Cowboy M.D.. Pamela Britton

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      “Ms. Forester, Ms. Forester!”

      Ali turned. The cabins were far enough away from one another that the boy from dinner last night, Sam, appeared to come from out of nowhere. His brown hair was completely mussed—as if he’d ran from his bunkhouse before brushing his hair.

      “Hey, Sam,” she said, smiling.

      “Can you believe it? We get to put medicine in cows.”

      Her smile grew. “Yes, we do,” she said. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious. It sure beat a day at the hospital, that’s for sure. She took his hand and headed up the path toward the corrals.

      “Sam, hold up!” His sister, Kimberly, emerged from between the tall oaks just as Sam had, her hair pulled back in a braid. “Dad’s going to drive us up in one of the Gators.”

      “I can walk,” Sam said.

      Sam’s sister pressed her lips together. She was only a few years older than Sam, maybe twelve, but she acted like a protective mom. She kind of had to. The boy and girl didn’t have a mom; Martha Sheppard had filled Ali in on the details of their troubled life last evening.

      “You shouldn’t walk long distances, you know,” Kimberly said, flicking her braid over one shoulder.

      “I’ll be fine.”

      But Kimberly wasn’t about to take no for an answer, her blue eyes far too mature for her age. “Will you drive us up, Ms. Forester?”

      “I suppose I can do that,” Ali said, wondering what was going on. Why didn’t Sam’s sister want him to walk? And why was Sam so petulant?

      “Good. I’ll go tell my dad,” Kimberly said.

      “What was that all about?” Ali asked when she’d slipped back through the trees.

      “She thinks I’m handicapped.”

      “Why?”

      “Because of this,” the little boy said, lifting up his pantleg to reveal a metal brace that ended just above his knee.

      “Oh.” Ali had enough experience with handicapped kids to know better than to ask what had happened. Instead she treated it as though it was no big deal. “C’mon. My own, private miniature Tonka truck is parked over here.”

      She caught the surprise in Sam’s eyes, followed immediately by relief. He took her hand as they headed toward the parking area.

      Nick’s Gator was already gone, Ali noted, not at all surprised. Sam took the front seat, his sister reappearing a few minutes later.

      “Dad said he’d meet us up there.”

      “Let’s go then,” Sam said with the impatience of a racehorse.

      The Gator was no harder to drive than a golf cart. Easier, actually, and faster. But Ali pretended she didn’t know how to drive, swerving back and forth, back and forth. They were all giggling when they arrived.

      To be honest, if Nick’s mom hadn’t given her instructions on how to find the corral, Ali would have found it anyway. Richter scales were probably registering the sound of all those cows. What looked to be a hundred head groaned and moaned as they waited for their turn in the “squeeze,” a device Martha had explained was the cowboy equivalent of a giant binder clip. The sides pushed together, holding the cow still, the bovine’s head collared in front.

      “Wow,” Sam said. “It looks painful.”

      “It doesn’t hurt,” Ali said, repeating what Martha had told her. “It just keeps them still while they’re being doctored up.”

      “What kind of cows are they?” Sam asked, his eyes on the tall pipe panels that held the cows back, almost as if privately gauging their strength. Ali had just done the same thing.

      “Black Angus,” a man said.

      Ali turned, spying Nick’s double, only taller and friendlier-looking, with black hair and a tan cowboy hat.

      “Oh,” Sam said. “Black Angus. I’ve heard of them.”

      “Well, I think they smell,” Kimberly said, waving a hand in front of her face, her adorable little nose wrinkled.

      “You’ll get used to it after a while,” the man said.

      “As if.” Kimberly pinched off her nostrils.

      “Rand Sheppard.” The man came forward and took Ali’s hand. “And you must be Nick’s future wife.”

      The comment startled a chuckle out of her. “Guilty,” she said. “But we haven’t settled on a date yet.”

      “Oh? I could have sworn I heard Mom on the phone with caterers this morning.”

      “I think she was probably ordering my dress.”

      It was his turn to chuckle, a deep baritone that probably sounded an awful lot like Nick’s—if he ever laughed. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an electronic date book, something Ali thought seemed mighty fancy for a cowboy. Raising a brow, he said, “Try to steer clear of the next two weeks, if you can. Work’s going to keep me too busy to stand up for my brother.”

      That made her laugh, especially when he pretended to wait for her response. She liked Nick’s brother instantly.

      “Seriously,” he said, pocketing the device. “Don’t mind my mother. She’s just overzealous at times.”

      “So I hear. But I really don’t think she’s trying to set me up with anybody. We’re just having fun with it now.”

      Again Rand raised his brows—even higher this time—as if to ask, “Don’t be so certain.”

      Ali laughed again.

      “Who’s this?” he asked, peering down at the boy.

      “This is Sam, and the one with the nose between her fingers is Kimberly. We’re all here to help.”

      “Well, good,” Rand said. “We can sure use it.”

      “Actually, I think I’ll stay here and wait for Dad.” Kimberly sounded as if she’d sucked on helium.

      “Okay. Sam and Alison, why don’t you follow me and I’ll show you what to do.”

      “Cool,” Sam said.

      “You be careful,” his sister called out.

      “Sooo,” Ali drawled, trying to sound only mildly curious as they walked toward the corral.

      “Where’s my fiancé?”

      “He went to get more vaccine.”

      “You’re out of vaccine?”

      Rand stopped at the fence of the corral. СКАЧАТЬ