Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  Trick reached his foot behind him, hooked it around the trash can, and pushed the can toward Jessica. “If you’re going to vomit, do it in the can.”

  Jessica nodded, and her face turned an even deeper shade of green. “I’m okay. I can do thi … ” She bent at the waist and threw up, then dropped to her knees, hugging the trash can, and retched into it again. Trick ignored her and focused on the mama and her baby. “I’m okay. It’s just. The momma doesn’t look good.” Trick ignored her to focus on the momma and baby.

  The kitten wasn’t moving. That single paw was out, but no other movement showed. The mother closed her eyes; he was losing her.

  “Monica, I could use another set of hands,” Trick yelled through the door, hoping she would hear him. He needed another set of hands — one to palpitate the mother’s tummy to help birth the baby and one to reach inside to pull the other paw out.

  Monica opened the door and poked her head inside.

  “Grab a pair of gloves. I need you to push gently on the mama’s belly.” Trick pressed Monica’s fingers against his palm, starting with light pressure over the heel of his hand and lightening the pressure as her fingers swept toward his knuckles.

  “Like this, okay?” Monica slipped on a pair of gloves and nodded. Trick watched her intently. “The kitten is hung up on something inside, so wait until I get the other paw out and then make this motion on the belly. Constant and repeating, okay?”

  Monica, green eyes wide, nodded. Trick reached inside the cat again and found the kitten’s paw, caught on the underside of the canal. He pushed his index finger below it to loosen it and nodded to Monica to begin pressing on the belly. The paw exited the birth canal along with a bit of leg.

  “Keep going. The mother’s out of it right now.” Trick focused on the kitten, pulling gently on the back legs as Monica pressed down on the mother’s belly. Centimeter by centimeter, the kitten was released from the mother. Sweat broke out on Trick’s brow. He couldn’t tell if the kitten was alive or dead. Finally, the kitten was out, its little body limp on the cold exam table, the birthing sac still around it. The momma cat didn’t move to clean the kitten off, so Trick grabbed some gauze off the side table and began cleaning.

  When she was clean, Trick gently gathered the kitten in his hands and placed it on a small pile of gauze bandages further down the exam table. Not the best option but infinitely better than the metal table top. The mama cat idly swiped with her front paw again, but showed no interest in the kitten. He’d need to do what she couldn’t.

  “Hand me the clamp,” he said and pointed Monica toward a set of tools near the sink. Trick tied off the umbilical cord and snipped the baby away from its mother. The little gray bundle breathed fast and shallow but the momma cat’s chest cavity barely moved. “Under the sink there are clean, flannel pieces. Grab a couple and finish drying the baby, would you?”

  Monica hurried over while Trick turned his attention back to the cat. He felt her belly, but there were no more babies inside. That was a relief. He patted the mother, murmuring to her to rest. He wracked his mind for something more he could do, but there was nothing. Vern’s cat was nine years old, old to be a new mother and with the problems with the birth, she would either rebound after a few minutes or slip away. As if she understood him, the cat closed her eyes, took another breath, and went still.

  Damn it, anyway.

  Monica turned back, the kitten cuddled in her hands in a nest of clean flannels. She grinned at him. “We did … ” Monica focused on the cat, and the smile faded. “She didn’t make it.”

  Trick shook his head. “And there’s every chance the kitten won’t, either. Not without a mother to nurse from for the next day or so.”

  Jessica moaned from the floor.

  “What do we do?” Monica held the kitten protectively against her chest.

  “I need heating pads and a lamp, kitten formula, an eyedropper, and a lot of coffee. Newborns feed almost constantly and the mother usually licks them to keep them warm. The heat lamps and pads will take care of that, but I’ll have to feed it several times each hour. If you could help me get things set up, I’ll take it from there.”

  “I’ll stay. Whatever you need.”

  Trick sent Monica to the storage area in the back of the clinic to get the lamps and heating pads while he made up the first batch of formula. When they had the second exam room set up as a miniature intensive kitten care unit, Monica started a pot of coffee with one hand while she cuddled the kitten to her with the other. He knelt beside the young girl on the floor, who seemed embarrassed now that the sickness had passed. He patted her shoulder.

  “Happens to the best of us.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. I know what happens when animals give birth.” Jessica looked up at him with a pitiful expression on her face. “But I’ve never seen a mother … just die like that.”

  “You’ll see it a lot more if you stick with veterinary training. As good as the medical field is, there are still things we can’t fix.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “Should I even come back tomorrow?”

  Trick nodded. She might or might not make a good vet at some point, but she’d never know if she didn’t try again. Besides, he still needed help around the office. “You kind of got thrown under the bus today. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll see what we can do to focus on the clerical work.”

  He helped her to her feet and walked her to the front door.

  When he returned to the exam room, Monica had the heating pad wrapped in more flannel scraps and the kitten lying up against it.

  “You were nice to that girl.”

  Trick shrugged. “Her first day. She was supposed to help around the office, not help deliver kittens.”

  She handed him a cup of coffee as Vern knocked on the exam room door.

  “Is it … ”

  “I’m sorry.” Trick held out his hand to the older man. “She gave birth to the kitten, but we couldn’t save her.”

  A tear trickled from the older man’s eye and he clutched the cat bed with the other kitten to his chest.

  “We’ll take care of the baby; help her through the first couple of days. You should go home. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

  The older man looked as if he wanted to object. He went to the exam table and gave the momma cat a final pat and then turned to Trick. “I’d like to have her cremated.”

  “I’ll call the crematorium in the morning then.” Trick sent the older man home, promising to call in the morning about the kitten’s progress. He took the momma cat to the back room where refrigerated units were set up to hold the bodies of the animals they couldn’t save until arrangements could be made.

  When he returned to the exam room Monica had the table cleaned off. She asked, “So, Doc, what do we do first?”

  “See if this baby will feed.” He filled an eyedropper with formula and dropped a small amount on the kitten’s upper lip. It took her a moment, but she latched on to the dropper and sucked it dry in a few seconds. Trick repeated the process: fill the dropper, engage the kitten, fill the dropper.

  Monica moved beside him, her shoulder barely touching his as she watched. “How long?”

  “Kittens feed almost constantly for the first day or so. The more formula the better. Although, I’ll keep it to three times an hour for the first day, to make sure we don’t overfeed.”

  They took turns from there, filling the dropper, feeding the kitten, and repeating, until Trick was a little punchy. He glanced up, but the world was dark outside the windows, so he turned back to the kitten, which was nursing from the eyedropper in Monica’s hand.

  Damn, but she looked pretty. They’d moved into the front office earlier, because the furniture was more comfortable. Hair pulled back in a high ponytail, Monica sat on the leather sof
a, feet curled beneath her and holding the kitten in her hand. When the dropper emptied she reached for the bottle of formula and squeezed more into the dropper. She murmured to the kitten from time to time.

  Trick leaned against the doorjamb and just watched for a long moment while he sipped coffee. She was oblivious to him, and that was just fine with Trick.

  “I was coming here to blow you off, you know.”

  Her words jolted him from his reverie.

  “I was going to tell you that, cave dating aside; I wasn’t interested in anything more than what we’ve been doing for the last few weeks. Movies, dinner.” She looked at him from across the room. “Sex.” She refilled the dropper and fed the kitten again.

  “And now?”

  “She’s getting a fully tummy, aren’t you?” She laid the kitten under the heating lamp and shrugged her shoulders so slightly he thought he might have imagined the movement. Then she turned her full attention on him, looking at him with those big, green eyes, and Trick’s entire body seemed to seize up. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  “Now I think as long as we both agree that we’ll reevaluate when Jinx has recovered, that maybe I’d like to go on another date with you.”

  “All because I saved a kitten?”

  “That, and you were nice to Vern, and you didn’t fire the kid who collapsed on you.” She was quiet for a moment. “And because since you brought me home from caving, I haven’t been able to get the cave and lunch out of my head.”

  Trick swallowed.

  “I’d like my dress to make it through the next one without being splattered with placenta, and I’d like to not run into bats or spiders or other creepy-crawly things, so maybe we could try a real restaurant and a movie sometime. Think you can handle it?”

  The kitten pulled his legs up and pushed like a crab toward the heating pad, feeling the heat it let off. Monica helped it along and the baby settled back down.

  “Let’s give him a break, just for a few minutes.”

  “Him?”

  “Him.”

  “Darn, I’ve been calling him Matilda for the last hour.” She placed the kitten more firmly against the flannel-covered heating pad and then covered him with another piece of cloth. “So, what do you say?”

  “I’d say Matilda is not a name for a tomcat.”

  She crossed the room and put her arms around his waist. “I can live with a name change.”

  “Good.” Trick looked up at the clock. Two-thirty. His best guess was they had thirty minutes to rest before the kitten would need them again. “I can live with dating you. Wanna go to bed?”

  She slapped at his shoulder. “Not funny.”

  “I’m dead serious. It’s the middle of the night, and the kitten’s finally sleeping. I figure we’ve got a small window of sleep in our future, and I’ve got a futon in my office that’s calling my name.”

  Monica yawned. “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter Six

  Monica awoke on Trick’s office futon. Shoulders stiff, mouth dry, neck cricked. Alone.

  She grabbed a bottle of water from the galley kitchen and padded down the hallway. Trick sat on the sofa, the kitten on his chest, with his head lolled back at an angle that had to be painful. Or it would be once he woke up. The kitten slept and the half-full eyedropper dripped formula onto his navy polo. His bare feet were propped on the coffee table, and a lock of unruly hair slid down over his forehead.

  He looked positively adorable.

  Monica glanced at the clock, which read eight-thirty, and yawned. They needed lots and lots of coffee and the last time she filled the pot, she emptied the can of grounds. She called the Cattle Café and ordered breakfast for both of them, along with an extra thermos of coffee, and then called the answering service to turn the phones back on.

  She cleaned up the exam room and called the crematorium, using the number Trick set out the night before, to come and pick up the mother cat. A single dog paced his kennel in the backroom, but Monica didn’t know what he was in for, so she didn’t fill his water or food bowls.

  A few minutes later, the delivery boy from the café arrived with two sacks of food, paper plates and plastic utensils. She moved the pamphlets on heartworm and rabies onto a chair and set two places atop the tiny table before pouring coffee. Satisfied she’d done everything she could; Monica went to wake up Trick.

  The kitten mewed when Monica lifted him from Trick’s chest, and then butted up against the hot water bottle when she put him in the box. She covered him again.

  “Breakfast is served,” she whispered, shaking Trick’s shoulder lightly to wake him. “Come on Super Vet, before it gets cold.”

  He lifted one eyelid. “Super Vet?” His voice was ragged with sleep.

  “Sure. Able diagnose a horse in ten minutes or less. Able to save a kitten from certain death. No patient too big or small. Super Vet.”

  “Typical and small town might be more to the point.”

  She held out a hand and leaned back to pull him to a standing position. “The point is breakfast is getting cold.”

  He sniffed. “Do I smell eggs?”

  “And artery-clogging bacon and real-butter-soaked toast, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”

  “You are a goddess.” His hand tightened around hers.

  “So I’ve been told.” Their gazes held for a long moment and then Trick backed her up against the wall.

  His lips descended on hers in a hot, fast kiss. Hands buried in her hair, Trick drank from her mouth as if he’d been in a desert for days. Monica fisted her hands in his polo and pulled him closer.

  “That,” Trick said, breathing heavily, “was for helping out last night.”

  “If that’s my reward, consider me your faithful assistant for as long as you need me.”

  He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “This is for ordering breakfast.”

  This time the kiss was playful. He nipped at the corner of her mouth, drizzled kisses along her jaw to a sensitive spot behind her ear. Monica arched her neck to give him better access. Trick nipped and then soothed the burn with his tongue before doing it again.

  He pulled away, rested his forehead against hers for a second, and then wove his fingers between hers. He raised her hands until the backs of her palms were against the cool wall, and his mouth descended, slowly.

  His mouth gentled on hers as he took his time. Trick sucked her full lower lip between his teeth and then his tongue found hers and began a slow tango. Monica lost herself in the kiss, in the long, slow movement of his mouth against hers. He moved closer to her until there was no space between his hard, muscled frame and her soft curves. And still his mouth mated with hers. Light kisses. Long kisses. Fast and slow until she wasn’t sure if she still stood against the wall or if they were floating together in some altered space.

  Trick placed light kisses along her lower lip, across her cheek to her jaw, and then down, down until his mouth found the pulse beating madly at the base of her throat. Her fingers flexed against his as he nipped and then tapped his tongue against her frantically beating pulse. He loosed their hands, and she shivered as his big, strong fingers traced designs over her bare shoulders and down her arms. His digits tap-tapped against hers for a moment, and then his hands spanned her waist, playing with the tie of her dress, tracing lines from her waist to her breasts and back again. Monica shivered at the contact. She wanted more. Wanted to feel his calloused hands against the smooth, silken skin of her belly. Her hands found his head, and she pressed his mouth more firmly against the pulse at her throat, pushed gently, urging him to find her needy breasts and lavish a bit of attention on them, as well. Trick groaned against her, the sound as much of an aphrodisiac as the feel of his body against hers. A trickle of need dampened her panties, and Monica pressed her hips against his.

 
Finally, he raised his head, the grey of his eyes blackened by his enlarged pupils. He breathed heavily.

  “That is so you know the next time I take you out, there won’t be any feline births or threat of bats. Just you and me and the long Texas night.”

  Monica smiled. “I’m free tonight.”

  • • •

  “So Monica didn’t go home last night.” Mat threw a dart at the board in the corner of the Longneck, missed his target, and threw again. Double score, twenty-five points. Trick drained the last of his beer and signaled the waitress for another round. He’d figured they would get around to Monica sooner or later.

  Sooner won. The two played darts every week at the Longneck, usually on Wednesday nights just after five. It was now five-fifteen.

  Trick didn’t want to answer the unasked question — was he the reason Monica was out all night? She was twenty-four years old, for Pete’s sake, and until she’d returned to Lockhardt for Jinx’s rehab, she’d lived on her own in Austin. Mat cut a look at him from the corner of his eye. Discomfort was plain on his face. So, he wasn’t asking for his own information.

  “I had a last-minute patient, and my new office assistant collapsed in a pool of vomit and remorse that the patient didn’t make it. Monica was there and decided to stay, to help.”

  Mat rolled up the sleeves of his western-cut shirt, giving his throwing arm less resistance, tossed his last dart, hit nineteen, and waved Trick to the line before sitting down at their table. “All night?”

  “Vern’s old cat delivered early and had trouble.” Trick took pity on his friend, who was normally as private as a person could be. Mat didn’t offer explanations, didn’t ask for them. But living with a Witte sister obviously changed a man. Trick cleaned the sharp tip of the next dart on his red polo, considering how much to say. “She died birthing the last kitten. Monica stayed to help keep it alive. You want to tell me what this is about?” He gathered his darts from the board. Seventy-seven points. Mat was ahead, as usual.