It had been unbearably hot and stuffy just two days ago until the humidity was broken by a good dosing of ground-saturating rain.
“Am I the only one wishing there was a beach around here?” The voice was that of Miss Maggie, her first good friend in Sugarbush Creek. She sat behind the reception desk, staring forlornly out the big bay window at the parking lot and beyond. “Crashing waves, warm sunshine, and bare-chested men in bathing trunks.”
Clara smiled. A week before she’d put up the ‘Help Wanted’ sign, expecting to run the gambit of people looking for a decent wage as well as a handful of hopeful teenage girls with a love for animals. But it was Maggie who walked through the door, promptly removed the sign, and asked what her first task would be. Taken aback Clara stuttered, then pointed at some filing that needed doing, though there wasn’t much. Without a formal interview Miss Maggie got the position and Clara considered it kismet, one of those moments when the person she really needed stepped into her life. Here they were talking like old friends, never mind the gap in their ages, or the different paths they’d taken to reach this point in life.
“Why, Maggie, I do believe you just want to look at the young dudes.”
“I may be old, but I can still appreciate the view of a nice firm rump.”
Clara giggled. “You’re not old.”
“That’s right. I’ll always be young at heart.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Clara’s gaze strayed to the open door. She kept sending out a silent prayer for a new client to come waltzing through the door. When she moved to the quaint town she did her research, knowing how foolish it would be to open shop in a small town where there was already a decent, reliable, well-loved vet. She quickly learned about Doc Lawrence and that he preferred working with ranch animals, livestock, but tended the smaller critters as well, mostly out of necessity. Lately, however, she had been hearing grumbling from her handful of clients that Doc Lawrence had lost some of his charm. To Clara it sounded like he was turning into a bitter man in his old age.
Which was one of the reasons she kept hoping for her clientele to increase.
“I think I’ll go see about a bit of paperwork, make sure things are in order.”
“Don’t worry none, dear, word has a way of getting around in small places like Sugarbush,” Miss Maggie assured her. “I’ve already spoken highly of you and how you handled Fizzy.” Fizzy, it turned out, was her tabby cat, a sweet thing with half an ear missing. “Just gotta give the locals a chance to come ‘round. Then you’ll be one of us.”
Clara arched an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a cult.”
“Oh, honey, haven’t you heard? We are, we win you over with good manners and our country charm.”
Clara started for the back and her office. “And here I always thought it was the cowboys.”
“They’ll certainly rope you in, especially the hunky one walking this way.”
And that was the first time Clara crossed paths with the devilishly handsome Asher Barlow. He was crossing the wee gravel lot, The Ark having been built in an old converted farm building, with a black labrador cradled in his arms. It was hard to make out the man behind the dog, but he sported Dusty jeans, a red T-shirt that showed off his muscles, and a black Stetson jammed down on his head. Just the sight of him was enough to cause Clara’s heart to flutter. It was like he walked in slow motion off the cover of a romance novel. And then her brain reminded her about the bow she took upon packing up the last of her belongings.
Love, forget it, there was no place for it in her life.
Not when she was running from a broken, bruised, and battered heart.
Still…
Clara licked her lips, stepping up to the counter to greet her newest client. He swept through the door, a man with purpose, and nodded his head at the reception counter. ”Why, hello Miss Maggie.”
“Asher, always a pleasure. What’s with your sweet old lady? I hope it isn’t anything too terrible.”
“That makes two us,” he remarked, the timber of his voice sending a shiver down Clara’s spine.
The lab was wagging her otter-like tail somewhat enthusiastically, making it hard to keep hold of her. He set her on the floor, dog tags jingling, as Miss Maggie stepped around the counter to give her a loving scratch behind the ears. Clara saw the problem instantly in the way the pooch limped, though the injury didn’t slow her down; as soon as she was done with Miss Maggie she hustled over to Clara, sitting at her feet and leaning into her.
Clara laughed, parting the dog on the head. ”Well, aren’t you the friendly one.”
“Sass loves people,” the drool-worthy cowboy stated, pushing back the brim of his hat and providing Clara with the first decent look at him. From what she could tell he sported a mop of dark brown hair touched by the summer sun and eyes that made her feel like she was the only woman in the room when they settled on her. His jawline was covered in stubble, providing him with a perfect rugged appearance, just the way she always imagined her men of the West. He stepped over to her, offering his hand. “Asher Barlow, and this hyper little girl is Sarsaparilla.”
“Clara Dickens.” His palm was warm against hers.
“I’ve heard some mighty fine things about you, ma’am,” he said, removing his hat completely. Clara felt her heart skip a beat. The man looked ready for a photo shoot to sell jeans. “I sure hope you can help out Sass.”
“I’ll do my best. Why don’t we go into one of the exam rooms and you can tell me what happened?”
“Sounds good.”
Somehow, he managed to wrangle the energetic dog and fell into step behind her. Once in the small room Asher placed Sass on the metal exam table. Much to her surprise Sass remained, sitting, the perfect picture of obedience. The advanced gray on her muzzle suggested she was getting on in years so it pleased Clara to see her so joyous.
“May I ask how old Sass is and is she up-to-date on her shots?” From a cabinet she retrieved a clipboard with paperwork attached. It would be the start of a new file, one she hoped might bring her more business, especially if it meant seeing Asher more. Something told her Sass wasn’t the only pet in his life. ”And what brings you two by today?”
The way he scratched under Sass’s chin, the love evident in his eyes, made Clara smile. “The ole gal is pushing eleven, though she’s two by her standards. And yep, she’s good on her shots. I’m guessing you saw her limp?”
Clara nodded, jotting down a couple of notes.
“Well, I noticed it about lunch time when I rode down to the creek for a little break. I don’t know if she slipped in the mud along the banks or maybe got bit or stepped on something…” He trailed off.
“Let’s have a look.”
Quiet reigned over the room while Clara checked Sass. With no open wounds, no resistance from the pooch when she flexed the lump, and nothing stuck in the paw, Clara was left to announce the only likely cause. Done with the exam she offered Sass a small treat from her pocket, a bubble of freeze dried beef.
“I’m officially diagnosing this as a soft tissue injury. You know how when you roll your ankle?” Asher nodded. “It’s like that. Restrict her movement for a day or two and she’ll be good as new. If you’d like, I can also prescribe a mild painkiller.”
“Do you think she’ll need it?”
“I could write it up just in case you decide you’d like to have it? I’m fact, I can give you a small bottle with six or seven pills.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” Clara assured. She reached for the door. “How about you and the patient go wait out front and I’ll bring them around?”
Asher gathered up his dog and carried her out of the room, giving Clara a wonderful view of his backside. She found it quite pleasing to watch him walk away, especially with the fit of his jeans. With a shake of her head as well as a silent reminder that she’d given up on love, Clara retreated to the back of the clinic and the locked space where she stored the medications. When
Miss Maggie breezed in Clara jumped, realizing she’d been standing before the bottles, gaze unfocused, as her mind wandered to…other places.
“So?”
“So what?” Clara found the pills she wanted and placed them in an orange bottle. A few quick taps of the keyboard made the printer spring to life, printing the needed label.
“I saw the way you looked at him.”
“Much like you, I can enjoy a handsome, pleasing to the eye guy.” She slapped the label on the bottle and handed it to Miss Maggie. “However, I’m fine single. And I’m plenty busy enough getting this place running and settling in…” Never mind she was completely unpacked and had called Sugarbush Creek home for more than a handful of months. ”Love can wait.”
For a moment it looked like Miss Maggie might leave, but before she did she made sure to say, “Love doesn’t wait for us to be ready. It does things on its own terms. You and Asher will make a cute couple.”
“I’m sure,” responded Clara, for lack of anything better to say.
She wandered back to her office, closing the door before sinking into the desk chair. Miss Maggie’s choice of words bounced through her mind, refusing to be silenced so easily. You and Asher will make a cute couple. Wasn’t she jumping the gun? They’d only just met and what made Miss Maggie think she was even interested or that he was, for that matter? Though she freely admitted Mr. Barlow was a strikingly handsome man, Clara wasn’t in the market for love. Miss Maggie was way off the mark.
Chapter 4
Satisfied, both by the conversation with her friend as well as the delicious food, Clara headed out, intent on going home and relaxing. There was a new stack of library books sitting on her coffee table, including a romance she was currently in the middle of and wanted eagerly to see how it ended. Free days were few and far between. Strolling down the sidewalk she conjured up an almost perfect evening, curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over her lap while she read, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The only thing really missing was the man who owned her heart.
Someone came up behind Clara and wrapped their arms around her waist. A shot of panic sliced through her and she was ready to elbow the offender in the gut when she caught whiff of his aftershave. Clara relaxed against Asher, melting into his firm body. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the moment. Her mind slipped away, taking her from the chilly sidewalk along Main Street to a more intimate setting.
Asher’s bedroom.
Candles flickered, strategically placed around the room. Outside the window snow was falling. Asher lowered her onto his bed, his lips pressed to hers, a hand on her hip. He trailed the curves of her body, tracing his fingers over her chest, his mouth lingering on each breast, eliciting a moan from her. And his hand, it dipped lower, touching her in the most private of places, causing her to arch her back. When she was ready he would position himself just right and…
“What are you thinking about?” Asher whispered in her ear.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Why did he possess the power to make her blush effortlessly? “Nothing.”
Asher chuckled, turning her so they stood face to face. “I bet.” Light danced in his eyes. He tweaked her nose. “You should see how red your cheeks are and something tells me it ain’t the wind’s fault.”
She curled her fingers into his flannel jacket, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Was she ready to take that step in their relationship? How? Mere moments ago, she was contemplating the depth of her love for Asher. And if I keep letting my mind wander along this avenue I’ll be as red as a firetruck. Clara cleared her throat, acutely aware of how close his hips were, and considering how he looked in his jeans, oh boy.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way to see Bowie when I spied your SUV parked along the curb.” He slipped one of his hands lower, briefly cupping her right butt cheek. “Thought I might stop and see if it’s my lucky day; which it turns out to be.”
“Is it?”
“I think so,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.
When his lips touched hers, Clara felt her toes curl with an ache for him to brush his fingers along other locations. Sensual, delicate, intimate places. Then she recalled that they were out in public and regretfully pulled away, licking her swollen lips. Perhaps it’s a good thing we’re here.
“I find, Miss Dickens, that I quite thoroughly enjoy kissing you.”
“Do you now?”
“I imagine I’ll relish doing other things to you.”
“Asher.”
Another chuckle, his chest rumbling. “There’s a time and a place.” He winked.
Sadly, Clara untangled herself from Asher, letting the cold air rush in between them. “So, on other topics. You said you were on your way to see Bowie?”
“I can be persuaded to skip.”
“No, don’t let me hold you up. I hope everything fine.”
“I don’t mind being held up by you, my dear. In fact, we should find a way to make it happen more often.”
He drew her back to him and Clara went willingly, flushed from head to toe. Her conversation with Miss Maggie, still fresh in her mind, mixed with this moment made her wonder if it a little Valentine’s celebration might be fine. If they loved each other what did it matter If they chose to mark the date in their fledgling relationship? It was their business, their decision. Clara was about to ask Asher his opinion on the whole affair, when a new idea occurred to her. It was part of a conversation she had years ago with high school chums. Oh, those days seemed like a lifetime ago. Her bestie at the time assured her that men usually got cold feet at the mention of commitment, wanting to sow their wild oats.
And look at how your attempt of wedded bliss worked out. Train wreck is a perfect phrase to describe that situation. Do you want to risk losing Asher over a silly holiday? Is this one day even all that important to me?
“What’s going on in that head of yours and does it include me?” Asher’s grin was impish.
“It may, but you have business and so do I.”
“Bowie will understand if I got distracted. Besides, I like spending time with you.”
“Same goes for me. However, I refuse to be the girl that comes between a man and his friends. We can always meet up later for dinner.”
Asher was running a hand up and down her back, making Clara regret the bulk of her winter jacket. She easily imagined being stretched out on a bed, Asher massaging her back as he worked his hands down lower and lower until…Her breath caught in her throat as she pictured him slipping a hand between her thighs, caressing sensitive areas, bringing her to the height of pleasure.
“My dear,” Asher whispered in her ear, “you may want to change your train of thought. You’re bright red and you just moaned. Save such things for the privacy of a bedroom and allow me to be involved.”
Clara snapped back to reality. Her cheeks were on fire. “Oh,” she said.
Asher chuckled, letting her go. “I think I will be on my way, let you cool down, little lady.”
“I…” She tried to come up with a reasonably believable lie and failed miserably. Asher read her like a book, tickled pink by her desire for him. Truthfully, she could chalk it up to having been without the intimate touch of a man for a long time, but it really boiled down to her longing to get closer to Asher. The jury, however, remained out on whether she was ready to take that step. To be that vulnerable.
Asher kissed her forehead. “I’ll call you later and we can discuss these dinner plans you mentioned. Until then, be good.” He winked, then turned on his heel and strode off. Clara watched him go, loving the way his butt looked in his jeans.
Chapter 5
“Please tell me his temperament is nothing like his father’s,” Asher remarked.
He stood in the chilly February air eyeing the bull on the other side of the fence. With a coat of black and white and horns nearly the length of Asher’s arm, the bull was an impressive specimen. There was a mean look ab
out the steer, muscle thick under his hide, and that was part of the appeal. But knowing how brutal the air had been, Asher worried that his best friend might have bitten off more than he could chew. Whippet had quickly gained a reputation for being a bastard, tossing riders as fast as possible and then whirling around to go after them. Vicious, some called him, and more than one cowboy tried to show off by hopping aboard, every single one of them wanting to be the guy that lasted all eight seconds. Nobody ever did.
Leaning on the top rail, Bowie Levithan pushed up the brim of his Stetson. “He seems level headed enough, hasn’t even tried charging the fence once.”
“Give him time.”
Bowie shrugged, then turned away from his latest acquisition and started for the promised warmth of his house. Snow crunched under their boots as Asher fell into step beside him. Neither of them spoke, both lost in thought. Briefly Asher cast a look at the cloudy sky, wondering how much more snow was forecast, and the season was already record breaking. Then he began to consider what it was Bowie wanted to tell him. He’d received a call from his best friend an hour or two ago. Checking out the bull had to be only part of it, at least, that was the feeling he got. There had been something in Bowie’s tone.
Asher waited until they were inside and slipping out of their costs, before he started prodding. “There’s something more to this than that critter,” he said, “So come on already, tell me what it is.”
“I never was good at hiding things from you. Beer?”
“You planning on making me dinner?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll settle for soda,” said Asher, thinking again of the snow as well as the drive home. His pickup handled the roads fine, but he still saw no point in adding alcohol to the mix.
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