скачать книгу бесплатно
“Expecting some calves?” Fisher asked. It was common enough for the heifers close to delivering to wander off until the calf was steady on his feet.
“Expect so,” his father answered. “What, exactly, happened last night?”
Fisher drew Waylon alongside his father’s horse, Chip, wincing when his thumb brushed the saddle horn. “George Carson.”
“George Carson?” His father raised an eyebrow. “His daddy John Carson?”
Fisher shrugged.
“John Carson was a mean drunk.”
“Then chances are the two of them are related,” Fisher answered.
“What did you do?” his father asked.
“Knocked him out,” Fisher answered, his jaw rigid.
Teddy chuckled. “I imagine you did. But I was asking why he felt the need to use your face for a punching bag.”
Fisher didn’t know what had transpired between Archer and George Carson. But he did know Archer and their father had a strained relationship. Teddy Boone thought Archer was an odd duck—worrying more over the care of his horse refuge than the people in his life. While Fisher agreed Archer marched to the beat of his own drum, he suspected Archer would do anything for his family. No point in adding fuel to the conflict between father and son when the ruckus with George Carson was over and done with.
“Not sure,” Fisher said, which was mostly true.
“That right there is why I don’t drink,” Teddy said. “A man shouldn’t put himself in a position to lose control. Damn fool thing to do.” His father clicked his tongue and Chip’s pace picked up, turning into a full-blown gallop.
Fisher didn’t argue. But he knew firsthand a man could lose control without drinking. He lived with that knowledge every damn day. Dwelling on unpleasant memories didn’t make much sense, so he concentrated on keeping up with his father for the next hour. There was no denying his father’s disappointment when their search was unsuccessful.
“They’ll turn up when they’re ready, I guess,” Teddy said before they parted ways.
“I’ll check again tonight,” Fisher volunteered. “If they haven’t turned up by then.”
Fisher turned Waylon out to pasture, took a quick shower and pulled himself together, cleaning the cut on his eye before heading into the vet hospital. Once he’d deposited his things in his office, he slipped on his lab coat and headed into the lounge for coffee.
“What happened to your face?” Archer glanced over the rim of his reading glasses.
“George Carson,” Fisher mumbled, pouring a cup of coffee. He nodded at one of the vet techs walking through the hospital lounge, grinning at her startled expression. His eye looked worse than it felt—but it hurt pretty damn bad.
“Carson?” Archer frowned. “I fired him yesterday.”
Fisher sat his cup down, taking care not to jostle his thumb. “That makes sense.” He’d have to get Mario to splint it, to support the ligament. “He wanted me to deliver a message to you.”
Archer’s eyebrows rose.
Fisher pointed to his face. “Message.”
Archer nodded, turning his attention back to the medical journal he was reading. “He’s a jerk.”
Fisher chuckled, wincing from the bruise on his stomach. Archer wasn’t emotional, he knew that. But a “sorry” or “that sucks” or something that resembled sympathy would have been nice. Calling Carson a jerk was an understatement. He waited for more but Archer was silently reading again so he asked, “What did he do?”
“Drinking on the job,” Archer answered. “He doesn’t want the job, I’ll find someone who will. Can’t risk anyone’s safety, animals or employees.”
Fisher couldn’t argue with his brother. There was no excuse for that sort of thing. He glanced at the clock. Almost time for morning rounds. “Anything exciting today?” he asked his brother. Archer only worked in the hospital a couple of days a week, spending most of his time at the animal refuge and rehabilitation center he operated on his part of Boone Ranch.
Archer shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
“I’ll let you know if something rolls in,” Fisher offered. “Have a good one.”
Archer nodded, flipping the page on his journal.
He headed straight for the operating room, hoping to catch Mario or Jarvis before any procedures got underway.
“I knew she wasn’t interested, but I never thought she’d beat you up,” Jarvis teased, staring at his face.
“Got time to tape this?” Fisher held up his hand and shook his head. “Or are you too busy thinking of smart-ass comebacks?”
Jarvis took in the violently colored bruising along Fisher’s thumb. “What did you do, man?”
“She takes thumb wars really seriously,” Fisher quipped, pointing at his eye. “She didn’t like losing.”
Jarvis laughed, setting to work on Fisher’s thumb. “X-ray it?” he asked. “Might need a ligament repair.”
Fisher shook his head. “It’ll be fine.”
“Dr. Fisher.” One of his students stuck her head in. “We need you up front.”
Fisher nodded. “What is it?”
“Stray.” Abigail paused. “Are you okay?” She glanced at him. “You—”
“The patient?”
“Right. Sorry.” But she couldn’t stop staring at his face. “Dog with several deep bites along the neck and back leg. Ear laceration, almost bitten off. His right eye looks pretty bad, too.”
“Bites from?” he asked.
“Two other dogs, apparently. Miss...” she paused to scan her notes. “Miss James just brought him in.”
He nodded, following Abigail from the operating room and into the patient care room. A speckled dog lay on a metal table, his gray coat matted with blood and dirt. At first glance, he looked like a blue heeler, same size and build. The dog didn’t raise his head when Fisher approached the table, though his uninjured eye was open and alert.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Fisher turned to the woman standing nervously in the corner. “Kylee?”
Was it his imagination or did she seem to relax when she saw him?
“Hi, Doc... Fisher.” Her arms were crossed tightly over her bloodstained, oversize white T-shirt. “I was walking around the park and these two big dogs were on him. He was fighting so hard. But they were too big for him. I saw him go down beneath them...”
Fisher listened to the dog’s heart rate with his stethoscope. Accelerated. One hundred ten. Respirations were shallow and rapid, distressed. But, from the number of injuries the animal had sustained, that was to be expected.
“No owners?” Abigail asked, taking notes on her clipboard.
“There wasn’t anyone else in the park.” Kylee glanced at Abigail, watching as she jotted down a few more notes. “No collar.”
He continued his inspection of the dog, his hands gentle, yet probing. “How did you break them up?”
“I found a big stick.” Her clear blue gaze held his, making it impossible not to look at her.
“A stick?” he repeated, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Her nod was tight. She was nervous, defiant...and so damn beautiful. He noticed her tension. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her this way. Why did she always seem ready to run? “It was a very big stick.”
Abigail stopped writing then, looking at Kylee with the same mix of awe and surprise that he felt.
He shook his head. “You could have been seriously injured.”
Kylee’s face shuttered instantly. “All I had to do was yell and wave it at them, and they ran. He didn’t.”
Fisher wanted to tell her she was lucky. To tell her not to do it again. To shake her a little for putting herself at risk like that. But something told him that would be a mistake. Instead he said, “Abigail, make sure X-ray is free, please.”
Once Abigail left, he spoke. “Dogs, especially when they’re worked up like this, don’t always respond predictably. You could be the one in the hospital, Kylee.” His eyes swept over her too-big clothes and worn tennis shoes. Her black hair was pulled up in a ponytail that swung between her shoulders when she moved. She looked young and lost.
If she was listening to him, she gave no sign. Instead, she stepped closer to the exam table, running her hand down the dog’s side. “Will he be okay?”
“Not sure.” He watched her, moved by the tenderness on her face. She was tough. And fearless. And, apparently, she had no problem defending the underdog. A flash of her holding that beer bottle sprang to mind. She’d been ready to defend him, too. Was that how she saw him? Someone who needed protecting? He couldn’t stop his smile. “I’m sure he’d thank you if he could.”
She glanced at him, a hint of a smile on her mouth. “I thought you were fluent in dog.”
He laughed, surprised.
The dog whimpered and Kylee looked at him. “I feel like I should do something.”
“Talk to him,” Fisher encouraged. “It helps.”
Kylee glanced at him, then bent forward to whisper something to the animal.
“X-ray is ready for him,” Abigail said, poking her head into the exam room.
Fisher nodded, watching Kylee. “I’ll take care of him,” he promised her.
Kylee stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I can’t... I don’t have any money. He’s a stray.”
“It’s a teaching hospital.” Fisher nodded. “We’ll take care of him. Cases like this are good learning opportunities.”
She brightened. “Oh. Good.” She glanced down at the dog. “He deserves a second chance.”
He didn’t miss the wistfulness in her voice or the flash of pain in her huge blue eyes. But, like the night before, she seemed to stop and pull into herself.
Jarvis came in, followed by two vet students. He saw Kylee and smiled. “Beating up the doctor one day and saving the dog in distress the next,” he teased Kylee. “I imagine you make a mighty fine avenging angel.”
She stared at Fisher, stunned. “I didn’t touch Dr. Boone,” she argued, glaring at him with such anger he wanted to throttle Jarvis. “But the dog...well, it wasn’t a fair fight.”
He’d have to worry over Kylee later. Right now he had a patient to tend to. And a group of vet students waiting for his direction. The students carefully lifted the dog, laying him gently on the gurney. Fisher turned the dog’s head, assessing the injured eye. It didn’t look good. But the lacerations that covered the dog’s haunches and chest looked relatively superficial. He knew the students were watching, echoing his every motion, hanging on his every expression. It was part of the process, reading the animals, their owners, filling in the blanks when possible.
He stepped back. “Where do we start?” Fisher asked the three students, already clicking into teaching mode.
“Check his vitals,” Abigail sounded off.
“Done,” Fisher countered.
Jake, another student, was scanning the dog’s chart. “Oxygen?”
Fisher waited, prompting them, “And?”
“Fluids,” Abigail jumped in.
“IV?” Cliff asked.
Fisher nodded. “Good. And get him prepped for X-rays. Let’s get to it.” He held the door open, letting them lead the way.
Jarvis piped up, “We’ll take him from here, Kylee. Don’t worry, I have a feeling Dr. Fisher will do everything he can to see this mutt pulls through.”
Fisher shot Jarvis a look, but his friend just winked on his way out. Kylee followed, pointedly avoiding eye contact as she brushed past him into the hallway. Her heat, her scent, washed over him—knocking him completely off center. He stood, rooted to the spot, staring after her swinging ponytail. But her blue eyes were fixed on the dog as it disappeared into the X-ray room. He saw the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way her hands fisted at her sides, and knew this dog was somehow important to her. He had one option—save the dog. For Kylee.
* * *
“WHAT DID HE SAY?” Cutter asked, spinning his worn hat in his hands.
“Is he gonna be okay, Kylee?” Shawn’s voice shook.
She shrugged. “Dr. Boone said he’ll do what he can.”
“Which one?” Cutter asked. “There are two Dr. Boones in Stonewall Crossing.”
“Fisher,” she clarified. “Not much we can do now.”
“Good. That’s good,” Cutter murmured, heading toward the admissions desk.
She tried to act unaffected, like it was every day she charged at two massive dogs screaming her head off. She didn’t even know why she did it, exactly. That dog’s desperation, trying again and again to get away, tore at something deep inside of her. She knew how that dog felt.
One glance at Shawn’s terrified face had forced her into action. For the first time, she could actually chase away his fear...and save the dog. Once the bigger dogs were on the run, the little pup stood on unsteady legs, looked at her, wagged his tail, and fell over. She’d picked him up and hurried back to Cutter’s place with Shawn running at her side.
Shawn’s pleading had prompted Cutter to pack them into his beaten-up four-door Bronco and drive them to the veterinary hospital. He hadn’t said much, all grunts and head shakes. But it didn’t matter, they got there.
It was only after she’d laid the poor dog on the table that she realized what she’d done. Those dogs could have turned on her. Or Shawn. Her actions had put Shawn in real danger—over a dog. Danger Fisher had reminded her of.
She pulled her brother into a quick hug. Neither was all that comfortable with physical affection, but she needed comfort. If anything happened to her, where would that leave Shawn? She couldn’t think about what might have happened. They were all they had. “Sorry I freaked out like that.”
Shawn smiled up at her. “It was awesome.” He laughed. “I was sorta scared of you for a minute.”
She sighed. “I guess that was the point. Not to scare you, but the dogs.”
