his ears swiveled back and forth, back and forth.

“Yeah, that’s right. Alpo. Or maybe Elmer’s Glue. Or the restaurant down the street from where I live. Whatever. Just don’t cross me.”

She eyed the horse. He eyed her back. She then slid the end of the braided cord through the gelding’s halter, just below his chin, the rope serving as a makeshift chin strap. “Let’s see how you like this,” she said, taking a deep breath before setting off again.

He didn’t want to trot, and she really didn’t blame him. If her foot hurt, she wouldn’t want to run, either. But she made him move by using the same technique as before—a flick of the rope—except this time she was prepared for his quick lunge forward. And this time when she asked him to stop, he obeyed, the pressure on his chin obviously doing the trick.

“Yup. Right front,” Rand said as she halted, winded—but trying not to look it. And even though his eyes were shaded by his hat, she could see his amusement.

Miracle of miracles.

“Thought you were going for a ride there,” he said.

“Me, too.”

“You really think it’s the right front?” Lacy asked. “I thought it was the left rear.”

“Nope. It’s the front. Jessie, we’ll need to take X rays. Do you know how to do that?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Good. Then hand Mongo off to Lacy and help me set up the equipment.”

WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG with him? Rand thought as he gathered the square X-ray plates. He was supposed to be checking a horse for soundness and all he could think about was how impressive Jessie had looked bravely trotting that big gelding back and forth.

And how a smile changed the color of her eyes.

“Here,” he said, handing her the thick film.

“Hey!” She shifted quickly to avoid dropping the plates.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning to grab the portable machine, which resembled a tiny generator more than a piece of high-tech equipment.

“What’s wrong?” Jessie asked, her head tipping sideways so that her red hair touched her shoulder.

He released a breath, easing his neck. She had every reason to stare at him that way. She was doing a good job—a damn good job—and he’d yet to commend her on it.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, scratching his neck again. Damn poison oak, or whatever it was. “You’re doing a great job, Jessie,” he admitted. “I thought for sure that horse was going to drag you all the way to the main road.”

“Me, too,” she confessed again, and there was that smile…

He used the brim of his hat to shield his eyes. “When I find someone for my clinic, you won’t have to worry about getting a recommendation from me.”

Then why don’t you hire her?

“Really?” she asked.

Because I believe in self-preservation.

“Really.”

“Oh, jeez, thanks. You have no idea how much easier it’ll be for me to find a job with a recommendation from an actual vet, not one of my instructors, or the people I’ve been interning for.”

The grin she gave him was open. Free.

Special.

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

Lord, he better find somebody soon.

Very soon.