Cowboy Vet. Pamela Britton

      “Is Dr. Sheppard in?” Jessie asked, inwardly wincing at the malice she saw in the woman’s expression. Jeez. What would she have to do? Whip herself with rosary beads and wear a crown of thistles?

      “What do you need to see him about?”

      “I swallowed a mouse and I need his help getting it out,” Jessie said, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it’d seen better days. The faux leather bag was peeling away from its cotton backing. She hid it under her armpit. Not that it mattered. Pauline’s eyes hadn’t left her own.

      “Okay, seriously. I heard he was on his way here with an emergency surgery. I wondered if he might need help.”

      “He’s not available right now.”

      She hadn’t asked if he was available, Jessie almost pointed out. “Is he prepping for surgery?”

      “I’m not at liberty to say.”

      Did Jessie have to pull a gun on her? “Okay. Well, will you tell him I stopped by? And that I’m available to assist?”

      “You?” Pauline asked, her fleshy arms coming to rest on her desk. “Available to assist?”

      “Yes, me,” Jessie said, holding on to her temper by a thread.

      “Since when do you know anything about veterinary medicine?”

      “Since I graduated with an A.A. in veterinary science.”

      Pauline huffed in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said, “you got it over the Internet.”

      Okay, that did it. “Pauline,” Jessie said softly, drawing on the psych class she’d been forced to take for college credits, “I really don’t understand your animosity. But I wish we could bury the hatchet, especially since I’d like your help in convincing Dr. Sheppard to hire me.”

      Silence. “You want Dr. Sheppard to hire you?” From the expression on Pauline’s face, it was as if Jessie had announced her intention to cure cancer using nothing more than nose drops.

      “Why not?” Jessie said. “I’m local. I love animals. And I have a degree.”

      “Well, I’m sure Dr. Sheppard will be thrilled to hear all about your qualifications, but no amount of schooling can teach a person integrity.”

      If Jessie didn’t leave now, she’d do something she might regret. “Just tell Dr. Sheppard I dropped by, ’kay?” she asked. “Can you do that?”

      All she got in response was what might be an attempt at a smile.

      Jessie shook her head, turned around—

      And ran smack dab into Dr. Sheppard.

      “Jessie Monroe.”

      “Hello, Rand,” she said, clutching his arms at the same time he held her by the shoulders, his black hat knocked askew, his big hands warm even through her thick coat.

      His expression, however, was cold. “What are you doing here?”

      HE KNEW HE SOUNDED RUDE, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.

      “I stopped in to see if you needed help with your surgery.”

      The surgery? How had she known…? It really didn’t matter. He glanced at Pauline. “Did Dr. Franklin call?”

      His receptionist shook her head, her face creased in a frown. “Sorry, Doctor. He’s out of the office for the week.”

      “Well, did you ask if his assistant could come?”

      “There’s nobody.”

      Damn it. He’d been dreading this exact scenario. In vain he’d tried to get a qualified vet tech out here to help out. Failing that, he’d tried to get an out-of-area vet to be on call. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for some reason every vet within a sixty-mile radius was either already on call for another clinic or out of the office.

      “Where’s Brandy?”

      “She’s in the back, cleaning kennels.”

      “Get her out here. I’m going to need her help with a C-section.”

      “But—”

      Rand didn’t wait to hear her response. Brandy wasn’t qualified, but she would do. God willing, there’d be no complications from surgery that might require another pair of skilled hands.

      “Rand, wait,” Jessie said, following him outside to the horse trailer hooked up to his black, one-ton truck. Valerie, the owner of the mare—a college-age kid Rand knew wouldn’t be able to afford the coming vet bill—stared at him with wide eyes. The mare on the other end of the lead rope stood with her head down, her chestnut sides dark with sweat.

      “I don’t have time to wait,” he said, signaling the mare’s owner to follow. “I’ve got a foal to get out.”

      “I can help with that,” Jessie stated, stepping up alongside him, her short red hair framing her face.

      “Brandy can help,” he said curtly. That was all he needed—Jessie to mess things up.

      His vet clinic was set up like most—main office at the front, equine exam room behind that, with a surgical facility and medical barn out back. He slid open one side of the double doors between the office and the surgical room, flicking on a light. “Bring her in here.”

      “Dr. Sheppard,” Valerie said, “You know I can’t pay—”

      “I know. Don’t worry.”

      When his gaze drifted past the frightened girl, he saw Jessie trailing in their wake.

      “Jessie. Really. I don’t need your—”

      “Stuff it,” she said. “You’ve got no assistant. I’m it.”

      He didn’t have the energy to fight her—or the time. He led Jessie and Valerie to the surgical room.

      Things happened in a hurry. The mare’s water had broken nearly an hour ago. That meant the foal might have been oxygen-deprived for nearly a half hour. Not good.

      The first test of Jessie’s skill came within minutes. “Can you do a prep for me?” he asked.

      “Where are the clippers?”

      “Third drawer on the right.”

      She nodded; he turned away, gathering the medication he’d need.

      The sound of the clippers filled the room as Rand hung the IV set on the hook suspended above the mare’s back. His needle primed, he turned, surprised to see Jessie swabbing the area around the mare’s jugular she’d just clipped, the stringent smell of alcohol filling the room.

      “Ready,” she said, stepping back.

      Brandy showed up then, slowly shuffling her feet. Rand concealed his displeasure. The girl was never in a hurry to go anywhere, which meant trouble in a vet clinic, where seconds might count. Frankly, he probably would have fired her if he wasn’t so short-staffed. He’d have to talk to her about that. Again.

      “Lead her up,” he told Brandy, signaling for the mare’s owner to step back.

      Brandy tried, but the tired mare didn’t want to move.

      “G’yup there,” Jessie said before he could. “Go on.” She slapped the horse on the rump and clucked.

      That did the trick. Rand quickly administered the valium. Within seconds the big chestnut’s knees buckled, then she went down. It took both Jessie and Rand to hook the unconscious mare to the hoist that would move her into position on the padded operating table.

      “That’s it,” he said, the tricky procedure accomplished in a matter of minutes. Precious minutes.

      Damn.