“I was looking for you,” Ann explained to her sister. “I just cracked the door to your room, and the thing darted out. Dean was coming in the house behind me, and the next thing I knew, it was out the front door.”
“Really, Ann,” Meredith admonished. “How many times do I have to tell you...and with the dog beside you, no less.”
What a prissy little thing she was—prissy, pretty, intelligent and entertaining, an unwelcome combination as far as Stark was concerned. He had no interest in developing a connection with any woman. Still, he felt an odd compulsion to mend fences if he could.
“Let’s see if we can introduce these two,” Stark suggested, holding out a hand and clucking his tongue at the dog. “Come here, Digger. Come on. That’s a boy.”
The dog trotted over, and Tiger tried to climb Stark’s chest using his back claws. When a cat was declawed, only its defensive front claws were removed. Without those, they had only their tiny teeth and speed for protection. Stark held fast to the feline, talking softly. The dog sniffed and snuffled, while the cat hissed and bared its teeth without making much impression.
“Our cats never act like that around Digger,” Ann complained. “Of course, most of them are still kittens.” She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I already spilled the beans on that,” Stark admitted with a sheepish grin, while Meredith glared at her sister and the dog trotted off to check out the horses, which were shuffling around their stalls in hopes of being let out soon.
Ann stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders, folding her arms. “Meredith,” she said sternly, “you cannot have another cat.”
“Why not?” Meredith demanded. “Because I’m the crazy cat lady?”
Stark sighed as Ann glared daggers at him. “One or two spoiled cats do not make a crazy cat lady,” he said calmly. In point of fact, Meredith Billings was the furthest thing from a crazy cat lady he’d ever seen. And there was that smile at last.
He almost wished he hadn’t seen it. She was really quite amazingly lovely without it. With it, she took away his breath. Her teeth blazed white in her oval face, her plump pink lips forming a perfect bow, while her cheeks plumped into creamy apples and her blue eyes sparkled.
Which was more than enough reason to keep his distance.
The timer on his phone tootled, as if reinforcing that fact. Putting his feet on the floor, he rose in one smooth movement, thrust the cat into its owner’s arms and shouldered past the two sisters to the horse.
“I’ll just remove the IV bag before I go,” he said, “and be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be glad to help,” Meredith began.
He gave her instructions as he worked. Nothing much could be done, but someone needed to keep an eye on the animal to make sure it didn’t take a turn for the worse before Stark could get back to set up another IV bag and administer more medication. Meredith watched as he removed the connections, leaving the catheter in the jugular.
“I’ll make sure Rex knows, and I’ll be out here every moment that Dad doesn’t need me.”
“Dean and I will be here as much as possible, too,” Ann promised.
Stark wrapped a bandage loosely around the catheter. “If his breathing seems labored, call me. I’ll drop what I’m doing and come.”
“Thank you,” Meredith whispered, looking worried.
Stark squeezed past her and picked up his kit, intending to walk out, but for some reason he couldn’t. He turned to face them, searching for some comfort to offer.
“Seems to be a law of nature,” he finally said, “that the crisis comes in the wee hours. I’ll be on hand.”
“We’ll be keeping watch on him all day,” Meredith said, stroking her cat.
He knew in his gut that meant she would be keeping watch. What he didn’t know was why that tied his stomach in knots. He didn’t have time to worry about it, though.
As usual, he had a full day of appointments, most of them in the field. Rushing to and from one ranch, farm or homestead, he managed to work in an IV bag for Soldier then return to remove it. Meredith was on hand both times.
By nightfall he’d put nearly 200 miles on his truck and missed lunch, so he’d swung by the diner on his way out to the Straight Arrow. He needed a shower, a shave and a change of clothes, but he couldn’t imagine when he’d have found the time. Seeing Meredith trying to coax Soldier to do more than hang his nose over a bucket of nutritional mash came as no surprise. As he walked down the aisle of the stable, the sick horse pushed his broad forehead against her chest. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around the horse, bending her own head to the animal’s neck, essentially hugging him, before scooping up a handful of the grainy glop in the pail. Soldier lipped up some of the mash.
The sight did strange things to Stark’s chest, things he didn’t even want to think about, and that made his voice sharper than he intended.
“You been feeding him by hand all day?”
She nodded defensively. “It’s the only way he’ll eat.”
“Has he taken any water?”
“A little.”
Stark laid his kit on the barrel and took off his hat, hanging it on the corner of the stall gate. “Well, he’s on IV fluids. But he needs to up his intake if he’s going to beat this. Is there anything special he likes to eat?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask. He sure doesn’t seem to care for that mash of yours.”
Her phone dinged. She slipped it from her hip pocket with her clean hand and swiped her thumb over the screen. “Speaking of eating, Rex says we should come in. Dinner’s on the table.”
Stark held up the paper bag in his left hand. “Brought my own.”
Meredith frowned at him. “You must know Callie expected to feed you.”
“I’m not here to eat. I’m here to take care of your horse,” he retorted, turning his back to unzip his kit.
“How come you make it so hard to be nice to you?” she demanded.
“How come you make it so hard for me to do my job?” he shot back.
“We’re just trying to help.”
“And I appreciate it, but this is what I do.” He turned to face her, holding up the IV bag and moving toward the pole.
“Don’t you ever make time to see your friends and family?” she asked, backing up a step.
“I see my friends all the time,” he said, hanging the bag. “On the job.”
“What about your family?”
Exasperated, he glared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be eating dinner? Or would you rather keep me from mine?”
Huffing, she grabbed a rag from the corner of the stall and scrubbed her hand, muttering, “Why do I even try?”
She slid by him and stalked off down the aisle, only to halt after several steps and pivot on her heel, bringing her hands to her narrow waist.
“Just so you know,” she told him smartly, “while I’m praying for my dad and his horse, I’m going to be praying for a wholesale change in your lousy attitude.”
“Don’t bother,” Stark snapped over his shoulder. He turned back to his task, mumbling, “God forgot I existed a long time ago.”
He felt her shock and her stare. For a long moment, he expected her to speak again, to demand an explanation or make an argument. Instead, she quietly turned and left him. Grimacing,