X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1)

by A. Carlock Maxwell DVM

  "Appearances can be deceiving." She hoped her smile evidenced more conviction than she felt. Good starts meant nothing without a good finish.

  "Saw a few of your cows running around with afterbirth hanging out, but no calves nursing. Hard to make money when they don't raise a calf." He shook his head, as if commiserating with her predicament. From his high voltage smile, he could have been hooked to a battery charger.

  "I'll manage."

  Though his smile remained, any warmth vanished. "You be sure to keep them away from my cattle. If yours give mine Bang's or something, you'll be in a sure enough bind."

  Breathe in, breathe out. Don't let him smell your fear of Bang's disease, a plague of biblical proportions according to her dad. "Not my section of fence that's been springing leaks, Mr. Spivey. And no one's said its Bang's yet."

  "Don't bet against it." His smile reminded her of a lecherous lizard. "You might think about selling. Farming is too tough for the likes of you. I'm still willing to buy. Land and stock." He paused to smirk. "Except for the chickens. Rather have sheep than chickens. And I hate sheep."

  "I promise I'll think about that right after I fall out of a tree and land square on my head."

  His eyes flickered. "The price I'm offering, it's going to start going down ten per cent each time."

  Liza shifted her feet and rubbed her arms. "Ten per cent of no sale still adds up to nothing."

  "Just trying to be neighborly, girl. Don't you want to invite me up for a glass of tea?" The words were talons reaching out, seizing her by the neck. He started to open his door.

  The chair scraped as she pushed to her feet, opened the screen door and grabbed the twenty-gauge by the barrel. She slowly brought it into view, hoping it would be a sufficient deterrent. Then she had a spontaneous thought. Shooting it would be a more powerful visual aid.

  "Duck!" She shot over him, dropping a handful of limbs on his head. "Sorry about that. I hate crows. Guess you remember that from a few days ago." The adrenalin dump propelled her on. "Don't think I haven't seen you stalking me. I'd kindly request you to not be spying on me again. So far I've kept my aim high. Don't make me drop it your level."

  "Dang, girl!" Otis pawed at the debris on his hat as he jumped inside the car and pulled the door closed. "You're as smart mouthed as your momma was. It'll cost you too."

  With a dismissive grunt, he threw the car into reverse.

  Liza stared after him, wondering what he meant about her mother. And where had she been the last twenty years anyway?

  Chapter 25

  The sharp line of demarcation revealed that the storm had battered only a three-mile swath of Big Bottom. At the juncture, fully leafed trees stood side by side with their naked brethren. In town, the streets were dry.

  After Miss Effie heard about the storm and the damage inflicted at Liza's farm, she scolded him.

  "I can't believe you didn't stay to help the poor child. The bank is after her. Cows losing calves. Now her crops are beat to smithereens."

  Will held up a hand, trying to disrupt the Perils of Pauline monologue. "What exactly are smithereens?"

  A galled look pinched her nostrils together. Air whistled through the resultant slits. Her chin tilted up, giving her a better angle to look down her nose. "Would it hurt you to be serious? Didn't even stay to help pick up. Your momma never raised you to be that trifling."

  "I offered to help. She didn't want any." She regarded him like he had turtle brains. "She had a shotgun right there in the kitchen. Do you think Julia Child has a gun in her kitchen? No. People with guns in the kitchen don't want help. They want targets."

  Miss Effie dismissed him with a wave. "She probably didn't know what she wanted. It's been medically documentirized that stress can short out your brain. I read all about it." She unwrapped a fresh stick of gum and stuck it in her mouth. "Endolphin levels get out of whack. That increases the tendency to heebie-jeebiness. Then the nerves go sort of mushy. Like a slug. You should have stayed in case she went into mental shock. With her being eligible, it wouldn't have hurt your chances. You could of caught her when she swooned. Then she wakes up to Prince-"

  "No, she wakes up to put fist prints all over my face. There would be no kissing the toad going on there. I touched her arm and she about broke my hand."

  "Should've stayed, I'm telling you. Would've been a perfect time to carpal the dame."

  "I admit my standards are low. But I make it a rule never to become involved with those inclined to mushy nerves. Personal quirk."

  She harrumphed. "Hard heart, that's what I see. You'll regret it when you're in the old folks kennel, stuck in a wheel chair, ratty comforter across your lap, crocheting pot holders for spending money, and listening to Mel Torme on Muzak."

  "I've never met anyone crabbier than her." Maybe he should have over-ridden Liza's refusal of assistance. Maybe Liza's nerves were a bit mushy. And she did have more than several perils going on. Maybe she did need a keeper. But he wasn't sure it was him.

  "She probably sensed the storm coming. Could have given her a headache, the atmospheric pressure dropping like that. Got her spinal fluid clouded up."

  Will stared at her. Where did her Mt. Vesuvius of dodgy medical theories come from? It was a relief to hear the front door open. After tending to a lady's itching dog, he searched for the blood samples, discovered he had left them in Liza's barn.

  Miss Effie brightened at the revelation. "It's God's providence, I just know it. You don't have any appointments. You can trot back out there and make amends for deserting her."

  Uncle Bill's note came to mind. And every once in a while, do something spectacularly wild and crazy for God and someone beside you.

  He had tried it once and messed it up with caustic words. This time he would do better.

  In town he bought blue tarps, clear plastic, hammer, and roofing nails. On the drive, he told himself several times that he was doing this for pure purposes. Childhood dreams of being heroic like Uncle Bill, helping preserve small farms. Not because of her alluring green eyes, subtle sense of humor, and well-proportioned legs.

  And certainly not because of her warm personality.

  God said to love your neighbor as yourself. She was a neighbor. And love looked like something. In this case, practical help.

  On the way, he stopped to speak to Pete and Jug as they pedaled along. Agreeing with his plan, they stowed their bikes on the veterinary unit and got in the cab.

  Pete, crammed next to Will on the front seat, dug him in the ribs. "Told you to be looking out for her. In a good way. Remember?"

  Will nodded and adjusted the window. His colleague's bicycle ride had left them smelling ripe.

  "Well, this is a good way to be looking out for her. What seems to be wrong with her stock?"

  Gravel began flying as they gained speed. Spring's bouquet suffused the air with an amalgam of sweet smells. "Sounds like they may have picked up Bang's disease somewhere."

  Jug leaned forward to speak. "How would that have happened?"

  The same question he had asked. So the likely scenarios he related were fresh in his mind.

  Jug followed up with another question. "Do they get it from being vaccinated? Farm I work on some, Dr. Bill did that."

  Pete entered the conversation. "Jug is gainfully part-time employed with his cousin, Otis Spivey."

  "Great. They develop a slight case since it's a live vaccine. But it's only used on calves. They wouldn't be pregnant and abort. So they build immunity that usually protects them as an adult. Only a strong challenge would override it. Or if a calf's immune system was weak."

  "Makes sense. Guess that's why I never seen 'em do cows. Always wondered why." Jug held his hand out the window. "Ain't fair, what's happening to that girl. Glenn, our foreman on the farm, told me about hitting her dog. Like he was proud of it. Glad we're going to help her out. Always liked her folks."

  "Guess y'all were friends a long time."

  Jug nodded in agreement. "Graduated
high school together. Played ball."

  "What do you know about her mom? Miss Effie says she left one day and never came back."

  Jug continued to stare out the window. "I never did hear exactly what happened."

  "I guess things like that happen in every town. But I met somebody else whose father disappeared like that. A few years earlier. Louis Johnson. Did you know him?"

  Pete nudged Jug in the ribs when he didn't respond. "Sure he remembers him. Barbara Johnson's dad. She was in your class. Fixing' to marry Dr. Bill."

  Jug turned, annoyance showing. "My cousin just died. Dr. Bill too. Is it okay if I grieve without all this yammering about missing folks? It spooks me."

  Pete patted Jug's knee. "You're going to have to get clear of all that. Help Doc here."

  Jug pushed Pete back. "I am helping Doc. Making him points with his gal. Now, if it's all the same, let's change the subject."

  Sensing Jug verged on closing down, Will changed direction. "How are the boys doing?"

  Jug thumped the dashboard and grinned wide. "Like new. And no more government attacks either."

  When they arrived at Liza's, his crew said they would wait to see what happened before getting out.

  ***

  Will stood by the house, surveying the situation, when Liza walked up, hands and clothing splattered with blood. "What happened to you?"

  Glazed eyes glanced at herself as if unaware of her appearance. "Been killing crippled birds." A fracture line cracked her voice.

  "The ones in the coop?"

  "Those and the pasture raised." The words struggled out like a forced confession. Her chin quivered from the effort.

  "Many?"

  "One hundred sixty-seven out of two hundred." A frail laugh died in her throat as she stared at something beyond him. "Ten days and they would have been income. Goes to show you, don't count your chickens before they're plucked."

  "I'm sorry. Are they fit to eat?"

  She regained enough composure to look him in the eye. The intense blue forced hers to drop. Settle down in there. "If you're partial to Cordon Black and Blue." She tried to wipe some of the mess from her hands, but it had dried like bloody scabs, wouldn't come off. That had to be appealing for him to watch.

  "Chicken salad, huh?"

  Liza nodded, smiled grimly. "Something like that. By the way, your bandage looks attractive. Like somebody took a weed-eater to a turban."

  "Thanks." Will touched the tufts of gauze protruding beyond the Band-Aid. "An impartial survey says most folks think it's a seagull taped to my head.

  "What brings you back?"

  "Forgot the blood samples."

  She struggled against exasperation. Standing around chitchatting wouldn't get things done. Had he left the samples on purpose? As an excuse to come back to see her? No. Her behavior wouldn't entice a normal male to pursue her. But maybe he wasn't a normal male. Logic told her to keep her distance. Spontaneity told her to open up. Let him in. Stalemate. "Guess that peck on the noggin did more damage than you allowed."

  "You're right. It disoriented me so much I thought I'd crawl up on the roof and patch the bare spots until you can get it fixed. And a few windows need plastic." He smiled and pointed at the materials and bikes tied atop the veterinary unit. "I picked up some supplies. And a couple friends that wanted to help."

  She craned to see who that would be. They waved at her but remained seated. She rubbed her cheek, not encouraged. Where would she get the money to pay him back? Why were do-gooders so presumptuous, always thinking their plans were the best of the best, barging ahead, biting off more than the other person could chew? "And what if I said I'd rather do it myself?"

  "Good question. One that demands an answer." After a moment of mock deliberation, he spoke. "I'd call Prideful Anonymous, enroll you in one of their twelve step programs, then do it anyway."

  "Oh, really?" She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed with curiosity as she choked back a laugh. She had learned a valuable lesson in grade school. Never encourage someone afflicted with a sense of humor. Do, and they never stop.

  "Really. I'm this way whenever my brain swells."

  For a moment, she stared away. The landscape looked so foreign, it staggered her. Especially with a man standing right in her face, behaving like someone auditioning for The Gong Show. Whose slightest glance caused fire to arc through her nervous system. "Why would you want to help?"

  "Beats me." The impish blue eyes that had consumed her at their first encounter gave the lie to him being serious. She looked away. "Probably your warm personality bringing out the best in me."

  A tiny grin wrestled stubborn lips while she studied his resolute face. It would be beyond stupid to argue. Thinking of climbing on top of the house made her stomach fizz. Heights made her want to puke. Tight lips accented a tighter nod. "There's a ladder in the barn. I'll get us some hammers."

  He held a hand up, a student asking permission to speak. "There's one other thing."

  Held tilted to one side, eyes wary, she waited. There must be a catch. Her weight shifted to one leg.

  He cleared his throat. His smile cleared her mind. "It'll be faster if I do it my way. You go on about what you were doing. I'll work on the roof. With my crew."

  She looked over his shoulder towards the truck. Saw them wave again. "You're calling them a crew."

  "I'm trying to speak words of life to them. Looking for their potential."

  She scratched her head as she deliberated. He waited, maintaining a patient smile. "Speaking the things that aren't as if they were?"

  "Something like that. They were keen to help when I told them what happened." He tilted his head, seemed to be thinking. "They might just be in it for the biscuits."

  "And you think it'll be simpler for you and your crew to do things your way?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I think that would work fine."

  Sharp teeth nibbled the inside of her lower lip. A bloody hand rubbed the corner of an eye developing a twitch. Why did men always want to take charge? And to think, she had briefly wanted him to stay after she had basically run him off. Now he was back and she didn't know what she wanted.

  "I never in my life heard such a..." Her voice trailed off as she envisioned herself on the roof, throwing up in their presence, simply to prove her independence. What harm was there in allowing him to be Mr. Fixit? Surely someone with a college degree could tack down blue tarp without her supervision. It wasn't tiling the space shuttle.

  "Such a what?"

  Independence met sensibly impulsive. "Such a good idea. I've never heard such a good idea. Actually, an excellent idea."

  "Could we pray before we start?"

  "That would be nice. But no touching." She didn't look to see whether he was shocked or not. But no way would she hold hands with him and pray. Scripture said to pray without ceasing. She intended to pray without combusting.

  Darkness skulked across the yard as Will nailed clear plastic over the last broken window. Pete and Jug had left earlier, each ecstatic over the piece of apple pie in their bicycle's basket. Tears ran down her cheeks when they said they would be back tomorrow.

  "I look like a coal miner." He slapped grit from his pants after jumping down from the ladder.

  "I'm not any better." Blood splatters darkened her clothes. The fumes of her toxic sweat burned her eyes. Hoping he couldn't smell her but certain he could, she looked at the house again. Pathetic. It resembled a huge accident victim, Band-Aids of blue tarp plastered on the wounded roof. "But doesn't the house look pretty? The blue really dresses it up."

  He studied it critically before swinging his eyes to her. "It's not making too much of a statement? I tried for subtle without being overly forceful."

  Head cocked to the right, she pretended to judge it again. "Maybe it's the light." She turned to face him. Even under dirt, he was write-him-a-disturbing-the-peace-ticket handsome. Maybe grit brought out the best in high cheekbones and eyes the blue of faded Levis. A Texas Ranger's mustache. Eyes s
he feared could decode her thoughts. Eyes she wouldn't mind falling into. If she was spontaneous, of course.

  They had sat down on the porch when the crunch of tires on gravel caught their attention, saving her thermostat from over-heating. A patrol car pulled up the driveway. The window rolled down and Sheriff Ledbetter stuck his head out and whistled. "Evening, Liza. Heard it was bad, but I ain't believin' this."

  "Life happens."

  He rubbed his chin with thick fingers. "Guess you're pretty stressed to go shooting at Otis."

  Will blinked his surprise. What would he think? Did it matter?

  "I wasn't shooting at him. If I had been shooting at him, Bunny would be picking out songs for the funeral."

  Ledbetter's smile lacked warmth. "Special occasion?"

  He was Spivey's man all the way. A cousin too. In a county where cousins counted. She needed to be careful. At least she had a witness to her words. "I'll focus on only the most recent things. The past few weeks, he's been ogling me through binoculars. Plus bullying me to sell him my farm. Today, he was leering at me and started to come up on the porch. So I felt a bit put upon." What did Will think about the conversation? "But I was actually shooting at crows. I don't appreciate crows."

  Liza took note of Will's expression. He looked confused, which was as benign a response as could be expected. Certainly better than seeing him run toward his truck.

  Ledbetter propped his elbow on the window rest, sat his chin on a clenched fist. "Hmm." He stared at Liza, teeth pressing his lower lip. "Okay. Just don't set your sights too low. And while I'm here, Dr. Kilpatrick, can I have a word with you? In private?"

  Liza stood. "I need to check on something in the kitchen." The screen door slapped behind her, then she ducked down by the window. What would the sheriff be talking to him about?

  "Do you have any questions about your uncle's accident you'd like to ask?"

  Will's voice sounded level, unconcerned. "I don't think so, but thanks for the offer."

  "Hear you've been asking Officer Larue about it. Almost like you don't trust us to know what is and isn't an accident. Prowling through old papers at the Sentinel." The sheriff paused. She leaned in, hoping to not miss anything. "Seth asked you about that and you told him you were reading the article about your uncle. Only problem is, there wasn't one."