Courted by a Cowboy Read online

  Fat chance. That wasn’t Sunny’s style. And right now, she’d had it with men. The only male she intended to let close was Simba.

  She looped her arm around the dog’s neck. Since his wide skull came nearly to her chest, she was able to affectionately hug him for his loyal show of support without bending over.

  “See any signs of an airplane yet?”

  Simba ignored her question and snapped at a grass-hopper that had the misfortune to fly in front of his face.

  Instead of watching the private airstrip where Jackson would land, Sunny looked out over the ranch, disregarding the oppressive smell of manure and the stirred-up dust.

  The Forked S was some operation, not at all as she’d remembered it from ten years ago. Back then this acreage had been owned by a man who cared more about his next bottle of whiskey than increasing his herd or repairing the outbuildings.

  Cattle milled in pens, some bawling as they were squeezed through chutes leading into the corral. Others, dotting the verdant land, munched happily on the feathery grass swaying in the hot summer wind.

  Ranch hands in dusty hats, boots and jeans all seemed to have jobs to do and took their duties seriously. No one lazed around smoking in the shade or tipping an icy beer behind the barn.

  Evidently, the boss man ran a tight operation.

  Sunny took a breath and choked on the cloying, dusty air. Standing in the middle of a ranch that held myriad memories she had no desire to confront was the last thing she’d ever expected to be doing.

  She ought to be in Tahiti, floating on a raft in a clear blue bay, drinking sweet, potent concoctions with little umbrellas stuck in a pineapple garnish and licking her emotional wounds in comfort and style.

  The drone of a plane engine sent Simba prancing to his feet.

  “Yes, I hear it, boy.” Sunny shaded her eyes with her hand and watched as a flashy Cessna descended in the blue sky, wings dipping ever so slightly from side to side as the pilot aimed for the short runway. The landing gear seemed about to brush the treetops, and Sunny held her breath. She let it out when the tail cleared the foliage by inches and the Cessna touched down as softly as dandelion fluff. Typical of a hotshot pilot at the controls, Jackson barely slowed the single-engine, blue-and-white plane before putting it into a turn and bringing it around.

  “Show-off,” she muttered, impressed despite herself. She appreciated skill, admired a person who strove to be the best.

  The engine shut off and the two-blade propeller jerked to a stop like a whirligig with a child’s finger suddenly thrust into it. After several minutes, the door popped open and Jackson climbed out. He jumped down lithely onto the sticky asphalt, where heat-wave mirages danced over the black surface.

  Sunny’s heart pumped and sweat trickled down her spine. She was about to come face-to-face with her past.

  But she could handle it. She would handle it. She’d spent ten long years building a shield around her heart. And a one-month vacation in Texas wasn’t going to tear it down.

  For a moment he paused, watching her from a distance of one hundred yards. She couldn’t see past the aviator sunglasses to his blue eyes, couldn’t gauge his mood from his expression because he wore his tobacco-brown Stetson pulled low over his forehead.

  Good granny’s goose, Jackson Slade still made her mouth water.

  Six feet four inches of bad attitude, he drew women like flies to a watermelon, and radiated a masculinity that made a girl want to swoon like a Southern belle of old.

  However, Sunny wasn’t a Southern belle. Southern, yes, but as much as her mother had tried, her manners were at times abysmal. And swooning wasn’t her style.

  After the briefest hesitation, he headed toward her, his stride long and loose. If he felt a sense of urgency, it didn’t show. Nor did recognition.

  That poked at her pride.

  Then again, Jackson Slade was a master at hiding his emotions.

  He stopped in front of her and stared down at her. As she craned her neck to meet his gaze, the bright sunshine behind him made her eyes water. He shifted subtly so that his body blocked the light. It also crowded her. Deliberately, it seemed.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Sunny Leigh Carmichael.”

  Damn it, that deep Texas drawl still made her stomach hatch butterflies. She kept her hand on Simba. Not that she was afraid the hound would attack. She didn’t think Jack would appreciate Simba’s obsession for giving sloppy dog kisses just now.

  “Good memory, Slade.” She couldn’t tell if he was surprised to see her or annoyed.

  “You back in town for a visit, sugar bear?”

  “Maybe.” She wanted him to take off those dark glasses so she could see if he was mocking her. Sugar bear had been his pet name for her all those years ago, at a time when she was certain he’d loved her, certain he’d intended to ask her daddy’s permission for her hand in marriage. Well, Daddy was gone now, and Jack had ended up marrying someone else.

  “Been a lot of years,” he commented, and stepped back. “Any other time I’d be happy to socialize some, but I’ve got a cow with a possible prolapsed uterus. She’s one of my best breeders and if I don’t get in there right quick, I’ll lose her.” His tone implied he was happy for an excuse not to be sociable. With her.

  Astonished, she stood for several seconds and gaped at his back as he walked away.

  Who the heck had put a burr up his behind? The man had cheated on her ten years ago and had had a child with another woman, while Sunny had nursed a bone-deep hurt and pined—yes, darn it, pined—for him.

  If anyone should be acting bitchy here, it should be her!

  Miffed by his attitude, she considered leaving. But her conscience as a veterinarian forced her to stay.

  If Jack’s dead cattle turned out to be nothing more than routine, she was off the hook. In the meantime, she’d made a promise to her mother to look into the matter. And when Sunny made a promise, she didn’t break it.

  Unlike Jackson Slade.

  Chapter Two

  Sunny jogged to catch up with him. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Then stay out of my way, and keep that mangy-looking horse outside. What the hell is it, anyway?”

  Again, Sunny was taken aback by Jack’s brusqueness. It didn’t make sense. Unless he did know why she was here and he had something to hide. Some ranchers abhorred government intrusion or help. She’d stared down the barrel of more than one shotgun during her career.

  “It is a he, and his name is Simba. Lab and Irish wolfhound mix.”

  Jack snorted and continued through the double doors of a steel outbuilding that bore a sign proclaiming it the Forked S Calving Shed.

  The urge to stick out her tongue at his back was strong, but she resisted. Instead, she dropped a kiss on Simba’s huge head and told him to wait for her by the door.

  Sure, Simba was odd-looking—she’d often wondered if he’d come from the same litter as the comic-strip character Marmaduke. Regardless, that was no reason to insult him.

  If there was one thing that could make her forget her problems, it was squaring off with Jack Slade.

  She removed her hat, leaving Simba in charge of it, then ran her fingers through her blond hair in an attempt to get rid of the “hat hair” look.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy taking this macho cowboy down a notch or two,” she muttered, and followed Jack inside.

  The calving shed was well lit and scrubbed clean, Sunny noted, with gleaming white walls, concrete floors and plenty of drains. Three ranch hands were bending over a very large, extremely irritated black Angus who lay on her side on the floor, held steady in a head catch, legs tied, eyes rolling in pain and anger. Although the working area appeared properly sterilized, the familiar smells of hay, leather and bovine fluids permeated the air.

  “What’s the deal, Scotty?” she heard Jack ask as he whipped off his sunglasses and hat and stepped into a pair of dingy b
lue coveralls. Despite their faded color, the creases clearly indicated they were clean.

  “I tried to pull the calf, but it was too durn big. Dadgumit, why’d Doc Levin up and quit on us?”

  Sunny had wondered that, too—her mother hadn’t known—but Jack just shrugged. “We’ll have to handle this ourselves.”

  This meaning a C-section, Sunny understood.

  “Is Keegan back yet?”

  “Nope,” Scotty said. “Not yet.”

  Jack uttered a curse. “I should have had Beau go for supplies and kept Duane here.”

  “Mighta’ had a bit of a scuffle over that,” Scotty said, absently patting the distressed cow. “Beau’s up to the house, fussin’ with Miz Cora over the kitchen. He’s cookin’ up a fancy soufflé and claims her vacuumin’s gonna make it fall or some such nonsense. Nearly took my head off when I poked my nose in for a cool drink.” Scotty shook his head. “You find something when you were up in the air?”

  On alert, Sunny waited for his answer. Evidently, Duane Keegan was Jack’s right-hand man and he was needed back on the ranch ASAP.

  “Maybe,” Jack mumbled noncommittally. “Right now we’ve got to see to this mama or we’ll lose both cow and calf.”

  Sunny’s shoulders slumped. Obviously, he didn’t cotton to speaking in front of outsiders—her. Another indication that her being at the ranch was her mother’s doing, that Jack hadn’t asked her to come.

  He stepped up to the sink, began washing his hands and arms. “Scotty, get the clippers and check her spinal. Lou, grab the instruments and a new scalpel. Junior, you got the lidocaine ready?”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Jackson glanced at Sunny as though just remembering she was there. His eyes were even bluer than she recalled, and his deep walnut hair now showed signs of gray at the temples.

  “This could get a bit gory for you, sugar. Might want to close those pretty green eyes.”

  Oh, gag me.

  “If I close my eyes, sugar, how can I critique your procedure?”

  His brow lifted. “You intend to criticize?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So you haven’t learned to curb that sassy tongue any, hmm? Do you still say whatever comes to mind?”

  “Oh, I imagine I’ve managed a little restraint over the years.”

  “Except when it comes to criticizing—to hanging a person without a trial.”

  He gazed at her, and she knew he was recalling a time ten years ago when she hadn’t spoken her mind, hadn’t waited around for explanations.

  She wasn’t going to be dragged into that discussion. He’d moved on with his life and so had she. No reason for explanations when her eyes had seen all she’d needed to.

  “If you don’t step it up a bit, Slade,” she said, “no judge or jury in the world’s gonna save this mama from a death sentence.”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “If you insist on staying, you might as well scrub up. I don’t want you wandering around and contaminating my operating room. This here’s a bit different from watching little mice run around on treadmills.”

  “Is that what you think I do?”

  “Frankly, sugar bear, I don’t really know what you do. Heard tell you were some fancy scientist, though.”

  She was annoyed that he’d dismissed her profession so quickly—and inaccurately. He didn’t believe she knew squat about what he was fixing to do, and obviously figured he would gross her out cutting into the belly of a cow.

  Besides making a snap judgment about her abilities, did he believe she’d turned into a sissy? Well, by dog, over the next few weeks he was going to find out exactly how qualified she was.

  But this whole situation could well end up beyond her control. If there was a potential epidemic, people higher up in the food chain than her would step in and take over. She hoped like crazy things wouldn’t come to that point.

  This was her hometown, too. Hope Valley had nearly folded awhile back. Jack’s return had provided jobs. He’d invested in the town, infused life back into it. Despite what was between them personally, she had to admire him for that.

  But if he went down, it would affect her friends and family, as well.

  She was going to make sure that didn’t happen—or at least, try to lessen the impact of it.

  Since Jack hadn’t bothered to introduce her to his men, they kept giving her sidelong glances even as they went about their business of saving the life of the heifer and calf.

  Electric clippers buzzed as Scotty shaved a three-foot section on the cow’s side. Jack lifted the tail and let it drop, checking for resistance to gauge the progress of the spinal. He was clearly impatient, worried, yet was making sure the animal wouldn’t feel pain.

  Sunny had known others who weren’t so compassionate.

  “Okay, give me the lidocaine, Junior.” With the needle, Jack scratched a thin line down the middle of the shaved area, then injected the topical anesthetic every inch or so along it in case there were any areas not numbed by the spinal. He quickly followed the route with a scalpel, cutting in one long stroke through the tough hide. A ribbon of blood blossomed in the scalpel’s wake, and he squirted more lidocaine into the incision before he cut deeper.

  When the wound gaped, a gush of blood from the cut splattered them.

  “Damn it! I’ve got bleeders. I need a clamp. Somebody get in here and—”

  Sunny deftly plucked a clamp off the metal tray and slapped it in his palm.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, his breathing returning to normal when the spurt slowed to a trickle. He put his hands inside the incision and gently held up the uterus so that it partly protruded from the cow’s abdomen. “Lou, I need some help here. Take the scalpel and—”

  “Wait,” Sunny interrupted. “His shirt has long sleeves.”

  Jack glanced at her, clearly impatient. “And your point?”

  “My point is if he goes into this cow in long sleeves, he’ll kill her. The bacteria on that material might as well be a shot of pure poison.” She took up the scalpel herself.

  “Yeah, and if you slip and perforate her uterus she’s dead, too. That outer layer’s like tissue paper.”

  “Then why don’t you shut up and hold still? You’re not the only one around here who grew up on a cattle ranch. There.” Ignoring his scowl, she opened the sac of glistening white muscle, and laughed gaily when a pair of hooves popped free.

  “Oh, aren’t you a beauty! Take it quickly, Scotty,” she said, and scooted back as the older man swung the solid black calf from its mamma’s belly. Shifting on her knees, she cleaned out its mouth as Scotty cradled it.

  “Is that calf okay?” Jack asked over his shoulder as he tended to the heifer.

  “Seems to be,” Scotty said.

  Sunny glanced up, knew she was grinning like a loon but couldn’t help it. The birth of any living thing was such a miracle. It had been too long since she’d experienced it. Normally, by the time she was called out to a ranch, it was to deal with death and disease.

  “I need those pills,” Jack barked, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment, his blue eyes softening with respect.

  Although she didn’t think he was speaking to her, Sunny located the large pink antibiotics on the steel tray and dropped them into the cow’s uterus. Jack glanced at her again, his expression unreadable.

  “Appears you’ve got some experience with this sort of thing,” he commented as he began to stitch up the incision.

  “I watched Daddy and old Doc Porter perform a few C-sections when I was a kid.” That he hadn’t known this struck her as odd. “The rest of the experience came from six years of intensive study at the University of California at Davis School of Veterinary Medicine.”

  “You’re a vet?” His tone was tinged with surprise, curiosity and something else she couldn’t identify. “I thought you worked in a science lab studying animals.”

  “Guess you were misinformed.” Had he asked about her? The thought made her feel fluttery.
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  “California,” he murmured, then looked directly at her. “The land of sunshine and sin hasn’t chased away that Texas drawl any.”

  “I decided that keeping it was to my advantage. It’s amazing what a Southern whisper does to a man,” she taunted.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ll say one thing for you, sugar bear. You’re the only woman I’ve met whose voice could make a guy imagine he’s smelling magnolias and tasting fine whiskey at the same time.”

  “Compliments, Slade?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been known to give them a time or two.”

  “And I’m a woman who likes them. How about you?” she asked. “Where’d you learn to doctor cattle?”

  “Same as you…” His gaze lifted slowly. “Without the fancy education, that is. I watched and one day I had to just jump in and do it. Trial by fire.” A cocky smile tipped the corners of his lips. “Guess you already know that, with you being a vet and all. Though I imagine this here mama’s a bit more cumbersome to work with than your usual poodles and wiener dogs.”

  She chuckled. If he only knew. “A bit.”

  “Do you have a practice?”

  “A private one, no.” She discreetly inspected the cow for signs of disease, aware that an asymptomatic animal like this one would probably require blood tests and lab equipment. Outward signs of disease or not, every head of cattle on this ranch would have to be examined and tested to see if there was indeed an outbreak of infection, as her mother had led her to believe.

  So far, Jack hadn’t said a word about any problems, and oddly enough, she wanted him to seek her advice on his own. With her government credentials, she didn’t need an invitation to show up on someone’s property, but waiting until asked was courteous.

  Besides, she wasn’t here officially—yet.

  An incredible feeling of satisfaction swept over her as she ministered to the newborn, stroked her hand over its wet, sticky coat. A perfectly healthy little bull. She gazed back at the mama cow, imagining that she saw gratitude in those big, beautiful brown eyes. Sunny had helped save two lives today. Her sense of accomplishment made her euphoric.