The Rancher and the Vet. Julie Benson
his muscles strained against the unfamiliar work, part of him had come to enjoy the physical exertion. The upside was he collapsed into bed at night exhausted enough that being back in his old bedroom didn’t prevent him from falling asleep. Of course, he didn’t sleep all that well, either, but one out of two wasn’t bad.
He filled the hay bins in the stalls, then gave each horse some grain and fresh water. Next he went in search of a saddle, surprised to find his old one in the tack room. He smiled, remembering how he’d saved for a year to buy it. He ran his hand over the suede seat and the basket-weave tooling, then lifted the saddle and carried it into the stall of a calm chestnut. His body went into autopilot, his hands efficiently accomplishing the task of saddling the horse.
He rubbed the horse’s neck. “Go easy on me. It’s been a while since I’ve done any riding.” Then hauled himself onto the animal. The old leather creaked under his weight. His heels tapped the horse’s flanks, and the animal responded. So far so good. He was in the saddle, not on his ass in the hay.
As he made his way across the ranch toward the cow pasture, Reed settled into a rhythm with the horse. The stiffness he’d woken up with from tossing and turning most of the night eased with his movements. Colt had told him to keep a close eye on the cows. For a small herd, Colt said, they caused a surprising amount of trouble. Most of which revolved around finding holes in the fencing and traveling to Sam Logan’s land.
The soft summer breeze teased his skin. The house disappeared from view, and he relaxed. Urging the horse into a gallop, he felt the tension drain from his body. He’d forgotten how freeing it felt to be on top of a magnificent animal riding hell-for-leather to nowhere in particular. Just running.
Recalling how often he and Avery had ventured into the national park to get away and just be together, he smiled. They’d ride and then stop near a mountain stream to talk and make out. There he’d been happy. At least until he returned home.
The herd came into view, thankfully still where they belonged. After a quick check of the fences Reed returned to the house, showered and then headed for Colt’s office, where he pulled up an email from his lawyer.
He had a problem. According to his attorney, there was some federal act that let communities set age restrictions as long as they met certain criteria, like 80 percent of the houses having someone over fifty-five in residence. As long as they maintained that, the neighborhood could keep kids from living there.
After firing back instructions for his lawyer to check into the community’s compliance, Reed glanced at his watch. Seven in the morning, and he hadn’t heard Jess stirring. If she didn’t get moving soon, they’d never make it out the door on time, and he’d start his day behind.
When he stepped into the hallway that led to the bedrooms, an alarm clock’s irritating beep greeted him. How could she sleep through that?
He knocked on her door. Nothing. He knocked harder. “Jess? Are you awake?”
High-pitched yips masquerading as barking came from behind the door, but nothing from his niece. Now what? He sure as hell wasn’t going in her room. Then, between the alarm beeps, he heard snoring. He pounded on the door. “Jessica! Shut off your blasted alarm, and get your butt out of bed!”
More yipping, followed by “All right!”
He glanced at his watch. “I’ll expect you downstairs for breakfast in twenty minutes. That will give you ten minutes to eat and brush your teeth, leaving five minutes to gather what you need for school before we head out.”
He heard her shuffling around the room before the door flew open and he faced a scowling Jess dressed in boxer shorts and an oversize T-shirt. “You worked out how much time I need to brush my teeth and gather my stuff?”
“What’s wrong with a schedule?”
“Nothing if you’re the TV Guide Channel.” She brushed her bangs out of her face. “Don’t get your shorts in a wad. I’ve got plenty of time. They won’t count me late on the first day.”
He hadn’t given a thought to the school counting her tardy. “We’ve got to leave by seven forty-five. I have an eight-thirty conference call.” Also, he refused to set up bad habits. Managing his staff had taught him it was easier to create good patterns than to break poor ones.
“That’s not my problem. I’ll be down when I’m good and ready.” She slammed the door in his face.
At seven-fifty he called his assistant to push back his conference call. He and Jess left at seven fifty-five.
When he returned to the house at eight-thirty, he opened the front door, stepped inside and slipped, nearly ending up on his backside.
Glancing down, he discovered puddles—and they weren’t pee—dotting the wooden floor. As he stared at the trail heading upstairs toward the bedrooms, he wondered if he’d shut his door.
“Thor, you better not have gone in my room, or you’ll be in trouble.” I’m threatening a dog. Three days with Jess and I’m going crazy.
He followed the trail right to his open bedroom door. Peering in, he discovered the damned dog sleeping on his pillow, away from the mess he’d created on the rest of the bed. “You’re out to get me, aren’t you?”
Not wanting to put off his conference call a second time, he made his way through the minefield to Colt’s office, shut the door behind him and decided to deal with it all later. He spent the next hour reassuring clients that his being in Colorado wouldn’t affect their business, while pretending his life hadn’t become an exercise in surviving teenage angst and cleaning up after a vindictive Chihuahua.
After ending his call, he found rubber gloves, paper towels and a bucket to tackle Thor’s messes. He’d muck out an entire barn before he’d pull this duty again. Any repeat incidents and he was calling in a hazmat team.
Next he retrieved Avery’s business card from his wallet and punched in her number. As he waited for her to answer, he stormed into Jess’s room.
Didn’t every girl with a Chihuahua have a carrier-purse thing? Clothes covered the floor, making it look like a patchwork quilt made by a color-blind quilter. He scanned the disaster zone. If she had something to put the dog in, he’d spend the better part of the day finding it.
No way was he letting the little monster ride in Colt’s truck unconfined. Some things were sacred, and a man’s truck was in the top two. He headed for the kitchen to find a substitute carrier as Avery’s voice answering the phone floated over him.
“I need your help.”
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