Courted by a Cowboy Page 3

  Sudden memories whirled in her mind, evoked by the familiar smells of the barn, and the neigh of horses nearby; memories of the foal she’d delivered at age fourteen and the coyote she’d bottle-fed and stayed up nights with after its mother had strayed too close to a steel trap. She glanced down at the scar on her hand, a permanent reminder from an injured owl that had ripped away flesh when she’d tried to bandage its wing.

  What had happened to that young girl? she wondered. She’d spent the past few years determined to prove herself, to climb the ladder of success, yet every rung had seemingly taken her further away from who she really was, what she’d started out wanting.

  To be the best veterinarian around.

  She’d traded her blue jeans for business suits and lab coats. Thinking about it now, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly felt in her element—as she did here, helping to save the life of a cow and her calf.

  She watched as Jack worked a needle and silk through the cow’s exposed layers, mesmerized by the capability of his hands—hands that had caressed her body a very long time ago; hands that had made silent promises. Those promises had never been kept.

  “You could probably stitch up this heifer better than I can,” he said.

  She blinked and ordered her mind to stay on task. “No ‘probably’ about it, Slade. I’d have had it done by now.”

  He surprised her with a burst of laughter. “Still competitive, I see.”

  She looked across at him, snagged his gaze, made sure she had his attention. “Yes. And I still don’t like to share.”

  He didn’t even wince, the jerk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Sunny felt like a fool for giving even that much of herself away. She didn’t want Jack to know that she still remembered what they’d once had together, what he’d thrown away. And she shouldn’t be thinking about that in the first place. For crying out loud, only a week ago she’d been engaged to another man.

  “You’re not gonna get sick on me, are you, Carmichael?”

  She glanced up, deliberately tucked away her emotions. “That’s Dr. Carmichael, if you don’t mind. And fat chance of me getting sick during a C-section.”

  He shrugged. “Looked a little green around the gills for a minute. My mistake.”

  Despite the cavalier way he’d delivered his words, she could have sworn she’d seen a spark of concern in his eyes. And that was ridiculous, she told herself, focusing on the heifer, who looked as wrung out as every new mother had a right to.

  He sutured the thin layer of the peritoneum, taking some muscle tissue with it, then moved on to the actual muscle and fascia. “How’s that calf, Scotty?” he asked. “Bull or heifer?”

  “Bull,” Scotty relayed. “He’s doing fine.”

  “Then go ahead and tag him, give him a shot and put him in the jug.”

  “Alone?” Scotty asked, glancing toward the stalls where they usually put mothers and babies together.

  Jack’s hands stilled for a moment. “Yes. Alone.”

  Quarantine. At least he had sense enough—integrity enough—to do that. Sunny had noted that most of his cattle didn’t bear ear marks. Breeders of high-grade stock didn’t always use them, feeling the knife cuts detracted from the head at a sale.

  Was he tagging this one as a means of keeping track of a developing disease? She waited to see if he’d confide in her, ask her opinion as a professional veterinarian, admit what he was facing.

  His chiseled features remained expressionless.

  When he stood and moved to the washbasin, she followed him. She could feel the warmth of his big body as their shoulders nearly touched.

  Scooting a bit to the side, she let the tepid water run over her hands as he used the soap. Rust-colored remains from the birth swirled over the bottom of the scarred porcelain sink as iridescent bubbles burst like fragile dreams.

  If he wasn’t going to divulge the problem, she’d have to prod. “You told Scotty to isolate the calf. Are you quarantining, then?”

  JACK FELT HIS HEART SKIP. The soap slipped from his fingers as he whipped his head around. His gaze collided with Sunny’s steady look. “Why would you ask that?”

  She sighed. “My mother called.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not simply an accredited vet, Jack. I work for the government, specializing in infectious diseases in large animals.”

  “Nobody said anything about infectious disease.”

  “You don’t have a couple of dead cows?”

  “One. Only one dead cow. Nothing to suggest we have an epidemic or that the death was from a contagious disease. If I thought I had a problem, I’d have called the Department of Agriculture.”

  “Guess I saved you a quarter, then.”

  “I just said I didn’t have a problem.” He didn’t need a bunch of bureaucrats crawling around, telling him how to do his business.

  He went still when she put a wet hand on his wrist. Ten long years had passed since he’d felt her touch. Ten years of trying to get the memory out of his mind.

  He shifted and her hand fell away.

  “Jack, I’m not here as a government employee. I’m on vacation. You might as well take advantage of my expertise.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Doc Levin’s gone. Hope Valley is without a vet, and I’m licensed to work in the state of Texas. You need help and I’m available.”

  “I don’t need some hotshot lady on a power trip overreacting and shutting me down—”

  “Hold it. You’re not in a good position to insult me or tick me off. This happens to be my town, too, and I’ve got a stake in it.”

  She was working up a head of steam. Awed, he kept his mouth shut and watched her.

  “I’m not here for you,” she continued. “I’m here for Hope Valley, for Vince over at the meat market, for Donetta and her customers at the beauty shop, for Tracy Lynn and her endless causes, for…” She waved as though reaching for another name in the air.

  Jack stepped back in case she decided to clobber him. Her tanned cheeks had taken on a rosy hue, and a sexy vein he’d like to spend awhile studying pulsed at her temple. She was at least a foot shorter than him, but a man would be wise not to underestimate her.

  “I’m doing this for my brother—”

  “Your brother?” Jack had to interrupt before she lost him completely. “He’s the sheriff.”

  “Yes. And if the ranchers around here go belly-up, the place will turn into a ghost town. There won’t be anyone to keep the peace for. No drunks to toss in jail or parking tickets to issue for the town’s revenue. No one in need of legal counsel.”

  He felt a smile tug at his lips. “Bloodthirsty, aren’t we?”

  She glared, her green eyes glinting like polished jade caught by the sun.

  “I get the point, sugar.”

  She snatched at a paper towel and unrolled half the roll. He helpfully held the cylinder steady for her.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He dried his hands and tossed the used paper in the trash.

  “How long ago did your cow die?” she asked.

  “Last week.”

  “Did you note any symptoms, have anyone do an examination?”

  He shook his head. He was still upset over that, but mistakes happened. “My foreman found her. He was out riding the range, checking a downed fence. The cow was already dead. Duane said there were lesions, evidence of foamy saliva. By the time I got out there, he’d burned the carcass.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. My sentiments exactly.” Though he’d expressed them a little more strongly, he recalled. He couldn’t really fault his foreman. Duane had been on the rodeo circuit for most of his life. He hadn’t yet learned all there was to know about ranching. “Duane panicked.”

  She sighed. “He wouldn’t be the first. You never answered me. Have you established a control zone as a precaution?”

  “Yes. A six-mile square for that herd. Like I s
aid, the incident appears isolated.” He saw her checking out his calving shed, knew she couldn’t find fault with the clean walls and concrete floors, or with Scotty, Lou and Junior’s diligent sterilizing procedures. Though she had made a damn good call about Lou’s long-sleeved shirt.

  She wore her blond hair shorter now, he noted, but obviously had never tamed all those glorious curls she’d lamented at one time. Her skin was clear and smooth; her mouth bore the remnants of a subtle pink gloss. Even in blue jeans and a sleeveless red shirt, she still looked classy. Not at all like a veterinarian. Or a government official.

  “Jack?”

  “What?” He realized she’d been speaking. And he’d been zoned out, way too close to taking a trip down memory lane. A trip he had no intention of embarking on. They’d tried to make a go of it once. The relationship had bombed and he wasn’t going to stick his hand in for another detonation.

  “I said I’d still like to have a look around.”

  “Show off your credentials?” The corner of her eye twitched. He recognized the movement. Although her shoulders squared, he’d hit a nerve. “Hell, that was nasty. I’m just edgy. I’m sorry.”

  Her pale brows lifted. “An apology?”

  “Don’t get too used to it.”

  She grinned and an unwelcome wave of desire slammed into his gut. Her mama had named her aptly. Because when Sunny smiled, she could brighten even the gloomiest day.

  “If you want to check out the health of my livestock, I won’t stop you.”

  “Spoken like a true Southern gentleman.”

  The little minx could still deliver subtle sarcasm with a dollop of syrup. That he was on the verge of falling all over himself annoyed him.

  “Since I’m on a roll, I suppose I could offer my surgical assistant a glass of tea before she leaves.” After shrugging out of his coveralls, he led the way out of the calving shed and into the bright sunlight. Her sudden arrival after all these years had caught him off guard.

  “And I’ll take you up on the offer. I could use something cold before I get to work.”

  He shook his head. “It’s late in the day, Sunny. It’s not as if we’re in an immediate crisis. It’ll keep.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “I don’t have time to play tour guide tomorrow.”

  “Are you avoiding me?”

  “No. I have a ranch to run. Folks usually call ahead when they want a chunk of my time.”

  “I came under the impression I was invited.”

  “Not by me.”

  “I realize that now. My mother and I are going to have a talk.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her. She means well.”

  “What is it with you and my mother? You both jump to support the other’s side.”

  “Your mother thinks I’m charming,” he said with an easy shrug.

  Sunny snorted, but Jack didn’t take offense. He couldn’t say why, but he had a soft spot in his heart for Anna Carmichael. Maybe because she’d always given him the benefit of the doubt, made him feel that he could be something. He knew Sunny and her mother hadn’t always gotten along, and that puzzled him. After his own mother had died, he would have given anything to be part of a family like the Carmichaels.

  Still, he wished Anna had consulted him before calling Sunny. He didn’t even question how she’d found out about his worry. Anna and his housekeeper, Cora, gabbed on the phone incessantly.

  But he and Sunny were getting off track, he realized. She was still hell-bent on examining his herd. Granted, he’d welcome the advice of a veterinarian, but the fact that the vet in question happened to be Sunny Carmichael bugged him. He needed a chance to figure out why.

  “When did you get into town?” he asked.

  “This morning.”

  “Then take tomorrow and settle in. Friday’s soon enough to poke around out here. Besides, I’d like a chance to prepare the men. I don’t want any unnecessary alarms or false rumors spreading.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to trust your judgment for the moment about the urgency of this case.”

  “It’s not a case, damn it.”

  SUNNY DECIDED TO BACK OFF and change the subject. Jack was clearly touchy.

  She couldn’t make him cooperate at this stage. It was his property.

  Until another episode occurred or he asked for her help, she was simply a veterinarian on vacation who was making a neighborly courtesy call at the behest of her mother.

  And a woman who had too many unresolved memories of Jackson Slade.

  Chapter Three

  As they headed toward the main house, Sunny plucked her straw hat out of Simba’s mouth and tried to ignore the teeth marks in the brim.

  “The skies were clear when you landed awhile back, but this humidity feels higher than an owl’s IQ.”

  “You’ve been gone too long, sugar bear. You’ve gotten soft.”

  “I’ll say one thing for California, the weather’s paradise.” Great. Reduced to talking about the weather. Scintillating conversation, Sunny. “And if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon you quit with the sugar bear stuff.”

  One dark eyebrow cocked beneath the brim of the Stetson shading his face. “Seems I recollect a time when you’d nearly melt if I called you sugar bear. Remember, Sun?” he asked softly. They’d stopped close to the back door of the house, his tone nearly paralyzing her. It was a gift, the way he could render a woman mute with a mere change in tone, a deepening of his voice, an intimate rasp. “You’d go all dreamy, put those smooth hands all over my body, climb right up me…” His voice was barely audible now, still raspy, and with a definite bite. “Sugar bear.”

  This time the endearment was a taunt.

  Her body quaked. Arousal had come swift and hard. Even now it continued to hold her in its grip. But damn his blue eyes, she would not reveal it. She wasn’t a gullible eighteen-year-old who believed in happily ever after. Oh, her parents had had thirty-five years of lasting true love before Daddy had died, but they’d been another generation; they’d been the exception to the rule.

  “Vivid memory, Slade. From that description, most people would assume you’d had a pretty damn good thing going. Too bad you couldn’t keep your pants zipped when Lanette McGreavy came flashing her boobs and bubble butt in your face.” Annoyed that he’d pushed her into bringing up the past, which was the last thing she’d wanted to do, Sunny said, “I think I’ll take a rain check on that tea. I’m feeling about as civil as a preacher with the devil camped out in his backyard.”

  Jackson’s lips twitched. Twitched! Either the man didn’t have enough sense to spit downwind, or he had a death wish. You simply didn’t twitch in the presence of a majorly annoyed female.

  “Brother Glen laughs in the face of the devil, sugar bea—Sugar,” he corrected, eyes twinkling.

  “Sunny,” she countered, though his calling her “sugar” was all right. It was an expression everyone used in the South. Grandma Birdie called her “sugar.” Her best friends called her “sugar.” As long as he didn’t tack on the “bear” part, she’d let it slide.

  And why, she asked herself, did it take only a sexy twinkle in his blue eyes and a quirk of his lips to mollify her, make her regret her quick tongue? Couldn’t the exasperating man pick a mood and stick with it?

  Now what was she supposed to do? Should she stay for tea and let him know he could reduce her to mush with a crook of his finger, or should she spite herself and run like a scared rabbit?

  For the first time, he actually reached out and touched her. He must have thought she was preparing to leave, because his hand cupped her shoulder, eased down her arm, hesitated over her hand for a moment, then let go.

  “Come in out of the heat, Sunny. I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

  Flight or fight warred once again. She knew he had a daughter—Donetta had told her that much before Sunny had cut her off, saying she didn’t want to hear anything about Jackson Slade and his family. She’d made Donetta
swear on her grandmother’s eyes that if he should ask about her she wouldn’t give him even a kernel of information.

  Sunny Ostrich Carmichael. Sticking her head in the sand, rather than facing that Jack had slept with another woman, married her, had a child with her.

  Donetta had kept her part of the bargain, and never mentioned Jack or his life. Anna Carmichael had not been bound by such a promise, though, and just that morning had imparted the juicy tidbit to Sunny that there was no longer a Mrs. Slade in residence.

  Still, at the mention of a daughter Sunny couldn’t help uttering a snide dig. “What about your wife? Will she be showing up for tea, as well? To pick up her daughter, perhaps?”

  “Be a little tough to accomplish, since she’s dead.”

  “Oh, God, Jack. I’m sorry.” She felt like a heel. Why had her mother bothered to remark on the absence of his wife, yet not tell her the full details? Never mind that Sunny tended to cut her off every time Anna talked about Jack. For once she wished her mother hadn’t paid attention to her admonitions.

  He shrugged. “I’m not a grieving widower. Lanette divorced me three years ago.”

  “Oh.” Still, Sunny felt awful. To speak ill of a rival was one thing; to pick on the deceased was quite another. That was uncalled for, and even Sunny had better manners than that. Now she felt bad for making the remark about Lanette’s bubble butt—never mind that it was the truth…Oh, for pity’s sake, Sunny! Now, quit!

  “Tea would be very nice, thank you,” she said like a perfect Southern lady, as though the invitation had just been extended and the other stuff hadn’t gotten in the way.

  She gave Simba a pat and a hug. “Sorry, boy. People just don’t understand what a pussycat you are. So wait for me outside, okay? And please try not to lick anyone.”

  Simba’s ears lowered and he looked away.

  “Oh, stop it,” she said. “You know I hate it when you guilt-trip me.”

  “Uh, Sunny?”

  She looked up at Jack.