Cowboy M.D.

He should have known better.

“Nick,” Martha said right after Besse cleared the dinner dishes. “Alison expressed an interest in helping with the cattle tomorrow morning.”

“Can we help, too?” the boy, Sam, asked. His blue eyes peered out at Nick from beneath a mop of brown hair.

“Not tomorrow,” Jim said. “We’re going fishing in the morning.”

“Ah, Dad—can’t we do that in the afternoon?”

“Fish don’t bite in the afternoon,” Jim explained, shooting Alison a look that clearly said, “Kids—what are you doing to do with them?”

“You’re right,” Alison said. “They don’t bite in the afternoon. But they sure do bite in the evening. Maybe you could change your schedule around so Sam and I could watch the cows being vetted.”

“Steers,” Nick corrected her. “And that’s not a good idea.” Nick did not, absolutely did not, want any kids around while he and his brother doctored up the cattle.

“Nonsense,” his mother said. “It’s an excellent idea. Sam, you and Ms. Forester can meet up in the morning. Nick will show you the way to the corral.”

And that was how Nick ended up being forced to spend time with Alison Forester.

And worse—a young boy.

Chapter Five

Ali didn’t sleep well that night, though to be honest, she never slept well in strange places.

Anticipation, she told herself, slipping from beneath the covers. Mr. Clean eyed her in protest as she disturbed whatever feline dream he’d been enjoying.

Anticipation because today she got to work with animals again. It’d been far too long, and if she were honest with herself, she liked the idea of a little hard work. Maybe it’d help her sleep better. Lord knew, medicine didn’t work.

“Wish me luck,” she said to Mr. Clean as she patted his head. The cat didn’t even look up from his food. Her rolling stomach reflected her anxiety.

It was a windy morning, the warm air pushing against her and flinging apart the denim jacket she’d tugged over a long-sleeved T-shirt. Overhead a hawk tried to circle, his body buffeted left and right as he fought the current. A gorgeous day, despite the wind. The rippled surface of the lake glowed as gray as pewter in the early morning light.

“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.