“Dr Hyatt. This is Jodie De Vanti.”

She needn’t have identified herself. He could tell it was her by the frost in her voice, the way the phone receiver was growing cold in his hand.

“I have a horse with a gaping wound on its shoulder and chest,” she said, “and it needs to be stitched. Now.”

“Then you’d better call Dr Stewart.”

“Dr Stewart is also out.” And he could tell she suspected a conspiracy…. with good reason. No vet wanted to go to the Barton spread after what had happened to him.

“You might try one of the Elko vets.”

Sam was ready to put the phone down when Jodie blurted, “Don’t you take some kind of Hippocratic oath? Don’t you owe something to this animal?”

“Sorry, I can’t afford another lawsuit.”

Dear Reader,

I grew up in a rural area and my family had their fair share of veterinary emergencies. Quite possibly the most memorable was when my horse, Murphy, shattered his leg while crossing a log near the top of a mountain. That story had a happy ending thanks to two heroes—my dad, who held up the horse for almost two hours, and the vet who drove fifty plus miles to cast Murphy’s leg in less than ideal conditions. I was riding Murphy less than a year later.

I’ve always admired rural vets, who tend to be underpaid and overworked, but still head out every day to do their jobs, sometimes risking life and limb when their patients are less than cooperative. The hero of Once and for All, Sam Hyatt, is just such a vet. He cares about people and he cares about animals, which is why he grudgingly agrees to treat an injured horse at the Zephyr Valley Ranch, despite the fact that the owner of the ranch once sued him for malpractice.

Jodie De Vanti is managing the ranch during her father’s absence and calls Sam because he’s the only available vet. She believes he’s incompetent, but soon discovers her error. Sam’s not only good at what he does, he’s pretty darned attractive. Unfortunately Jodie has a secret that makes it impossible for her and Sam to ever be together.

I hope you enjoy reading Once and for All. Please visit my website at www.jeanniewatt.com or contact me at jeanniewrites@gmail.com. I’d love to hear from you.

Best wishes,

Jeannie Watt

About the Author

JEANNIE WATT lives with her husband in the heart of Nevada ranch country. Since she owns no cows—only horses and ponies—she gets to experience calving season vicariously. When she’s not writing, Jeannie enjoys reading, sewing and making mosaic mirrors.

Once and for All
Jeannie Watt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I want to thank my mom, who deals with calving every spring, for all the stories and information.

Honest, Mom—if I lived closer, I’d take my turn checking the heavy cows at midnight and 2:00 a.m.

I’d also like to thank my friend Marcia Swift for once suggesting Beau and Ty as the perfect names for twins.

CHAPTER ONE

“SAM! It’s the Barton ranch. Emergency.”

Sam Hyatt looked up from his desk, where he was organizing the scattered papers into priority piles. He’d spent almost three minutes trying to catch up on at least five days worth of paperwork. “Tell them I’m not available.” He couldn’t believe Joe Barton had the balls to call.

Katie Murray nodded with satisfaction and walked back into her part of the vet clinic before saying in her professional tone, “I’m sorry. Dr. Hyatt isn’t available.”

Sam could hear the voice on the other end of the line from where he sat, and it wasn’t the owner of the Zephyr Valley Ranch. The voice belonged to a woman.

“I’m sorry. He’s not available.” More squawking, then Katie said haughtily, “So why don’t you sue us? Oh, yeah. I forgot. It didn’t work out very well for you the last time, did it?”

Sam stood and crossed the office in a few long strides.

“Katie.” His tech glanced back at him, her strawberry-blond ponytail swinging over her shoulder. She had good old Irish fight in her eyes. “I’ll handle this.” He took the phone. “Sam Hyatt.”

“Dr. Hyatt. This is Jodie De Vanti.” She needn’t have identified herself. He could tell it was her by the frost in her voice, the way the phone receiver was growing cold in his hand. “I have a horse with a gaping wound on its shoulder and chest and it needs to be stitched. Now.”

“Then you’d better call Dr. Stewart.”

“Dr. Stewart is also out.” He could tell she suspected a conspiracy … and with good reason. No vet wanted to go to the Barton spread after what had happened to Sam.

“Sorry. You might try one of the vets in Elko.”

Sam was ready to put the phone down when Jodie blurted, “Don’t you take some kind of Hippocratic oath? Don’t you owe something to this animal?”

“I can’t afford another lawsuit.”

She was so silent that he wondered for a moment if the connection had been broken. Then she cleared her throat. “I guarantee, regardless of the outcome, no lawsuit.”

“What if I have to put the horse down?” That was how he’d gotten into trouble the last time.

“You shouldn’t have to.” Sam said nothing. “But if you do, then there will be no repercussions.”

Katie was staring at him, her lips pressed so tightly together that they were turning white. She slowly shook her head.

“My father isn’t here,” Jodie continued, her voice cool, but not icy like before. “Mike is gone, too. It’s just me and Margarite. I need some help.”

Sam turned his gaze to the ceiling. Not only did he feel for the horse, but three minutes at his desk had driven home the point that he could use the money. The Bartons always paid cash up front. They could afford to, unlike many of his other clients.

“How bad?”

“Bad, or I wouldn’t be calling you.”

No doubt. They’d tried to ruin him once. Ironic that because they’d failed, he was available to help now. “Give me forty minutes.”

“Sam,” Katie said as he hung up the phone. “No.”

He didn’t answer. Last time he’d checked, he was the boss of the outfit. He went back into the mudroom, shrugged into his canvas coat, stuck his feet into his insulated boots.

“Don’t forget your Elmer Fudd hat,” Katie said resignedly, holding out the plaid wool hat with the earflaps and fuzzy red ball on top. A gag Christmas gift to him from his nephews. Stupid-looking but warm when the north wind was blowing, as it was now.

“Thanks.”

“Sam?” Katie said as he headed out the back door. He stopped, his hand on the knob. “Watch yourself.”

He smiled. “You bet.”

WAS HE EVER going to get there?

Jodie De Vanti stood at the horse’s head, smoothing a hand over his nose, trying not to look at the pool of blood forming in the snow after running down the gelding’s shoulder and leg. If Sam Hyatt didn’t arrive soon, the horse was going to bleed to death. She just knew it.

“Are you all right?” Margarite called from the gate. The housekeeper hated snow and she hated blood, even more than Jodie did. For being ranch raised, the woman was surprisingly squeamish, and since someone had to be with the animal, Jodie had sucked it up and volunteered.

“I’m fine,” she called back. Even though her voice shook—more from reaction than from cold—she couldn’t keep the note of bitter irony out of it. Of course she wasn’t all right. She was dealing with a bleeding horse and waiting for an incompetent vet.

But any vet was better than no vet, so she’d take what she could get.

The puddle of blood was getting larger, spreading darkly through the crystalline snow.

“Hold on, big boy,” Jodie murmured, averting her eyes. The horse’s knees started to buckle. He was going down, into the snow. “No …” She desperately hauled on the halter. All that did was to raise the animal’s nose and keep it up as he collapsed. Shit.

“Don’t you dare die,” she muttered as she let the horse have its head. Her father would kill her, since it was quite possibly her fault the horse was all cut to pieces. And besides that … she didn’t know if she could live with herself if she was responsible for this beautiful animal’s death.

“Where are you, Sam Hyatt?” she yelled, scuffing her foot into the snow and kicking a small spray away from the horse.

“Are you all right?” Margarite called again.

“Fine.”

Just then headlights appeared around a bend in the driveway, bobbing up and down as the truck went into the little dip before the last rise up to the ranch house. Thank goodness.

“Okay. It’s going to be okay,” she said to the horse. She’d never spent that much time around animals. Her mother was allergic to dogs and cats, so they’d never had family pets when she was a child. Then what did her father do? He moved her mother to a Nevada ranch after selling the investment firm he’d built from the ground up. Still no dogs and cats—in the house, anyway—but lots of cattle and horses. The crazy thing was, her mother had settled in without complaint. She seemed to enjoy country life.

Not Jodie. She appreciated the occasional holiday or long weekend, but right now—especially right now—she wanted to get back to Vegas. Back to the law firm where she worked, a place where she actually felt competent and could indulge in her need to overachieve.

The truck stopped next to the pump house and Sam got out. He opened one of the exterior panels and removed a kit. Margarite was already at his side, talking and waving. He nodded once and then gestured toward the house. Margarite didn’t need a second invitation. She scuttled inside as Sam began walking toward the gate.

He was a big man. Not so much broad as tall and sturdy. Fair-haired and gray eyed. Striking really, if one favored Vikings. Jodie favored sophistication and dark good looks—a preference that had gotten her into trouble in the past. Her restaurateur ex-husband had been dark and sophisticated. He was also no longer in her life, although his name remained. She’d started building her legal career as Jodie De Vanti and kept the surname to avoid confusion.

Sam grimaced as he shone the flashlight on the horse, took in the cuts on its chest, shoulder and legs. “What happened?”

“He got out of the pasture and one of the dogs spooked him. It was dark and he hit a piece of farm equipment. The disk.”

Sam blew out a breath, then knelt down and started checking the horse’s vital signs. “I’ll need you to hold the light. We’ll stitch him right here. I’m going to have to suture the muscle first on this bigger gash….”

Jodie swallowed and took the light. It shook. He shot her an impatient glance, which made her backbone stiffen.

“You can drop the lead rope. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Right.” She did so and held the light with both hands. Sam went to the truck, then came jogging back with more equipment. A few minutes later the wounded area was numbed and he was stitching a gash. Or Jodie assumed he was. She couldn’t make herself watch.

“Hold the damned light steady.”

“I’m trying.”

“It would help if you watched where you were shining it.”

“I don’t see how my fainting would help anything,” she said, though she ventured a glance.

His hands stilled momentarily before he pulled the thread on through the flesh, did a few fancy passes with the suturing needle, then snipped the thread.

“Blood makes you faint?”

“I’m not a fan.” It was the needle going into the skin that made her queasy at the moment.

“Great,” he muttered.

“You could have brought an assistant.”

“So you could sue the pair of us?”

“That’s uncalled for.”

Sam didn’t reply. He started stitching in a new area. The horse’s chest was in ribbons and this was going to take a long, long time. Jodie bit her lip and fixed her eyes on the rise and fall of the gelding’s ribcage.

BY THE TIME SAM HAD finished sewing up the horse, his fingers were numb and his legs were cramped from being in almost the same position the entire time. But thanks to the cold, the blood had flowed slowly, so the animal hadn’t lost a significant amount, and Sam was able to get the poor horse put back together. He sat back on his heels, surveying his work. What a damned shame. This gelding was a beautiful animal, and now he would be scarred for life. Joe Barton, Jodie’s father, wouldn’t be able to ride him to impress people, and he was gelded so he couldn’t breed him. Sam wondered just what he would do with him. The horse would probably make a decent pleasure ride.

Sam glanced at Jodie, who was staring sightlessly at the rows of neat black sutures crisscrossing the horse’s chest and foreleg. She’d lost her cool, all-business demeanor. In fact, she appeared to be done in. Her dark blond hair, longer in the front than in the back, was jammed behind her ears, her face was pale and there were smudges of mascara under her eyes.

“How’d he get loose?” The shift in Jodie’s expression was brief, fleeting, but he caught it. “Did you forget to latch the gate?” he asked as he got to his feet. She didn’t answer. The reveal-nothing lawyer expression was once again in place, and he had to admit she carried it off well, even with mascara where it didn’t belong.

The horse was starting to make an effort to get back to his feet, and Sam assisted him all he could, pulling up on the lead rope to help the gelding keep his balance. Finally the animal heaved himself up, and all the stitches held. The first hurdle had been cleared.

“Is there a place in the barn for him?”

Stupid question. Most people didn’t have homes as nice as Joe Barton’s new barn. And Sam bet that this horse had his own stall with a brass nameplate.

“Will I need to give him any medication?” Jodie asked after they had slowly walked the horse to the barn and then released him into a large box stall used for foaling.

“Yeah. I’ll get that. And I have some written instructions for you to follow.” It was snowing lightly when they left the barn and headed to the truck. Sam was glad Mother Nature had held off for a while. Usually when she had a January blizzard in store, she made certain he was doing something critical in the middle of it.

Once they reached his vehicle, he opened a frosted utility panel and pulled out a bottle of penicillin. “He’ll need 20 cc’s twice a day the first couple days.”

“With a needle?” Jodie took a step backward, her hand rising to her chest.

“With a needle,” he agreed, holding the bottle out. She accepted it gingerly.

“Will you come back to give the shots?” Sam gave a small negative shake of his head and Jodie’s eyes went a little wild. “I can’t….”

“I’ll leave the syringes, too.”

“No,” she stated adamantly.

Under other circumstances it would have been amusing to see the calm, collected lawyer knocked out of her comfort zone by something as simple as an injection. But these were not ordinary circumstances and there was nothing amusing about the Bartons.

“When’s your father getting back?” He knew from the very efficient grapevine that Joe Barton had left the day after Christmas for a long vacation in Europe.

“Weeks from now.”

“How about your worthless foreman?”

Jodie didn’t even blink at the insult, which Sam felt totally justified in delivering. The arrogant SOB had tried to testify against him in the malpractice suit. He’d come off looking stupid—one of the few satisfactions Sam had had during the trial, with the exception of the not guilty verdict.

“Chandler quit just after Thanksgiving,” she said stiffly.

Thank goodness, Sam thought, wondering if perhaps Joe had finally fired him. When the foreman had testified at Sam’s trial, he’d smugly announced he had degrees in human resources and agribusiness, but hadn’t said a word about being a ranching menace.

“What about the other hand?” Joe had hired a cowboy with some veterinary training when he’d come to realize that no vet in the area would service his ranch. For the big jobs he flew in a fancy vet from Las Vegas.

“Mike is in Idaho visiting family.” Her expression grew more hopeful. “But he’ll be back in two days. You’d have to make only a couple trips….”

Sam hated people who wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Lady, I’m not driving thirty miles to give an injection. Besides—”

“You know I’ll pay you,” she interrupted. “I’ll pay you right now if you want.”

“I have other clients that need my services.”

“But like I said,” Jodie replied significantly, “I’ll pay you.”

“Times are rough,” Sam snapped. He wasn’t going to have this rich bitch looking down her nose at his friends and neighbors who sometimes couldn’t make payments. “And I was about to tell you that Margarite can give a shot if she has to.”

“Really?” Jodie seemed shocked at the idea, though why, he didn’t know. Injections were common on a ranch and Margarite had grown up on a huge one up north.

“Yes.” Sam pushed back the edge of his coat sleeve and glanced at his watch. He might just make it back for the second half of his nephews’ basketball game. “I want to be paid now.”

“Don’t trust me?” Jodie asked sardonically.

“Don’t want to see you again.”

She stilled, but her expression didn’t change. “That’s to the point.”

Sam shrugged. “It’ll take me a few minutes to calculate the bill.”

“Calculate away.” She strode off toward the house, which was about twice the size it used to be now that Joe Barton was done pouring a boatload of money into it.

Sam charged full price and then some for the after-hours call. By the time Jodie came back with a checkbook he had the figures for her.

“What’s the damage?”

He held out the paper, which she slowly scanned, noting each item. Then she began to write. What would it feel like, Sam wondered, to write a check for that amount and not tell the recipient to please hold it for a day or two while he transferred funds to cover it?

“Thank you for coming,” she said briskly. Then her eyes traveled upward to the top of his head. To the Elmer Fudd hat.

Sam’s mouth tightened as he took the check, written on the ranch account. He hoped hers was one of the authorized signatures, since Tim Paulsen at the bank would notice. Jodie didn’t actually live at the ranch, but visited when the whim hit her. The rest of the time she spent in Las Vegas, practicing law.

“Thanks.” He folded the check once and shoved it into his pocket before walking back to the truck. Mission accomplished. Now he hoped he never had to set foot on the Barton ranch again.

Jodie checked the horse at ten o’clock and then again at midnight, tromping through the snow to the barn in silk pajamas, a down coat and insulated rubber boots. Usually Mike, her father’s cowboy, had trails cleared between the buildings, but it had snowed during his days off and Jodie hadn’t yet gotten around to shoveling the paths. Snow was not something she dealt with in Las Vegas, but after growing up in Chicago, she’d had enough white stuff to last her a lifetime.

Bronson was lying down when Jodie came in through the side door, as he’d been the last time she’d checked. But now he lifted his head and seemed more alert as she approached the stall. She couldn’t believe the number of sutures Sam had so patiently tied in the cold and dark, while the light she was supposed to be holding steady wavered about. Maybe he had made a fatal mistake with her father’s horse last year, but he’d done a good job tonight. The horse would have bled to death if he hadn’t relented and agreed to treat the animal.

Was it her fault that the horse had gotten out in the first place? She honestly didn’t know. The gate had been open when she’d found him, injured and bleeding, and she had used it earlier that day. Margarite had gone through it, too. One of them was responsible.

Even if it wasn’t her fault, Jodie felt like crap. She hated making mistakes. She pushed her hands into the pockets of the down coat and watched as the horse tucked his nose to his chest and closed his eyes. A few minutes later she left the barn. She needed to get some sleep.

Or try to.

Margarite was in the kitchen tidying up when Jodie walked into the covered porch. The woman’s charcoal-colored hair was rolled into pin curls—something Jodie hadn’t seen since her grandmother had passed away—and she was wearing a blue fuzzy robe that zipped from her ankles to her chin. Quite the look, but somehow Margarite managed to pull it off with an air of dignity.

“Do you want some tea or something?” she asked through the open door to the porch as Jodie slipped out of her boots and hung up the coat she’d worn over her pajamas.

“No. Thanks.” She padded into the kitchen in her stocking feet, ruffling her hair to shake off the droplets of water from melting snowflakes.

“Is he okay?” Margarite folded the dishcloth she’d been using to wipe down the counters, then adjusted the stools at the breakfast bar. The housekeeper liked everything to be just so. Margarite would have latched the gate all the way.

“So far.” Jodie hoped he stayed okay or she’d have even more explaining to do to her father.

“He’ll recover.” The housekeeper snapped off the kitchen light and both women walked through the dining room to the staircase.

Again Jodie felt a wave of guilt.

Margarite tilted her chin up to look Jodie straight in the eye. “Accidents happen on ranches.” Her voice was stern. “Understand?”

“Yeah.” Jodie pressed her lips together. “Are you sure you can give the shot tomorrow?”

Margarite’s face contorted into an expression of prolonged suffering. “Yes, I can give the shot if you can hold the horse. But the very instant Mike gets back, he’s taking over. I hate to give penicillin. It’s a very thick liquid and the needle’s big and it takes forever—”

Jodie held up a hand. “Thanks. I understand.” She gave a shudder and headed for her bedroom. So much for sleeping.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHY AREN’T YOU at practice?” Sam frowned as Beau, one of his twin nephews, came in through the front door of the vet clinic, the bells Katie had attached to the door announcing his entrance.

“I’m ineligible this week.”

“What?” Sam stood up behind the desk. At fifteen, Beau was almost as tall as him, but was still very much a kid inside—a kid who wasn’t doing too well in school. “I thought you said you had your classes under control.”

Beau flashed him an angry look. “I thought I did have them under control.”

“Which one?”

“Guess.”

Sam didn’t need to. Math. As always. Beau’s twin, Tyler, didn’t have as much trouble with the subject as Beau did, but Ty couldn’t seem to explain the concepts to his brother. Heaven knew he’d tried, since Beau was six feet two inches tall and the top scorer on the basketball team. Ty was a quarter inch shorter and two points behind Beau in the stats. The team did all right with one brother, but with two, they were a force to be reckoned with.

“How bad?”

Beau swallowed as he glanced down, blond hair falling over his forehead. “A little lower than a D.”

“How much lower?”

“Fifty-five percent.” Beau dropped his backpack, which must have weighed forty pounds, judging from the sound it made when it hit the floor. “It was that last test.” He all but exploded as he said it. “I don’t get it. I studied the chapter and I thought I understood everything.”

Sam swallowed his anger. Beau was clearly upset, and the boy had spent way too much time close to tears over the past year and a half. “How’d Ty do?” he asked quietly.

“He passed. Of course.”

Sam moved out from behind the desk and crossed the room. He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, then pulled him into a rough embrace. He didn’t know what else to do. How could he tell if Beau was honestly doing all he could to pass his classes, or whether he was putting in a moderate effort and hoping for the best? Sam had been in this parenting gig for only eighteen months, since his brother and sister-in-law were killed by a drunken driver while crossing a street in Las Vegas, and he’d received custody of their sons.

He let out a breath. He’d forgotten what hell the teen years could be, but he was reexperiencing them now in living color.

“What am I going to do?” Beau muttered before stepping back. He tipped his chin up, stared at the ceiling.

“You’re going to get your ass in a chair and work on math tonight. We have a couple days to raise your grade before the next eligibility check. Have you talked to the teacher?”

“No.”

“E-mail her. See what she has to say, what you need to work on. Then after supper we’re going over that test.”

As it turned out, though, Sam didn’t have the time. He and Beau had just settled at the kitchen table with pad, pencil and failed test paper in front of them when the phone rang.

“It’s the Taylor ranch,” Tyler called from Sam’s den.

Sam reached for the extension. One of the Taylors’ show mares had kicked its leg through a fencing panel and got hung up. The leg was swollen almost double and the owners suspected she might have a broken tibia.

He climbed into his canvas bib overalls, clamped the plaid wool hat on his head. “Listen,” he said in a low voice to Tyler. “Get your test and sit down with your brother and see what the two of you can figure out.”

“But—”

Sam had been a parent long enough to perfect The Look, which he now employed full force. “You want your brother eligible, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I don’t care if you have other plans. Help him out.”

“All right.”

“HAVE YOU HEARD FROM MIKE?” Jodie asked as Margarite pulled a casserole out of the oven. The housekeeper’s lasagna was made with cottage cheese and ground beef—not really lasagna, in Jodie’s opinion, but surprisingly tasty.

“No.” Margarite set the dish on a cast-iron trivet, then closed the oven door.

“I’m worried.” Jodie paced to the picture window behind the dining room table and peered outside, hoping to see headlights. Mike had been due back from Idaho the day before. There’d been a storm to the north, so Jodie had assumed he’d waited to travel, and simply hadn’t bothered to call. But now he was more than twenty-four hours overdue and she hadn’t heard a word.

“You’re worried?” Margarite muttered from behind her. “I’m the one manning the syringe.” She’d already tried to coax Jodie into giving an injection, but Jodie couldn’t do it. Her fear of blood and needles was even greater than Margarite’s. What a team they made.

“I guess I’ll go through his file, see if his cell number’s there.”

“Eat first. Mike will probably be here by the time you’re finished.” Margarite set a salad on the counter next to the casserole, then held a plate out to Jodie. “He’d better be here.”

Jodie had tried to convince her that official cooking wasn’t necessary while her parents were gone, but Margarite was having none of that. She was paid to cook and she was going to put meals on the table—or the counter, as she’d done tonight, since they were eating buffet style.

After dinner there was still no sign of Mike, so Jodie went into her father’s office and opened the top drawer of the big oak file cabinet where Joe Barton kept paperwork for every employee that had come and gone since he’d bought his ranch three years ago. And there had been quite a steady stream of comings and goings. Jodie’s father was not an easy man to work for. He demanded a level of expertise and commitment that many people simply didn’t have anymore. Even Chandler had unexpectedly quit, which had in turn set off a major family argument.

Her father had immediately tried to cancel the European vacation her mother had been planning for almost a year. Jodie’s normally complacent mom had leveled threats, since she firmly believed her husband’s heart problems, which he refused to take seriously, stemmed from managing the ranch. Jodie had eventually come to the rescue, grudgingly taking a sabbatical so that she could look after the property during the eight weeks her parents would be touring southern Europe. It was the only way her father would agree to leave, and even then it had been an uphill battle convincing him to go.

“Damn it, I know it’s here,” Jodie muttered as she flipped through the manila folders, beating up her cuticles in the process. Her dad kept a hard copy of everything. She dug deep and finally found Mike’s file toward the back of the drawer and pulled it out. His cell number was there, so she dialed it from the office phone. No answer. Jodie jotted down the number and put the file away, telling herself not to worry. He was probably on the road, stranded somewhere with no service. It happened.

And it also meant that she and Margarite were about to embark on another adventure into veterinary care.

“Anything?” Margarite asked hopefully when Jodie returned to the kitchen.

She shook her head.

“I was afraid of that.” The housekeeper went into the mudroom, stoically put her feet, shoes and all, into rubber galoshes, and pulled a coat off the hook. Next came the giant black scarf, wrapped twice around her neck and knotted, the wool hat and finally gloves. Jodie had watched the procedure enough times during the past few days to know all the moves.

“Ready?” the older woman asked.

Jodie had already slipped her feet into boots and put on a coat. She could make it to the heated barn and back to the house without a hat or gloves.

Bronson limped painfully to the back of his stall when he saw them coming. He’d figured out that when Margarite showed up, a painful jab was soon to follow. Horses were a lot smarter than Jodie had first assumed.

She went into the stall and slipped the halter on the big horse, who gave her an equine look of sad resignation. Margarite’s expression wasn’t that much different as she entered the stall. She held up the penicillin bottle, stabbed the needle through the rubber opening and measured out the dosage. Then, needle in hand, she pounded her small fist on the horse’s hip a couple times to deaden the area, before she masterfully slipped just the needle into the muscle and attached the loaded syringe. Bronson bobbed his head up and down, but stood still as Margarite slowly pushed the plunger until it stopped, then removed the needle. As always, her face was pale when she finished.

“I hope Mike is here bright and early tomorrow morning,” she grumbled as they made their way along the snowy path to the house.

“He may even arrive tonight,” Jodie said, but she was getting a bad feeling about this. Mike should have called by now.

She tried to reach him two more times that evening from the ranch phone, and then, wondering if he recognized the ranch number and wasn’t answering on purpose, she dialed the number from her cell. A masculine voice said hello on the second ring.

“Is this Mike Bower?”

“Yes.”

“This is Jodie De Vanti. When are you coming back to the ranch?”

There was a healthy silence before Mike said, “I’m not coming back.”

Jodie’s temples started to throb. What the hell? “Why not?”

“I found another job up here, closer to my family.”

The throbbing intensified. “You do know that it’s common courtesy to give notice of resignation?” She spoke the last words through her teeth.

“I was going to call tomorrow after everything was firmed up here,” he confessed.

“And in the meantime, we’re left hanging, you coward.”

“Maybe if your dad wasn’t such a jerk, I’d still be there,” Mike said, and he had the gall to sound justified. “But he is and I ain’t.” He hung up the phone, and it was all Jodie could do not to throw hers across the room.

What an asshole, blaming her father, and not being man enough to quit properly.

Jodie weighed her phone in her hand for a moment, then carefully set it on the desk.

Okay. She could handle this. She was used to thinking on her feet. The only problem was she did it in a courtroom or while working with a difficult client. This was different.

“He’s not coming back,” Jodie told Margarite when she came in with a cup of tea.

The housekeeper stopped in her tracks and the cup clattered on the saucer.

“Hey,” Jodie said, trying to be as positive as possible, “is there any reason we can’t handle the ranch on our own until Dad returns? It’s only six and a half more weeks and so far so good … barring the horse incident.” She wasn’t wild about feeding in the subzero morning temps, but she’d do whatever she had to.

“Early calving.”

“What?” Jodie asked, her eyes getting round.

“The early calves. Sometimes the cows have trouble. And if there’s a blizzard, you can bet there’s a cow out there having a calf in it. Mike was out at all hours last year.”

Jodie went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of Malbec without bothering to ask Margarite if she wanted one. At this point they both needed a drink, and tea wasn’t going to cut it.

“I am so pissed at Mike,” Jodie muttered as she recorked the bottle with the crystal stopper. “At least he could have given some warning, the sniveling coward.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t leave sooner,” Margarite said matter-of-factly, accepting the glass after setting the porcelain teacup on the end table next to the leather sofa.

“Why?” Jodie asked. She had her own opinion—Mike was spineless—but was curious to hear the housekeeper’s take on the matter.

“Frankly, when things go wrong, your dad tends to fire from the hip. Mike and Chandler took a lot of heat over the past year.”

“Were they responsible for what went wrong?” Jodie asked reasonably, knowing that while her father was a tough man to work for, he set the same standards for himself that he set for others. She had spent her life living up to those standards and it had made her a stronger, more capable person.

“Not always,” Margarite said. “Sometimes Mother Nature was responsible. Your father came down on Mike pretty hard a time or two for things that were out of his control.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “And Mike doesn’t take criticism well. I think the only reason he stayed as long as he did was because there were no other job opportunities.”

“Well, apparently one just arose,” Jodie said darkly, taking a healthy swallow of wine, “and now I have to try to hire a cowboy before this early calving starts.”

She stared into her glass, slowly swirling the contents. Where did one start? The employment office? Hi. Do you have any cowboys?

“Yeah, you need to do that.” Margarite hesitated in a way that made Jodie glance up. “But without Mike … you’re also going to have to find a vet that’ll come out here. Sometimes they have to C-section the cows.”

Jodie stopped swirling. “You’re kidding.” A vet. Willing to come out here. She’d practically had to promise her firstborn to get Sam to the ranch, and despite the decent job he had done on the stitches, she still didn’t have a lot of faith in his vet skills. Maybe sutures were his forte. Since her father had buried a thirty-thousand-dollar horse, internal medicine obviously was not.

“I’m not kidding one bit. Your dad bred the heifers to a big bull to get black calves.”

Jodie blinked at the housekeeper. “Why did he need black calves?”

“Black cattle sell for a few cents more a pound.”

Jodie couldn’t even begin to find the logic in that. It wasn’t as if the person consuming the cow knew what color it had been. She slumped back against the sofa cushions, reminding herself that this, too, would pass.

“Lucas is back in town.”

Jodie stared at Margarite over her glass.

“Wasn’t he in rehab?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t my dad fire him for drinking on the job?”

“Yes.”

Jodie closed her eyes. Debated. What the heck? “Do you know how to get hold of him?”

“I can find him. I know his sister.”

“Think he’d work temporarily?”

“We can ask.”

“Let’s do that.”

Margarite made a few calls, tracked Lucas down, and then Jodie phoned him. The cowboy was more than happy to put in a few weeks at the ranch while Joe was gone—with the understanding that if something permanent came up, he’d have to take it. He was in the middle of a job search.

Jodie agreed and hung up. Lucas might not be a vet, but he was a warm body and knew how to feed cattle and birth calves. Joe probably wouldn’t approve of Lucas any more than Sam, but Joe wasn’t going to know about any of this until he came back.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO believe this,” Katie said as Sam came in from an early morning emergency call—a bull with a broken leg—that had segued into routine equine dental work in which the horse had not been all that eager to participate. He was tired and ready to believe anything. And he groaned when he saw what she was holding between her thumb and forefinger, as if it were a dead mouse.

“Whose check bounced?” He shrugged out of his canvas coat and hung it on a wooden peg. It was the third returned check that week. At this rate, he wasn’t going to be able to pay his own bills. Given the choice, Sam would rather wrestle a prolapsed uterus back into a struggling cow than deal with billing and accounts receivable—although, since it was just after the holidays, his mailbox wasn’t exactly spilling over with envelopes containing checks. And obviously, those that did arrive were not a guarantee of money in the bank.

“Mrs. Newland.”

“Oh, man.”

Mrs. Newland was a sweet lady devoted to her two wild terriers. Sam didn’t do a lot of small animal work, but when one of the dogs had been attacked by a coyote, he’d stitched it up after hours.

“I know. What do you want to do?”

“Call the bank before you redeposit. If there aren’t enough funds to cover it, then bill her again.”

Sam couldn’t afford to do work gratis, much as he’d like to.

The bell on the back door rang, and Beau and Tyler, who were supposed to be on their way to school by now, came through the mudroom into the clinic office with a blast of cold air.

“We can’t get the Beast started,” Tyler said, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“For real?” The last time the boys had trouble starting the Beast was when Ty had a date and thought Sam’s Ford crew cab would be more impressive than a tiny ‘94 Mazda pickup with a dented tailgate. Ty loved to impress. Beau was happy to just be himself.

“Yeah. I think it’s the battery. We’ll need a jump.”

Sam plopped the Elmer Fudd hat back on his head and grabbed his gloves. Five minutes later the Beast was running and he was coiling his jumper cables.

“Good luck with that test,” Sam said to Beau as the kid climbed behind the wheel. “You, too, Ty.”

“You don’t need luck when you’re good,” Tyler said with a confident smirk.

“You have a C.”

“Whatever.”

Sam opened his wallet and pulled out four twenties, which he passed to Ty through the open window. “Buy a battery for the Beast on the way home.”

“Are you sure?” The boys were supposed to handle maintenance on the small truck.

“Yeah. I don’t want you getting stranded somewhere.” The teens could change the oil themselves. A battery seemed more of a parental responsibility. Sam may have had parenthood thrust upon him, but he was determined to do the very best he could.

IT HAD BEEN A WHILE SINCE Jodie had seen a more wonderful sight than Lucas Reynolds driving the tractor with the hay trailer behind it out into the field to feed the horses and cattle. Not that she and Margarite hadn’t done a fine job of feeding, but enough was enough. She liked being inside with a cup of coffee rather than outside on the back of the trailer, freezing her ass off.

Margarite had been in a good mood since he’d showed up yesterday, the morning after Jodie called. No more injections, no more cold trips out to the haystack. Lucas Reynolds was indeed a knight in shining armor. Or rather a knight in a beat-up canvas coat, a ratty silk scarf and a battered felt cowboy hat. But the expression on his craggy face was relaxed and his eyes clear, quite a change since the last time Jodie had seen him, during a summer visit just before Joe fired him.

Margarite came into the dining room and set a list on the table beside Jodie’s coffee cup. “I thought of a few more things I need in Elko, if you don’t mind.”

“Trust me. I don’t mind.” She was looking forward to getting out of the house for a few hours, and had volunteered to go on a grocery run to town. While she was there, she’d stock up on books, see about a manicure, get the Spitfire serviced.

She called her law office as she drove north, and talked briefly to Penelope, the receptionist, who told Jodie that since she was on sabbatical, she needed to focus on things other than work. Besides, there was no gossip and no new cases of note. Things were running smoothly, but yes, they would run more smoothly once Jodie got back. And then Penelope had hung up on her.

Okay. Jodie dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. Point taken. No obsessing over work. She was on leave. She was supposed to relax and come back refreshed. No telling if that would actually happen, since she hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place.

She reached for the phone again and called Gavin, the associate who had taken her unfinished cases. She enjoyed a few minutes of conversation and discovered the status of each case before he had to go. Jodie hated being away from the office, hated waking up in the morning with nothing to work on, no strategy to plan. But … at least her sabbatical had gotten Joe onto the airplane. The smile on her mom’s face as she’d followed him into the security area had been worth the long empty hours Jodie was spending on the ranch.

When she arrived back in the late afternoon, the trunk of her small car loaded with groceries not available in Wesley’s much smaller stores, she knew something was wrong. Lucas and Margarite were in the kitchen, talking in low voices, when she came in through the mudroom. The top of the housekeeper’s head barely hit the tall cowboy’s shoulder, but there was no doubt as to who was controlling the conversation. They turned in unison as she closed the door, and Jodie instantly knew she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.

“I think we’re going to need a vet,” Lucas said before the door latched.

Jodie stared at the couple in disbelief. “Oh, just shoot me now.”

“It’s that new bull your dad bought before he left,” Margarite said, her expression grim, as well it should be. Joe had spent a ton of money on that black bull because it was homozygous, whatever the heck that meant.

“I found him standing hunched up in the corner of the pasture, and brought him in,” Lucas added. “I think we should have someone take a look at him fast.”

Jodie felt like beating her head against the wall. “Maybe we can have Dr. Eriksson fly in from Vegas?” The vet had his own plane and often flew to the ranch for routine veterinary work. It cost Joe a bundle, but it was the only way he could get services. So far it had worked, because so far there hadn’t been a pressing emergency that Mike couldn’t handle. No. That had waited until Jodie was here and spineless Mike was gone.

“Already checked. He’s on vacation.”

“This isn’t happening.” Jodie rubbed her hands over her face in a gesture of frustration. “What do you suggest?” she asked Lucas.

“I’m no vet, so I suggest we get one.”

“Let’s go take a look at the bull,” she said.

Not that she knew a lot, but Jodie wanted to see how sick the animal was. Two minutes later she had her answer. Real sick. Lucas had herded him into the west end of the barn, opposite the stall where Bronson was recovering, and he was now in a small pen, standing with his body contorted into an oddly hunched position. He either didn’t care or was unaware that Jodie and Lucas were there, a few feet away from him. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing labored.

“What are the odds of two emergencies in one week?” she asked in a defeated tone.

Lucas snorted. “On a ranch, it’s more like what are the odds of not having two emergencies in one week? Your father has been damned lucky so far.”

“Well, it’s catching up to him now.” Jodie patted the metal rail of the enclosure with an air of finality, and then started for the barn door. “I want you to call all the vets within driving distance and see if any will come out here.”

“All right.” Lucas’s tone said it all. No, they wouldn’t, and he hated being the guy who had to ask. But he had a better chance at talking them into it than she did.

“Just give it a try, okay?”

“Sure. We’re going to need more penicillin for the gelding, too.”

“Can you get it at the feed store?” Jodie asked. She was amazed at what the store stocked. Whereas human vaccines were regulated substances, many animal vaccines were readily available to whoever was gutsy enough to give an injection.

“You gotta get it from a vet.”

“Figures.”

“I’m going to check on the horse before I go back to the house,” Jodie told Lucas as he started for the door. Actually, she didn’t have the stomach to listen to him get shot down.

The gelding nickered as Jodie approached. “Hi, Bronson.”

She and the animal had become close over the past few days. He didn’t move much due to pain, but when he saw her coming without Margarite, his ears tipped forward and he limped over within scratching range. Jodie alone meant the itchy spots would be addressed.

“Feeling better?” she asked, rubbing his nose and stroking the thick winter hair on his jowls. As she studied the long crisscrossed lines of sutures across his chest, she felt the now familiar twinge of guilt.

She hadn’t asked Sam about the stitches—didn’t know if they dissolved or needed to be taken out. Lucas probably knew. He’d better.

“I’ll find out about those stitches,” she told the gelding. “And when we get them out, you’ll be as good as new.” Although she doubted her father was going to agree after he saw the poor animal’s scarred chest.

Jodie patted the horse and went back to the house. Lucas was still on the phone when she passed through the kitchen into the dining room, his back to her. She’d hoped the local vets would be more receptive to him, but he didn’t look like a man who was having a lot of luck.

Five minutes later he walked into the dining room, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck in a helpless gesture. “I can’t find a vet.”

He left the room as Margarite came through the doorway that led to the living room, broom in hand. The woman stopped dead when she saw the melting globules of snow and mud on the tile floor. Her dark gaze shot to the kitchen entryway just as the door clicked shut.

She let out a breath and started sweeping the snow out of the dining room and into the kitchen. Jodie followed the damp broom trail, glad she’d slipped out of her boots in the mudroom.

“You’d think a man his age would know how to wipe his feet,” Margarite grumbled.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But he’s here, so maybe we can put up with the mess for a while? You know, just in case another animal needs shots?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Jodie picked up her coat from the chair where she’d tossed it.

“Going somewhere?” Margarite asked.

“I’m going to see Sam Hyatt in person.” Even though he’d killed the horse last year, he’d done all right with Bronson. And he was better than no vet at all—although she doubted her father would see things that way.

Margarite shrugged philosophically. “At least that way he can’t hang up on you.”

KATIE HAD GONE HOME for the day and Sam was deep into the paperwork, hating every minute of it, when Beau came to the clinic.

Sam glanced up at his gangly nephew with a feeling of déjà vu. “Why aren’t you at practice?” Beau had passed the test. He should be eligible this week and there was a game on Saturday.

Beau’s mouth worked for a moment, poignantly reminding Sam of his brother, Dave, who’d never been good at spitting things out. Now, instead of coaxing his brother into telling him what was going on in his head, he was coaxing Dave’s sons into spilling their guts.

“I didn’t pass.”

“You did. I saw the test.”

He’d managed a C, which raised his grade to passing.

“I got turned in for cheating.”

Sam’s jaw went slack. “Did you cheat?”

Beau looked everywhere but at him.

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” he muttered at last.

“You cheated.”

“I cheated,” Beau said in a stronger voice that almost bordered on a shout. “I didn’t understand the problems. I cheated. I need to play.”

“Well, you aren’t playing now, are you?”

Oh, man. How did he handle this one? Sam wondered. What would his parents have done? They’d experienced the whole gig from diapers through college. He’d been dumped into child rearing during the boys’ adolescent stage. Logically, Sam knew that parenting teens wouldn’t have been that much easier had he raised the kids from birth, but at least he would have had some experience to fall back on. He could have eased into the traumas of the teens after dealing with small problems like not getting invited to birthday parties or going up the slide backward.

“No,” Beau snapped. He gave Sam a frustrated scowl before glancing out the window at the car pulling to a stop in front of the clinic. It wasn’t just any car. It was Jodie De Vanti’s classic Spitfire, and despite his obvious turmoil, a look of pure envy crossed Beau’s face. Sam knew how he felt. A second later Jodie opened the clinic door and Beau took advantage of the moment to make his escape. He hefted his heavy backpack with one hand.

“I’m going to go get something to eat.” He nodded at Jodie, then walked around the counter, heading toward the rear exit. Sam watched him go, really wanting to call him back but knowing he had to deal with the rich chick first.

He turned back to Jodie, having no illusions about what prompted this personal call.

“Is this about the bull?” Sam asked, knowing it had to be. Katie had fielded a call from the Barton ranch before she’d gone home.

“Yes.”

“Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Her blue eyes flashed, but her demeanor remained remarkably calm as she said, “Damn it, Sam. I can’t have my father’s animals dropping like flies.”

“Your father got himself into this situation.”

“My dad felt justified in bringing suit against you or he wouldn’t have done it … but that’s not an excuse,” she added, as if remembering her mission was to finesse him, not beat him in an argument. “Just an explanation.”

“Feeling justified and being justified are not the same,” Sam felt obliged to point out. “Or maybe it is for you legal types.”

“We legal types understand the difference,” she said patiently, even though she was obviously annoyed at his remark. “He lost a thirty-thousand-dollar horse. Surely you can understand—”

“The horse couldn’t have been saved.”

“The professor from the UC Davis disagreed, which was why my father brought suit.” She met Sam’s eyes, her expression candid. “You can’t fault him for that. He sought the opinion of an expert and acted on that opinion.”

Ah, yes. The star witness, who’d been working with twenty-twenty hindsight and after-the-fact information.

“Your expert didn’t convince the judge, did he?” Sam reminded her. And the expert hadn’t been there the night the horse died, either. Sam had been, working his ass off trying to save an animal with a twisted gut. And he’d done everything he could, everything he’d been capable of … although it had happened only a few weeks after Dave’s death and Sam had still been suffering from shock. Hadn’t been thinking all that straight. But he’d gone over his responses a thousand times in his mind, logically reviewing what he’d known at the time.

He hadn’t made a mistake, and he truly resented Joe for coming after him at such a time in his life.

“No,” Jodie agreed.

“Because I was right,” he replied. And it felt good to say that out loud to a Barton. He put his palms on the counter that separated them and leaned closer. “And that is why you can’t get services. People don’t want to deal with your family.”

JODIE FOUGHT BOTH desperation and exasperation, with a healthy dose of anger thrown in. Why was she wasting her time here? She wasn’t going to win and the bull was going to die.

She put her own hands on the counter opposite Sam’s and leaned across the laminate surface until they were practically nose to nose. “I didn’t sue you,” she said adamantly. “I’m asking for help. Not my father.”

Sam wasn’t buying her argument. Hell, even she wasn’t buying it. She’d sat in court with her dad, which made her pretty much a party to the action, even if she hadn’t been the one to file suit.

“I am not going to be responsible for killing my father’s prize bull.”

“He killed his bull,” Sam said stubbornly. “Not you.”

“The animal is still alive, Sam. You could keep him that way.” She’d barely gotten the last word out of her mouth when the phone rang.

Sam glanced at the caller ID. “It’s my nephew. I have to take this.”

“Will you come to the ranch?” Jodie asked before he got the receiver to his ear, and was horrified to hear a tiny crack in her otherwise even voice. What next? Sobs?

Instead of answering her, Sam said into the receiver, “What is it, Ty?” He bent his head as he listened.

Jodie knew she’d hit her breaking point then. Her mission was futile. The bull was going to die. Her father would come home to a dead animal and missing a vet-trained cowboy. His blood pressure would skyrocket. The vacation would end up being wasted time….

Not on her watch.

“Thanks so much, Sam,” she said sarcastically, glad that her voice remained strong even as her eyes started to burn. “You probably would have killed the bull, anyway,” she muttered, too low for him to hear.

She turned and walked out the door before she did something both embarrassing and useless like bursting into tears. She felt them building, ready to seep out of the corners of her eyes, but they were tears of frustration and anger, not of self-pity. One spilled down her cheek, fueling her anger, as she yanked open the door to the Spitfire. She wiped it away with a jerky swipe of her gloved hand, muttered a single socially unacceptable word, then started the car.

She could see Sam through the window, still behind the counter where she’d left him, watching her drive away. It was all she could do not to flip him off. She made another swipe at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand.

She wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. But she had to do something fast, and dithering around with Sam wasn’t going to cure her sick cow. Bull. Whatever. She’d wasted a lot of time coming here, but at least she knew now that she wasn’t going to be dealing with Sam anymore. The guy was impossible. And hardhearted.

Her next step was to drive the fifty miles down to Otto and meet with Stan Stewart, the vet there. Lucas had already talked to him on the phone, but maybe she could finagle a deal with him in person. They’d danced before at a social function in Otto and he hadn’t seemed exactly immune to her. Perhaps one on one …

Jodie pulled into the gas station two blocks from Sam’s clinic and got out of the car, wishing she’d fueled up at the ranch. But she hadn’t thought of it in her hurry to get to town and try to rustle up some medical help. She slipped her credit card into the slot, punched the buttons, then almost kicked the machine as the computerized gizmo took its own sweet time validating her card. Finally, gasoline started flowing into her tank.

She leaned back against the side of her dark blue car, not caring for once if she scratched the paint, and pressed her gloved palm to her forehead, feeling the heat of her flushed skin through the thin leather. A truck pulled to a stop on the other side of the pump and Sam got out. Jodie’s mouth almost dropped open.

“Did I leave before you were done lambasting my family?” she snapped, even as a small part of her wondered if she might regret the words.

His mouth tightened ominously at her sarcastic tone and Jodie made an effort to control herself. “I don’t have your cell number, so I couldn’t call you,” he said.

“Why would you need to?”

Sam shifted his weight self-consciously. “Do you want me to phone Stan Stewart and see if he’d be willing to examine your bull?”

Jodie frowned suspiciously. This was a big about-face. “May I ask why you’d do that?” The numbers on the gas pump whirled by. Her baby was thirsty.

“Because I hate seeing animals die just because they have the misfortune of being owned by an asshole.” There was not an iota of apology in his voice.

Jodie met his eyes, which looked almost silver in the fluorescent lighting above the gas pump. There was more to it than that. She had the oddest feeling he felt sorry for her. But as much as she hated that, she was more than willing to go with it. Anything to keep that flipping bull alive—if it wasn’t already too late.

“I’d appreciate it if you did that.” The words came out stiffly.

The pump mechanism clicked off and Jodie removed the spout from her tank, slapping the nozzle back into place.

Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed a single button. A moment later he was talking. Jodie wrapped her arms around her middle, focusing on the oil stained concrete beneath her feet as she waited for a verdict and tried to keep from tapping her toe. Less than thirty seconds into the conversation, she knew the answer would not be in her favor.

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.

Sam clicked the phone shut. “Stan can’t make it.”

Jodie didn’t say a word. What could she say?

Her mouth tightened as she studied the ground at her feet for another few seconds, trying to come up with an alternative plan to save the poor animal that was going to die because her father was an asshole.

“I’ll take a look at the bull. Unless you’re afraid I’ll kill him.”

Jodie’s eyes flashed up. “I’ll pay you well,” she replied automatically.

“Damned right you will.”

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