LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS) (7 page)

“But what if...”

He was much shorter than Sara, but he’d seemed to tower over her as his raspy voice put her in her place. “So I make mistakes. Do you think you never will? Does all this fancy new training they give you insure you’ll never do anything wrong? " He was adept at avoiding issues, at making her feel he’d done her a huge favor by hir
ing her at all, which was probably an honest reflection of how he felt.

He’d made it plain from the beginning he’d pref
er a male vet, that he was hiring her only because he felt grateful for things Dave Hoffman, her stepfather, had done for him in the past. Well, she consoled herself, if worse came to worst, she could always leave Plains and find another job somewhere, regardless of how much she was beginning to love this isolated comer of northwestern Montana, or how much she enjoyed being able to be with Mom and Gram...and Dave.

Her new stepfather was fast becoming one of her favorite people. And now, to add to the complications, had Mitch Carter become a factor as well in her desire to stay here? There was no denying the powerful at
traction she sensed growing between them. In a burst of honesty, she admitted that the last thing she wanted at the moment was to pull up stakes and leave Plains.

Which left her right ba
ck at the beginning, meekly allowing herself to be bullied by her employer.

It was almost a relief to be interrupted by Floyd, who was sticking his head around the door and screwing his florid features into a sympathetic grimace. “George Dolinger’s on the phone, roarin’ like a bull.” Floyd snickered at his own wit before adding, “George is always roarin’. He says his prize mare’s just been bred by somebody’s runaway stallion. He wants her aborted
immediately.”

Dolinger owned one of the largest ranches in the area. Sara had met him only on
ce and thought him a cantankerous little man. She sighed and picked up the phone, determined to be both cheerful and businesslike.

“Good morning, Mr. Dolinger...”

A stream of curses made her hold the phone away from her ear. “... and you can tell Stone I’ve no intention of allowing some young female still wet behind the ears to mess around with that mare. Now get him out here on the double, you hear me?”

Sara drew a deep breath an
d tried to curb her rising temper. “Unfortunately Dr. Stone is not here at the moment, and I’m not certain when he’ll be in,” she said as calmly as she could.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The man sounded on the verge of a coronary.
“I want this animal aborted immediately, and I want Doc Stone to do the job. Is that perfectly clear? So I suggest you send Floyd to find him and give him the message, you hear me?”

“But I’ve just told you...”

Bang. Dial tone.

Sara glanced at the receiver, and she was trembling with rage when she finally put it down. It didn’t take much imagi
nation to figure out which particular veterinary procedure she’d delight in performing on Mr. George Dolinger. The man was utterly impossible and rude to boot.

The office door swung open, and Sara snapped, “Floyd, if that horrible man calls back, you can tell him...”

Sara stopped in midsentence. Mitch stood in the doorway, grinning at her, brown Stetson tilted firmly down over his forehead, powerful body clad as usual in fresh denims and cotton shirt. His boots showed signs of careful polishing.

“Afternoon, Doc.” He ambled casually into the room and turned an old wooden
chair around so he could straddle it. He rested his arms on its back and studied her calmly until she felt uncomfortably self-conscious.

“Trusty old Floyd told me to just come straight in and to pass on the message that he’s on his way out for lunch.” Mitch’
s voice held a note of sarcasm, and Sara suspected he knew he Floyd was a slippery, smooth-talking, lazy rascal.

“The guy woul
dn’t be much help if an ax murderer walked in here straight off the street, would he?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, adding, “I figured maybe that’s what you and I could do.”

“Murder someone with an ax? Boy, have I got just the person in mind.”

Suddenly the whole day seemed much brighter, and Sara shoved her hair back from her forehead and returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own. To blazes with George Dolinger.

“I was thinking more of lunch, but if you’d like me to murder the man you were swearing about when I came in, maybe we ought to tend to him first.”

Sara thought of all the calls needing to be answered, the farm visits that meant driving from one emergency call to another around the countryside if Doc didn’t show up. The least she was entitled to was a lunch break. It wasn’t hard to make up her mind.

She got hurriedly to her feet, and before the phone could start ringing again, she switched on the machine.

“Quick,” she instructed, going over to the door and peering out to make sure the coast was clear and no one had come into the waiting room during the past few moments. “First, we lock the front door and put the Out to Lunch sign up. Then we sneak out the back way, preferably in disguise.”

“Gotcha.” Mitch had the sign on the front door before Sara had finished running a quick brush through her hair and hastily adding some pink lipstick. She was absurdly glad she’d worn a pair of quite decent blue cotton pants that morning with a gaily striped knit shirt instead of her usual uniform of T-shirt and blue jeans. There was only one little stain on her knee and hardly any animal hair at all on her shirt. She looked really presentable, considering the mess she could end up in around here.

“How did you happen to...I mean...what are you doing in town?” she began, but he’d settled his hat firmly on his head and grabbed her hand.

“Silence, woman, till we make our getaway.” He tugged her out the
back door, making a great pretense of checking in both directions before he hustled her through the back gate and down the grassy path, and then up the sidewalk to the main street before he answered her question.

“How did I escape from
Carter’s work detail before sundown, you mean? Well, the tractor had a flat. I’m getting it fixed.” It wasn’t the entire truth, and the old man would have a fit when he found out Mitch had chosen a sunny day in June to fix a slow leak they’d lived with for heaven knows how long.

Mitch couldn’t have cared less. For the first time in months, he was exactly where he wanted to be. He was walking down a sleepy stre
et in his hometown with a beautiful woman by his side, and he was content.

Hustling along beside him
, her fingers still firmly captured in his callused hand, Sara nodded and teased, “A flat tire, huh? Of course, Mr. Carter, we repair tractor flats all the time at the clinic. How silly of me. Where is the poor injured thing, anyway?”

He shot her a narrow-e
yed glance and said, “Truth is, I wanted to see you, Sara. Somewhere outside of a barn or a pigpen and without an audience.”

His forthright declaration shut her up for the entire time it took them to reach the cafe. Floyd was cozily jammed into a booth with three of his drinking cronies. He looked comically surprised when Sara paused beside his booth and said in a friendly but firm tone, “I hate to rush you, Floyd, but you’re due back at work in ten minutes.”

Before he could answer, Sara sailed past and Mitch took a table on the other side of the small cafe, as far from Floyd as they could get.

“You like steak?” he demanded, removing his hat and ruffling his hair so it stood enchantingly on end above his forehead.

Sara had the urge to reach over and smooth it down for him.

“Yes, umm, sure, but I was thinking more of an egg salad sandwich, it’s only noon.”

The redheaded waitress, who’d been sitting drinking coffee with two friends, got up and wandered nonchalantly toward them.

“We’ll have sirloin steak with baked potatoes and all the trimmings, and ice cream on apple pie for dessert. Coffee now,”
Mitch.

The waitress smiled
at Mitch, her eyes assessing his body and face in minute detail. “Sure thing, honey,” she cooed at him, setting out place mats and glasses of water, cutlery, catsup and steak sauce.

“Mitch, I’m not sure I
want all that food,” Sara protested weakly. “Besides, I ought to get back to the clinic before too long.”

“Surely Doc Stone gives you a lunch hour?” Mitch queried.

“Doc Stone doesn’t come around enough to give me my paycheck, never mind time off for lunch,” Sara blurted.

Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “I wondered if something like that was going on. The other night, Dave Hoffman said he figured the old man was taking advantage of you.”

The waitress appeared, pouring them mugs of coffee, making sure there was cream and sugar. The woman also made sure, Sara noticed with amusement, that her breast brushed against Mitch’s shoulder whenever she bent over. He didn’t even appear to notice.

“That
old codger should just retire and be done with it, let somebody else take over and do a proper job.”

Sara had to agree. She’d fantasized often enough about buying the practice outright and running it her own way, but that meant coming up with a fair amount of cash. She still owed her sister, Frankie, an
d Dave as well for their generous contributions toward her education. Much as she’d love it, it was out of the question.

“I couldn’t afford to buy the practice anyway, so I guess I’ll just have to put up with things the way they are,” she commented.

“Is that what you eventually want from your life, Sara? To own a vet practice of your own?”

All of a sudden, she felt as if she were walking on eggs. She met the level green-eyed gaze and said evenly, “Of course I want that, among other things. That’s nearly everyone’s dream when they graduate as a vet, to have a practice of their own. It just takes time to be able to afford it, that’s all.”

“You said, among other things. What other things do you want, exactly?”

The color rose in her cheeks. M
itch Carter was disturbingly forthright, and he was paying close attention to what she said.

“Oh, a husband, a home, a whole pack of kids, dogs, horses, chickens, geese, a cow and a couple of goats fo
r starters,” she listed.

His forehead creased in a frown, his clear green eyes steady on hers, and he wasn’t smiling. “Don’t you think that being a full-time vet and being somebody’s wife and somebody else’s mother might be a tough way to go?”

She shrugged. “Of course it wouldn’t be easy...”

Sara broke off as the waitress set rather wilted salads in front of each of them, fussing unnecessarily with Mitch’s. When the woman had moved reluctantly off, Sara swiftly turned the conversati
on so that the focus was on him.

“How about you, Mitch? You said yesterday you wanted your own stud farm. Do you really figure you could settle and be happy living that sort of quiet life after the rodeo years?”

His gaze was mocking. “Well, it wouldn’t be easy,” he parroted smoothly. “Because I’d also want a wife and a passel of kids, dogs, chickens, goats... but no pigs. Not one damned porker is ever gonna set foot on any spread of mine,” he assured her with a determined twinkle in his eye.

Sara laughed, but she
realized he hadn’t actually answered her question at all—any more than she’d answered his. The distant future was an area best left alone for the moment, she decided.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your mom, Mitch,” she said instead. “I’m going to d
rop by and see her like I promised, but don’t you think it might be good for her to get out more, maybe get a job of some kind? My mom always says that it was having to get out and earn a living for my sister and me that kept her sane after my dad was killed.”

The idea had crossed Mitch’s mind. There were times when he felt strongly that his mother needed to get out of the house before she drove both him and the old man around the bend worrying about her, before her depression deepened and she was lost to them. A shiver ran down his spine. It was a problem that nagged at him constantly and made him feel helpless.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea, but she’d never do it. Mom's never worked outside the house, she hasn’t any training or anything. And Pop would hyperventilate.”

Until recently Mitch would have scoffed at the idea of his mother getting a job. She’d been the ideal mother and wife in his opinion, always there for her family, taking care of them, happily making them the focus of her existence. But she definitely wasn’t happy anymore. Something needed changing in her life, and perhaps this golden-haired woman with the glorious smile was on the right track with this idea of a job.

They tangled over some of her opinionated ideas, but still, Sara was a woman he felt comfortable talking with, even about sensitive things like this problem with his mother. Sara cared; it was obvious in her tone, and that caring was evident as well in her way with animals.

His sal
ad bowl was whisked away, and a steaming platter slapped down in front of him and then another in front of Sara. A basket of rolls followed, and a saucer of butter patties. More coffee and more cream. A different sauce for the steak.