Cowboy M.D.
Pamela Britton
Alison Forester has come to this idyllic California dude ranch to recruit Dr. Nicholas Sheppard for the burn unit at her hospital. Thanks to doctors like him, she survived the fiery crash that killed her parents. He's not going to waste his time and talent patching up rodeo cowboys–not if she can help it.Except the doc she finds is more spurs and saddles than scrubs and stethoscopes. Even more troubling, he's lost his faith in medicine…and in his own abilities. But as Nick quickly discovers, it's not going to be easy saying no to this brave, beautiful woman with the sweet-as-honey Texas accent. And sometimes a physician needs a little help before he can heal himself.
REVIEWERS AND READERS LOVE PAMELA BRITTON!
“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)
“A fairy tale that succeeds.”
—Publishers Weekly on Scandal
“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”
–Publishers Weekly on Tempted
“Passion and humor are a potent combination, and author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend and does everything right.”
—The Oakland Press
“This nonstop read has it all—sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub (Top Pick) on Tempted
“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”
—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced
Dear Reader,
Well, here we are again. I’m so tickled and delighted to be bringing you yet another story set in fictional Los Molina. When I started writing for the Mills & Boon American Romance line, I never thought I’d be creating a whole series of books based in this town, very similar to my own beloved hometown of Cottonwood, California.
As always, I hope you enjoy Cowboy M.D. and get a chance to pick up the other books in the series, too. And don’t forget that I’m also writing a line of NASCAR books for Mills & Boon’s HQN Books. (I know, NASCAR and romance—who’d have thunk?) Some of you might have read about these books in your local newspapers, Sports Illustrated or Entertainment Weekly. It’s been a wild ride, and I couldn’t be happier to be combining romance with a sport I love.
Until next time!
May all your books be keepers,
Pamela
P.S. Please visit my Web site at www.pamelabritton.com (http://www.pamelabritton.com).
Cowboy M.D.
Pamela Britton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the gang at Elegant Bean in Cottonwood, California. Thanks, guys, for all the coffee. Not only do you keep me awake in the mornings, but you keep me laughing, too. Here’s to many more books being written on your comfy couch.
Books by Pamela Britton
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
985—COWBOY LESSONS
1040—COWBOY TROUBLE
Contents
Prologue (#u49477b65-bdd4-5e4b-9cf6-47974df2df6c)
Chapter One (#ue57728a7-318d-54df-8a3a-c88fb64d9bf1)
Chapter Two (#u74309e5b-36b1-5028-a71c-4775d6b35c0f)
Chapter Three (#ufdde1a69-6709-5f47-bdda-0077633dee9d)
Chapter Four (#u3b0600a9-0370-5162-b019-9fe33d843695)
Chapter Five (#ucfedc21a-dee5-564a-8b25-d3ee42f39009)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
The door to the rooftop opened with a bang that caused Dr. Nicholas Sheppard to swivel in his plastic lawn chair.
“Doctor,” Lori, one of the first-year residents, said, lights from the parking lot ten stories below illuminating the concern in her face. “You’d better come.”
It was a cold, crisp night and his breath came out in a mist when he exhaled. “Is it Robby?”
She nodded.
Nick shot up so fast the dark green chair fell back. His leather soles lost purchase on the tar-and-gravel roof as he ran to the door.
“CBC?” he asked as he pushed open the metal door. The fluorescent lights from the narrow stairwell nearly blinded him as he took the stairs two at a time, the metal rail warm to his chilled hands.
“Came back a few minutes ago. Not good.”
“Damn,” he muttered. The coffee he’d just gulped down turned to acid. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Lori followed him as he entered the hospital’s main corridor, startling one of the candy-striped volunteers who was pushing an elderly patient down the hall.
“What are the numbers?” he asked, both volunteer and patient wide-eyed as he raced past.
“White blood cells just below four hundred.”
“Damn,” Nick repeated.
“BP at two-ten over one-twenty.”
He attacked the elevator button with ferocity.
“Do you think—” Lori started to ask.
But of course he thought that. Nine-year-old Robby Martin had been brought in four days ago, the victim of a rollover, one that had killed his father. But this kid was a fighter, even with burns on eighty percent of his body, so maybe it would be all right.
The minute he entered the ICU, Nick knew it wouldn’t be all right. If the dusky pallor of Robby’s face—the only part of him that wasn’t bandaged—didn’t tip him off, the way each breath gurgled in the boy’s chest in spite of the respirator would have done it. Pneumonia.
Damn.
Nick almost hurled the metal chart. He jerked the cover back, the aluminum flap swinging on its hinges with a protesting squeak barely audible above the respirator.
He was losing him.
“Should we up his meds?” Lori asked.
But Nick knew pumping more drugs into the child’s feverish body would do no good. “Up the morphine.” And when he met Lori’s eyes, he could tell she understood. The savvy, first-year resident had impressed him with her cool head and soothing bedside manner. Now she had tears in her eyes, too.
“Okay,” she said, blinking rapidly before turning to do as ordered.
Nick moved to the side of the bed where Robby lay, the kid’s brown eyes barely open. What was it about this one that tugged at everyone’s heart? That had every nurse and every resident on the floor checking in to see how he was? They all ached for him. They hurt for the little boy who’d lost his daddy, whose skin had been ravaged by flames while his dad screamed next to him.
“Hey, Robby,” he said. The back of his esophagus swelled as he fought the impulse to cry. The boy couldn’t talk. Hell, he was barely conscious. But he could moan, and the sound was pitiful. He’d been groaning like that when they’d brought him in, the hospital staff hushed by the child’s pain-racked cries.
Get a hold of yourself, Nick. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be immune to this.
But he wasn’t. No doctor ever could be, especially the head of a burn trauma unit.
“Get his mother,” he said to Lori, his voice grating.
When Lori left, Nick reached a hand out and gently fingered a tuft of the child’s blond hair sticking out from the bandage. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his damn eyes blurring again. “It’ll be better soon.”
His hand began to shake.
“Dr. Sheppard,” Robby’s mom said from the doorway. “What’s wrong. What is it—”
But one look at Nick’s face and the child’s mother knew. She took a step back, covering her mouth with both hands.
Nick could only stand there, suddenly out of emotion.
“Mrs. Martin,” Lori said as she came into the room, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
But Robby’s mom didn’t hear her.
“Robby?” she called. But the boy didn’t respond, his consciousness already slipping away.
“Page me when—” He met Lori’s gaze, and there was no need to finish the sentence. She nodded, looked away.
As he left the room, he ignored the staff members who tried to stop him.
He was a kid. Just a damned kid.
He didn’t want to lose another one.
By the time he reached the stairwell, the words were a chant.
Not another kid.
By the time he climbed up a floor, his eyes were welling.
Not another kid.
And by the time he reached the hospital’s roof, the cry that clogged his throat erupted into the cold winter air.
“Bastard,” he moaned. “Bastard,” he said again, the stars blurring into smudges dotting the black sky. He sank to his knees, the rooftop gravel digging into his legs. But he didn’t notice anything except the despair he felt.
Dr. Nicholas Sheppard had lost his faith.
Chapter One
Naked.
Alison Forester stopped so fast she almost stepped out of her pumps.
Dr. Nicholas Sheppard looked to be…naked.
She peeked around the Los Molina Rodeo grounds to see if anyone else had noticed.
Hey, Naked Man over here. Whoo-hoo.
But everyone had left the arena, the rodeo practice long since over. The only things left behind were the pipe panel livestock chutes and tall, aluminum grandstands that appeared to be deserted beneath the blueberry-colored sky. Cows and horses called out to one another from their pens, but Nicholas Sheppard didn’t notice as he rummaged through a brown duffel bag.
No. Not naked, she realized when he stood. He wore underwear, the kind that usually came with tiger stripes or leopard spots—only these were white. His tanned body was completely at ease as he shook out a pair of black jeans, his chiseled rear swinging around toward her as he started to pull them on.
My, my, my.
He turned.
Ali jerked back.
So did Nicholas Sheppard.
“Can I help you?” he said, holding up his waistband.
He was supposed to look different from his medical school picture. Bald, maybe. Or pudgy. Really, really pudgy—with a pocket protector in his shirt. But this was the same, darkly handsome face that had just about taken her breath away when she’d first seen it.
“Dr. Nicholas Sheppard?” she asked, knowing it was him. He’d left his jeans undone, the white V of his underwear visible behind the—
He cleared his throat, quickly doing up the zipper and the snap.
“I’m Nick Sheppard,” he confirmed. Nicholas Sheppard was tall. And tanned all over—she should know—with eyes the color of riverbed grass and a face too masculine to belong to a world-renowned reconstructive surgeon.
“I’m a—” Ali swallowed. “I’m—” Who are you, Ali? Think. Think. “I’m Ali Forester,” she said in a rush.
She knew he recognized the name. And why shouldn’t he? She’d left enough messages on his machine to fill a movie reel.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, standing there with his hands on his hips like the jolly Green Giant, only with dark brown hair, not green. “I guess if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed—”
“Mohammed came to you,” she finished for him.
In response he turned and—oooh—bent down. She wished he wouldn’t do that. Her body warmed as he retrieved a beige shirt from his bag. With one smooth jerk, he had the shirt on.
“Do you always change out in the open?”
“I do when my old clothes are dirty and I need to go someplace afterward.”
“Oh,” she answered, feeling as intelligent as the fly that buzzed around her face. Obviously he’d been riding, which meant the truck and long white horse trailer she’d passed in the deserted gravel lot must belong to him.
“You could have waited for me to call back,” he said, doing up the last of the buttons, then sucking in his abdomen—what there was of it—and tucking in his shirt.
“See, that’s just it,” she said, shifting her heels and resisting the urge to fuss with her black business suit. “I have waited. Weeks, in fact. And I have to be honest, it’s a little odd for me to hear your voice without a beep after it.”
At his lifted brow, she added, “You know, the one that usually follows your, ‘Hi, you’ve reached Nicholas Sheppard. I’m not here right now. Leave a message.’”
His brows dropped.
“Beeeeep,” she added.
He frowned. “I’ve been busy.”
Ali inhaled so deeply, her bra strap popped off her shoulder. She nonchalantly fixed it before saying, “Obviously, which is why I’ve come to you.” Nervously she launched into her speech. “We need you, Dr. Sheppard. You’re the most gifted reconstructive surgeon in the United States. The Daniel Meredith Burn Center in Texas needs that expertise. You’ll be working on people who’ve lost hope. People who need you to give it back to them.” People like me.
“Look,” he said, slipping on a pair of brown cowboy boots that had been standing empty nearby, “I appreciate that you seem to have set your sights on me.”
But he wasn’t going to do it; she could see the answer in his eyes. Damn.
“I’m not practicing that kind of medicine anymore,” he said, turning away from her again to zip up his duffel bag, the spurs attached to his boots clinking against pebbles.
“Do you mind me asking why not?”
He threw his bag over one shoulder and covered the only part of him that looked doctorly—his short-cropped brown hair—by cramming a black cowboy hat on his head.
“Is it because of that boy you lost?” she called as he walked away.
His boot heels kicked up little puffs of dust, the rowels on his spurs spinning, he’d stopped so suddenly. In the distance she heard a horse neigh. A car drove by on the road in front of the grounds. Nicholas Sheppard turned back to her, eyes narrowed, an OK Corral look of pique on his face.
“Because if it is, you don’t need to worry. I’ve seen the file. You did everything you could to save him.”
“You’ve seen the file?”
She nodded.
Those green eyes narrowed even more, if that were possible. “How the heck did you get your hands on a patient’s file? And how do you know about Robby to have looked in the first place?”
“When I made the inquiry, they told me about the case. And when I asked to look at the file they seemed happy to give it to me.” Of course, Nana Helfer had made the call. Members of one hospital board often did things for sister members of the board, even if those hospitals were thousands of miles apart.
“That file is none of your business.”
“I needed to be thorough, and when I heard about what happened, naturally I wanted to make sure…”
That you weren’t negligent.
“What else has your snooping uncovered?” he asked.
“Your personnel file. And might I say it’s impressive, though I’m disappointed it didn’t give me your weight and hair color.”
Her joke fell flat. He just looked at her, stern, before turning away.
“Wait!”
“No,” he said right back. “I have no interest in whatever job you’re here to offer me.”
“Head of the department,” she said, coming up alongside him. “And I know you’ve always wanted to research new skin-graft techniques. If you worked for us, you’d have your own research staff, unlimited funding…you name it, you’ve got it.”
“Not interested,” he said, tugging his hat lower on his head and looking a far stretch from one of the most gifted surgeons in the industry. He looked like…a cowboy.
“Have a safe flight back,” he said. And Ali was surprised to realize they’d reached his truck and horse trailer.
“But—”
He threw his duffel bag on the passenger seat and then climbed inside. With a polite if somewhat old-fashioned tip of his hat, he slammed the door in her face with a gust of air that blew a few strands of her blond hair out of the bun she’d wrestled it into.
When the truck started, Ali jumped back.
Well, that had gone well.
He started to pull out, the tires on his horse trailer popping up gravel as he rolled away.
He’d be a tougher nut to crack than she thought.
NICK REFUSED to look in his rearview mirror as he drove his rig toward the exit.
Calm down, Nick. It was just a job offer.
And yet he still felt rattled. And, darn it, there he went looking in his rearview mirror. The woman with the corporate-raider attire and the sweet-as-honey Texas accent walked to her car, looking as out of place at the Los Molina Rodeo grounds as a show horse at a racetrack.
The gooseneck stock trailer groaned as he slowed, riveted by the sight of her feet. She wore some kind of shoes with thin straps that crisscrossed and wrapped around her very delicate ankles. He didn’t know what surprised him more, the feminine shoes or that she looked nothing like he’d envisioned. Beautiful in an ice queen sort of way, with gray-blue eyes.
Thump.
Boom!
Bam, bam, bam.
Nick groaned. Damn it, he’d forgotten to tie his horse, something that wasn’t a problem—as long as the trailer wasn’t moving.
He shook his head and stopped the trailer.
His own research staff.
Yeah, well, he thought, as he got out of his truck, spurs clinking against the door frame, he was through with that dream. From now on he’d patch up cowboys at rodeos—the kind of doctoring his father had wanted him to do in the first place. No more burn victims. No more crying parents.
No more children.
“Hold on,” he said, slapping the side of the trailer to get the horse’s attention. Damn thing. He’d hurt himself if he didn’t stop scrambling around.
Out on the road, a car flew by, blowing Nick’s cowboy hat up in the back. The driver honked, which meant Nick probably knew him, but he was too busy to look up to see who it was.
“Hold on, Boy. Let me tie your fool head down.”
At the back of the trailer he swung the door wide, put out a hand and touched the horse’s flank, trying to soothe him. In a few seconds he had him contained. When he stepped out of the trailer, it was to hear the unmistakable ch-ch-ch-chu of a car engine, one that didn’t want to start.
For half a second Nick considered pretending he didn’t hear.
Ch-ch-ch-chu.
Son of a—
His boots kicked up little pebbles as he crossed over to where she was.
Send Bill, the local mechanic, out to help her.
She started when he tapped her window.
Tell her about the pay phone.
Her expression conveyed relief, dismay and the most endearing damsel-in-distress look he’d ever seen.
Nick almost smiled.
“Need a ride?” he asked after she rolled down the window.
To give her credit, she said, “No. I’ll make do on my own.”
He shook his head. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride into town.”
“I’ve got a cell phone,” she said, reaching for the thing and then waving it in his face.
“No service.”
Her gray eyes widened as she quickly looked at the phone. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Service is spotty out here.”
“Is there a pay phone nearby?”
“Someone stole the handset.”
She raised her brows.
“C’mon,” he said again.
She just gave him a big smile. “That’s okay. I can flag someone down.”
She was starting to irritate him. “I’m not leaving you.”
She opened the door, unfolded her pretty legs with those frilly shoes and stood. Their two bodies almost touched.
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that,” he said softly, feeling an unexpected stir of interest as he gazed down at her. She had hair like the Barbie dolls his sister used to play with. Not dark blond, not light blond, but a bunch of blonds all mixed together.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
Didn’t have to what? He took a breath, inhaling a citrus-like smell that he knew wasn’t perfume but rather a soap of some sort.
Nick backed up. “Look,” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone. Your cell phone won’t work, there’s no pay phone and I sure as heck refuse to leave you while I go call a tow truck. Sometimes we get crazies stopping by here.”
Her eyes widened again.
“Tell me what hotel you’re at and I’ll give you a ride.”
Her thick eyelashes concealed her eyes. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you just called a tow truck for me.”
He let out a curse. “What do I have to do? Pick you up and throw you over my shoulder?”
She looked up sharply. “No, but maybe you could loan me your horse?”
Amazing how she’d done that, irritated and amused him practically in the same breath.
“Look, just hop on in. Heck, you can ride in the back with Boy if you want to.”
“Boy?”
He nodded.
“Your horse’s name is Boy?”
“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” he said, gritting his teeth. But three steps later, he realized she still hadn’t moved.
“What now?”
She didn’t blink. “You’re not going to like where I’m staying.”
“I’m not?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
She didn’t say anything.
And Nick knew.
“You’re staying at my parents’ dude ranch, aren’t you?”
She smiled again, a mischievous, fun-loving smile he might have found cute if her next words hadn’t made his jaw pop in anger.
“I am.”
Chapter Two
Ali knew he wouldn’t take the news well, but to be honest, she’d been hoping to avoid the subject until it was too late for him to say something. Like, when she was already at his parents’ ranch, unpacked, maybe riding one of the horses she’d been promised were available for guests.
Unfortunately things hadn’t worked out that way.
“You can’t stay at the Diamond W,” he said, his square jaw more angular with his jaw muscle flexed.
“Actually, I can.”
“Are you stalking me?”
She winced, having wondered herself what it was about the man that made her determined to hire him.
He’s the best.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Doctor. I needed a vacation and so I decided to combine a little work with pleasure.”
He didn’t appear convinced.
“Look. You really don’t need to worry about me. I’m sure I can find a spot where there’s cell phone service. And if not, I’ll hike up my skirt, undo a few buttons and hitch a ride.” She smiled widely. There was no way, no how, she’d ever expose her body.
But he appeared to have no sense of humor. Typical doctor.
“Seriously—”
“Hop in the truck.” He turned away, his spurs chinking like they did in old movies.
Ching, ching, ching.
“Wait,” she said, realizing it was time to give up. “I’ve got to get my cat.”
He faced her suddenly, quickly, like a gun-fighter. “Your what?” he asked. Oh, but now he looked like a doctor, one who’d just been told by a cancer patient that they’d been outside smoking a pack of cigarettes.
“I brought my cat.”
“You brought your cat,” he repeated.
“It’s okay. I talked to your mom. She said it was all right.”
He just stared at her. Alison could hear Mr. Clean howling inside the car.
“Go get your cat.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered. She’d have been better off leaving him at home. Her next-door neighbor probably wouldn’t have forgotten to feed him or left the door open or a window….
“What is that?” he asked when she’d pulled the cat carrier from the car. It was one of those Quonset-hut-shaped things, the kind made from wire mesh so you could see the animal inside.
“This is Mr. Clean,” she pronounced, holding the cage up.
“That is the ugliest damn cat I’ve ever seen.”
She straightened. “He’s not ugly. He’s just…hairless.”
“It looks like something out of E.T.”
“Nope. He’s from this planet. Russia, actually. He’s a Russian Peterbald.” Clean gave another howl. “I’m allergic to cat hair,” she explained. And something about the bald cat appealed to her, something that had to do with the poor thing being laughed at by everyone who saw it at the pet store. She knew what it was like to have people laugh at you.
“Where should I put him?”
“Put him in the back.”
“Of the truck?”
“No. The backseat.”
Oh. Well, okay. Shaking her head, she did as asked, Mr. Clean protesting from the back.
“Tell me I don’t have to listen to that all the way home,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Ali told herself to relax. Sure, he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her. And sure, he didn’t look exactly thrilled that she was staying at his parents’ dude ranch. But he’d adjust.
“I thought you needed to go someplace,” she said. It would have made things a whole lot easier if he’d put on weight or lost his hair. She didn’t like this awareness she felt while sitting next to him.
“I do—did. I’ll be late.”
He started up his truck, the onslaught of noise from the big diesel making it impossible to think for a second. “You were going to a friend’s house while dragging this big old horse trailer behind you?”
“Do it all the time.” He put his truck in gear. She hadn’t even known big trucks came with stick shift.
“No wonder your horse wanted out so bad.”
He shot her a look. “This from a woman who drags her cat across the country.”
As if agreeing, Mr. Clean let out another howl. “I was afraid to leave him at home. He’s delicate.” Like I once was.
“Does my mom know it’s bald?”
“He’s a hairless, and it didn’t come up in conversation. Why do you ask?”
“Because I worry about it frightening the other guests.”
She opened her mouth to defend her cat’s looks, only to realize that he was—miracles upon miracles—joking. She could tell by the way the side of his mouth twitched up a bit—just once—but she spotted it, and when he looked over at her, the twinkle in his green eyes confirmed the fact.
“You got to admit, that is one ugly cat.”
Ali glanced to the back seat, and though Mr. Clean was all she had in the world, she knew that he was, well, ugly.
“When I first saw him I thought he looked a lot like something from Sesame Street.”
This time he let himself smile openly.
What an improvement. Until that moment she’d managed to put from her mind what he’d looked like with just his Jockey—
“…adopt him?”
He raised a brow in question. He’d asked her something. She searched that fuzzy part of her brain that had heard what he’d said but not really registered it. Something about her cat…
“Everyone was making fun of him,” she said quickly.
He made a slow right-hand turn, his truck picking up speed as he headed toward the Diamond W Ranch. “I’d gone to the pet store to get myself a fish, for my desk at work. But I took him instead.”
His smile faded. She jerked her gaze forward, feeling strange things that made her distinctly uncomfortable, given that she was supposed to be in Los Molinas to recruit him. Granted, she was being underhanded in her recruitment tactics, but she was nothing if not determined.
“Look,” he said, and Ali realized they’d arrived at a sort of truce. “I’m not sure if you’re nuts or what. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my going to work for your hospital while you’re staying at my mom’s.”
“Why not?”
“My dad just died and I don’t want her thinking I’m leaving her to deal with the ranch alone.”
Funny, his mom hadn’t mentioned anything about that—not that it was something you’d admit to a guest.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not easy to lose a parent.”
“No, it’s not.”
She didn’t know what else to say and so she said nothing for about a mile, but she needed to clarify something.
“Dr. Sheppard—”
“Nick,” he corrected her.
Nick. She liked that so much better than Nicholas. It suited him, too.
“Nick,” she said. “I know you don’t want me around, but I am here on vacation. When I heard your family owned a dude ranch, I thought to myself how much fun that would be. I’ve always loved horses. And so while I don’t blame you for being upset with me, I’m really here for a vacation.” Not precisely, but he didn’t need to know that.
Around them green hills rose and fell like a poorly laid green carpet. It was beautiful country and, yeah, she wasn’t being exactly honest with him, but she was looking forward to visiting his family’s ranch—and if she could convince him to come work for her, so much the better.
“Well,” he said, “as long as we understand each other.”
“We do,” she said, crossing her fingers.
Chapter Three
“Oh, wow,” Ali said as she caught sight of the Diamond W Ranch.
Nick remained silent, something he’d been from the moment they’d called their truce.
“It’s beautiful,” she added.
“Yup.”
Yup. Obviously the man wasn’t fond of conversation.
There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about his dislike of her. He’d realize she wasn’t the enemy in a few days. And if he didn’t, oh, well. She’d enjoy herself on vacation. Darn it, it’d been too many years since she’d had a good time.
She studied the home at the end of the long, gravel drive, which was horseshoe-shaped with a patch of golf-course-green lawn in the middle of the U.
A mansion.
That was the only way to describe it.
Ali knew from the dude ranch’s Web site that Nick’s great-great-something-or-other had sold everything he’d owned to come out West. Building his wife a mansion had been part of the deal. And so the Diamond W Ranch looked more like it belonged in the South. Four stories tall, the main house had three white columns and a wide, ante-bellum-type porch. Green shutters framed the window like peek-a-boo hands and there was a double door with etched glass sparkling in the afternoon light. Acres and acres of oak trees and some sort of scrub sprouting tiny white flowers surrounded the place.
“Does Colonel Sanders live here?”
When he didn’t crack a smile, she sighed.
What was it about men that she always rubbed them the wrong way? Was she too aggressive? Was that it?
They pulled up in front, Ali oddly at peace as she studied the home.
“My mom’s probably getting dinner ready for the guests,” Nick said. “You might as well go on around to the back where the kitchens are.”
“What if she mistakes me for a servant?”
He looked at her blankly.
“You know. Like in the movies.”
The man had a way of making her feel as if she had antennae sprouting from her head.
“What movies do you watch?”
“The romantic type.”
“Uh-huh.”
And the way he said it…uh-huh. What? Didn’t the man ever go on dates?
He opened his truck door.
Apparently not.
Her hopes of hiring him faded with each passing second. And it wasn’t so much that she didn’t think he’d take the job, it was more that she was beginning to wonder if he was the right person for the job. He has a nice smile. Well, yeah…if he ever used it.
The California sun had started to set, but it was still high enough in the sky that she felt it beat down on her head when she got out of the truck. Bits of white pollen floated on currents of air, and Ali wondered if they came from the scrub trees. And the smell. She tipped her head back and simply inhaled. It smelled like an Old West movie. Okay, like she imagined an Old West movie would smell. Like hay and dust and just the faintest hint of livestock.
“Leave your cat here,” he said when she started to reach behind the seat to grab Mr. Clean. “You can get him after checking in with my mom.”
“Got it.”
He crammed his hat on his head as he came around her side of the big truck, and Ali had an out-of-body experience. One that had her blushing in mortification at the image of him scooping her up in his arms, mounting his horse and riding off into the sunset.
Time to get a life. She watched as he turned away, led her up the front steps, his spurs ching-ching-chinging on the well-worn steps, then turned left and followed the porch around. The man had shoulders so wide he looked like a walking suit of armor. Muscular legs supported the cutest butt she’d ever seen—
Ali!
Well, she could look, right? She was on vacation. Va-ca-tion, and since Dr. Doom and Gloom looked to be a dead end, she may as well get into the swing of things. And, no, she didn’t go in for flings, but she enjoyed a very active fantasy life. She had a feeling she’d be dreaming of cowboys tonight.
They passed a set of French doors, and then another set, the porch nearly as wide as a car. And then she caught a whiff of something, something that smelled like mouth-watering food. Butter, chives and…fried chicken.
“Oh, man.”
“What?” Nick asked as he stopped in front of an old-fashioned half door, the top portion swung open.
“That smells so good.”
He pulled open the bottom half of the door and said, “Mom, the woman you want me to marry is here.”
IF NICK HAD BEEN in a better mood he would have laughed at the expression on Alison Forester’s face.
“Nick,” his mother said, either ignoring him or not having heard him. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom, you wanted me to meet her, didn’t you? I know for sure there’s a waiting list to stay here. Ms. Forester seems to have magically risen to the top.”
It was funny, really, because everyone in the kitchen pointedly avoided looking their way, and there were a lot of people in the kitchen. But they were probably used to this conversation, or various forms of it. If she wasn’t harping on him about going back to a “real job,” his mom was trying to get him married off. Nick wished she’d make up her mind which she wanted most…not that he was going along with either of her plans. Not now. Not ever.
“Why, Nicholas Sheppard,” his mom said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And to make matters worse, she shot Alison a glance meant to convince her of her innocence. “I’m Martha Sheppard,” she said, holding out her hand.
About as innocent as a barn cat stalking a mouse. Oh, yeah, Nick could see the way her eyes looked Alison over, as the two shook hands. She clearly approved of what she saw.
Wide hips. Check.
Ample breasts. Check.
Nice teeth. Check.
Nick decided to nip this right in the bud.
“She’s already seeing someone.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Allison said. “And I’m sorry your son doesn’t want to marry me.” She shot him a teasing look. “But it’s actually a relief. I’ve never married a man I’ve never kissed before.”
“I guess this means we’ll have to cancel the wedding,” his mom said, wiping her hands on her apron, which read, Old Women Make Better Lovers. A present from her best friend, Flora.
“I guess so,” Alison said. “Though I was really looking forward to tasting your pâté. Say, could I have a bite of whatever’s cooking in the oven instead?”
His mom laughed, and Nick went still. He loved his mom’s laughter, had missed the sound since…
The chasm left by his father’s death once again overwhelmed him. They were all still suffering.
Alison extended her arm toward his mother.
And that was when he saw it. The telltale redness just beneath Alison Forester’s cuffs. Burn marks.
What?
“Good to meet you, Alison, though I’m sorry to have to cancel your wedding.”
“That’s okay,” Alison said, returning his mom’s clasp. “I look like hell in white.”
That made his mom laugh again. But Nick had eyes only for Alison’s left arm. Burn marks. He scanned the rest of her. There was another patch just at the nape of her neck, one that disappeared beneath her shirt.
“Nick,” his mom said, drawing his eyes back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Ms. Forester was coming. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Someone canceled and when I called the other people on the list, none of them could come. Ms. Forester’s timing was perfect. Not that I don’t think she’d make a lovely bride.”
And with that, she turned back to Alison. “Come here, sweetie. I’ll give you a taste of my famous honey-pecan-fried chicken.”
Nick watched her follow his mother. The knowledge that at some point she’d been a burn victim, a bad burn by the looks of it, completely skewed his perception of her.
“Good?” his mother asked after handing her a forkful of chicken. He watched as she took a bite, her eyes closing as she chewed and swallowed. “Mmm,” she said, and God help him, he couldn’t take his gaze away from the sugary sheen on her lips.
Obviously he’d spent too much time out in the sun.
“Do you have any other sons I might be able to marry?” Alison asked. “I hate the thought of never tasting this again.”
“As a matter of fact, I do—”
“Mom,” Nick interrupted. His eyes darted to Alison’s cuff again. She must have seen him because she self-consciously touched her wrist, confirming that she’d figured out what he’d been looking at.
“Don’t encourage her,” he said with a smile, suddenly feeling bad.
“I’ll try not to,” she answered in her Southern drawl.
“I’ll go get your stuff.” Crap. He really wished she wasn’t sticking around. She reminded him of…things he’d rather forget.
Such as his job.
“I’ll come with you,” Alison said.
“You staying for dinner?” his mom asked Nick.
“I’m having dinner with the Berringers tonight.”
“I thought you looked mighty dressed up for rodeo practice.”
“I changed at the arena.”
“Yeah, right out in the open,” Alison said.
She had a nice smile.
His mom waved a hand dismissively. “They all do that,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “If you ever want a show, go behind the chutes during a rodeo. I swear those boys have no sense of decency.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Alison said.
“And since you’re here, why don’t you have dinner with us? The Berringers will understand,” his mom added.
“Mom, you know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“Scott wants to talk to me about purchasing some of our cattle.”
“You can do that over the phone.”
“Mom,” Nick said sternly, “it’s too late to cancel.”
“Nonsense. Tell them you got hung up bringing a guest to the ranch. It’s true, and if you stay, you’ll even up my numbers.”
“Mom—”
“Nick Sheppard, I don’t get to see you often enough as it is what with you off to rodeos all the time. I’ll call and explain the situation.”
“No, don’t do that,” Nick said, beginning to realize he fought a losing battle.
“Good, then you call.”
“What’s the matter?” Alison asked in an aside. “Worried I’ll bite?”
Was that a flirtatious look in her eyes? Or was he just imagining that?
Imagining it, he decided when she couldn’t look him in the eyes.
And why did he feel warm?
He squared his shoulders as he asked, “Where’s she sleeping?”
“In one of the bunkhouses.”
He knew he wouldn’t like the answer to his next question, but he had to ask. “Which one?”
“Number two.”
Yup. Exactly as he’d thought.
“You must have had to do some shuffling around to arrange that,” he said.
To give his mom credit, she managed another innocent look. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” he said, knowing she would just deny it. “C’mon,” he said to Alison. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“Ride?”
“The bunkhouses are down by the lake. Your only neighbor will be oak trees…and me.”
“You?”
“I’m in bunkhouse number one.”
“Oh.” And then she smiled brightly. “Well, I guess that makes planning for our wedding a bit easier.”
His mom laughed. There was no way—no way—Alison Forester’s name had cycled to the top of the waiting list, which meant his mom was up to her old matchmaking tricks again. And with a woman she’d never even seen before. Geesh.
Well, she’d learn real fast that he had no interest in Alison Forester. No interest at all.
Chapter Four
Mr. Clean was not a happy camper. Ali didn’t blame him. Airplane rides were not, as a rule, part of kitty’s everyday routine. And then there was the smell of the Diamond W Ranch. Ali had a feeling Mr. Clean’s naked-cat instincts were at high alert. As she followed Nick down a path alongside the main house, she wanted to stop and breathe in the scent of the place again.
It smelled like home.
Not Texas, but home-home. The place where she’d grown up…before.
Her eyes snapped open. Good thing, too, because Nick had stopped, her rolling suitcase propped up against the side of a…golf cart? No. It was some kind of golf cart–motorcycle hybrid with a trucklike roof over the passenger compartment and a small bed in the back.
“That’s the strangest-looking thing I’ve ever seen.” She tipped her chin toward the bright green vehicle.
“Yeah? I feel the same way about your cat,” Nick said, slinging her suitcase into the “bed.”
And it was exactly comments like that that made Ali wonder why she’d flown all the way out to California to try to hire him. Obviously the man’s bedside manner left a lot to be desired.
“I take it this isn’t a cowboy’s version of a golf cart?” Ali asked, hoping conversation might open him up.
“Actually, I think it is,” he said, not looking at her as he sat next to her. And there it was again, that frisson of awareness she’d first felt when she’d climbed into his truck back at the rodeo grounds.
Do you blame yourself?
The man was drop-dead gorgeous in his cowboy hat and boots, not at all like the pudgy, mutant-white doctors she was used to.
He started the engine, which sounded more like an ATV. Ali heard Mr. Clean meow in the back. At this rate she’d have to hire a cat therapist. And then she was straightening in surprise. “Oh, man,” she said as she caught a glimpse of what was on the other side of the trees.
A lake.
A sparkling, catching-the-last-rays-of-sunlight lake.
Nick guided the miniature truck along the asphalt path.
“I didn’t see a lake from the house.”
“Can’t,” he said. “Trees are too thick. Just like you can’t see the barn and arena, either.” And then Nick stopped, Ali assumed so she could get the full effect and so she followed his gaze.
Wow.
This time of day, the top of the water turned the color of white Zinfandel. Cabins, if you wanted to call them that, rimmed the lake. Actually, she’d known from the pictures on the Internet that they resembled tiny, brownstones—narrow porches in the front with three steps leading to the front door. What she hadn’t expected was the seamless way they blended into the trees behind them, giving the illusion that the lakeshore stood empty.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is that.”
“It must have been neat growing up here.”
“It was,” he said, shifting the Gator into gear again.
“Wait,” she said, touching the top of his hand. It was such a man’s hand, from the tiny, dark hairs on top to the thick, square fingers. Odd that that hand was capable of performing such delicate surgery.
“What?” he asked.
“Look, I know you think I’m stalking you or something, but….” She struggled for words—unusual for her. A fish broke the surface of the lake, water ripples spreading toward the shore. “I felt your family’s ranch call to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around horses.”
“You said you know how to ride, in the car.”
She met his gaze, blinking to dispel the brightness of the lake’s surface. “Yeah. I practically grew up on a horse’s back.”
That made his brows lift. It was a shame he seemed so uptight. She had a feeling if he’d just relax his gorgeous good looks would surpass those of her favorite movie stars.
“I had a horse until I was fifteen,” she admitted, looking away. “Some of the best moments of my life were spent on a horse.”
“Why’d you stop riding then?”
Her stomach flexed. “Things happen.” And that was all she’d say about it. “Anyway, I’ve never forgotten how wonderful it is to be on a horse’s back. The sense of freedom. The camaraderie of being on an animal that trusts you and will do anything for you, as long as you treat it right.” She peeked over at him. “I sound like a Hallmark commercial, don’t I?”
And there it was again, that tiny spark that made her think he might laugh if he were any other man.
“Actually, I know exactly how you feel.”
“Do you? Good. I really don’t want you to think I chased you here. And for the record, I don’t think your mom’s trying to hook us up.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“Yes, that’s true. But she’s never even met me. Why would she pair you up with a stranger?”
“Because that’s what she does,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re here and I hope you have a good time.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I promise to be a good guest. You won’t even know I’m here.”
YOU WON’T even know I’m here.
Ha. No such luck.
The sexy sound of her soft laughter was clearly audible over the dinner conversation. He’d been hoping she’d skip dinner in favor of a jet-lagged nap. The moment he slid open the dining room’s double doors, he’d spotted her, blond hair loose around her shoulders, a wide smile on her face.
“Nick. There you are,” his mother said from her usual spot at the head of the table. About twelve people sat around her, mostly adults, although two dark-haired kids sat at the end. Nick nodded to the guests he’d been introduced to already. There were a few new faces, but then, it was always like that. The guests came and went, some of them eating with the family, others content to do their own cooking in their cabins.
“Nick, there’s an empty seat next to Ali,” his mom added.
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” his mother asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” he said, taking a seat next to Ali.
She looked different.
Well, he supposed most people looked different when they weren’t dressed in a buttoned-down business suit. The white cotton blouse and blue jeans suited her.
“Good evening, Doctor,” she said softly, her eyes more blue than gray this evening.
“Doctor?” one of the guests asked, a balding man with a bright red scalp. Obviously he’d forgotten to apply his sunscreen today. “You’re a doctor?”
Yeah, want a prescription for some sunscreen?
“Graduated at the top of his class from Harvard Medical School,” his mother answered.
“Harvard?” the man asked in obvious surprise. “You went to Harvard?”
He said the words like, “You went to the moon?”
“He was offered a Rhodes Scholarship,” Ms. Forester provided.
“Really?”
“But he turned it down,” she said, “so he could graduate from Harvard.”
And from the end of the table, his mother looked at Alison as though she’d offered her ovaries to him on a platter. Nick almost groaned.
“Nick has an IQ of 162,” his mother said to the crowd at large, but to one individual in particular—as if Alison didn’t already know that. He would bet the woman knew his shoe size.
“He was in the top one percent when he took his Medical College Admission Test.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, noticing that the table had gone quiet, most of his mother’s guests looking at him in either surprise or approval, though a young girl and boy at the opposite end of the table exchanged disinterested glances. “The guests don’t care about me, Mom. I want to know how everyone’s day was today?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alison said before anybody had a chance to reply. “As your future wife, I’d like to find out whatever I can about you.”
“You’re engaged?” an elderly lady asked, her eyes lighting up as if she were the mother of the bride-to-be. “How wonderful.”
“Actually,” Alison said, “we just met today.”
“You…what?” the woman asked, befuddled.
“But Nick here is convinced his mom only invited me to the ranch so she could set us up. Frankly, I’m not so sure.”
Okay, that did it—
“She sounded nice on the phone,” his mother said to her guests, smiling around the table.
“Mother,” Nick rasped.
“Well…she did.”
Alison laughed, which started his mother laughing, too. That was the third time today he’d heard his mother laugh, which made it the most she’d laughed in months.
“Hey,” Alison said, leaning in to him. “If your mom’s set on marrying us off, do you think I could have a peek at your mouth? My family has a long history of perfect teeth and I hate to mess up the gene pool.”
He shook his head, unwilling to play along.
“C’mon,” she said. “Open up.” She even picked up a fork as though she meant to poke at his molars with it.
“You better stop,” he said, “or you’ll really start my mom on a crusade. You’re exactly the type of woman she likes.”
Alison dropped her fork. Actually he was reasonably certain she only set it down because Besse had come in with the first platter of chicken.
“And what kind of woman is that?” Alison asked sotto voce.
Smart. Witty. Good-looking. He picked up his napkin and lay it in his lap. “Young, healthy…of childbearing age.”
He peered down at her just in time to see her eyes widen as she tipped back her head and laughed. Just as he expected, his mom was looking at them with an expression of delight.
“Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You’re giving her reason to hope.”
That made her chuckle more. “Maybe we should pretend an engagement. That way she’d leave you alone.”
“Are you kidding? She’d have the local preacher over here in the morning. And the Red Cross to do our blood work.”
“Is she really that bad?”
But his mom’s smile eliminated whatever pique he might feel. It was good to see her smile.
“She can be,” he said. “But I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”
“You’re lucky to have her,” Alison said before turning to the guest next to her.
Nick felt surprisingly disappointed, especially when the guest turned out to be a single dad whose two kids, the boy and girl, Kimberly and Sam, sat at the end of the table. Their dad, Jim, was flirting with Alison as if there was no tomorrow.
Well, good. Maybe that would get matchmaking ideas out of his mom’s head.
He should have known better.
“Nick,” Martha said right after Besse cleared the dinner dishes. “Alison expressed an interest in helping with the cattle tomorrow morning.”
“Can we help, too?” the boy, Sam, asked. His blue eyes peered out at Nick from beneath a mop of brown hair.
“Not tomorrow,” Jim said. “We’re going fishing in the morning.”
“Ah, Dad—can’t we do that in the afternoon?”
“Fish don’t bite in the afternoon,” Jim explained, shooting Alison a look that clearly said, “Kids—what are you doing to do with them?”
“You’re right,” Alison said. “They don’t bite in the afternoon. But they sure do bite in the evening. Maybe you could change your schedule around so Sam and I could watch the cows being vetted.”
“Steers,” Nick corrected her. “And that’s not a good idea.” Nick did not, absolutely did not, want any kids around while he and his brother doctored up the cattle.
“Nonsense,” his mother said. “It’s an excellent idea. Sam, you and Ms. Forester can meet up in the morning. Nick will show you the way to the corral.”
And that was how Nick ended up being forced to spend time with Alison Forester.
And worse—a young boy.
Chapter Five
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.
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