Her Sister's Secret Son. Lisette Belisle
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He didn’t apologize, she noted.
“Apology accepted,” Rachel snapped, making a valiant effort to contain her temper. Her head was beginning to ache from the effort. “I don’t have to explain Dylan’s existence to you or anyone else.”
At the wounded tone of her voice, Jared could feel his indifference slipping. He’d insulted her, he’d infuriated her without even trying. Before the situation deteriorated further, he decided to take control.
“Jessie must be waiting,” he said, taking the upper hand. After all, he was a vet, trained to deal with emergencies—the four-legged kind. Women, he’d discovered, were an entirely different species.
Jared opened the door to the examining room and motioned Rachel inside first. She stepped past him then stopped at the sight of some caged ferrets. The antiseptic smell mixed with the odor of animals was familiar to Jared. His lips twitched when Rachel wrinkled her delicate nose.
“Don’t you like ferrets?” he asked, pointing to the playful spine-coiled creatures.
Rachel, on the other hand, had a steel spine. “Not caged ones. Are they yours?”
“We’re boarding them for the owners.” Jared smiled at her nephew. “Hi, Dylan.”
Dylan didn’t waste any more time on pleasantries. “Do you take care of sick dogs?”
Jared reached for a sterile white lab jacket. “Yes, among other things.”
“Like what?” Dylan quizzed.
“Domestic animals—horses, cows, pigs. Then, there are animals who get sick or injured in the wild.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Dr. Carlisle doesn’t have time for this.”
“That’s quite all right.” Jared folded his arms, amused at her hesitation. Until now, he’d been feeling like the underdog. From her tight-lipped expression, he didn’t think he’d risen very high in her estimation.
Since the trial’s end, he’d tried to get the memory of a woman standing alone in the middle of a dusty road out of his mind. But the image had stuck. And here she was in the flesh. Well, not quite. Her shorts revealed a lot of leg, however. He smiled at the irony of the situation.
Jared was also aware of his sister’s curiosity.
After the first year, the shine hadn’t rubbed off Jessie’s marriage to Ben Harding. While home for the summer, she frequently reminded Jared that he needed to find the right woman, settle down and partake in his share of marital bliss, which he had little or no intention of doing.
If he ever weakened that resolve, and that was a mighty big if, he would never consider a woman like Rachel Hale.
Would he?
“Is this the patient?” Jared eyed the basket on the examining table. Neutering livestock took up more of a country vet’s time than he cared to think about. He was looking forward to a change of pace. And a challenge. Hopefully, Rachel and her nephew would provide both—strictly professional, of course.
Liar.
Jared knew he was lying to himself. Rachel intrigued him, and he was going to get to know her better. He frowned at her red hair, pale skin, and freckles. There was something about her—something innocent. So, who was he trying to convince?
Himself?
No doubt, Rachel was clearly trouble. Maybe he needed a hobby instead of a woman—like lighting firecrackers and watching them go off—hopefully without blowing himself up in the bargain. Jared grinned at the mental image and watched her bristle. He knew she was aware of him. The attraction was mutual.
So much for heeding his father’s sage advice to stay away from “that Hale woman.”
Chapter Three
A muffled sound came from the basket.
Reminded of her reason for being there, Rachel said, “If you could just take the puppies, we’ll be going.”
Jared looked into the round wicker basket. “Puppies?”
He sounded exactly like Dylan, Rachel thought, hiding her amusement. Apparently puppies brought out the kid in grown men as well as children. She stood back and watched as Jared examined a puppy, every move sure and controlled. His hands gently explored the delicate mass of flesh and bone. What had she expected? He was a trained veterinarian after all, which meant he liked animals—perhaps better than humans, she reminded herself.
Rachel cleared her throat. “What kind of breed are they?”
“Do you want a list? Could be collie, maybe setter, or a hound.” He peered into the pup’s eyes and smiled when it blinked and yawned. “They may not have a pedigree, but they are cute.”
Rachel had to agree, but she couldn’t be responsible for them—not if it meant Dylan getting hurt if something went wrong. He’d known too much upheaval in his short life. He’d lost his mother at an early age. And now Drew.
Dylan asked, “Are they going to be okay?”
Jared examined the weakest pup. “This one’s dehydrated. We’ll keep him and try intravenous feeding, but you can take the rest home.” After placing them all back in the basket, he knelt and spoke directly to Dylan. “Without mother’s milk, they don’t have natural immunity, so infection is a risk. Keep them warm. They’ll need a special formula. We can supply that, along with some miniature bottles and soft nipples. They can have puppy food in a couple of weeks, but for now they have to be hand fed on demand.”
Dylan nodded. “Got it.”
While admiring Jared’s way of dealing gently with Dylan, Rachel didn’t appreciate having to be the bad guy and letting the boy down. “I’m sorry, but I never said we were taking them.”
Now both Dylan and Jared turned to frown at her.
Dylan pleaded, “Why can’t we take them home?”
“Because we have a dog.” At her response, she could see storm clouds gathering. “Besides, I have to work.”
“Mary Ellen will help.” Dylan was usually cooperative, but he could be stubborn when it mattered.
“I can’t ask the baby-sitter to dog-sit,” Rachel said, trying to find a logical excuse—one that Dylan would accept.
“She likes dogs,” he argued. “She said so.”
Jared stood. His height didn’t intimidate Rachel—nor did his maleness. She had experience dealing with men, and keeping them at arm’s length. In her current job at the sawmill, she dealt with loggers and truckers. Before that, she’d worked at the Inn, which catered to tourists and rugged outdoorsmen. She’d met all types. Men, in general, didn’t affect her. This one in particular did, however.
Well, she wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her common sense. Was she? No! She was not bringing those puppies home with her—not even one. She’d done her duty, rescued them, brought them to the vet.
No one could ask more of her.
Meanwhile, Jared reeled off a list—as if she’d never raised an objection. “Keep them warm. A hot water bottle should do it. They can be adopted at eight weeks.”
Rachel asked, “How old are they now?”
“Around four weeks—more or less. Is there a problem?”
“What if Dylan gets hopelessly attached?” Rachel knew her response was out of proportion, but some instinct warned her not to get involved. “What if they don’t all make it?”
Jared countered in a reasonable tone, “There’s always a risk, but animals can teach young children about life.”
Life!
What did he know about her life? Dylan was