Renegade Ridge

by Arabella Steedly

  An hour later, he sat with his head in his hands. His phone was laying across the room where he had thrown it in frustration. What a stupid mess to be in. He had brought it upon himself. He had been so unfair to Dr. Hart. She had been trying, and he had done nothing but insult her repeatedly. Perhaps she didn’t know as much as her predecessor, but he had been around for decades. She was still fairly new at things.

  Jake had called a few vets that were more than willing to drive the distance for a price. He could swing it, but it wasn’t going to get his ranch out of debt any quicker having to overpay for vet services. For that matter, it wasn’t going to get him out of debt with Kessler any faster, either. He had no one to blame but himself. No matter how you looked at it, everything that had happened here boiled down to a single problem. He was a jerk.

  Standing up, he walked over and picked up his phone. Somewhere on the charge sheet Tucker had signed for her was Dr. Hart’s phone number. He would just have to swallow his anger and pride and call her. He reached for his Stetson, palmed his short brownish hair and placed it on his head. Just as he stepped out the door, he changed his mind. Instead of going to the barn to look up her number, he’d head for town. So, he sent a quick text to Tucker to let him know he was going before he got in his truck and headed east toward Jonesboro.

  ****

  Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to a line of stores along a strip and stepped out of the old black Ford F-10 that had belonged to his father. Jake was greeted with a grin from a middle-aged woman behind the counter. He returned it with a nod as he walked up and leaned against it crossing his arms in front of him. He knew the place well. As a boy he was a regular visitor — and still was.

  “Good afternoon, Jake. What can I get for you?”

  Jake glanced around the store. “I don’t know, Margie. What do you suggest as an apology food?”

  “Apology food?” she asked, glancing down at his wide chest.

  “Yeah. I said something I shouldn’t have and flowers don’t seem right. I thought maybe sweets would be a better option.”

  Margie smiled and said, “Ah, for a woman then.”

  “A woman, yes, but it's not what you think. I made the new vet in town angry, and I want to mend fences.”

  Margie placed her forefinger at the side of her cheek. “Hmm…in that case, I have just the thing for you. The doc was in here a few days ago and picked up a box of mixed petit fours.”

  “Perfect. Can you give me a box like the one she got?”

  “I certainly can. Hold on.”

  Jake waited while she put the sweets in a box and placed them in a small gift bag. She pulled a tiny generic gift tag from under the counter and pushed it across toward him, along with a pen.

  “I don’t think I need to fill out a card. I’m going to hand them to her personally.”

  “Always fill out a card, Jake. If you make a woman angry, she might not listen to you, but she will read the card when you leave. It’s what we women do.”

  Jake laughed and nodded. He wasn’t sure how true that was in his case. He had a feeling that the good Dr. Hart was just as likely to toss the entire box in the trash as to entertain any curiosity about sweets from someone who had been so rottenly behaved. Still, he made a quick note on it and stuck it in the envelope. Margie taped it to the box and smiled at him.

  “On the house,” she told him with a wink.

  “No, Margie. You have to make a profit here.”

  “Oh, I do. You’re a good customer. I can afford to toss you a freebie every now and again. It’s for a good cause.”

  “Fair enough. I appreciate it, Margie.” Jake tipped his hat. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “I know you will,” she replied. When he turned to leave, he noticed in the reflection of the front windows, how Margie was admiring the looks of his backside in his worn Wrangler jeans. Jake was well known for his sweet tooth. Lesser men would weigh twice as much if they enjoyed sweets as much as he did, but it was comfort food for him. And besides, ranching was hard work, so he was far too active to have to worry about the calories.

  Driving out to the prior vet’s old place, Jake was glad to see the camper sitting to one side. He hadn’t considered that she might be out on another call, but it was getting later in the afternoon, so he had taken his chances. Looking around, he didn’t see a personal car, only the camper. Surely, she didn’t drive that thing around everywhere she went.

  Unsure of whether he should go to the front of the large one-story house where the vet clinic was or walk to the personal living quarters at the side of the building. Finally, Jake decided the clinic was his best option. It wasn’t really a personal visit, so he should go to the portion dedicated to working hours. If the clinic was already closed, he would try the side entrance and knock.

  Pushing the door, he found that it was open and went inside. There was no sign of a receptionist. Jake wasn’t sure if she didn’t have one or if they had gone home for the day, but he didn’t see any signs of activity other than the fact that the lights were still on and the door unlocked. After standing awkwardly in front of the desk for a moment, he finally called out.

  “Dr. Hart?”

  There was no answer. Repeated callouts returned no results either. Finally, Jake walked around the counter and toward the back of the clinic, looking into the various rooms and an office for any signs of Dr. Hart. Still, nothing. He was about to retreat when he heard noises coming from further back, beyond the doors that lead from the clinic into her living quarters. He was familiar with the layout from visits as a kid. The old vet had been friends with his father.

  He heard her let out a little scream and his adrenaline kicked in. He forgot common courtesies and yanked open the door, running toward the sound of metal clanking and her cries. As he walked into her kitchen, everything seemed to happen at once.

  A spout of water was shooting up from the other side of the kitchen island just as she stood up and groaned. Turning around, he could see that she had a cut just above her eyebrow and blood was dripping down her face. He quickly assessed the situation, figuring that she had hit her head on a pipe while attempting to fix her own plumbing, dislodged it and caused a flood of water. Obviously, she had forgotten to shut off the valve before attempting the repair. She screamed again at the sight of him, no doubt she wasn’t expecting to see Jake Morrow standing in her kitchen.

  “I’m sorry. I heard you scream and thought something was wrong,” he quickly explained.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, turning back holding out her hands trying to control the gush of water.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  Jake didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he hurried behind the counter to get to the pipes. In the process, he slipped on a wrench that was lying in the rapidly flooding floor and lost his balance. His feet went flying forward as he landed firmly on his butt and knocked her forward in the process. She landed on top of him with a heavy thud and lay there, stunned for a moment.

  “Jesus,” she muttered, collecting herself as best she could and hurried off of him rolling to one side. He crawled forward and grabbed the same wrench he had tripped over. Finally, he shut off the valve. For a moment, each of them just sat on the floor, somewhat bewildered.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “I brought you a gift,” he said, realizing he had no idea where the box had gone. It had flown out of his hand when he hit the floor. Jake stood up and looked around, finally spotting it nearby over in the corner. It was partially smashed and rapidly taking on water. He retrieved it and sat it on top of the counter before extending a hand to help her up from her seat on the wet floor.

  Slowly, she walked toward the box and opened it, pulling out a smashed pink and white petit four. He frowned at the horrible state it was in, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was shocked when Dr. Hart stuck the flat cake in her mouth and savored it for a moment before speaking.

  “Margie’s ba
kery. She sold me out, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Good woman,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Listen, this didn’t go just as planned. I intended to come down here, give you those sweets as part of my apology for being such an ass to you today and get out of your hair.”

  “Couldn’t find another vet, huh?” she replied.

  “I could, but I felt horrible about how I acted. I was unreasonable for reasons that have nothing to do with you.”

  Dr. Hart eyed him intently for a moment and then shrugged before reaching back into the box for another beaten up sweet. She leaned against the counter and ate it, not saying a word. As much as he tried not to notice, the fact that she was wearing a thin shirt and an even thinner lace bra was hard to miss. He tried to avert his eyes quickly, but not fast enough. She caught him, and a red flush spread up her face. The doctor tugged the lapels of the over shirt quickly around herself.

  “Apology accepted then. I don’t have time for grudges.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “I will come back and check on Tamara first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you again. Would you like me to look at your sink before I leave?”

  “I can call a plumber,” she said pulling an old phonebook out of a drawer beside the sink.

  “I have a feeling that you would have already done so if that were the case,” he observed.

  “Alright fine. I’m a bit tapped out at the moment. It took a lot to buy this place out, and I’m trying to maintain a very tight budget until I get some income coming back in.”

  “I understand tight budgets,” he told her. “Let me look.”

  “It was backing up, and I thought maybe I could clear the drain, but I think I hit the wrong pipe.”

  “Yes, it seems you did. No big deal. I can fix it.”

  Jake went to work on the sink, getting the gunk that had been clogging it freed from the main drain and reconnecting the one that she had loosened in her efforts. It was a relatively simple repair, but hopefully, it went a long way toward improving a friendly relationship between the two of them. When he was finished, he stood and looked at her. She had buttoned up the blouse, but both of them were still soaked from the water that had gone everywhere.

  “Care for a smashed petit four?” she asked as he stood back up.

  “No thanks, but I could stand a towel,” he told her.

  “Of course. I should have already gotten you one.”

  “I’ll help you clean up this water,” Jake said peering down at the floor.

  “No. Let me get you a towel, and then I’ll take care of this. You’ve done enough to help.”

  Jake waited while she retrieved a large towel from a closet down the adjoining hallway and then dried off the best he could. She stood doing the same across from him, and he found it hard not just to stop and watch her. She was so graceful -- despite her tomboyish appearance.

  “I can put your things in the dryer for a bit if you like,” she told him.

  “Nah. I’ll be fine. I’ll hang my head out the truck window on the way home and dry out a bit.”

  She laughed, and it made him smile. He lay the towel on the counter and nodded toward her as he began to walk toward the doors he had come through.

  “Thank you again, and I will see you in the morning,” he told her.

  “That you will. And thank you for fixing my plumbing.”

  “Not a problem. You’ll want to follow me out and lock the doors to the clinic. Anyone can just walk right through and into your home.”

  “So, I see.”

  Jake looked at her again. She was smiling, and he found that it was a sight that he enjoyed. From now on, he would make a point to try and keep her that way.

  3

  The following morning, Jake was up and out the door early, making his way to the barn well before six o’clock. Tucker’s eyebrows shot up a bit as he walked in and found Jake already there cleaning Tamara’s stall. “Couldn’t sleep, boss?” Tucker asked, taking a sip of coffee from his mug.

  “Slept pretty well. Just trying to clean up a bit before the vet gets here.”

  “You found one?”

  Jake rubbed the back of his neck and replied, “I talked Dr. Hart into coming back.”

  “Wow, you must be much smoother than I thought,” Tucker said, with a sideways smile.

  “Not really. I had to grovel. It was pathetic.”

  “I think she’s done a good job. Give her a break.”

  Jake looked up and replied, “I am.”

  “Good deal. Since you have things under control here, I’ll head for the fence and get started. I left Todd and Shannon over in the pasture working the horses.”

  “Yep. See you later.” Jake headed off toward Tamara’s stall.

  “I’ve got the radio and my phone,” Tucker replied over his shoulder and walked away.

  Jake nodded and went back to work spreading fresh straw while Tamara stood outside tied up waiting for the vet munching on a flake of hay. Jake was utterly lost in his work when Dr. Hart arrived and startled him. He jumped bumping his head on the stall door and simultaneously knocked over the pitchfork that fell on an empty metal bucket.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said.

  “You just caught me off guard. Sudden noises sometimes give me a start,” Jake replied.

  His heart was racing. To him, it sounded like a gunshot when the pitchfork hit the bucket. “Damn,” he muttered. It was always the smallest of incidents that could set off his anxiety. Give him a real crisis to deal with, and he was fearless but hit a bucket with a wooden object — that was a different story.

  “What’s the matter? You look a bit flushed?” she asked moving closer.

  He could see that she was concerned. No doubt he was blushing from embarrassment. Jake could feel the heat rising up his cheeks as he struggled to calm his nerves. It would be awkward to talk to himself right now, to use his voice to soothe his qualms. Instead, Jake brushed his fingers over the dog tags still hanging around his neck. He had never removed them — another reminder to stay strong. Then Jake focused on Dr. Hart. She looked stunning in the light of the morning, even with her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. He noticed her full lips were covered by a hint of lip gloss. Her lashes were full and as dark as her hair. They framed her gorgeous blue eyes and made them appear even brighter.

  “I’m good.” Jake changed the subject. “Everything working alright in your kitchen now?”

  “Yes. Fine. You did an excellent job. If ranching doesn’t work out, perhaps you can become a plumber.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said with a shy smile.

  She laughed and turned toward Tamara for a moment, then looked back at him.

  “I’ll get to work then. I have a pretty full schedule today.”

  “Great. Thanks,” he replied.

  What a shame that she couldn’t stay and visit a bit. Then again, it probably was best that the doctor was leaving. He had to remind himself once again that he had no business being attracted to anyone, much less acting on it. Jake walked over and helped her lift the mare’s leg. Then he smoothed Tamara’s coat keeping her a bit calmer than the last time.

  Jake glanced down. It was hard not to notice that Dr. Hart’s shirt was open a button lower than usual. Had she done that on purpose? For him? For someone else? Or was it just a wardrobe malfunction that she was yet unaware of. It wasn’t as if he could see that much, just the slightest slope of her breasts above a lace-topped bra. He averted his eyes, not wanting to appear perverted if she noticed him looking down her blouse. It hadn’t been purposeful, but it would be hard to convince her of that, he was sure. She finished giving Tamara her shot and stood up to face him.

  “She doesn’t appear any worse for wear, despite falling yesterday. I’m afraid that I have some bad news, though.”

  “She won’t be able to race again will she?” Jake’s voice tr
ailed off.

  The doc shook her head. “No. She is going to heal, but if you race her, you’re risking further injury. I’d say a light gallop is going to be her safest pace from now on.”

  Jake lowered his head and grimaced. He had suspected as much but had hoped he was wrong. He had prayed Tamara would miraculously heal, so her days of glory could continue. She had many admirers that came to Stampede Arena to watch their favorite pinto bolt around the barrels who would miss her too. Tamara would still have a good life. He would ride her about the ranch to keep her fit and social. Horses weren’t met to be left to die in their stalls or turned out to pasture and forgotten.

  “Well, she’s had her day, I suppose,” he finally managed.

  “I’m glad to see she means a lot to you, more than just a prize barrel racer. I can’t tell you how many owners would just put her down if they felt she was no longer useful.”

  “And you would do that to her if I asked?” Jake questioned.

  “No, I wouldn’t. First, I would try to give you other options. Then if you insisted, I would advise you to consult another vet. Of course, some would do as asked. Animals, sadly, aren’t afforded the same rights as humans.” She shook her head.

  “Do you think they should have the same rights?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said and rose to her feet.

  Jake looked away. “I can’t say that I agree with that in all cases.” He patted the mare’s flank.

  “You spend a lot of time with animals, don’t you?” she asked.

  How do you know?” Jake scratched the side of his face.

  “Because I see them.” Dr. Hart opened her arms and gestured around her. “Your horses, dairy cattle, and even the chickens. They are all healthy and seem content. You have no idea how many farms and ranches I go to where that’s not the case — even in the short time I’ve been here. Once, I had a gentleman who lost his entire heard of cattle just from neglecting them. By the time he realized how ill they had become, I couldn’t save them.”