Cowboy Vet. Pamela Britton

      Chapter Four

      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.