Along Came a Cowboy (4 page)

“Ron sent a notebook by this afternoon, but I didn't really have time to look at it much between patients. Sorry.”

“No problem. Jack, why don't you fill Dr. Donovan in on what we've done so far?”

I smile. “Alma, since we're temporarily working together, why don't you and Jack just call me Rachel?” A lot of my patients call me by my first name, but even though Alma has been my parents' closest neighbor for as long as I can remember, she's been calling me Dr. Donovan ever since I moved back to Shady Grove and opened my practice. I think she started that because she's proud of me, but for whatever the reason, I've let her. Certainly not because I'm hung up on the status of being a
doctor. But considering I left this town and my parents' house rather suddenly as a teenager, I figure I need all the help I can get in the respect department.

Jack smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Okay, then. . .
Rachel
.”

On his lips, my name sounds like an endearment. I have a feeling a talent like that takes practice.

Lots of practice.

“Oh, thank you. That's really nice of you, Dr.—” Alma cuts her sentence off with a grimace. “Rachel. You don't know how much it means—you steppin' in for Ron.” Suddenly she stands. “Speaking of Ron, I'm going to call and check on him. Just to see what he found out. I'm sure we all want to know.”

I narrow my eyes. It didn't take long for her to get back into matchmaking mode, did it?

“Actually, why don't I go call—” I start to stand, but Alma's expression falls, and Jack shakes his head almost imperceptibly. I have no idea what's going on, but I sit back down. “Or maybe you should go ahead?”

Alma grabs her phone and walks outside. Daniel had just instituted an ironclad rule about using cell phones inside. He got tired of having the shop's tranquil atmosphere being disrupted by loud ringtones and one-sided conversations, so he put up a few tasteful signs, and for the most part, people are appreciative of the new peacefulness.

“Thanks,” Jack says as soon as his mother is gone.

“For what?”

Before he can answer, a blond wearing a Coffee Central apron approaches. We both look up at her, and she smiles at Jack then ever so slowly sets the latte on the table.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

She nods but keeps her eyes on Jack as she turns to walk away. And bumps squarely into a customer in a business suit,
sloshing his coffee down the front of his jacket.

As she hastens to clean up the mess, I glance back at Jack, who ducks his head.

“Another occupational hazard?” I say wryly, remembering what he said about being familiar with X-rays.

He shrugs. “Some people want to romanticize the cowboy life.”

The woman's reaction had nothing to do with “the cowboy life” and everything to do with his good looks, but I'm not about to point that out, so I drop it. “What did you thank me for earlier when your mom left?”

To his credit, he keeps his attention on me. “For letting her make the call.” He leans forward, and I can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes. “She has a real soft spot for Ron.”

I raise my eyebrows, remembering Ron's exasperation about working with Alma. “Does he know it?”

Jack laughs. “I don't think so. But I have a feeling he will. I've not seen her really interested in anyone since my dad died.”

Mr. Westwood passed on while I was still in Georgia, I'm pretty sure. “How long ago was that?”

“Ten years.”

“Wow. Only a decade? I hope she's not rushing things.”

He grins. “She's like me. We wait for what we want.”

Funny. I would have taken him for more of a charge-in-and-take-it kind of guy.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “You don't see me that way?”

Okay, if he's going to read minds, I'm going to have to stop thinking.

“So tell me about the rodeo. How much is still left to do?”

“Not a lot. My company handles pretty much everything. We provide the stock, the announcer, and all the hands to actually work the rodeo. The town just needs to be sure that
the liability insurance is paid up and stay out of the way.”

I remember Ron's list and frown. “Surely there are things we can do to make it less dangerous.”

He laughs. “I was kidding. The audience isn't in any danger. Those fences may look flimsy, but these guys are professionals. They know better than to let the bulls run amok.”

“What about the bull
riders
?”

“The riders? You want to make it safer for the bull riders?” He takes a sip of his coffee.

Why does he have to make that sound like such a stupid idea? “Nothing big. Just a thicker padded vest and maybe require a helmet.”

He snorts. “Require helmets?” he finally chokes out.

I ignore his dramatics and shrug. “It seems like I remember seeing guys wearing those when I was a kid.”

“Anybody that wants to wears them. Especially the younger guys.”

“Then why can't everyone?”

“Why not just make them wear suits of armor? You can't require thicker vests and helmets.”

“It would be a lot safer. The town could pick up the tab. Or maybe my office could sponsor that part. What do you think the cost would be?”

“Cost?” He frowns.

“Is that something you could find out?”

“I could if I wanted to, but I don't want to.”

“Why not? All we'd have to do is make wearing safety equipment a requirement to enter. And if we provided the helmets—”

“You know what? You can choose what you want to sell in the concession stand, but why don't you let me handle the rodeo?”

I open my eyes wide. “Sounds like a little bit of nepotism. Your mama is on the committee, so you get to produce the rodeo. . .”

“ ‘Get to?' I ‘get to' produce the rodeo?” His brown eyes darken. “The committee took bids.” He draws a deep breath. “Sealed bids.”

“I see. Still sounds like a conflict of interest to me with your mother on the committee.”

“I got the bid because I cut the town a deal. After all, it's my hometown.”

“Such a good deal that you just decide things willy-nilly?” I can't believe it. I've never used the term
willy-nilly
in my life. This man makes me crazy. “You don't have to answer to the committee?”

He pushes to his feet. “I do. And I'm glad to. But last time I checked, that committee consisted of Ron Kingsley and my mother.”

I stand. “Well, for now I'm filling in for Ron.”

He gathers up his folder and gives me a hard look. “Mighty nice of you, but I'll just make my report at the next meeting. When Ron is back.” He nods toward me. “I'm sorry if I offended you, Dr. Donovan.” His words are clipped.

“Not a problem, Mr. Westwood.”

“Ron's in the hospital.”

I spin around to see Alma looking ten years older than she did when she went out to call.

Jack quickly crosses over to stand beside her.

“What's going on with Ron?” I ask quietly.

“It's definitely a spider bite. Brown recluse. But he let it go too long.” She puts her hand to her chest. “They've tried lancing his knee, but the infection is too deep. He's got to be on IV antibiotics, and if he's not better right away, he'll have to have surgery.”

“Oh no,” I murmur.

“He sounded tired. And a little worried,” she says, her own voice full of concern. “I'm sorry about the committee meeting, but I'm going to run to Batesville right now and see if there's anything I can do for him.”

“I'll take you,” Jack says.

“I have my car.” She takes a few steps then turns back. “Oh, and Dr.— Rachel. . .Ron said to tell you something.”

“What?”

“He feels so much better knowing you've taken his place on the committee.” She hurries away.

J
ack and I stand in silence for a second after his mother's parting comment; then he gives me a wry grin. “I guess we'll have to figure out a way to work together, huh?”

For some reason, his easygoing attitude irritates me. “We'll have to figure something out all right.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “You might as well give it up, Rachel Donovan. I have a contract. I think you're stuck with me.”

“We'll see.”

From behind me, a throat clears. Allie, Lark, and Victoria are standing there looking at Jack expectantly. Waiting for an introduction. And an explanation for what I'm doing at Coffee Central at the time of our monthly Pinky get-together with an excruciatingly handsome cowboy, I'm sure.

I oblige. With the introductions anyway. The explanation can wait. “I'll see you at the next meeting if Ron's not out by then,” I say pointedly.

“I'll pass that info along,” he drawls and nods to my friends before he disappears into the night. I'll say this for him, he can take a hint.

Which is more than I can say for Victoria. We order our drinks, and she still won't let the subject of Jack drop. When I finally explain the situation, she gapes at me. “You'll be spending a lot of time with that gorgeous man.”

“You did get that he's the boy next door? The man I've spent months avoiding, right? Not to mention that he's a cowboy.”

“Maybe it's time you moved past that particular prejudice,” Lark says. Just to get her to shut up, I tell them about the rodeo disagreement I had with Jack. But when I reach the part about extra protective gear for the bull riders, they all laugh. Lark and Allie rather hysterically. But even Victoria is holding her sides.

“You actually suggested helmets be required for all the riders?” Lark says, wiping tears away. “Oh, Rachel. Thanks. I needed this laugh so badly.”

I shrug. “Why wouldn't they want to be as safe as possible?”

“Maybe because that would defeat the whole purpose of riding the bull?” Allie takes a sip of her latte. “Don't you know those guys are all about the danger? They live for the action, the thrill of staying on the crazy bull for eight seconds.”

“Well, Jack's in for a surprise then. I've seen too many spinal injuries because of unnecessary recklessness. So, as of today, I'm all about safety.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Lark says with a grin.

I shake my head. “Don't even go there. I may have no choice but to get along with him until Ron's back on his feet, but that's the end of my association with him.”

“You're a true-blue Shady Grove citizen, Rach,” Victoria drawls. “Working with that man must be a real sacrifice.”

I run my finger around the rim of my latte mug. “Just because he's cute. . .”

Victoria winks. “Shugah, that's like saying the Grand Canyon dips down a bit.”

“I know you don't want to be around Jack, but he seems really nice,” Allie offers.

She's right. But it's imperative that I keep reality in focus. “He has a way with women, but I don't know how much is cowboy manners and how much is really him.”

“Only time will tell,” Lark says. “And since you're on the committee, you'll have plenty of time together to find out.”

I clear my throat and look for a subject change. “So Allie, where's Daniel tonight?”

She blushes. “He's watching the kids.”

“Well, aren't you just an old married couple?” I ask. “Did we miss the wedding?”

“Yeah, you promised we could be bridesmaids.” Victoria fakes a whine.

“Now that you mention it”—Allie's eyes twinkle—“we have set the date. Assuming y'all can make it, we're going to have a small wedding in about a month—the last Saturday in June.”

When the squeals die down and everyone is still chattering, I look around the table at my friends. Lark, happily married to her plumber prince charming. All they need is a little prince or princess to complete the picture. And Allie, already a doting mom to two daughters, now a beaming bride-to-be. Victoria, wealthy and confident, seemingly satisfied to raise her son, Dylan, alone and with plenty of resources to make it easier. And me. I have my dogs and my small house in town. Do I want more? Some days I'm fine with the life God has blessed me with. Then there are days like today when I dread going home to the empty—well, empty if you don't count four-footed creatures—house.

“Rach, sweetie, you okay?” Victoria's voice breaks through my reverie.

I look up to see them all watching me. I smile. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

Victoria frowns at my hands. “I know you think it's poison and we shouldn't use it, but is that any reason to mutilate that poor sugar packet?”

I drop the pieces of paper left in my hand and dust the white granules toward the middle of the table. “Sorry.”

Lark puts her hand to her mouth. “I forgot what day it is. And me going on and on this morning about. . .”

So it begins.