Once and for All

“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.”

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 Web site at www.jeanniewatt.com or contact me at [email protected]. I’d love to hear from you.

Best wishes,

Jeannie Watt

1444—THE HORSEMAN’S SECRET

1474—THE BROTHER RETURNS

1520—COP ON LOAN

1543—A COWBOY’S REDEMPTION

1576—COWBOY COMES BACK

1628—ALWAYS A TEMP

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.”

“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.