Second-Chance Cowboy. Carolyne Aarsen
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clinic and saw Tabitha’s truck parked out front.
When Dr. Waters gave him the key to the clinic yesterday, he had planned to come early. Though Dr. Waters had assured him that Tabitha, Cass and Jenny mostly manned the front desk and took care of dispensing, Morgan preferred to know where everything was himself.
He had also planned to establish his territory, so to speak, before Tabitha came in. Make the clinic his.
And now here she was already.
He sighed, sent up another prayer and headed to the back door. It was locked, so he used the key Dr. Waters had given him. He stepped inside the large open room where they worked on horses and cows. It smelled like disinfectant, and though the metal dividers for the various pens were rusted, he could see they were clean.
The rubber floor matting was also hosed down, water still trickling into the floor drain.
His footsteps echoed in the large empty space as he made his way down the concrete hallway and then through another door into the clinic proper.
He paused in the hallway, getting his bearings, then heard humming coming from one of the rooms farther down.
Tabitha, he guessed, feeling an unwelcome tightening in his chest.
He was surprised at the flicker of annoyance her obvious good mood created. Clearly she was in a good place in her life. Why that bothered him he didn’t want to analyze.
She was the one who walked away from you, he reminded himself. Of course she wouldn’t pine after me.
Like you are for her?
Not likely. She had taught him a hard lesson. He had to take care of himself and those who belonged to him.
Like Nathan.
The thought of his son was a good reminder of where his priorities now lay. And sending up another prayer for strength, he strode down the hallway.
Tabitha was working in the supply room, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the early-morning sun from the window behind it creating a halo of light around her head. She was making notes on a clipboard, her lips pursed, her forehead wrinkled in a frown.
He wanted to make a joke but found himself momentarily tongue-tied, which, in turn, created a low-level frustration. Even after all these years and after all his tough self-talk, why did she still have this effect on him?
She turned around and saw him. The humming stopped as her mouth fell open and her hand clutched her chest.
“My goodness. You scared me,” she gasped. “I wasn’t expecting anyone this early.”
“I thought...” His voice faltered and he cleared his throat. “I thought I would come in early. Get myself acquainted with the place.”
“Sure. Of course. I understand.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m doing some inventory.”
“Okay. That’s good.” He wanted to say “carry on,” but that would sound patronizing.
“Would you like me to show you around?” she asked, her gaze flicking from her clipboard to him.
“I guess that would be helpful.”
“I can bring you up to speed on some of the animals we have staying here. Let you know what kind of work we do. In case some of it might be new to you.” She stopped there, flushing.
“Sure.”
She nodded and he waited, an awkward silence falling over them. “Right. I should do that now,” she finally said, dropping her clipboard onto the counter in front of her. It fell and she bent over to pick it up exactly the same time he did. Their heads hit and pain jolted through him.
“Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her head just as he rubbed his.
Morgan sighed as she carefully set the clipboard on the shelf. This was getting more and more awkward. He was about to say something but she was already swishing past him, her lab coat flaring out behind her.
“The treatment rooms are here and here,” she said, pointing left and right, like a flight attendant indicating escape routes, as she scurried down the hall ahead of him. “There’s only two. We should have more but Dr. Waters is thrifty. Supply room you’ve already seen. And here’s where we house the animals we’ve treated.” Tabitha opened the door to the large back room and stepped back.
Morgan frowned as he stepped inside the dark room with its crates stacked one on top of the other.
“Looks kind of depressing.” Morgan couldn’t believe that there wasn’t even a window or a skylight.
And it didn’t smell very good.
“Do the cages get cleaned?” he asked, stopping by one of the crates, which held a Labrador pup with a plastic cone on its head. The puppy was asleep and Morgan reached between the bars and laid his hand on the dog’s stomach. It was not overly warm and breathing properly.
“Of course they do. Every day.”
From the defensive tone of Tabitha’s voice, Morgan guessed she was the one who did the cleaning.
“The building is old and the smell tends to linger,” she continued.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re neglectful.” He looked back at Tabitha, who stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, her chin up, gaze challenging.
“So what’s with this little guy?” he asked, pointing to the Lab.
“Hernia operation. He’s due to go back today.”
“And this one?” He pointed to a cat who lay on its side, one leg extended out in front of it, bandaged.
“Severed tendon on his foreleg. Got on the wrong side of a grain auger. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“How much small-animal work does Dr. Waters do?” Morgan glanced around the rest of the crates but they were all empty.
“Not as much as he’d like. He prefers the small animals to the large ones. I guess that’s why he hired you.”
Morgan nodded, remembering the conversation he and Dr. Waters had had. “And what’s the large-animal patients consist of?”
“It used to be mainly cattle, but with more people moving in and more acreages sprouting up around town and people getting horses, he’s doing more equine. That’s my specialty but he prefers to do that on his own.”
Her comment puzzled him as did the faintly bitter tone in her voice. “What do you mean, your specialty?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just the vet assistant,” she said, with a bright smile as if trying to show him she was making a joke. “We don’t have specialties.”
“But clearly you do,” he said. He found himself suddenly curious. The last he’d heard, she had quit high school. When he found out she was working at the clinic, he had assumed it was only as a general helper.
“I went back to school a few years after I dropped out of high school. Got my high school diploma, then went to college and graduated as a veterinary assistant and equine specialist. I’m not such a dummy.” She flashed a bright smile, but behind it he sensed an air of defensiveness.
“I never said you were,” he returned, holding his hands up.
“Not all of us can get into vet school, but some of us can make something of ourselves.”
Her tone puzzled him and he found himself wanting to ask why she’d quit school.
What he really wanted was to ask her why she’d dumped him so casually.
He pushed that last thought back into the dusty recesses of his mind. Clearly he had to do more work to let go of the past and the hurt Tabitha had caused him.
One step at a time, he told himself.