Stranger At The Crossroads. Gena Dalton

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      “Then there’s the problem of keeping her from being run over, of course.”

      He gave her that frown again.

      “Will you cut the sarcasm?” he said.

      Something about the way he said it sounded as if they were old friends instead of strangers.

      Darcy turned toward her truck. She might as well go. She had better go, for her own sake, now that she’d started hallucinating.

      “Sometimes, this early in the process, they lie down just for short periods of time,” she said, speaking over her shoulder. “She’ll probably get up in a minute.”

      After a beat, she turned and added, “But then, you already know that because you’ve foaled out many a mare.”

      He glowered at her, then set his eyes on the mare. He dropped to his haunches, although his injured leg wouldn’t bend well, then lifted Tara’s head.

      “I doubt she’d stay down long, anyhow, because even though it’s early yet, this pavement isn’t exactly cool.”

      She waited another moment.

      “But then there’s the fact that she’s so sick she might just lie down and die.”

      “Will you just get over there, get your kit and get to work?” he snapped. “Instead of standing around all morning running your mouth?”

      A great thrill of victory raced through Darcy’s veins.

      “Are you asking me to attend this mare as a veterinarian or as a woman?”

      He looked at her, pushed his hat back so he could look at her with those fierce blue eyes of his. As his gaze moved over her body, she felt it as surely as the warm caress of a hand on her skin.

      And she felt a curious desire to brush the hair that had fallen from beneath his hat onto his forehead. He had a farmer’s tan—white skin where his hat had been that showed a clear line against his sun-darkened face.

      After a long moment, he spoke.

      “I reckon as both,” he said dryly. “You’ve got no quit in you, just like Tara, and she’s gonna need that more than anything. I’ll supply the muscle power.”

      Chapter Two

      Darcy turned and ran for her truck, her heart pounding because of Jackson’s permission to treat the mare. She was thrilled to have won this battle, not only for the sake of the mare and foal, but also for the challenge of saving them. God willing, the struggle might take over her mind completely and let her forget about everything else.

      Her heart was not beating so hard from the powerful way Jackson had looked at her. Yet she could still feel his gaze moving over her in that very assessing kind of look.

      Well, if he’d been trying to judge whether she would respond to him as a man, she could tell him right now that she was not interested. Not in any man.

      Despite that surprising, insane urge she’d felt— the desire to touch his face and brush his hair that had come over her when his eyes met hers?

      Her little voice of truth wouldn’t let her get by with anything.

      She punched in the handle of her equipment box and twisted it, then threw up the lid. A horse’s life, no, two of them, depended on her right now, and she needed to get her mind on her business.

      Automatically, her hands flew to the necessary compartments and began to make selections. First, the IV catheter, needle holders, suture, cordless clippers and a handful of Betadine solution packets, gauze sponges and a bottle of alcohol. Then both her hands were full. She’d have to come back for the antibiotic injection and the bag of fluids.

      No. Good heavens, she couldn’t even think straight! Everything would go much faster if they brought the mare to the truck.

      Tara’s hooves scrabbled against the pavement. Darcy heard Jackson kiss to her in encouragement, and when she glanced over her shoulder, the mare was regaining her feet.

      “Bring her over here,” Darcy called. “I want to get a dose of antibiotic in her and start some fluids before we walk her home.”

      He frowned.

      “You’re the one saying she’ll foal any minute,” he said, leading Tara toward her. “Can’t it wait until we get her to the barn?”

      That annoyed Darcy thoroughly, although it was a natural enough question.

      “I thought you hired me to make these decisions,” she said. Then, less sharply, she added, “Hold her right here, please, with her head as still as possible.”

      Jackson did as she asked.

      “This won’t take a minute,” Darcy said, quickly clipping a small patch of hair over the mare’s jugular vein.

      She scrubbed the site with Betadine, judged the best spot and, in a fluid motion, jabbed the IV catheter into the vein. She began to sew it in place. Tara’s hooves moved restlessly in the gravel at the side of the road but, like most horses, she didn’t seem too bothered by the procedure. Jackson murmured to her in his low, rich voice and stroked her with his gloved hand.

      “You’ll probably need to take off your gloves to carry the fluid bag,” Darcy said, “so it won’t slip. You’ll have to hold it above your head to get it to flow through the tubing.”

      Jackson stood silent.

      When she could look up, she glanced at him.

      “You’ll have to carry it,” she said. “I’m too short to hold it high enough for gravity to work.”

      He stared, almost glaring at her.

      “I’ll carry it,” he snapped.

      “Well, then,” she snapped back at him, “we don’t have to worry, do we?”

      What an ill-tempered man! This could shape up to be the most nerve-racking foal watch of her entire career.

      She should’ve kept on going south. She shouldn’t have stopped—she’d known that when she did it. This was just one more time when she should’ve followed her instincts.

      But she had stopped, and this mare might’ve died if she hadn’t, so the thing to do was make the best of the situation and ignore the mercurial Jackson Whoever as much as possible. She’d simply do her Good Samaritan deed, deliver the foal and be on her way.

      This mare is going to need IV antibiotics and fluids for days.

      There it was again, her eternal, tormenting little voice of truth. Well, it was right. But that didn’t matter; as soon as this foal was on the ground, Jackson could call another veterinarian. A male veterinarian.

      She ran a short IV line to the mare’s mane and tied it off. Then she drew up the antibiotic injection and pushed it in the catheter.

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