****** Ty McGreer decelerated down the off-ramp, slowly braking before the intersection. Checking his side-view mirror, he clicked the blinker and turned right onto Raymond Stoltzer Parkway.
Hours before, he’d found his favorite weanling bull calf in the pasture, sweating and kicking at his stomach. Doc Barnes admitted his hands weren’t as steady as they used to be, and suggested Ty take the ride to College Station.
Texas A&M, Ty’s alma mater, was three hours from the ranch. It was July; high summer, and way too hot. He hoped his little black Angus bull calf was holding up back there, leaning on his momma. They’d be at the clinic in just a few minutes.
******
Lindsay walked into surgery in green scrubs and booties, glad that Samantha was on. Sam was her favorite vet tech, and a super competent surgical assistant. Scratching the soft, ruffly spot between the little calf ’s ears, Lindsay looked over the ultrasound, which showed a white, spherical object, lodged firmly in the tiny ruminant’s first stomach.
A cowboy stood in the corner; tall, broad-chested, and way too handsome, with friendly amber eyes and curly brown hair. Ty McGreer? Shit! Ty McGreer!
They’d met at a frat party in college. After a few drinks, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him. He stood there, in a plaid shirt and dark Levi's, still exuding the same male hotness that had wreaked havoc with her self-control years before. It was a frat party, he doesn’t remember, Lindsay told herself. But the look on his face said maybe he did. Uh-oh.
“Golf much?” she asked, keeping her voice cool. Ty shook his head. “I don’t, but my cousin does, and he visited last weekend. He’s not much of a rider, so I give him a bucket of balls. He’s supposed to practice towards the corn fields. Apparently, his aim was off. A ball must have made it into the bull pasture.”
“Apparently so,” Lindsay agreed, arching an eyebrow. “You might look for another, Ty. In my experience, balls in bull pastures usually come in pairs.”
A hot charge jolted down her spine as he laughed at her joke, his white teeth bright against a tan face. That was stupid, Lindsay. It’s been way too long since you’ve gotten properly laid, but your clients don’t need to know it.
Red-faced, she pivoted to her helper.“Let’s get an IV in this little guy, Sam, and get him on the table.” She turned back to Ty. “This won’t take long. We’ll have him right as rain in no time, Mr. McGreer.”
The hot cowboy cleared his throat. “Um, Dr. Robbins? I was thinkin’ about the National Angus Show for this little guy as a three year old. He’s got the breeding to take the title. How much of a scar will there be?”
Lindsay was taking latex gloves, size small, from the box on the aluminum shelf. Snapping them on, she smiled at him. “I’ll be extra careful with the sutures, Mr. McGreer. In six months, the scar will be barely visible. I doubt you’ll be able to find it in a year’s time.”
“Great.” Ty grinned down at her. “Thanks for that. I’m not usually much on appearances, but I had semen flown down from Wyoming this year from an award winning bull, and my cows threw some fine bull calves. I’ve waited a long time for this little guy.”
“Gotcha,” Lindsay said, turning away to hide a surge of annoyance. As I recall you ARE big on appearances, Ty McGreer. The blonde cheerleader you dropped me for was a knockout. Checking the bull calf over carefully, she couldn’t help remembering how amazing Ty’s full, soft, and incredibly hot lips had felt, pressed against hers.
He wasn’t interested, and I’m being pathetic. Sam led the little guy to the hydraulic table. The IV sedation was taking effect; the bull’s head drooped. Pointing to the glass window, Lindsay told Ty, “The viewing room’s out there, Mr. McGreer. You’re free to watch,” then dropped her mask over her mouth.
Ty smiled as he backed out of the room. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing. It’s been a long day. I’ll just go get a beer.”
His lips still gave her the fidgets. “We’ll be here.” As he turned into the hallway, she caught a glimpse of his butt and thighs, firm beneath Levi’s. Lindsay shut her eyes, closing the door firmly. This isn’t helping my concentration any.
The surgery table was lifting hydraulically, Sam was holding a tray for her, and the little bull was now unconscious. Back in her comfort zone, Lindsay picked up the scalpel. Ty McGreer was not what she needed right now.
Excerpt
“Eva Smashing & Dashing”
copyright @ 2013 by Lilly Christine
Leaving Betty Lady Eva Louise Alexandra Suzette Fleurinda LaVigne tucked a stray ginger red curl behind a diamond-tipped ear, slicked a bit of gloss on her lips, popped dark glasses over her eyes, slipped her hands into tan driving gloves, took up the handle of her tugalong and stepped out of her room.
“Ready?” Eva looked up. From his height of six foot- seven, Dr. Luke Omega’s reassuring eyes glinted silver-blue. “As I’ll ever be,” she answered.
Giving her a smile of encouragement, he started down the hall towing the largest of Eva’s large Vuitton cases. Her heels tapped quickly behind him, past the reception desk. She lifted a gloved hand. “Bye, Angel.”
“Good luck out there,” Angel called, passing Eva one last patient smile.
One last smile. One last time. These people had become good friends. What will I do without them?
Dr. Luke glanced up at the monitor. “The wolves are circling,” he warned, slipping dark frames over his own eyes.
Eva took a deep breath. “Could it be any other way?” She hadn’t worn her vintage Chanel suit for nothing.
The steel and glass door slid open. Flashes began to erupt as they made their way to the limo her father had sent. “Over here, Lady Eva!”, “Look this way, Stash!”.
Eva posed for a few quick candids while the attendant loaded her bags in the trunk. Her father’s driver knew to stay at the wheel. Luke had the car door open for her. At his nod, Eva skirted towards the car, calling brightly, “That’s all for today, boys!”
Luke kissed her cheek before helping her in, and she made sure it lasted. One last shot for the cameras.
“Good Luck,” he whispered, his lips close to her red curls.
“I’ll need it,” Eva said, squeezing his arm.
He shut the car door, the locks clicked, and she settled back onto the cushioned seat, giving the paparazzi a last wave as her car slid past the discreet “Betty Ford Clinic” sign, now surrounded by hyacinths and tulips.
When I got here, those flowers were evergreens, dotted with twinkle lights . . . Drying out is too much work. I don’t want to have to do it again.
The tinted window behind the front seat dropped slightly. “Good to see you, Lady Eva.”
“Hi, Frank. Are you taking me to Daddy’s?”
“Lauren is there by herself now, and she’s been. . . Well, you know Lauren.”
“Yes,”Evaansweredtartly.“Ido,unfortunately. Daddy’s out again, is he?”
Frank’s eyes darted in the rear view. “Yes’m.”
“Well, it won’t take him long to find wife number seven,” she said drily. “No one liked Lauren, anyway. She was the worst of a bad lot.”
“They say seven is a lucky number,” Frank replied.
“They were all supposed to be lucky numbers, Frank. Trouble is, Daddy can’t tell a lucky number from a hot number.”
“How’syourMum?”
“Holding her own thanks. Mother’s been in remission since the New Year, just before I checked in at Betty. The cancer seems to be gone now, thank God..”
“That’s real good news, m’lady, real good news.”
“Yes, Frank. Yes, it is.”
Eva’s cell bleeped with a text from Esme. “How’d it go?” Her fingers quickly tapped a response. “I’m outta there. That’s what counts. For the last time.”
“Yousaidthatthreevisitsago.”
“Esme,yoursupposedtobesupportive,
remember? You promised Luke!”
“TherewasalotthatIpromisedLuke.O
rwanted to.”
“Naughty. You married-early types are all alike.”
“Hornyashell?Yeah.”
“How’sTank?”
“Brilliantasever.Makingmoneyhandoverfist. You know Texas oilmen.”
“Nostoppingthem.CamillatoldMumthey’re having solar panels put on at Sandringham.”
“ThatdamnCharles.”
“He’satrendsetter.Alltheroyalswillbedoingit, soon. Better warn Tank about his futures!”
“The baby’s crying, and nanny’s exhausted, Ev. I gotta go. Take it easy.”
“Always.Loveyou.”
“Me,too.”
Eva glanced out the window, distracting herself with the spring landscape. Frank cleared his throat. “Well, Lady Eva?”
“Right, Frank, you need to know where to dump me off. Let’s see, Daddy’s is off limits, Mum is in London, Eva’s tied up with the baby in Texas . . . “
“I’m to take you to the airport,” he said crisply. She caught his glance in the rear view. Frank has news I’m not going to like.
“Oh, I’m to visit Mother, then?” Eva offered breezily, tugging at her gloves.
“Ah, not exactly.”
“Frank, what the hell is going on?”
Her father’s driver cleared his throat again.
“Oh, Frank, the goddamn IRS caught up with Daddy again, didn’t they? So what, he’s visiting Reno on some forsaken island in the Caribbean?”
Frank coughed. “That’s about it, Lady Eva.”
Eva crossed her palms in her lap and sighed. “Okay, Frank. Where am I off too?”
“You’ll know in a moment. This was at the office with your name on it when I fetched the car.” Frank lifted a white gloved hand and passed an envelope through the space in the glass.
Pursing her lips, Eva lifted the flap of the envelope, unfolding a letter on her father’s stationary. Three hundred dollar bills and a plane ticket spilled into her lap as she read the words he’d penned in Cross ink.
30 March, 2014, Los Angeles
Eva,
I’mquiteatalossrightnow,cherie.You’llbe finishing up at Betty in two weeks, but all the accounts in the States will have been frozen by then. I’ve taken care of your plane ticket and tucked a bit in for travel fare as well, but you’ll have to make do with the trust in Boston for the time. You’ll find your grandmother put plenty aside for upkeep on Cleopatra, it’s the groceries and utility bill you’ll have to chew the bone on. Well, there it is~ Nothing in the till for champagne. Just as well, I suppose~The banker on Egypt Island is your man, he’s got a direct line to Boston.
AuRevoir,mapetitemiserable!
Papa
Lady Eva remembered her breathing. Calmly, she inhaled. Exhaling as slowly as possible, Eva folded the letter, slipped it back into its envelope, and tucked it, the plane ticket and the hundred dollar bills carefully into her purse. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. Won’t get me far.
When she’d finished with that, she inhaled, but there was nothing to do but scream. Egypt Island?
“Egypt Island? EGYPT ISLAND! FRANK, What was he THINKING?”
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Crashing Into Tess (The McGreers) Page 24