“I think Princess is in labor. What should I do?” he asked, sounding like an adorably flustered expectant father.
“You’ve already done everything you can to help her,” Brooke reminded him. “She’s comfortable in the whelping box, and she’s got a heat lamp to keep her warm. The rest is up to her.”
“There’s nothing else?”
“Keep me posted,” she said.
After that, she put Princess out of her mind while she dealt with other patients—at least until Patrick called again two hours later.
“Any puppies yet?” Brooke asked him.
“No. And she seems absolutely miserable. I know I’m probably overreacting,” he admitted, “but is there any chance you can come out to check on her?”
“I really can’t,” Brooke said apologetically. “I’ve still got three patients in the waiting room. But if you’re concerned, you can bring her into the clinic.”
He was there in less than thirty minutes.
“You must have left the ranch as soon as I hung up the phone,” Brooke remarked, as she entered the exam room where he waited with Princess.
“Pretty much,” he agreed.
She gently stroked the dog’s swollen belly. “How are you doing, Princess?”
The dog looked at her with pleading eyes, a low whine sounding deep in her throat.
“You’re having a rough go of it, are you?” She kept her hands in place as the animal’s belly tightened with a contraction. “Yeah, I’ve been there,” she murmured soothingly. “Giving birth can be a scary process, but you’re not alone.”
Princess’s tail thumped against the table, making Brooke smile.
Then she saw the bloody discharge.
* * *
Patrick paced the waiting room, waiting and hating every minute of it. When Brooke had told him that a cesarean would give her the best chance to save Princess and her pups, he’d immediately consented to the surgery. But now that he was on the other side of the wall, her words echoing in his head, he was forced to accept that “best chance” meant there was still a chance the dog could lose her pups—and that he could lose Princess.
He hadn’t chosen the dog, but she’d apparently chosen him. In the beginning she might only have been looking for a warm, dry place to sleep, but over the past several weeks she’d been his constant companion. Except when Brendan was at the Silver Star—then Princess readily abandoned Patrick in favor of the boy’s attention and affection.
He didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed watching them together. There was something both simple and sweet about the bond between the child and the dog. And if he was being completely honest, Princess wasn’t the only one who looked forward to Brendan’s visits to the ranch. Patrick was growing attached to the boy, too.
And Brendan’s mother, who was scrubbing up to perform emergency surgery on Princess, bringing Patrick’s thoughts full circle again. Weary and worried, he dropped into one of the hard plastic chairs just as the bell chimed over the door.
“Hey, Mr. Patrick!” Brendan said, as he crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Gramma dropped me off ’cause she had to go to a ’pointment and Mom said we could get pizza for dinner when she’s done work,” he explained. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mom’s helping Princess have her babies.”
“Cool.” Brendan sat down beside him. “Have you been waiting very long?”
Forever.
Patrick glanced at his watch. “Half an hour.”
“A lot of people think that it’s easy for animals to have babies,” Brendan said, perhaps trying to reassure him. “But sometimes they need help.”
He nodded.
“And sometimes a mom doesn’t survive having babies,” the boy continued. “And sometimes the babies don’t survive being born. Then there are creatures—like spiders—that actually eat their own babies.” He made a face, then hastened to assure Patrick, “But you don’t have to worry about Princess. Dogs don’t do that.”
“Good to know,” Patrick said, both impressed and a little unnerved by the child’s matter-of-fact accounting of the harsh realities of nature. Because the last thing he wanted to think about right now was the possibility that he might lose Princess or any of her pups.
And what if it was his fault?
What if he’d waited too long to bring Princess to the clinic?
“Do you wanna play cards while we’re waiting?” Brendan asked, as if aware that Patrick was in desperate need of a distraction.
“Do you have any cards?” he asked.
“No, but Larissa keeps some in her desk,” Brendan said, heading to the counter to talk to the receptionist.
Sure enough, he returned a few minutes later with a deck of cards in hand.
“Crazy Eights or Go Fish?” he asked.
“Crazy Eights,” Patrick decided. “But you’ll have to remind me how it’s played.”
It turned out the kid was pretty good at Crazy Eights. In fact, Brendan won five straight games.
“You suck at this,” he said. “Maybe we should try Go Fish.”
But Patrick sucked at that, too, and Brendan won several rounds before he gathered the cards up and stuffed them back in the box.
“Are you worried about Princess?” the boy asked.
“A little,” he admitted.
“You don’t have to worry. My mom will take real good care of her.”
Then Brendan put his hand on Patrick’s, as if to offer comfort.
And looking at the child’s small fingers curled around his much larger hand, he was comforted—and grateful not to be alone.
* * *
To Brooke, there was no greater joy than the miracle of new life. Whether it was the hatching of an egg, the foaling of a horse or the birth of a human baby. Each and every time, it was beautiful and amazing. Sure, it could be messy and complicated, but in the end, when there was new life, it was all worthwhile.
Today, it had been very worthwhile.
Stripping off her gloves and gown, she went out to the waiting area to share the good news.
Brendan saw her first and immediately bounced up from his chair and raced over. “Did you help Princess have her puppies? Can I see them?”
“Let me talk to Mr. Patrick first,” she said, as the rancher rose slowly from his chair, worry etched in the tiny lines beside his eyes and in the set of his jaw. “Princess is his dog.”
Of course, Brendan stayed right by her side, determined to hear all the details.
“Congratulations,” she said to the rancher and watched the weight of worry visibly lift from his shoulders.
“They made it?”
She nodded, smiling. “They made it. Three boys and three girls.”
“How’s Princess?”
“Right now she’s still a little groggy from the sedation, but she’s already showing an interest in her babies. I’d suggest giving her another half hour before you take them home.”
“Take them home?” he echoed, sounding panicked. “Wouldn’t it be better if they stayed here?”
She chuckled softly. “No, it would be better for mom, and her babies, to be in familiar surroundings.”
“But—I don’t have the first clue what to do with them.”
“I could help,” Brendan was quick to offer. “I know a lot about puppies.”
“You’re hired,” Patrick immediately replied.
“Except that child labor laws—and this mom—prohibit working on school nights,” Brooke said.
Brendan pouted. “But I wanna see the puppies.”
“You can go back and see the puppies in a few minutes,” she promised.
“I really don’t know what to do with them when I get them home,” Patrick said to Brooke.
“Just put them in the whelping box and make sure Pri
ncess has access to food and water. She’ll take care of her puppies.”
He did as Brooke had instructed, and then he stood there for a long while, watching them and feeling helpless. The puppies were so tiny and Princess so wiped out from the unsuccessful labor followed by the surgery that he didn’t want to leave them alone in the barn overnight. Thankfully there was a cot in the tack room.
But the next morning, he wasn’t feeling so thankful.
Because while the narrow bed might have been okay for a short nap—or a short child—it wasn’t built for the overnight comfort of a full-grown man. After six hours on that narrow bed, Patrick didn’t feel any more rested than when he’d first lain down on it, and his bones creaked and groaned in protest when he stood up.
He made a quick trip to the house to take a hot shower and brush his teeth before returning to the barn. Glancing at the bowl of dog food, he thought Princess might have eaten a few bites. He was sure she’d at least drunk some of the water.
The puppies were clearly hungry now, too, rooting around in search of their breakfast. Though their eyes were still closed, they didn’t seem to have any difficulty finding the source of their sustenance, and they suckled hungrily. Patrick winced in sympathy with Princess as the tiny mouths tugged and pulled on their mother’s nipples, though she didn’t seem at all bothered by their feeding.
Clearly Brooke had been right—the new mama had everything under control and would have been just fine if he’d spent the night in his own bed.
Never again, he promised his aching muscles.
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until an amused female voice asked, “Never again what?”
“Never again am I pretending to sleep on that cot,” he admitted to Brooke.
“You spent the night out here,” she said.
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway.
“Maybe this will help.”
She handed him a foil-wrapped—
“Breakfast burrito.”
“What did I do to deserve this?” he wondered, eagerly unwrapping it.
“You spent the night pretending to sleep on a cot so that you could keep an eye on your dog and her babies.”
“She’s not—” He sighed. “Damn, she is my dog, isn’t she?”
“Without a doubt,” Brooke said.
He bit into the burrito. “Mmm,” he said, around a mouthful of egg and cheese. And then, “But how did you guess I’d spend the night out here?”
“I’m a vet, and I know things.” She smiled then. “I also remembered Melissa mentioning that she’d be away at a culinary expo this week, so I guessed you wouldn’t get a hot breakfast and probably wouldn’t leave Princess long enough to even pour a bowl of cereal.”
“I would have. Eventually,” he said. “But this is better.”
“Breakfast burritos are a favorite of Brendan’s, so I made one for him and one for you, and that gave me an excuse to come out and take another peek at the puppies.”
“Just the puppies?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t think it would be so bad to see you, too.”
He popped the last bite into his mouth. “Did I tell you how amazing you were yesterday?”
“I’m flattered you think so,” she said.
“You saved Princess and her puppies.”
“I only did what any vet would have done.”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But I’ve never known another vet to make competent performance of duties look so sexy.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told scrubs are a good look for me,” she said dryly.
“You look good in anything,” he assured her. Then he winked. “And even better in nothing.”
“That’s my cue to head out,” she decided.
“Busy day today?”
“Always.”
“Well, thank you again for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.” She lifted a hand to his cheek, rubbed her palm against the raspy stubble, then dropped her arm and stepped back. “You should try and get some sleep.”
He caught her wrist and drew her close again, dipping his head to touch his mouth to hers. “I’d go to bed right now if you’d go with me.”
She shook her head. “You know I can’t.”
“But are you at least a little bit tempted?”
“More than a little,” she admitted.
“It’s not much of a consolation, but I’ll take it,” he said.
And he took another kiss for good measure, too.
* * *
Brooke continued on her way to Rolling Meadows, but instead of thinking of the day ahead, she found herself thinking about Patrick. And not just the kiss—though her lips were still tingling from the brief but potent brush of his lips—but his obvious attachment to the dog he’d foolishly tried to deny was his. This even after he’d paced the floor of the reception area while Princess was in surgery, paid the bill for the procedure and stayed up with her through the night to look after her while she looked after her babies.
For all his claims about not being ready to be a father, he had impressive paternal instincts. And though she knew it was crazy, she couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the canine mom.
When she’d given birth to Brendan, she hadn’t had a partner to share the joy and excitement of the moment. Yes, she’d been fortunate to have her mother as her birthing coach and her father in the waiting room. But it wasn’t the same as having a partner to share all the exciting and terrifying moments along the way.
And though she’d told herself she didn’t need a man to hold her hand, there were times when it would have been nice not to be alone. Such as when she’d heard her baby’s heartbeat for the first time; when she’d seen the grainy image on the ultrasound monitor; when she’d felt him move inside her the first time, a gentle flutter, or, five months later, an impatient kick. And especially when her water broke in the middle of the night.
She sometimes wondered what it would be like to share those special moments with someone—and the wondering inevitably led to yearning. Not just because she really did hope to give Brendan a brother or sister someday, but because she wanted a partner to share all the trials and triumphs of parenthood and of life, someone to grow old with, someone she could always count on.
But Patrick wasn’t that person. Just because he was doting on his dog and half a dozen adorable puppies didn’t mean he was ready to make a personal commitment. And based on what he’d told her about his parents’ relationship, she could understand why he wasn’t looking for a happily-ever-after.
Still, it made her sad that he didn’t believe happy endings were possible. And it made her wonder if anything—or anyone—might ever be able to change his mind.
Chapter Fifteen
“Something smells good,” Patrick said, sniffing the air as he walked into the kitchen the day after Melissa’s return.
“It’s Grandma Stafford’s chili recipe,” she said. “With an extra dash of Tabasco and a few chili peppers.”
“When can we eat? I’m starving.”
“You wouldn’t be starving if you’d come in for lunch,” she pointed out.
“I was out with Dean, marking the riding trails.”
“Well, I’m starving, too,” she confided. “So have a seat and I’ll dish this up.”
He sat, and she served him a bowl of piping hot chili topped with shredded cheese and a sprinkling of green onions.
He dug into the meal with enthusiasm.
“This is really good,” he told her. “A little spicy, but good.”
“I can dial back the heat for your guests, if you think it’s too much.”
He nodded. “I have to admit, when I saw the menu from your restaurant in Seattle, I was a little worried that you were going to make stuff with edible flowers and fancy sauces that weekend
cowboys weren’t going to want to eat.”
“I can do edible flowers and fancy sauces, but I understand comfort food, too,” she assured him.
“I’m convinced,” he said, dipping his spoon into his bowl again.
And though Melissa had claimed she was starving only a few minutes earlier, she abruptly pushed her bowl away and reached for her water.
As she lifted the glass to her lips, Patrick noticed that her hand wasn’t quite steady and her face was suddenly pale.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
She sipped her water, then nodded as she set the glass down again.
“Are you sure? You look—”
She shoved her stool away from the island and bolted to the bathroom. Only a few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable sound of retching.
He pushed his own bowl away with the fleeting thought that he might have to reconsider their professional association if she’d given him food poisoning. But his speculation was quickly supplanted by concern for his cousin. Should he take her a glass of water? Get her a cool cloth for her face?
He was still debating whether to give her privacy or offer assistance when he heard the toilet flush, then the tap run. A moment later, she returned to the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” she said, sounding both embarrassed and remorseful. “I didn’t mean to put a damper on your appetite.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll make a sandwich,” he said, though his appetite had definitely been dampened.
“There’s nothing wrong with the chili,” she insisted indignantly.
He lifted his brows. “Then why were you puking your guts out?”
“Because apparently my morning sickness prefers to make an appearance during the latter part of the day.”
* * *
Patrick stared at her, as if he didn’t quite understand what Melissa was saying. Apparently some people couldn’t even recognize a sign when they were hit over the head with it—a thought that might have made her smile at another time. But she didn’t feel much like smiling now.
A Chance for the Rancher Page 17