Don't Mess With Texans. Peggy Nicholson
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have noted an hour before, then skated blithely past in favor of a honey-mouth drawl and a pair of big, anxious blue eyes. There was more mud on the license plate than there was on the trailer.
Fortuitous splash when she drove through a puddle? Or... He’d used that trick himself a few times, back in his carcollecting days that summer he’d turned thirteen. Not that every cop didn’t know it, too.
Tag walked back to the trailer and brushed his fingers across frigid metal. Dried mud sifted down. A Kentucky plate. But Susannah had said “Texas” like she meant it, the way a U.S. Marine said “America.”
She hadn’t mentioned where from down south she’d departed yesterday, he reminded himself. Just because she was a Texan didn’t mean she still lived in sight of the Alamo. Maybe he was imagining things—there was nearly as much mud splashed on the truck as the plate. Nothing but hurt pride talking, he mocked himself. There’s no crime in turning down a date, is there?
He put her deliberately out of mind for the next half hour. Then she was driven out in a rush, as Champion Ophelia’s Flowers of Elsinore decided to drop her first litter of bluebloods. Though the brindle Great Dane was in superb condition and gave no indications of needing a vet’s assistance, Elsinore Kennel was Green Mountain Clinic’s most valued account. Tag had promised months ago that he’d attend the blessed event.
Stopping only to scribble a prescription for Pookie’s painkiller, he left Carol Anne to cancel the rest of his appointments, then roared off to the kennel. The afternoon blurred into a succession of squirming, squeaking, blind furry bundles, each needing its nostrils wiped clear and its ribs gently massaged with a soft cloth before it was presented to the anxious mother and her exuberant breeder.
Normally Tag loved whelpings, but this time, tired as he was and still smarting from rejection, he simply gritted his teeth and endured. Sometime between the eighth and ninth puppy he began to watch the clock. By now it would be safe to move Pookie. Carol Anne could give Susannah her postop instructions, but had she gotten the name of the stable where Susannah would be keeping her stud? Gelding, he reminded himself.
Because even if the woman was now off-limits, Pookie was still his patient. If Susannah didn’t bring the horse back for Tag’s inspection tomorrow, he’d have to hunt her down. There were only five stables he could think of in the neighborhood.
The sun had set and the cold clamped down like a vise of black iron when he escaped the kennel. Numb with fatigue, he paused by his truck, wondering where he’d left his jacket, then remembered. Susannah. She’d have left it with Carol Anne, he supposed, and felt a moment’s quickening. Would it now smell of her—flowers, horse and bourbon?
Get a grip, Taggart! Jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, he drove toward the clinic and his cottage behind. Past suppertime and he’d skipped lunch, he realized. There were store-bought pizzas in his freezer. Flip one of those in the oven, down a beer or two tonight—he deserved it—then to bed. Tomorrow was anoth—He took his foot off the accelerator.
Light glowed in the clinic windows, though it was past six. And Carol Anne’s ancient Ford was still parked out front. As he came through the door she looked up from the other side of the reception counter. “Emergency?” He supposed he was good for one more.
“Not...exactly.”
“She left her horse here?” he guessed, and felt a sudden, ridiculous surge of hope and pleasure.
“Huh! They drove off not half an hour after you left.”
He frowned. “You didn’t tell her it would be better to—”
“I did and she wouldn’t. Said she had to hit the road and that was that.”
He’d met plenty of self-centered owners these past few months. He’d not have put Susannah among them. He supposed her horse would be all right as long as she took the curves carefully. Still, he didn’t like it.
“She asked me the best road to take for Boston,” Carol Anne added.
“Boston!” Two hours to the southeast? What the hell had she been doing up here, if—“She didn’t say anything about a stable here in town?”
Carol Anne shook her head with grim satisfaction.
Well...that was that, then. He might as well have dreamed her. No, she’d left him—or actually taken—one thing to remember her by. Tag stared at the coatrack standing in the corner beyond the file cabinets. “Where’s my coat?” He liked that coat, an old leather bomber jacket, Second World War, which he’d found in a Boston army-navy store his last year in high school. He’d shed blood for that coat once in a bar, the time a drunken biker took a fancy to it. And now Susannah had it off him for nothing but a smile? Left it in the barn, he assured himself, swinging toward the door. She wouldn’t have—
“That was your jacket she was wearing?” Carol Anne gave a cackling laugh. “Well, that’s the topper on a day to remember! You sure can pick ’em, Doc.” She turned toward the rack to pull down her own quilted overcoat.
“She pay with cash or a check?” If she’d paid by check, he could track her down through her bank. He wanted that jacket back, by God, and more than that, he wanted one last look at her face. Clearly he’d missed something the first time.
“Oh, no, something better.” Carol Anne shrugged into her coat. “She was fresh out of cash, is how she put it. And I told her we don’t take out-of-town checks.”
“You could have made an exception.”
“Ha! I said she could put it on a card, and she gave me a butter-wouldn’t-melt look and said something seemed to be wrong with her cards.”
“And so?” He wasn’t going to like the punch line if Carol Anne had stayed past closing to deliver it.
“So I said, let me try, anyway.”
“And she didn’t have any,” Tag muttered to himself. She drove around the country, ripping off gelding services from sucker vets? What kind of a con was that?
“She had an American Express and two Visa gold cards.”
But? Tag crossed his arms on the counter and waited for it.
“Every one of which had been canceled.”
“Right. Canceled.” He rubbed the back of his aching neck.. “So you told her goodbye and God bless?” She could have had his services for the asking. Could have had much more than that, if she’d wanted. There’d been no need to rip him off.
“You must be kidding. I asked Ms. Colton just how she intended to pay in that case—”
“Colton.” He was missing something here. Had missed a whole truckload of somethings. Must have left his brains in bed this morning, when he rolled out at 3 a.m. to take that call about the cat. “Colton? Her name was Mack.”
“Susannah M. Colton, according to her cards. I wrote it down here, along with her address.”
Tag stifled an impulse to lean across the counter and strangle his assistant. Nothing was wrong, nothing really. Susannah had left him a way to reach her. Had no doubt been too flustered by Carol Anne’s evil eye to remember his jacket She’d drop it in the mail when she’d reached her destination. “May I have it?” He tried for exaggerated patience, but it came out closer to a snarl.
“You surely may.” The med tech plucked a sheet of paper from an under-counter drawer, then something shiny. “And here’s how she paid.” A cold, tiny object was dropped into his outstretched palm. “She said to send her the change care of this address—” Carol Anne waved her paper and smirked “—once we’ve hocked it.”
Tag lifted the ring to the light. Fire glimmered, then flashed. “A diamond!” he said blankly. Big enough to choke a goose. Engagement ring, he supposed. Married, but she didn’t like men, she’d said, not that way.
“And if you believe that, Doc, you shouldn’t be let outdoors