Montana Mistletoe Baby. Patricia Johns
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a pregnant woman, after all, and any able-bodied man would want to give her a hand.
“Look, Barrie, I’m here for something else, too,” he admitted.
Barrie’s clear blue eyes met his, one eyebrow arched expectantly. She was so close that he could smell the soft scent of her perfume mingling with the tang of other barn aromas. She looked the same—the big blue eyes, the light eyebrows she always used to complain about, the faint spattering of freckles over her nose. Fifteen years had gone by, aging him beyond his ability to keep bull riding, and she still looked as fresh as the twenty-year-old he’d married. He really wished he could have come back a little more successful to prove that she’d missed out, but he couldn’t change facts.
“I’m selling the building,” he said.
* * *
PROFESSIONAL. IN AND OUT. That had been Barrie’s plan when Betty apologetically told her that Curtis was waiting in the barn with the sick calf. And seeing him again... He was older, obviously, but he was still the same Curtis who was too ruggedly handsome for his own good. But she was fifteen years older this time around, and pregnant. She had bigger worries than Curtis’s ability to make her melt with one of his half smiles. Besides, there was a far higher risk of him irritating her. She didn’t have the patience to deal with his boyish whims—her life had been turned upside down with this pregnancy, and she was facing her first Christmas without her mom, who had passed away last February from a stroke. She hadn’t seen that heartbreak coming, either.
“Selling the building?” she repeated, slipping past him into the aisle, his words not sinking in.
“The commercial building my uncle left me—the one you lease for your practice.”
Barrie whipped around in shock. “Wait—what?”
“I don’t have much choice, Barrie.”
“Selling it to who?” she demanded. A change in ownership didn’t have to mean an end to her ability to lease there... Her mind spun forward, sifting through the possibilities.
“Nothing’s finalized,” he replied.
As if that made his intentions any different. Anger simmered beneath the surface. She’d worked too hard for this, for too long, but Curtis had never cared about her ambitions. Fifteen years hadn’t changed much between them. What she needed was information—then she could make a plan. She’d had too many surprises lately, and a plan was an absolute necessity.
“But you have an interested buyer,” she countered.
“Palmer Berton is interested, but we haven’t nailed anything down.”
Barrie swallowed hard, her stomach dropping.
“You’re going to sell the building that houses my clinic to my business rival,” she clarified. “And you think he’ll keep leasing to me? I’m going to have to find a new place—move all my equipment, renovate the new space...” She was already tallying the cost of this, and as the tally rose, so did her anxiety. “Why are you doing this?”
“It’s not personal,” he said. “I need to liquidate.”
Not personal? Curtis of all people knew how personal her practice was to her. “You need the money now?”
“I’m going to buy a stud farm with my business partner in Wyoming, and I need to sell to get the money for my half of the down payment. I don’t have a choice, Barrie.”
“So, what happened to bull riding?” She couldn’t control the ice in her tone. That had been the cause of their divorce—bull riding had stayed his priority, leaving her in the dust. She’d wanted a real home with him, not to follow after him in a beat-up trailer. She’d wanted to start a family, to pursue her education and become a vet. She’d wanted a life, not a road trip.
“My body can’t take it anymore,” he replied. “I’ve broken too many bones. This wrist—” He held up his arm and moved his hand in a circle. “You hear that clicking? Both of my ankles do that, too. I’ve gone as far as I can in the circuit. I’m officially old.”
At thirty-seven. Barrie had seen that coming, too, but he’d never listened to her. A body could take only so much punishment, and every time he’d get thrown and break a rib or dislocate his shoulder, she’d be the one patching up his injuries and begging him to find something safer, something more reliable... How many times had she sat in her parents’ kitchen, describing some new injury to her mom, who wisely just listened and offered no advice?
“That’s it, then,” she said. “You’re selling and this is my heads-up.”
He didn’t answer. She sighed and hitched her bag up on her shoulder.
“Fine,” she said. “Thanks for the warning.”
Since when had Curtis been stable, anyway? This had always been the problem—Curtis was always on the move. Leasing from his uncle had seemed safe enough, but when he died of a heart attack last year and left the building to Curtis, she’d had a sinking suspicion that her comfortably predictable days were limited. She paid her monthly lease to a management company, and she’d hoped that arrangement could continue for a while.
“You don’t know that Palmer will kick you out,” Curtis said.
“Really?” she snapped. “Because I know Palmer pretty well. I worked under him for three years after I got my doctorate degree. He was furious when I started my own practice. He hates competition. I’m still under water on my student loans, I owe a good amount for supplies and renovating my clinic... I’ve only been running my own practice for four years! If you need help with that math, I’m nowhere near financially stable enough to ride this out.”
Plus, there was the baby, which complicated everything further. She’d been wondering how she’d run a veterinary practice with a newborn. If her mom were still with them, she’d have a solution, but Mom was gone, and Barrie would have to sort this out on her own. Vets were on call 24/7. That was the way things worked in this field, and she wouldn’t be able to afford to take a decent maternity leave. She ran a hand over her belly and the baby squirmed in response. Emotion rose in her chest, and she swallowed against it.
“What am I supposed to do?” Curtis’s tone softened. “I own the building, but I can’t do a thing unless I sell it. I’m sorry, Barrie. I mean it when I say selling the building isn’t personal. I’ve put off the sale for a year, and there isn’t any other way. I can’t do the circuit anymore, and I have a chance for a fresh start. I either sell and invest in a business, or I’m washed up. It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s you or me,” she said wryly. “Nothing’s changed, has it?”
Curtis took off his cowboy hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “We always did want different things.”
“Yeah.” The baby poked out a foot—maybe a hand? She put her own hand over the spot. Would she be forced to give up her dream of running her own practice and work under Palmer Berton again? The very thought put a sour taste in her mouth.
“Barrie, I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.” She shot him a chilly smile. “But let’s keep things professional. I’m here as your vet, not as your ex-wife. If you notice any more cattle with hanging heads, lethargy or nasal discharge, call me and we’ll treat them right away. We can get this under control if we’re careful.”
Curtis blinked, then nodded. Had he expected her not to be professional? He’d been gone a long time, and life hadn’t just stopped in his absence. He might have wasted his time on the circuit, but she’d made good use of hers. Ironically, he could still pulverize her plans—that had been Curtis’s greatest talent.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out and give you a call. Unless you’d rather we call Palmer so you don’t have to deal with me.”
And give Palmer the job? No, she didn’t want that