The Cowboy and the Doctor

by Eve Gaddy

  She hadn’t intended to ask Dylan to dinner. But then, she hadn’t meant to spend all day with him either. One thing led to another, and she had needed his help getting ready to keep Shadow. Feeding him was the least she could do after all he’d done.

  Yes, and it has nothing to do with not wanting the day to end. Nope, not a thing.

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan offered to pick up Shadow and meet Sam at her house after he dropped her off to pick up the car. She tried to give him money for the vet, but he wouldn’t let her pay for that either.

  “My God, you’re stubborn,” she said to Dylan.

  “I have to be. I’m the youngest of five kids.”

  “You really won’t let me pay for the vet?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “I give up.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She didn’t quite slam the door when she got out of his truck at the auto repair shop.

  “Was there a hole in the gas tank?” she asked the mechanic.

  “No. Everything looks good.”

  “Then how did I run out of gas so completely? I swear I filled it up.”

  The mechanic shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything to indicate it was leaking gas.” He rubbed his chin. “Could someone have siphoned off your gas?”

  “Siphoned off my gas? Why would anyone do that?”

  “Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t have any money and needed gas.”

  “Maybe, but it still seems weird. Besides, I don’t know when they’d have done it.” Could that be the answer? What a strange thing to happen.

  She and Dylan arrived at her house at almost the same time, so she didn’t have a chance to tell him about the car immediately. She put Shadow’s new bed in the kitchen by his food and water, thinking she could move the bed from room to room. Shadow sniffed around the room, then, satisfied with whatever he’d smelled, he went to his pillow, turned a couple of circles and settled down with a sigh. Already a little in love with him, Sam sat beside him and petted him, promising him a treat after dinner.

  “So what happened with your car?” Dylan asked.

  Sam stood and went to the sink to wash her hands. “It’s the weirdest thing. The mechanic couldn’t find a gas leak anywhere. He said the car was in good shape. When I told him I’d filled up recently he asked if someone could have siphoned off the gas.”

  “Yeah, I guess that could be it. That happened more often when the price of gas was really high, though.”

  “I know. It seems like such a random thing to happen.”

  “If that’s the case, when would they have done it? Did you have gas when you got to the ranch this morning?”

  “I thought I did, but honestly, I probably didn’t check.”

  “Where have you been since you filled up? Do you know?”

  “Too many places to count. My place, your place, the hospital, the parking lot downtown. I’m sure there are others. I can’t remember all of them.”

  “I guess that’s not much help then. Except that does sound like the most likely explanation.”

  “So I’ll never know when or where it happened.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. Do you want to report it?”

  “Report it to who? The cops? I think they have more important things on their minds than someone stealing a few gallons of gas.” That was that. No point in worrying about something there was no way of tracing.

  “I’m going to start dinner.” Earlier she’d thawed out a lasagna she’d cooked and frozen a few weeks before, during one of her cooking marathons. “I hope you like lasagna,” she said, taking the dish out of the refrigerator and setting it on the stovetop.

  “Love it.”

  Startled, she turned to find Dylan behind her.

  “What can I do?” he asked. “Do you want me to set the table?”

  “Okay, but it’s going to take a little while to heat the lasagna.” She turned the oven on convection to speed up the process, then got out the silverware and handed it to him. “The last time I microwaved lasagna it did not turn out well. Besides, I think the microwave is broken.”

  “I’d offer to see what I could do to fix it,” he said while laying out knives, forks and napkins, “but if mine doesn’t work I just buy a new one.”

  “That would probably be easier than being chained here waiting on a repairman. Unfortunately, this one is built in so it isn’t that easy to replace.”

  Opening the refrigerator again, she pulled out salad fixings. “Would you like a glass of wine? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any beer.”

  “Wine sounds good.”

  Sam handed him the bottle and a corkscrew and got out two wine glasses. While he took care of that, she finished the salad and put it back in the refrigerator. Dylan poured the wine and gave her a glass. Tapping his glass to hers, he said, “To Shadow and his new home with you.”

  After toasting, Sam said, “We could go into the living room while we wait.”

  “We could.” Dylan set down his glass, took hers and set it beside his. Framing her face with his hands, he said, “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you.” And then he kissed her.

  Her lips parted of their own volition. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, coaxing hers to answer. Her mind blanked, but her body responded. Hesitantly at first but then she relaxed and simply enjoyed kissing a man who really knew how to kiss.

  He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Are you this cautious with everyone or is it just me?”

  “Both.”

  He dropped his hands but he didn’t move away. “Why?”

  She answered honestly. “I’m cautious with everyone because of past experience. But with you—” she hesitated then finished “—I have a feeling that if I get involved with you it won’t be something easily forgotten, or something easily walked away from.” And she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for that.

  “I suspect you’re right. Too late, though. We’re already involved.”

  “Are we?”

  Flicking a finger under her chin, he said, “Maybe you aren’t but I sure as hell am.”

  She stared at him, unable to think of how to respond. Was he right? Was it too late because they were both involved already? He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything. He picked up his glass and took a sip, then set it down again. “How about some music?”

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Or disappointment. She couldn’t be sure which one. “Okay. Did you have something in mind?”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I have some music on my phone.”

  She was curious to know what kind of music he liked. Shortly, the mellow sounds of a piano issued from his phone. “That’s beautiful,” Sam said. “Who is it? It sounds classical.”

  “It is, in a way. Some call it new age and some call it contemporary classical. I just call it beautiful. It’s by Yiruma. He’s a South Korean composer.”

  “What’s the name of this song?”

  “‘The River Flows In You’.” He set down the phone and picked up his wine.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you were a classical music buff.” A cowboy classical music aficionado. Interesting.

  He grinned at her over his wine glass. “Because I’m a rancher?”

  “Well, yes. I didn’t mean to stereotype. But you have to admit, country western music would be more common.” But then, Dylan Gallagher was anything but ordinary.

  He shrugged. “I like country. I also like classical, new age, rock, pop, jazz, and rap. And I listen to hip-hop, alternative, salsa, bluegrass and gospel, too, though not as much as the others. I like all kinds of music.”

  “That’s quite a list. You have extremely eclectic tastes. Is there any genre you don’t like?”

  “Probably, but I try to keep an open mind. I have my favorites, though. This is one of them.”

  The music changed to another instrumental piece. “Who is this?”

  “Philip Wesley. �
��Dark Night of the Soul’.”

  “It’s beautiful. Do you know every song on your playlist?”

  “On this one, I do. But I have a lot of playlists and don’t always know the particular song. I can generally recognize the composer if it’s someone like Mozart or Beethoven.”

  She laughed. “Finally, music even I might be able to recognize.” She drank some wine. “As much as you like music I’m surprised you don’t play an instrument.”

  He chuckled, leaning back against the counter and taking another sip of wine. “I have no talent. Jack plays the guitar and he tried to teach me, but that didn’t work. After that I tried piano, French horn, saxophone and violin. Every single one a bust. My dad was really worried I’d leave the ranch to be some kind of musician. Until about the third instrument and he realized that would never happen.”

  “But he still let you try other instruments?”

  “He promised our mother that he would encourage all of us to play an instrument. Glenna played piano. Jack and Glenna are the only ones who have any musical talent.”

  “Glenna’s your sister?”

  For a moment, his expression clouded. “Yes. She’s closest to me in age. Only a year older.”

  The timer dinged and Sam took the lasagna out of the oven. Leaving it to sit a moment, she microwaved some frozen vegetables and set out the salad bowl. The microwave had good and bad days and she could only hope this was one of its good ones. “Dig in,” she told him when everything was ready. They served themselves and took their plates to the table. One song gave way to another gorgeous instrumental piece that she didn’t recognize.

  “Did you make this yourself?” Dylan asked after tasting it.

  “Yes, why?”

  “It’s really good. Better than Glory’s. But if you tell her I said that I’ll call you a liar.”

  Sam laughed. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good. If Glory didn’t cook for me I’d probably starve.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t want that on my conscience. What got you started with classical music?”

  “My mother.”

  “I thought you said she passed away when you were six?”

  “She did. But we kept her cassette tapes and player and a lot of them were classical music. I listened to them all the time. My brothers thought I was weird, but Glenna understood.”

  “She doesn’t live here, does she?” Since she’d never heard anything about the Gallagher sister, she assumed she lived elsewhere.

  “No. She was working on a cattle ranch in Argentina until a few weeks ago. She—” He broke off, as if searching for words. “She disappeared and we haven’t been able to find her.”

  Sam put a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

  He acknowledged it with a jerky nod. “We hired a private investigator but he hasn’t had any luck so far.”

  “How long has he been searching?”

  “About three weeks, but we were told she’d been gone for months by the time Dylan called. When Hardeman, that’s the PI—went down to the ranch in Argentina he discovered that was a lie. She’d only been gone a couple of weeks. Even so, the PI doesn’t seem much closer to finding her. We don’t know why her employers lied about timing, either.” Shrugging, he said, “Enough about my family. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  Accepting the change of subject, she said, “One of each. They both live in Texas. My brother is a doctor too. He lives in Houston. My sister is in marketing for a large company in San Antonio. I miss them. Even though we lived in different parts of Texas we still saw each other fairly often.”

  “Your entire family is in Texas?” She nodded. “You sound like you’re close to them. What made you move so far away?”

  Bianca was the only person who knew the real reason she’d left Dallas. It wasn’t something she talked about. “It’s a long story,” she said after a long moment.

  “Which you don’t want to talk about.”

  “I doubt it’s anything you’d want to hear.”

  “Anything you want to talk about is fine with me. But if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay too.” He got up and started to clear the table.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Sure I do. You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  “You’re not doing it alone.”

  After they cleaned up Sam took Shadow out. Dylan came outside with them and together they watched him. “He’s still limping but not as much as he was before the vet saw him. He looks like he’s patrolling the yard,” Sam said.

  “He does. I get the feeling he’s going to be very protective of you.”

  Sam laughed. “I don’t imagine I’ll need him to be, but it is kind of comforting.”

  After Shadow finished they went back inside. Sam got Shadow settled in his bed and gave him a chew toy. She stood watching him for a moment, her back to Dylan. “I lost a patient.”

  The sudden confession didn’t faze him. “I’m sorry. Recently?”

  “No. When I was in Dallas. It’s why I left.”

  “Was it the first patient you lost?”

  “No. I work in an ER. I’m going to lose patients. It’s a fact of life.”

  “But this one was different.”

  She nodded, wondering why she was telling him such a grim story. But there was something about Dylan that made her want to confide in him. Something that made her feel safe. That made her feel that she could trust him not to judge her, no matter what she told him. “Losing a patient is always bad but the way she died made it even worse.” She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “She was murdered. Shot to death in front of me.”

  Siphoning the gas from her car had been the perfect kickoff to his plan. Start slow and build up, he told himself. Don’t rush it. Even if she figures out what happened, she won’t know where or when it happened. Go slow. At first. But later...he wanted her scared. Nervous. Wondering what the hell was going to happen next. Wondering if it was just bad luck...or something else. Something worse.

  It was obvious the boss had the hots for her. So she’d be coming out to the ranch more often. He would have to think of something new for the next time she did. Unless he could find out where she lived. Shouldn’t be too hard...

  Chapter Nine

  For a moment she faltered. But it had been well over a year since the shooting had taken place and while the desire to bury what had happened was strong, the need to talk about it was stronger.

  “Her husband shot her. And then he shot me.”

  Dylan put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry doesn’t really cut it, but it’s all I have. How badly were you hurt?”

  “An inch closer to my heart and I wouldn’t be here talking to you. But I lived. And in a deposition from my hospital bed I was able to give my testimony that sent him to jail for life.”

  “I’m glad you were able to have him put away, but it’s not much consolation for losing a patient. Or a friend. Not to mention nearly losing your own life.”

  Amber had been a friend as well as a patient. Dylan had picked up on that. “No, it’s not.”

  “Let’s sit down,” Dylan said, steering her to the couch and sitting beside her.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s not exactly a lighthearted conversation.”

  Dylan reached for her hand and held it. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if you weren’t ready to talk about it.”

  He was right about that. And even though they didn’t know each other well, she thought Dylan would be a good person to talk to. Objective, yet compassionate. “Bianca knows but we don’t talk about it. Not anymore. We haven’t in a long time. I keep thinking I’ve put it behind me, that I’ve dealt with it, but...”

  “I don’t imagine many people are able to completely get over something so traumatic.”

  “All I know is I haven’t. I want to but then something will happen to remind
me and I question myself all over again. Was it my fault? What could I have done differently? But there’s never a good answer.”

  “You sound like you feel responsible for what happened.”

  “I do. I am responsible. Her husband found her because of me.”

  “She was hiding from him?”

  “Yes. I met Amber Baxter when her husband, Gary, brought her into the ER one night. They told the usual story. She’d fallen down the stairs. She had a broken arm, a couple of broken ribs, a black eye. I knew he’d done it. I not only worked the ER but I was heavily involved with a local women’s shelter. So I knew.

  “I managed to get her alone when she had X-rays. This was far from her first hospital trip and she was desperate to get away from him. Like most women, she was terrified of her abuser. Certain he’d kill her if she left him.” Sam laughed without humor. “I’d heard it before and I knew the most dangerous time for an abused woman is when she tries to leave her abuser. While I didn’t discount what she’d said, I thought we’d be able to help her before he got to her. If I had taken her more seriously, she might still be alive.”

  “You can’t know that,” Dylan said. “What would you have done differently? Would changing how you went about helping her have changed the outcome?”

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed her free hand over her eyes. “Probably not.”

  “But you still beat yourself up over it. Even though you did what you thought best at the time.”

  “Yes.” She probably always would.

  “Sam.” He squeezed her hand comfortingly. “You had no way of knowing what would happen.”

  “I know. But I still feel guilty.”

  “That’s normal in this type of situation. Don’t you think?”

  He was so kind. So understanding. So completely non-judgmental. “That’s what Bianca thinks. She says I’m harder on myself than anyone else would ever be.”

  He smiled a little. “You should listen to Bianca. She’s right.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed, wishing she could be as sure as Bianca and Dylan were that Amber’s death wasn’t her fault. “I convinced Amber to bring charges against him and to come to the shelter that night, after she left the hospital. When the cops came to take her husband away, he went crazy, threatening to kill Amber, me and anyone else who had helped her. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. He might have been more volatile than the others, but I’d seen a lot of extremely angry men. Amber moved into the shelter that night. Though Gary didn’t go to jail, she was able to get a restraining order against him. So many women go back to their abusers. For as many reasons as there are women. But Amber didn’t. She worked hard at getting her life together without him. She’d have made it too.”