Heavy-eyed, I finally dragged myself out of bed and let the Underbelly Gang into the house yard to run around and empty while I showered, dressed and cooked breakfast. Well, that’s if you consider a slice of honey-smeared toast and a cup of instant coffee a cooked breakfast. It was mornings like this I wished my seven foot biker buddy, Scuzz, was still around. Or should I say the breakfast of bacon, eggs, tomato and sausages he cooked for me while he was my bodyguard, back when Tireman Pete was out to get me. It even crossed my mind to send Scuzz a text message to ask him if he was available for bodyguard duties again. I could imagine the expression on Purple Pants’ face if he ever came up against seven feet of hard wired biker—he’d take one look and run screaming to his mamma.
But what about Ben? If Scuzz arrived back in my life, complete with dancing tattoos, rock hard body, soft lips and lovingly polished Harley Davidson, I’d be inviting trouble. As much as the two men in my life had finally become mates, it was a cautious friendship that blossomed only through distance. Perhaps, this time, I’d manage without the help of my biker buddy.
After calling the dogs inside and threatening to confiscate their toys if I heard one more rude word between them, I set out bowls of kibble, supervised who ate where and filled the water bucket in the laundry before heading for the kennel house.
As usual, Jake, my dude helper and I, had a busy morning planned. Youngsters to trial at a nearby breaking-in track, the four racers from yesterday to check and treat with the ultrasonic machine, plus normal training duties. So it was late morning before I finally slipped a lead over Stanley’s head, conned him to jump in the car and drove to the Two Wells Veterinary Clinic.
Poor Stanley. It was as though he knew where we were heading. His head anxiously swung back and forth, eyes checking out every building we passed. No matter how I sugar-coated his coming ordeal he wasn’t having a bar of it.
The waiting room at the clinic was empty, not even Val, the receptionist, was around, so I left Stanley in the car and went for a snoop around the back. And that’s where I found Dr. Terry Blackburn, our beloved local vet, in a small paddock adjoining his surgery. He was kneeling on the ground, both sleeves of his stained white coat rolled past his elbows, unmentionable brown stuff covering one bare arm and the other shoulder deep inside a cow’s
whatsit
.
Yuck!
“What are you doing?”
“Hi, Kat,” Terry said, his hundred megawatt smile making me reach for my sunglasses while the sight of him stuffing intestines back into an indisposed cow had my stomach threatening to hurl. “You’ve caught me in the middle of attempting to restore all Bessie’s bits and bobs. Poor girl aborted her calf.”
My face must have gone white. Or perhaps Terry didn’t want me fainting and distracting him from his job. He flicked his head in the direction of a bale of hay set up to keep the wind from his patient. “Why don’t you sit over there and tell me what you’ve been up to?”
I cringed. The tiny lifeless form of a premature baby calf lay slumped against the hay bale.
“Terry,” I said, striving to keep the horror out of my voice. “Can you
really
fit all that stuff back inside? There’s so much of it. Aren’t you afraid you’ll forget to put an important bit back in? “
From his unenviable position at ground level, getting an eyeful of the cow’s interior, he let out a loud guffaw. “Not really. Even as a kid I was pretty good at jigsaw puzzles.”
I watched him strain every muscle to reach further inside the cow’s
whatsit
. And just when I was contemplating leaning forward to grab the man’s legs before he disappeared completely—never to be seen again—Dr. Terry Blackburn rocked backwards and his right arm slipped out of the cow with a resounding slurp.
For a moment he sat back on his heels and surveyed the mile and a half of intestines still decorating the ground. Finally, looking up, he graced me with another of his beatific smiles.
“Kat…darling. I really need you to give me a hand here.”
My mouth shot open in the proverbial fly-catching position. Who me? Help with
that
? I grabbed a quick breath, took an instinctive step back and stared bug-eyed at the slimy entrails hanging from the back of the cow. “Umm…well, I’m only here to drop Stanley off…”
“Pretty please?” Terry linked his latex gloved fingers together in a begging position. “My assistant is in surgery repairing a broken hock on a Doberman and Val, our receptionist, is having a tooth filled at the dentist.” He fluttered his eyelashes. They were long and thick and if they were mine I guess I’d use them for seduction too. “I’ll shout you a king-sized T-bone at the new Steak-House that opened in Virginia last month.”
“I-I’m not really into steak.” Especially with cow’s intestines spread out like alien slime at my feet.
“Come on, Kat…without your help Bessie could die.”
“That’s blackmail, Terry, and you know it.”
“All’s fair in love and saving my patient.”
I glanced down at my white jeans and pale green tank top. Clothes I’d donned to meet Tanya at the Mall, where we planned to discuss ‘Plan A’ during her lunch break. Paul Simmons, Tanya’s once-again-smitten, policeman boyfriend had reluctantly given her the address of Purple Pants—known on his car registration papers as Jack Lantana. Paul warned us to keep our noses out and leave it to him to follow through, but we knew there was little he could do—Jack Lantana didn’t actually
have
any of my dogs in his possession—hence the need for Plan A. We figured a little nosing around on Jack’s property, preferably when he wasn’t there, might unearth some answers to my baffling question: Why did he want to steal my dogs?
“Kat?”
I quickly shoved the Jack Lantana problem to one side for later so I could stare down at my current dilemma. And shudder. Yep. It was still there in all its Technicolor glory. The cow—the blood and guts—and the dirt.
There was no way out, so I let out a sigh and hoisted the white flag. “I know I’m going to regret this Terry, but what do you want me to do?”
“Good girl. Now, don’t worry about your clothes, there’s a white coat on the front seat of my four-wheel drive. Put that on then refill this metal bucket with hot water. And if you grab a clean cake of soap from the second drawer in the cupboard just inside the surgery door, I’ll love you forever and name my first child after you.”
I grinned at his effusiveness. Couldn’t help it. Terry Blackburn was one of those rare guys you couldn’t take offense with. “Talking of love…and children,” I purred. “How’s that gorgeous fiancé of yours? Either of you decided on a day to tie the knot yet or are you aiming for a mention in the World Guinness book of Records as the couple with the longest engagement?”
“What’s this, Kat? Trying to marry me off?” His smile broadened. “And here I was thinking you wanted me for yourself.” On his knees, he shifted position and I couldn’t help admiring his fit thighs. Evidently veterinary work was as good for the body as an active membership at the local gym. “Although I heard you finally collared that arrogant so and so, Ben Taylor.”
I quickly took my eyes away from forbidden territory and matched his grin. “Yep. You heard right. Ben and I are now an item.”
“Hmm… Ben always did have good taste. Only ever played with the pretty ones.”
“Played with the pretty ones—and settled for me.”
Terry nodded then turned away but not before I saw the smile slide off his face. Was he trying to warn me off Ben? I stared at the tension across his back as he ran a hand over Bessie’s rump. No, I was reading things into the conversation that weren’t there. Okay, until recently Ben had worn a new girl on his arm every week but since we’d been together he was definitely monogamous. Or was he? I shook my head. Thought back to yesterday when we’d laughed and cuddled as we poured over the illustrations in the
Kama Sutra
. Of course he was. Not only were we lovers we were also good mates.
Plus I’d kill him if he so much as glanced at another woman.
Too happy with our new relationship to let any rain clouds darken my sky, I dropped my tote bag on the bale of hay and straightened my top. “Don’t worry, Terry, that’s all in the past. Now, I’ll go get that hot water for you.”
A few minutes later, swamped by a white coat three sizes too big, I staggered through the paddock gate, a bucket of hot water in one hand and a bar of soap in the other.
Terry, deep inside the cow again, glanced up as I placed the bucket beside him. “Thanks Kat, now toss me the beer bottle from inside my bag.”
“You’re taking time out for a beer? What about Bessie?”
The twinkle in Terry’s eyes could have lit up the sky on a moonless night. “Not that I’d say no to a nice cold beer, darlin’, but the bottle in my bag is empty.”
I frowned as I unearthed the bottle and brandished it in the air. “Now what?”
“Wash it thoroughly, using plenty of soap. What’s going on here is I’m having trouble reaching far enough inside the cow and sometimes a bottle gives me that extra reach. Always worth a try.”
And here was I believing science had zinged into the twenty first century with a burst of fanfare and musical commercials on television.
By the time Terry had returned everything to its rightful place and followed this procedure with a liberal dose of antibiotic powder, I felt like I knew the insides of a cow rather intimately. Especially after he persuaded me to insert my arm in the narrow passage and hold the bottle in place while he raced inside the surgery for a syringe and follow-up antibiotic injection.
What poor Bessie must have been going through during all this pain and indignity, I could only imagine. Or on second thoughts—holy catfish—no, I couldn’t.
After binning our coats in a laundry chute, we scrubbed up in the little bathroom set off from the surgery.
“Thanks, Kat. You’re a star.” Terry gave me a breath-robbing bear hug. A breath-robbing
brotherly
bear hug. “And remember, if you’re ever looking for a new job, there’s always one here with me.”
“Hmmm…I might give that opportunity a miss.” I gave an exaggerated shudder. “After today’s experience I don’t think I’ll
ever
eat tripe or brains or even spaghetti again.”
Big and cuddly and constantly smiling, Dr. Terry Blackburn had the heart of a marshmallow and I often wondered how he’d ever decided on the career of a veterinarian. Losing animals he vowed to save was always a major disaster for him. In fact, if it wasn’t for Terry, the Greyhound Adoption Program would have been in financial trouble. As the GAP’s official vet, Terry gave his services to the program for the cost of medications only, claiming it was his contribution to the recycling of greyhounds from racing dogs to lounge-lizards.
After transferring a nervous Stanley from the car to an empty kennel in the animal hospital, I popped my head into the surgery to take my leave. Terry was at his desk entering Bessie’s details into the computer.
“Okay if I pick Stanley up in the morning?” I asked, refusing to let the dismal howls of protest emerging from behind the closed door of the hospital affect me.
Terry looked up and nodded.
“Sorry about the noise. I did try to reassure him but I think it might have been the word ‘snip’ that put him off.”
“Snip? No, no, no. Katrina, that’s not a word you use lightly around males.” And then he let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Stanley will be fine. By the way, how’s his sister doing? Stitches okay?”
I could feel my inner
Bombshell Chick
bubbling to the surface again and checked the growl before it tore out of my throat. Not Terry’s fault. All my anger was directed at the sneaky guy in purple pants. “As a matter of fact,” I told him, “Stella’s not okay.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Some weirdo kidnapped her from her kennel, then brought her back a few minutes later and tossed her over my front fence.”
Terry’s face blackened into a thundercloud at my words. He pushed himself up from the computer so quickly, his chair almost toppled over. “He did
what
?”
“Threw Stella over my fence.” I closed my hands into fists until my fingernails dug into the palms. “And the fall tore out three of her stitches.”
“Bastard.” He shook his head, concern etched on his face. “Do you want me to drop in later this afternoon and stitch her up again?”
“You’re a sweetie, but no thanks. I’ve cleaned the wound and she’s now a guest inside my house. Although there was a little friction last night with the introduction of
two
new guests, Uncle Tater and Aunty Lucky have promised to look after Stella.” I made my way to the door but stopped, my fingers embracing the doorknob. “You know what? Tanya and I figure the thief might have grabbed the wrong dog.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, doesn’t it seem weird the guy brought Stella back so quickly and dumped her over the fence like trash?” I tramped back to the desk and leant both hands on the cluttered surface. Mind ticking over like an unexploded bomb. “Maybe, as well as color blind and thinking he looks cool in bright purple pants topped with a Hawaiian shirt, the man’s gender blind too. Maybe he mistook Stella for Lofty.”
“Bit of a stretch.”