Mason's Rescue

by Peggy L Henderson

  “At least you weren’t afraid of the horse.”

  His grin had widened, melting her insides even more. Lori forced her eyes away. She waited for Mason to get into the truck, then folded his wheelchair and set it in the back seat. It was one of those high-performance, light-weight titanium chairs that were easy to maneuver and for him to get around in. She climbed behind the wheel and reached for her appointment book.

  “I was terrified of the horse,” she whispered, glancing at the next appointment.

  “Well, you didn’t let it show, which is what counts. The next one will be even easier. I think Rory was impressed, even if he couldn’t keep a straight face when he offered you a crate to stand on to feed the endoscope up the horse’s nose.”

  Lori glanced over at Mason. If he continued with that heart-stopping grin, she’d be useless to make any more ranch calls, and not because of her fear of horses. Heat crept up into her cheeks, and she forced her eyes back to her appointment book.

  “Well, lucky for me, it looks as if the next patient won’t be quite as tall.”

  “Who’s your next patient?”

  There was a distinct note of eagerness in Mason’s voice that hadn’t been there before. Lori smiled. There was no use making a comment, though. He’d only deny it. The truth was in the sparkle in his eyes. Mason Taggart was glad she’d asked him to come with her on these calls. It was probably a good thing he’d been slightly drunk when she’d asked, or he would have declined by making some silly excuse.

  After Dr. Johnson’s announcement that she was going to be making farm calls this week, her first inclination had been to simply throw in the towel and hand in her resignation. Quit before she’d even gotten started, almost like she’d done during her internship.

  While Doc Johnson knew about her problems in Denver, he didn’t know she was afraid of large animals, and those were a big part of this practice. Unlike school, she couldn’t fly under the radar anymore.

  While she’d initially felt threatened by Mason, or his persona from all the inquiries from other clients, it had dawned on her while talking to his sister at Evie’s Diner that Mason could be a great asset. The more she’d thought about it after asking him to go on ranch calls, she’d also realized there was no reason Burnt River couldn’t have two vets, just as before.

  Mason had been Dr. Johnson’s associate for nearly three years. Once he retired, it would make sense to have two vets again rather than one handling everything. It would be a win-win for everyone, if only she could convince Mason Taggart. Maybe by the end of this day, she’d have him at least thinking that her idea would be best for everyone.

  “We’re going to see a pony with laminitis,” she answered.

  Lori put the key in the ignition to start the engine. Before she could turn it over, Mason’s hand wrapped around her wrist. Her head snapped up to look at him. The contact sent an unexpected rush of adrenaline up her limbs. Mason’s hand was warm, calloused, and strong, like the rest of him. It was easy to forget he was in any way handicapped, much less paralyzed.

  “You forgot something,” he said, his dark eyes staring directly at her. His grin had vanished. He looked to be all business at first glance, but there was also something else in his look as his gaze locked on hers.

  “Forgot?” she breathed, unable to look anywhere else but at him. Her mind went blank.

  “Your end of the bargain, remember? I backed you up on this call, now it’s your turn to tell me why you left Denver.”

  Lori swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She nodded and tore her eyes away from the stare that seemed to draw her to him with every second. He was right. He’d completely backed her up and defended her in front of the client. She’d almost thought he’d done it because he liked her, not simply to keep his end of the deal they’d struck before pulling up to the farm.

  Lori removed her hand from the keychain that dangled from the ignition. Mason still held her wrist. Her eyes darted to him momentarily, and they stared at each other. She blinked and forced her eyes away, unable to face him.

  She had to tell him the truth because she’d made a deal, but looking at him when she told him would only make it harder. He released her wrist when she moved her arm further away. He seemed almost reluctant to do so.

  “I accepted an internship after graduation that I thought would be a great learning experience for me,” she started. She fisted both hands in her lap and kept her eyes down. “The cases were challenging, and the work was demanding. The diagnostic side of small animal medicine has always fascinated me, and I had no problems there.”

  “Then what gave you problems?” Mason prompted when she paused again to clear the hitch in her throat.

  She finally glanced up, and was met with Mason’s searching look. He leaned slightly toward her. There was genuine concern in his eyes. Lori blinked back the sting of tears.

  “Surgery was never my strong point,” she stammered. She sniffed, and laughed. “I come from a family of surgeons, yet I’m not cut out for it.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “It was a hemangiosarcoma on a Labrador,” she whispered and shook her head as the awful memories returned. She blinked through the tears that wouldn’t stay back any longer. “The mass was close to the dog’s heart. The lead surgeon who oversaw me perform the surgery stepped out of the room and told me to finish up and close. I must have overlooked an open vein or artery. The dog bled out internally, and it was my fault. I didn’t notice it until it was too late.”

  Mason reached for her, tugging her to him. Lori fell into his embrace, sobbing while his arms wrapped around her. She clung to him. She cried as he held her and stroked his hand up and down her back.

  “I killed a family’s beloved pet,” she whispered against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Mason’s arms tightened around her as if he wanted to squeeze the pain from her. His embrace was the most comforting thing she’d experienced in a long time, and talking about the horrible ordeal seemed to ease the longer he held her.

  “The surgeon’s more at fault than you are,” he murmured against her hair. “You were fresh out of school. He should have never left the room. He didn’t see the animal as a pet, but simply something that needed repair. That’s what makes you different from someone like him. You care about the animals.”

  Lori shook her head. Mason’s soothing voice, along with the tender strokes of his hand along her back, almost made it easier to talk about that awful case.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one responsible. I didn’t catch the bleeder.” She raised her head from his shoulder. “The worst part was facing the owners. The entire family was there. I will never forget the devastated look on the faces of the two young boys when I had to explain that their dog was dead.”

  “It happens to everyone in this profession, Lori. You’re going to lose patients, no matter how hard you try to save them.”

  Lori pulled out of his embrace. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her shirt, then moved away from Mason to create some distance between them. It had been a long time since someone had held her and comforted her. In Mason’s arms, it seemed like so much more than just a shoulder to cry on.

  Lori scoffed. “I panicked, and I resigned that day. I didn’t want to be a vet anymore. I wasn’t cut out for it, but if I went home, my parents would simply lecture me about my poor choices. I saw an ad Dr. Johnson placed, and the idea struck me that coming to a small town seemed like the perfect solution. Now I’m not so sure about that anymore, either.”

  “Why?” Mason challenged. His eyes narrowed. “Because you have to face your fears? From what I saw today, you’re a damn good vet, Lori. You can’t keep blaming yourself for something that could happen to anyone. Just because things get a little tough is no reason to run away and quit.”

  Lori’s eyes widened with each word he spoke. Failure was not an option in her family. Everything always had to be perfect. Three months ago, things had gone horribly wrong. She’d failed to save a
dog’s life, and she’d run away. Anger for being a coward took over.

  She shook her head and glared at Mason. “You’re one to talk, Mason Taggart. Who’s the one who said he can no longer be a vet because of an accident?”

  Mason’s jaw clenched. “That’s different,” he growled.

  Lori leaned forward, letting her annoyance cover up for her own failure, and for her infatuation with this man. “Really? I’d say it’s just an excuse. From everything I’ve heard about you, you’re a brilliant vet, yet you’re ready to throw it all away. You’re so afraid you’ll never walk again that you’re setting yourself up for failure. If you pretend you don’t care, you think it’ll get easier to accept the fact that you’re in a wheelchair for the moment.”

  “I don’t even know if I’ll ever walk again. No one seems to know. How do you propose I examine a horse or a cow, much less perform surgery?”

  Lori shook her head. “I don’t know, but your hands still work, don’t they? You could start slow, with the small animals at the clinic. And, you could come with me on these farm calls. Help me get over my fear, and I’ll help you with yours.”

  Mason’s upper body tensed, and the pulse at his neck visibly throbbed. She’d definitely struck a nerve. Would he accept her challenge? He wasn’t drunk this time. He glared at her, then faced forward and stared out the windshield.

  “If you want me to go with you to see your next patient, we’d best get going.”

  He refused to look at her. Perhaps she’d overstepped a fragile line, but at least he hadn’t told her to take him home. That alone was reason enough to believe that she’d given him something to think about. For now, it had to suffice. As for her personal feelings for Mason Taggart, she’d have to be careful to keep them concealed.

  Lori put the key back in the ignition and started the truck.

  “Time to go see a pony with laminitis,” she mumbled, and put the truck in drive.

  Chapter 9

  “I’ll see you again tomorrow, Mason. Great session. Everything is going well.”

  Mason smirked. “I don’t feel any different than when we started two weeks ago.”

  Rick, the Physical Therapist, smiled indulgently. “These things just take time. You’re doing awesome with the upper body strength training, and the circulation in your lower extremities is great. There is minimal muscle atrophy. We just need to keep at it. We could try some hydrotherapy, if you want. I can set up some appointments at the pool in Missoula. It would mean driving there, of course, but it wouldn’t hurt to add that to our regimen.”

  Mason nodded at his physical therapist, who finished packing up his bag and headed for the door. Everything was always “great” for Rick. He wasn’t the one stuck in a wheelchair.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He pushed the door to the exercise room shut once Rick had left, and stared at the equipment. What the hell was he doing? Day after day, he was locked in this room, sweating and working on strengthening every part of his body, except the parts that really mattered – his legs. He hadn’t regained any feeling, and after more than six months since the accident, it was getting more than tiresome.

  Mason grabbed his phone off the table in the corner, and stared at it. Every day, he stared at it, contemplating whether to call Doc Johnson. The old vet had stopped by last week between farm calls. He hadn’t pushed or asked about whether he was coming back to work, and Mason hadn’t said anything, either. They’d laughed over lemonade and left-over fried chicken, and reminisced about old cases.

  Looking back on it now, it had been Doc Johnson’s subtle way of reminding Mason that he missed his work more than anything. He’d restrained himself from asking how Lori was getting along. Luckily, he hadn’t had to ask – Doc Johnson had brought her up himself.

  “Fabulous diagnostician with the dogs and cats,” he’d praised. “The clients are starting to warm up to her, but you know how that can be. Folks are set in their ways, and it’s hard to get them to change.”

  Mason had grinned, then winked at his mentor. “Kind of like old vets who are set in their ways.”

  Doc Johnson’s boisterous belly laugh had reminded Mason of Santa Claus. “Lori’s been getting on my case about some of my – what she calls – archaic instruments that belong in a museum. I’ve had some of that stuff since vet school, and it worked fine then, and they work just as well now. I don’t need any of those fancy gadgets you young kids like to play around with these days. I suppose you’re right and I am set in my ways.”

  “Even veterinary medicine needs to come into the twenty-first century, Doc.”

  “Well, when I’m gone and Lori . . . or someone else, takes over, they can get all the new fancy equipment they want.” Doc Johnson had stared at him with that comment, and to avoid eye contact, Mason had found the breadcrumbs on his plate highly fascinating.

  “Remember that call she went on a couple weeks ago? The laminitis pony that belongs to Brody Evans?”

  Mason had nodded. How could he forget that day? It was on his mind constantly, and not because of the cases he’d seen with Lori. Their discussion in the truck after leaving Rory Anderson’s place had given him no peace.

  Losing a patient under any circumstances was never easy, but losing one in surgery had to be devastating. From what Lori had described, however, she should not have been alone during that surgery. She’d been fresh out of school, and something as complicated as a hemangiosarcoma should not have been left for her to deal with on her own. In her mind, however, she’d taken full responsibility.

  Holding her while she’d been visibly upset had come as naturally as breathing. Mason had pulled her into his arms before he’d even had a chance to think about his actions. It had only been meant as a consoling hug, but somehow it had felt like so much more. Memories of her clinging to him, soft and vulnerable in his arms, had plagued him ever since, adding to his frustrations and feelings of utter helplessness.

  Girlfriends had come and gone over the years, but he’d never been serious about anyone before. The likelihood of starting a relationship now was less than zero. Yet, he couldn’t get his mind off Lori Emerson.

  While other people had homed in on his wheelchair, she hadn’t so much as given it a glance or looked at him with pity. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d chastised him for letting the damn thing get in the way of carrying on with his life, similar to how his sister had badgered him relentlessly. Trouble was, he sure didn’t think of Lori as a sister.

  “What about Brody’s laminitis pony?” Mason had glanced at Doc Johnson and forced his mind away from Lori. “Is it improving?”

  Doc Johnson had rubbed his chin. “Thanks to Lori’s diagnosis and treatment plan. I saw that pony weeks before, and I didn’t catch what was really wrong with it.”

  “Insulin resistance,” Mason had said.

  Doc Johnson had pressed his lips together and frowned. “I simply chalked it up to, what I always called ‘fat pony syndrome’, and told Brody to stop feeding it grain and maybe put it on a dry lot to control its grass intake.”

  Mason had shrugged. “That’s good advice, but I know it’s not enough in these cases.”

  “The old-school vet in me ignored all the recent literature on insulin resistance. Back in the old days, we couldn’t explain most cases of founder. We simply assumed it was due to overfeeding grain. I can’t keep up with all this new science.”

  “That’s why you hired a new vet, fresh out of school. I’m sure she’s completely up to date on all the new science.”

  Doc Johnson had looked at him with a sad expression on his face. “It’s time I retired. You’re schooled on all the new science, too, Mason.” In the next instant, the old man had coughed to clear his throat, then stood from the table. “I’d best get back to work. Rory Anderson is having a fit and needs me to take a look at one of his first-calf heifers he bred to Boone Macklin’s prize bull. It sounds like she’s got pregnancy toxemia.”

  Mason smiled and stared at
his phone, thinking back to the visit with Doc Johnson last week. It would be so easy to tap on Doc’s number and ask if he needed any help. As much as he kept telling himself it didn’t matter, or that he couldn’t go back to work and do his job in his condition, talking to the old vet had made it even harder.

  Lori’s challenge to him in the truck had weighed heavily on his mind, saying he could slowly return to the clinic with the small animals. It would have been easy to say yes, but a part of him, the part that was quickly losing hope that he would ever fully recover from his accident, had refused to budge.

  He’d finished out the day of farm calls with her, actually looking forward to the next day. It hadn’t been because of the cases. He’d wanted to see her again.

  When she’d called early in the morning to tell him that the one farm call had cancelled, but offered to pick him up to spend the day at the clinic, he’d declined. He’d spent the rest of the morning picking his guitar. Luckily, Raine hadn’t been home to pester him.

  Lori hadn’t called since that day. Two weeks had gone by. She’d probably realized he was right, and until there was a change in his condition, he couldn’t effectively do his job.

  Mason stuck his phone in his pocket and wheeled to the kitchen. On the way, he glanced out the large living room windows overlooking the barns and fields. Horses grazed in the distance, adding to the tranquil scene.

  The house was eerily quiet. Shane was either at the barns or in town. Raine was at work, and Alley had gone to visit her grandfather. Mom was probably taking a nap.

  He inhaled a deep breath. Life went on as usual for everyone around him, yet he was stuck in the house, wasting his hours away with his meaningless existence. As he opened the refrigerator and reached for a can of soda, the doorbell chimed.