“Thanks again for agreeing to go with me, Mason. I really appreciate it.”
Mason frowned. “To tell you the truth, it was the beer that agreed to go with you, not me. I’ll let you borrow my truck, though.” Mason’s eyes traveled from her face to her booted feet. “But on second thought, I’m not sure the seat will move forward enough for you to even touch the gas pedal.”
“I’ll drive your truck, but you have to come with me, since the beer can’t,” she countered, tossing that lovely smile at him. “And your insults aren’t going to get you out of the promise the alcohol made on your behalf.”
His surly mood vanished with each passing second that Lori stood there. Her quick wit was enjoyable, but the silent plea in her eyes left him puzzled. What was she so afraid of? His grin returned.
“It wasn’t an insult, but a statement of fact.”
“Well, then, if you’d rather drive . . .” She let the rest of the comment hang in the air like a challenge.
“Damn alcohol,” he muttered. To Lori, he said, “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Without looking at her again, he wheeled out of the kitchen and to the front door. At the sink, Raine and Alley stood with their heads together and smug looks on their faces.
He passed Shane on the way out the door. His brother handed him the keys to the truck.
“I’ve been set up,” Mason grumbled at his brother. “Raine and Alley planned this.”
Shane’s lips twitched in a smile. “You know Raine. When she gets something in her head, she doesn’t stop. I don’t think she had anything to do with this, though.” He glanced up and stopped talking. Mason looked over his shoulder. Lori was right behind him.
“Can I help with something to get you situated in the truck?” Her gaze went from Mason to Shane.
Mason cursed under his breath. Feeling useless all week was nothing compared to what he was feeling now, in front of Lori. Broken, damaged, worthless. He needed her help like a little kid.
“I can get into the truck myself. You’ll have to put my chair in the back seat.”
He didn’t look at her when he wheeled to the passenger side of the truck and reached up to open the door. At least he had the upper body strength to hoist himself up into the seat. He gripped his legs and positioned them, and waited for Lori to pull the chair away before slamming the door shut.
Never in his life had he wanted to crawl into a dark corner and hide more than he did at this moment. His dignity and pride were gone. It was bad enough to feel like an invalid in front of his family, but in front of Lori Emerson, a woman he found attractive, was ten times worse.
Lori dumped a stack of heavy books into the back of the cab, then climbed behind the wheel and adjusted her seat as far forward as possible. She started the engine. The sound and feel of his veterinary truck sent a renewed wave of frustration through Mason. Why had he agreed to go with her, dammit?
“At least you’re wearing proper clothes today,” he said, simply to say something. If he taunted or insulted her, it wouldn’t matter. If she got angry with him, maybe she’d turn around and take him home.
“Proper clothes?” Lori stepped on the gas and off they went.
Mason grinned despite his foul mood and hangover headache. “Yeah. I was worried you’d show up in a skirt and high heels.”
Lori glanced at him for a brief second. “I thought about it. If I had, maybe I would have had an excuse not to do my job.” She turned her head to him again. “Like you.”
Mason stiffened. The only defense to her comment was to go on the offensive. His grin widened to hide his frustration.
“So, what are you afraid of, Dr. Emerson? Why ask me to go with you? And don’t feed me some bull that you want me there to introduce you to the ranchers. You can do that on your own.”
Surprisingly, her hands tightened around the steering wheel, making her knuckles turn white. She didn’t respond, keeping her head straight as she stared down the road. Her body had gone rigid. Mason leaned forward to see her face better. His eyes narrowed.
“What are you afraid of, Lori?” he prompted again.
He glanced at the backseat where she’d set her volumes of books on horses. Mason frowned, tilted his head, and studied her. “Are you scared of horses?”
His question was nothing but a guess pulled from thin air, more like a taunt, really, but her reaction confirmed he’d hit a bullseye. She didn’t say anything. The ashen look on her face said it all.
“How did you get through large animal rotation in school if you’re afraid of horses? What about cows?”
Her chest heaved as she inhaled. “I flew under the radar,” she whispered after several seconds of silence. “I spoke up during treatments and diagnostics, but I took a back seat when it came time to perform procedures. No one seemed to notice.”
Mason raised his brows. What had started as a taunt by him had turned into something serious. “You do understand that this is a farming and ranching community? Doc Johnson treats everything from Steve, the pet guinea pig, to Buster, Boone Macklin’s prized Angus bull. He even cured a toothache in an elephant once, and there’s a farm outside of town that keeps several camels, alpacas, and ostriches that receive regular veterinary care. They are now your patients.” To lighten the mood, he added, “Of course, Doc always says he has a great recipe for barbequed camel.”
Lori’s eyes widened. She looked horrified for a second. His light-hearted comment hadn’t cheered her up. Instead, tears shimmered in her eyes. “I didn’t grow up around animals. I went to vet school because I didn’t want to be like the rest of my family. The dogs and cats and other small animals were okay, but I’ve never been around large animals before.”
Mason ran his hands through his hair. A vet who was afraid of animals? She’d have to get over that fear really fast if she wanted to stay in this town.
“I didn’t think I’d ever have to treat large animals after graduation,” Lori continued. “I really enjoyed small animal ophthalmology in school, and it’s something I was hoping to pursue.”
“Ophthalmology?” Mason scoffed. “You’ll see plenty of cases of eye infections. I’ve treated horses that suffer from moon blindness. You’ll see those kinds of ophthalmology patients, along with the occasional foreign body in the eye and corneal ulcers, but you have to be versatile if you want to stay in Burnt River.”
Lori turned down the lane that led to Rory Anderson’s place. “I know that, and that’s why I’m asking for your help, Mason.”
He mentally shook his head. She was asking him for help? How did he get himself ensnared in this? He scoffed, then laughed.
“What do you find so funny?” Lori glared at him.
“How the hell am I supposed to be able to help you when I can’t do my job?”
Lori pulled the truck to the side of the road when the first barn came into view. She let it idle while she shifted in her seat and faced him. Her gaze bore straight into him like a laser knife making a precise incision.
“You love your job, and you have a real passion for it. It shows. There’s no reason why you can’t come back and practice your profession, but if you’re afraid to try, at least teach me.”
Mason ran his hand over his face. Something wasn’t adding up. Why would she ask him for help? She could just as easily ask Doc Johnson.
“Why did you leave a prestigious internship in Denver after only three months, Lori? Doc Johnson must know, yet he hired you. What happened?”
Lori stared at him. A look of fear, and something close to panic, flooded her eyes. She looked away, glancing out the windshield while her knuckles turned even whiter. Abruptly, she faced him again.
“I’ll tell you what happened, if you agree to help me with these farm calls.”
Chapter 8
“Just go nice and slow as you advance the endoscope.”
Lori’s forehead beaded with perspiration. She glanced at Mason, who sat in his chair a little off to the side of the huge animal. H
e nodded in encouragement, but the frustration in his eyes was clear to see. No doubt he’d like nothing more right now than to be able to get up out of that wheelchair and do the procedure himself. It was plain as day to see in his eyes.
She stood in front of the tall horse, the long tubes of an endoscope in one hand, the other over the horse’s nose. If the huge beast raised his head even a few more inches, there was no way she’d be able to hold his nose to feed the tube up the nostrils and along the pharynx.
She had to do this, no matter how much her stomach fluttered with nerves. Why couldn’t her first large animal patient be a smaller horse? Horses were notoriously unpredictable. This one could easily hurt her. Mason had been injured by a horse and now he was in a wheelchair, yet he didn’t seem bothered by this animal’s size at all. If her fear of the horse wasn’t enough, having Mason and the owner watching her was just as unnerving.
Lori returned Mason’s smile with a tentative one of her own to cover her nervousness. Rory Anderson, the owner of the horse, held the gelding’s head. Without his help, Lori would not be able to perform the diagnostic procedure. She’d seen it done many times at school, and only once had she done an endoscopy, but it had been on a much smaller horse, and the experience had left her shaken when the animal hadn’t cooperated.
Mr. Anderson gave her a skeptical look that complemented his earlier comment to Mason when they’d pulled up to the barn, and Mason had made the introductions.
“The new vet?” Rory had looked at her, dumbfounded, then had stared back at Mason. “I thought maybe she was one of Shane’s exercise riders you brought along as an assistant, Mason.”
Mason had laughed. “No, she’s not a rider. She’s Doc Johnson’s new associate, and she’s taking my place. I’m just along to make the introductions.”
Rory had looked disappointed. “You’re not giving up being a vet, are you? You know I trust you with my livestock more than those big shots in Missoula. Everyone in Burnt River does. What are we going to do when Doc Johnson retires?”
Mason’s jaw muscles had visibly tightened. “For now, I need to concentrate on getting out of this chair, Rory. Doc Johnson hired Dr. Emerson to replace me. Burnt River won’t be without a vet.”
The farmer had frowned, then looked at Lori. “She’s going to get stepped on once, and squashed like a fly, you know that, right?”
Lori had almost spoken up in her own defense, annoyed that the two men were talking about her as if she wasn’t even there. The sudden spark of anger in Mason’s eyes had stopped her. He’d glared at Rory and leaned forward in his seat. For a second, she’d thought he was going to grab the rancher the way she’d seen him grab Jerry Cooper at the barbeque the night before.
“Give her a chance, Rory, or do you want your daughters to see that you think less of a lady vet?”
The client’s face had turned red, and he’d sputtered. “I think no such thing. I’m only saying –”
“I think you should let Dr. Emerson do her examination of your daughter’s new horse, or she and I will leave. We’ve got other clients to see who don’t judge someone by their size or gender.”
The rancher had frowned, looked at her again with a skeptical expression, then reluctantly nodded.
“My daughter loves that horse. We got him cheap off the track, and she’s got her mind set on making a dressage horse out of him,” Rory finally grumbled.
Mason’s eyes had roamed over the large bay thoroughbred someone led from the barn. “He’s got the conformation for it. He looks athletic and healthy.”
His eyes had gone to Lori, and he nudged his chin at her to indicate she needed to step forward and take over. Lori had met his encouraging gaze. She’d smiled in thanks for the way he’d spoken up for her. She’d have to thank him again properly when they were out of earshot of the rancher. Mason’s presence gave her the courage she lacked.
She’d squared her shoulders and gripped her stethoscope that hung around her neck. Her heart had pounded in her chest, and her palms had become clammy. The horse was huge. If she stood on her toes, she wouldn’t even be able to touch his ears. At least he looked calm.
“What’s been going on with him, Mr. Anderson?” Hopefully she sounded confident and assertive.
Rory Anderson had rubbed at his chin, then looked from her to the horse. “He seems perfectly fine, but every time he gets ridden and a bit winded, he starts to cough and wheeze. It’s almost like he’s got pneumonia or something, but it only happens when he’s at exercise.”
Lori had smiled. She’d recognized the symptoms the owner described immediately. She’d glanced at Mason. The look in his eyes had told her he’d already made his diagnosis, too, but he wasn’t going to speak up. Taking a deep breath, she’d walked up to the horse. One of her professors had stressed that no matter what, a thorough examination was always warranted, even if a diagnosis was obvious.
She’d tentatively patted the sleek coat of the beautiful animal, then held her stethoscope to his girth, listening to his heart and lungs. She’d held her shaky fingers under his neck to get a pulse rate, then lifted his upper lip and pressed on the gums to check his capillary refill time. Everything seemed normal on quick examination. She stepped as far away from the animal as possible without making it obvious she was afraid.
“He doesn’t have pneumonia. His lungs sound clear,” she’d stated, turning to look at the owner. “I’d like to see him exercise so I can hear for myself what’s going on, but by your description I’m fairly certain he’s got a condition called laryngeal hemiplegia.”
Rory Anderson had frowned. “Laryngeal . . . what?” He’d stared from her to Mason.
“What’s the common term for the condition, Dr. Emerson?” Mason looked at her. He hadn’t done anything to chime in and take over her case, when he could have very easily done so. Lori had shot him a silent look of thanks.
“It’s commonly referred to as roaring, due to the sound the horse makes at exercise.” She’d taken a deep breath, ready to recite the condition the way she would have done to her professor, then paused.
Layman’s terms. You need to use layman’s terms with the clients.
“There are two cartilages, called the arytenoids, on either side of the horse’s larynx . . . the throat, that open when the horse breathes, which allow air to pass through the trachea to the lungs.” She used her hands to illustrate what she was saying. “With a horse that roars, one of the arytenoids, most commonly the left one, lacks nerve stimulation to open, and that produces the sound you’re hearing. The horse is unable to get enough air into his lungs at exercise because the passage isn’t open enough.”
Rory Anderson had listened intently and watched her demonstration with her hands, while Mason had grinned. He’d nodded at her in satisfaction. Lori had fought to keep her own smile in check. Having Mason with her gave her an inexplicable sense of self-confidence, even if the large horse intimidated her.
“So, what do we do for that?” the rancher asked. “The horse is unusable if he can’t be ridden. My daughter is going to be devastated.”
Lori had shaken her head. “After I see him at exercise, I‘d like to do an endoscopic exam to assess his arytenoids and to make a definitive diagnosis. There is a surgery, called a laryngoplasty, which can be done that ties the affected cartilage into a permanent open position, which can alleviate the problem. Most horses with the condition can then go on and do well as performance horses. There will be some management issues to consider after surgery, but we can discuss those after the exam.”
Rory Anderson hadn’t looked pleased, but he’d nodded his consent to the diagnostic procedure. Clearly, he loved his daughter enough to do what was needed for the horse.
Once he was chased in a round pen for several minutes, the horse had started to make the typical wheezing noise, and Lori made her conclusive diagnosis with the endoscope. The left arytenoid cartilage was definitely paralyzed, preventing the equine from drawing in a full volume of air while at exerc
ise.
“Would you like to confirm the diagnosis?” Lori looked at Mason, and held the end of the endoscope out to him. He hesitated, as if he was about to decline, but clearly he couldn’t help himself and he glanced through the scope.
“Your diagnosis is spot on, Dr. Emerson.”
He handed the endoscope back to her. His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. Lori blinked, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. When he looked at her with that casual grin, her heart began to flutter.
The horse snorted behind her, and Lori tore her gaze away. then directed her attention to Mr. Anderson. Hopefully she sounded coherent as she discussed options for the horse.
When she was done, Lori rushed to the truck with the instrument, not only to get away from the horse, but to have a moment to compose herself away from Mason. Something had happened when Mason had offered his encouragement and stood up for her with the client.
All of a sudden, he was no longer simply her crutch to get through the day, or the colleague whose job she’d taken. She’d ignored her initial attraction to Mason Taggart the day she’d first met him when he’d shown up at the clinic, and again yesterday at the barbeque. She’d seen him as a handsome colleague whose help she needed. At least that’s what she’d kept telling herself.
It was starting to get harder to ignore the feelings that swirled around in her the more time she spent in his presence. It wasn’t simply his good looks. He was smart, caring, and he didn’t treat her like many of the other residents of Burnt River. He could easily be resentful that she’d taken over his job, but he seemed genuinely interested in helping her succeed.
“You did real good with that thoroughbred.”
Lori stiffened. Mason was right behind her. He’d obviously had no trouble keeping up with her to reach the truck.
“This was an easy diagnosis. I doubt they’ll all be like this.” She glanced at him and smiled to cover her sudden nervousness around him.
Lori’s heart must have skipped a beat at the soft grin Mason returned. He was a good-looking guy, and he had so much going for him. His defeated attitude because of his paralysis was heartbreaking to watch. He was meant for this profession, and if he gave it up, it would kill him. If only there was something she could do to help him through his struggles.
Mason's Rescue Page 7