by Helen Lacey
Ten minutes passed, until finally she heard a vehicle coming down the driveway. The sensor light near the corral flicked on and she used the crutches to maneuver herself toward the entrance.
Once she was by the door, Jesse came to an abrupt halt.
A truck had pulled up outside the stables. The door opened and a tall, brown haired man got out.
Not the locum she’d been expecting.
But Sam Beckett.
Her ex-fiancé.
And he was wearing a suit!
The Harris wedding. Of course. Sam was one of Marshall Harris’s closest friends. Lana had told her about the wedding a week earlier. She’d tried not to listen. Tried not to think about how hearing of weddings made her pulse race…particularly one that was in Mulhany Crossing.
She watched as he moved around the side of the vehicle and opened the side door. He ditched his jacket and tie and quickly pulled on a pair of dark overalls. The way he moved, the way he did everything with a kind of easy economy, he was impossible to ignore. Impossible to forget.
He had a torch in one hand and a surgical kit in the other, and when he turned he stopped dead in his tracks. Jesse remained where she was, conscious that he’d spotted her from her position by the stable door. Even though it was after nearly eight o’clock and dark, he was barely ten feet away and there was enough illumination from the light near the corral and the one above the stable door to clearly see his expression.
Not happy.
As though he was in the very last place he wanted to be.
I can’t blame him for that.
Jesse sucked in a breath, gathered her gumption and spoke. “Hello, Sam.”
He took a second, flicking his gaze up and down, taking in the cast on her leg, the crutches, and finally, the bandage that covered the injury on the right side of her face. It would heal, the surgeon had told her, and over time the scar would turn into a silvery line that she could cover with cosmetics if she wanted to. But that time was months off. Maybe years. All Jesse saw when she looked in the mirror, was a jagged and ugly disfigurement. She kept it covered to avoid the questions and the inevitable sympathy.
“Evening,” he said finally and walked toward the entrance. When he reached the doorway he stopped and spoke again. “Where’s the mare?”
She pointed to the second stable and maneuvered her crutches around so she could follow. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ask anything else. He simply walked to the stable and by the time she joined him, he was around the rear of the mare and inspecting the injury.
“It’s bad, huh?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe.
“Yes,” he said without looking at her. “I’ll give her a sedative so I can take a closer look.”
He donned gloves and prepared the medication and within minutes, Sugar was drowsy and Sam began attending to the wound. He moved back around the front of the horse and pulled a few items from his medical kit. Jesse watched and waited in silence. Sam was a skilled veterinarian, having taken over his father’s practice some years earlier and she trusted him completely. Even if it was hard to be so close to him. And he knew, more than anyone, how important Sugar was to her.
Her father wandered back into the stable and the two men greeted one another with a kind of familiar friendliness. Of course, she knew Sam had been out to the farm since she’d left. And her dad had always thought Sam Beckett hung the moon. Her father had made his thoughts about her bailing on her wedding very clear to her over the years. He glanced toward Jesse and made a face that was half concern and half resignation.
“What do you think, Doc?” her father asked.
“It’s a significant injury,” he said, not looking at Jesse. “And too severe to stitch. She’ll need to be confined to the stable while it heals. I’ll wrap it, using honey on the poultice to help fight the infection. The bandage will need to be changed every couple of days, but I’ll come back to change it the first time. I’ll also start her on a course of antibiotics.”
Jesse nodded, remaining mute as he worked, watching as he wrapped the injury with his skillful hands. She always loved his hands, and arms, and his shoulders, she mused, taking a quick peek as he inserted a catheter in Sugar’s neck and gave her a dose of antibiotics. He left the catheter in and covered it with tape.
“You can use that to administer the medication over the next few days,” he explained and moved around the stall, removing his gloves and plonking them in a bag with the wrapping from the bandages. “And I’ll leave you some anti-inflammatory meds to put in her feed.”
It was all very cut and dried. And not, she knew, his usual bedside manner. Or stable manner, or whatever it was called. Sam was a wonderful veterinarian and there was always a kind and caring way about his interactions with his patients and their owners. And although his attendance to Sugar was one hundred percent on point, she knew he was struggling to even look in her direction.
He still hates me…
Of course he did. Jesse hadn’t expected anything else. She’d had years to reflect on how things had ended between them and how badly she’d behaved at the end. And two long weeks to think about their first interaction since her arrival back in town. And nothing had prepared her for his absolute indifference and lack of reaction.
Her father thanked him and the two men walked back to Sam’s truck, still talking, and her father made arrangements for him to return and drench the cattle in a couple of weeks. It was all very civilized. Very…normal. But Jesse wasn’t fooled. Sam Beckett hated her…he was simply too polite to make that fact obvious to the world.
Jesse remained where she was, giving a still drowsy Sugar a long pat and checking she had water and enough hay to last her the night. She jumped out of her skin when she heard Sam’s voice from the doorway. She turned around and almost toppled off her crutches.
“I forgot to give your father the anti-inflammatory medication,” he said quietly and hooked a small bag over the door handle. “One sachet in her food morning and night for the next five days.”
Jesse nodded. “Okay…thank you.”
He didn’t move. He simply stared at her, his blue eyes taking in everything, from the cast, to the crutches, to the way she’d had to cut off the leg of her jeans to get them over the cast. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. And then he spoke.
“I was sorry to hear about Romeo,” he said, not moving. “I know how much you cared about him.”
Jesse’s heart constricted. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her cast again. “Will you be able to ride again?”
She shrugged a fraction. “I’m not sure. I broke my leg in two places and hurt my back.” She waved a hand around her face. “Amongst other things. Who knows? Time will tell.”
“Yeah,” he said coolly. “Time is a good healer.”
His point wasn’t missed, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him about the past. “I appreciate you coming out tonight. I know you were at a—”
“Wedding,” he said, cutting her off.
Jesse’s cheeks blotched with heat. “I hope they had a nice day,” she muttered vaguely.
His mouth flattened. “Well, the bride showed up, so that’s a good start.”
Her entire body shook. “Sam, I’m so—”
“You’re so what, Jesse?” he said, cutting her off again. “You’re so sorry?” He nodded. “I know you’re sorry…I got your letter. But what I didn’t get, was an explanation.”
“An…explanation?” she spluttered, gripping the crutches tightly.
“Yes,” he replied, his blue eyes glittering brilliantly. “A reason. And I’d like one now. I’d like to know why the hell you ran out on me twenty-four hours before our wedding!”
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