LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS) (12 page)

“I find this hard to understand, how my dog could be doing well just hours ago and suddenly die like this. With a so-called veterinary doctor in the room with him?”

The major snorted, and Sara held on to her temper with difficulty. “Angus was badly injured. With extensive surgery such as he had...”

“But the surgery was successful, Dr. Stone assured me of that.”

Sara screwed her eyes tight shut. This was always terrible, telling an owner that a pet had died. But in this particular case, she felt even worse than usual, because she knew in her heart that Angus needn’t have died. Her stomach felt nauseous, making her swallow hard and wish fervently that the conversation would end soon.

“All I can say is how sorry I am.” Her voice stuck in her throat. The phone
went dead as the major hung up in Sara’s ear.

She was shaking. Hastily making for the bathroom, she sloshed cold water over her face and tidied her hair, all the while going over the choices she had to make about her job. She’d been going along, avoiding a showdown, but the dog’s death proved to her that
she couldn’t tolerate the situation any longer.

When her boss appeared much later, Sara was prepared.

“Well, Sara, beautiful day, isn’t it?” Doc’s rather sallow face wore a bright smile and he seemed in high spirits for once. “Sorry to be a trifle late, I had to make a call...”

“Could I see you in the office, Doctor?”

Sara turned her back and hurried into the small room, waiting for him to follow her and then shutting the door firmly behind them as Floyd suddenly appeared in the outer office, curiosity evident in every line of his body.

“What is it, Sara? There are patients waiting, my dear. We really don’t have time...”

Reminding her of the patients he ought to have been tending to for over the past two hours was the final straw. Outraged, Sara glared at the plump little man in front of her.

“The dog we operated on last night died,” she reported icily. “I’m quite certain his de
ath was a result of that injection you gave him when you raced in here just past noon today, Doctor.”

She drew the broken vial out of her trouser pocket and held it out, her fingers trembling slightly as she underlined the drug’s name with a fingernail.

“As you can see, this isn’t the thing to give an animal just recovering from anesthesia.”

Doc’s face paled slightly as he reached for the vial with one hand, fumbling for the glasses he wore on a gold chain around his neck. He perched the spectacles on his nose and studied the vial for several long moments, head tipped back, bringing the tube close and then holding it far away and squinting at the label. Finally he laid the container carefully on the desk, and with a heavy sigh he moved around and sank into the desk chair, folding his arms ac
ross his chest and staring noncommittally up at Sara.

“Well, my dear? What is it you have to say to me?”

The time had come for a showdown, and Sara wanted to sound totally in control, but she was sure her voice wouldn’t behave. She was right. It quivered with the force of her emotion as she began, “I know I got this job mostly because you and my stepfather are old friends, Dr. Stone, but I think by now I’ve proved I can do my job, in spite of the fact that both you and Floyd don’t respect the agreement we had about working hours or time off. You’re both taking advantage of me.”

The older man didn’t so m
uch as blink at her. He sat absolutely silent, watching her with that disconcerting stare that revealed nothing about what he might be feeling or thinking.

Sara cleared her throat. “I’ve gone along without saying anything, because I love the work, and also because, of course, I need the job. However..
”

This was the part that was the hardest, and the thing that needed saying the most. Sara was pretty certain that in a few minutes, she’d be without a job or even a recommendation that would help her to find another, but there was nothing for it except to be honest now that she’d gone this far.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Angus, dead in the other room.

“You’ve made two serious errors in your treatments within the last month that I
know of, as well as being careless about infection with those syringes. Because I’m the new vet around here, people are quick to blame me for these mistakes instead of you,” Sara blurted. “There isn’t much I can do about what people say,” she continued, “but when animals die needlessly, the way the shepherd just did, I can’t morally sit by and watch it happen, either.”

She swallowed hard. “You gave me a chance when you hired me. I feel I owe you a chance as well, so I won’t say anything about this latest accident today. But if something like this happens again, I have to tell you that I’ll report it to the Board of Veterinary Surgeons.”

Doc Stone didn’t blink an eye. “Is that all, Sara?” he demanded frostily. His attitude, his total lack of response or regret over what he’d done to Angus jarred her and made her even angrier than she had been, taking away any trace of nerves and leaving her cold and empty inside.

She’d undoubtedly lost her job, anyway, so she might as well say everything she had to sa
y. “No, it isn’t all,” she replied evenly. “I think you ought to be aware that Floyd’s drinking is affecting his work to such a degree that he’s barely useful around here. He’s late for work constantly and can’t be relied on. For the sake of the next vet you hire, something ought to be done.”

There. She’d made a job of it that time, all right. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly breathe, and her stomach churned, but somewhere inside she felt more at peace with herself than she’d felt for weeks.

She waited for Doc to fire her. He sat in exactly the same position, without changing expression, for several moments. Then he raised his eyebrows and said dryly, “Well? Am I to assume that’s everything you have to say, young woman?”

Unable to utter another word, she simply nodded. And waited.

“I’ll have a word with Floyd. You mustn’t be too hard on him, there are circumstances...” Doc’s voice died away without finishing the sentence, and still Sara waited.

“Well.” Doc unfolded his arms and put his palms on the desk with something like a sigh. “I suppose I should call the major and give him the news about his dog.”

“I already did,” Sara said. “He wasn’t exactly friendly. I simply said that the operation had been extensive, and there were no guarantees with injuries of that sort.”

“I'll have a word with him myself later today. Now we ought to see to the patients who are waiting, don’t you think?” He got up slowly. “Are there calls to make?”

Dumbfounded, she nodded.

“Very well then, off you go and take care of them.” He slipped his glasses off his nos
e. “I’ll try to keep more regular hours from now on,” he said gruffly. “You’re off Saturday afternoon, aren’t you? And Sunday?”

He knew very well what days she was supposed to have off.

“I worked all last Saturday, so I’d like this Thursday afternoon off instead, please,” she heard herself saying in a firm tone, and he simply nodded.

Sara walked out of the office in a daze, catching sight of Floyd’s wide backside scurrying into the other room as she opened the door. Undoubtedly he’d had his ear pressed to the keyhole and had heard every single word she’d said about him. Well, eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, Gram always maintained.

Sara gathered the things she’d need for the afternoon calls and made her way out to the truck as if she were a robot. Sliding behind the wheel, she sat staring out without seeing a thing.

Had the scene in there actually happened or had she only dreamed it? She’d imagined it over and over in her mind, with her boss furious and hollering at her, and not a thing accomplished except the loss of her job.

Instead, Doc had sat quietly and seemed to listen, not even reacting when she told him her decision about reporting him.

She reached down and turned the key in the ignition. Actually she probably hadn’t accomplished one single thing except to get all of it off her chest. She’d bet money that Doc and Floyd would
go right on doing their disappearing acts.

And would Doc go right on endangering the lives of his patients? If he did, would she have the courage to do what she’d threatened, and report him?

Nothing ever was easy. She’d overcome one major hurdle, only to find herself with a whole new set of problems to worry over. But at least she still had a job, which was amazing.

She checked the call list and figured out in her mind what roads she had to follow to get to the right farm. Flipping through the list of calls, she cur
sed under her breath. They were going to take her all afternoon and evening, even if everything went perfectly, which it never did.

Oh, well. Being a vet kept her so busy that at least she didn’t have time to worr
y herself into a nervous breakdown. She pulled over and unearthed her cell. Best call home right now and let them know she wouldn’t make it home for supper.

Five minutes later, S
ara was back on the road, feeling worse than she had before she made the call. Mitch had left word with Jennie that he’d drop in at Bitterroot after supper tonight, supposedly to help Dave with the installation of the wiring for the new electric range Jennie and Gram had ordered this morning, but Sara guessed that he’d been hoping she’d be there as well.

She wouldn’t get to see him. She slammed
the truck door hard and scowled at a stray dog wagging its scrawny tail at her from the sidewalk.

Damn it all,
anyway. Being a vet kept her so busy she didn’t even have time for falling in love properly.

Tuesday and Wednesday were exceptionally hectic, but they were also pleasantly surprising to Sara. Both mornings, Floyd actually arrived at work on time, without a visible hangover. And Doc appeared promptly to take over the office on Tuesday so she could do calls and then was on time to do them himself on Wednesday.

Sara got to the office early on Thursday. She unlocked the door, and Tinker an
d Agnes immediately wound themselves around her ankles in an ecstasy of welcome.

“What have you girls done with old Sylvester?” Sara asked, bending to give each cat a personal greeting. The feisty old neutered tom was nowhere to be seen, even though Sara called him several times and filled the food dishes, which usually brought him on the double.

“Have you ladies locked Sylvester up somewhere to teach him manners?” Sara teased as the dainty females began to eat, politely sharing with each other this morning. There was none of the usual hissing and bullying that would have taken place if the domineering male had been present.

“Well, he’ll turn up soon enough and make your lives miserable again,” Sara ass
ured them, plugging in the coffee and checking the morning’s list of appointments.

Scheduled for surgery first thing was Emily Crenshaw’s cat, Queenie. Sara had discussed the situation with Doc the day before.

“The cat has to have a diaphragmatic hernia repaired, and the owner is destitute, so as long as you agree, I’ll do the surgery free of charge and take the cost of medication out of my salary,” she explained.

“Crenshaw is the woman’s name? Emily Crenshaw?” Doc Stone inquired, and Sara nodded.

“Do you know her?”

“Yup.” Doc’s expression, as usual, revealed nothing.

“I felt sorry for her. She adores that cat, and she’s so darned poor,” Sara said, hoping that Doc would open up about Miss Crenshaw, but he didn’t say another word.

“It’s okay about the operation, then?” Sara persisted, and Doc peered up at her over his glasses. “Certainly,” he said dryly. “If you want to donate your time and part of your salary to Emily Crenshaw’s cat, that’s entirely up to you, my dear.”

Something in his tone made Sara uneasy, and she’d spent a few moments wondering if perhaps she’d made a mistake about the woman’s financial situation.

But Sara’s assessment of Emily Crenshaw as destitute was reconfirmed when she arrived with Queenie clutched in her arms shortly before 8:00 a.m. that Thursday. The woman wore the sa
me black bowler hat and threadbare black coat she had worn the week before, and this time Sara took careful note of every detail.

Emily’s purse was green plastic, with one strap mended with tape. The stockings on her veined legs were full of runs, a
nd Emily had a pair of decrepit looking running shoes on her narrow feet.

She simply had no money, that was clear.

Sara gently took Queenie from Emily’s arms. “C’mon, Queenie, there’s a good cat.”

Sara no sooner had her arms around the animal than Queenie turned from a laco
nic, placid bundle into a ferocious, hissing maniac. Sara had scratches up and down her arms and across one cheek by the time she finally managed to contain the feline inside a cage in the infirmary.

“She’ll have to stay here
overnight,” Sara told Emily after the cat was safely stowed away. “You can come and pick her up in the morning.”

She eyed the animal warily. “Has she been this bad-tempered for long?”