Tough to Tame

by Diana Palmer

  “Yes, and he’s old, too,” Dr. King agreed. “But Boone could afford it.”

  “Good point,” Keely agreed.

  “We do have medical insurance for pets now,” Cappie pointed out.

  “It’s the same moral question, though,” Dr. King pointed out. “Should we do something just because we can do it?”

  The phone rang, both lines at once, and a woman with a cat in a blanket and red, tear-filled eyes rushed in the door calling for help.

  “It’s going to be a long day,” Dr. King sighed.

  Cappie told her brother about Dr. Rydel’s mother. “I guess we’re not the only people who wish we had adequate health care,” she said, smiling gently.

  “I guess not. Poor guy.” He frowned. “How do you make a decision like that for a pet?” he added.

  “We didn’t. We recommend what we thought best, but let Mrs. Trammel make the final decision. She was more philosophical than all of us put together. She said Harry had lived for nineteen good years, been spoiled rotten and shame on us for thinking death was a bitter end. She thinks cats go to a better place, too, and that they have green fields to run through and no cars to run over them.” She smiled. “In the end, she decided that it was kinder to just let Dr. Rydel do what was necessary. Keely’s barn cat has a new litter of kittens, solid white with blue eyes. She promised Mrs. Trammel one. Life goes on.”

  “Yes.” He was somber. “It does.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Any day now, there’s going to be a breakthrough in medical research and you’re going to have an operation that will put you back on your feet and give you a new lease on life.”

  “After which I’ll win the British Open, effect détente with the eastern communists and perfect a cure for cancer,” he added dryly.

  “One miracle at a time,” she interrupted. “And just how would you win the British Open? You don’t even play tennis!”

  “Don’t confuse me with a bunch of irrelevant facts.” He sank back into his pillows and grimaced. “Besides, the pain is going to kill me long before they find any miraculous surgical techniques.” He closed his eyes with a long sigh. “One day without pain,” he said quietly. “Just one day. I’d do almost anything for it.”

  She knew, as many other people didn’t, that chronic pain brought on a kind of depression that was pervasive and dangerous. Even the drugs he took for pain only took the edge off. Nothing they’d ever given him had stopped it.

  “What you need is a nice chocolate milkshake and some evil, fattening, over-salted French fries and a cholesterol-dripping hamburger,” she said.

  He made a tortured face. “Go ahead, torment me!”

  She grinned. “I overpaid the hardware bill and got sent a ten dollar refund,” she said, reaching into her purse. “I’ll go to the bank, cash it and we’ll eat out tonight!”

  “You beauty!” he exclaimed.

  She curtsied. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, better hurry or the bank will be closed!”

  She grabbed her old denim jacket and her purse and ran out the door.

  The ancient car was temperamental. It had over two hundred thousand miles on it, and it looked like a piece of junk. She coaxed it into life and grimaced as she read the gas gauge. She had a fourth of a tank left. Well, it was only a five-minute drive to Jacobsville from Comanche Wells. She’d have enough to get her to work and back for one more day. Then she’d worry about gas. The ten-dollar check would have come in handy for that, but Kell needed cheering up more. These spells of depression were very bad for him, and they were becoming more frequent. She’d have done anything to keep him optimistic. Even walking to work.

  She cashed the check with two minutes to spare before the bank closed. Then she drove to the local fast-food joint and ordered burgers and fries and milkshakes. She paid for them—had five cents left over—and pulled out into the road. Then two things went wrong at once. The engine quit and a car flew out of a side road and right into the passenger side of her car.

  She sat, shaking, amid the ruins of her car, with chocolate milkshake all over her jeans and jacket, and pieces of hamburgers on the dirty floorboard. It was quite an impact. She couldn’t move for a minute. She sat, staring at the dash, wondering how she’d manage without a car, because her insurance only covered liability. She had nothing that would even pay to repair the car, if it could be repaired.

  She turned her head in slow motion and looked at the car that had hit her. The driver got out, staggering. He laughed. That explained why he’d shot through a stop sign without braking. He leaned against his ruined fender and laughed some more.

  Cappie wondered if he had insurance. She also wondered if she didn’t have a tire iron that she could get to, before the police came to save the man.

  Her car door was jerked open. She looked up into a pair of steely ice-blue eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She blinked. Dr. Rydel. She wondered where he’d come from.

  “Cappie, are you all right?” he repeated. His voice was very soft, nothing like the glitter in those pale eyes.

  “I think so,” she said. Time seemed to have slowed to a stop. She couldn’t get her sluggish brain to work. “I was taking hamburgers and shakes home to Kell,” she said. “He was so depressed. I thought it would cheer him up. I was worried about spending the money on treats instead of gas.” She laughed dully. “I guess I won’t need to worry about gas, now,” she added, looking around at the damage.

  “You’re lucky you weren’t in one of the newer little cars. You’d be dead.”

  She looked toward the other driver. “Dr. Rydel, do you have a tire tool I could borrow?” she asked conversationally.

  He saw where she was looking. “You don’t want to upset the police, Cappie.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Before he could reply, a Jacobsville police car roared up, lights flashing, and stopped. Obviously somebody in the fast-food place had called them.

  Officer Kilraven climbed out of the police car and headed right for Cappie.

  “Oh, good, it’s him,” Cappie said. “He’ll scare the other driver to death.”

  Kilraven bent down on Cappie’s side of the car. “You okay? Need an ambulance?”

  “Heavens, no,” she said quickly. As if she could afford to pay for that! “I’m fine. Just shaken up.” She nodded toward the giggling driver who’d hit her. “Dr. Rydel won’t loan me a tire iron, so could you shoot that man in the foot for me, please? I don’t even have collision insurance and it wasn’t my fault. I’ll be walking to work on account of him.”

  “I can’t shoot him,” Kilraven said with a twinkle in his silver eyes. “But if he tries to hit me, I’ll take him to detention in the trunk of my car. Okay?”

  She brightened. “Okay!”

  He straightened and said something to Dr. Rydel. A minute later, he marched over to the drunk man, smelled his breath, made a face and asked him to perform a sobriety test, which the subject refused. That would mean a blood test at the hospital, which Kilraven was fairly certain the man would fail. He told him he was under arrest and cuffed him. Cappie vaguely heard him calling for a wrecker and backup.

  “A wrecker?” She groaned. “I can’t afford a wrecker.”

  “Just don’t worry about it right now. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

  He helped her out of the car. She retrieved her purse, wincing. “I hope he has a Texas-size hangover when he wakes up tomorrow,” she said coldly, watching Kilraven putting the prisoner in the back of his squad car. The man was still laughing.

  “Oh, I hope he gets pregnant,” Dr. Rydel mused, “and it’s twins.”

  She laughed huskily. “Even better. Thanks.”

  He put her into his big Land Rover. “Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

  She sat quietly, fascinated with the interior of the vehicle. It conjured up visions of the African veldt, of elephants and giraffes and wildebe
est. She wished she could afford even a twenty-year-old version of this beast. She’d never have to worry about bad roads again.

  He was back shortly with a bag and a cup carrier. He put them in her lap. “Two hamburgers and fries and two chocolate shakes.”

  “How…?”

  “Well, it’s easier to tell when you’re wearing parts of them,” he pointed out, indicating chocolate milk stains and mustard and catsup and pieces of food all over her clothes. “Fasten your seat belt.”

  She did. “I’ll pay you back,” she said firmly.

  He grinned. “Whatever.”

  He started the engine and drove her out of town. “You’ll have to direct me. I don’t know where you live.”

  She named the road, and then the street. They didn’t talk. He pulled up in the front yard of the dinky little house, with its peeling paint and rickety steps and sagging eaves.

  He grimaced.

  “Hey, don’t knock it,” she said. “It’s got a pretty good roof and big rooms and it’s paid for. A distant cousin willed it to us.”

  “Nice of him. Do you have any other cousins?”

  “No. It’s just me and Kell.”

  “No other siblings?”

  She shook her head. “We don’t have any family left.”

  He gave the house a speaking look.

  “If we had the money to fix it up, it would look terrific,” she said.

  He helped her out of the car and onto the porch. He hesitated about handing her the bag with the food and the carrier of milkshakes.

  “Would you like to come in and meet Kell?” she ventured. “Only if you want to,” she added quickly.

  “Yes, I would.”

  She unlocked the door and motioned him in. “Kell, I’m home!” she called. “I brought company.”

  “If it’s wearing lipstick and has a good sense of humor, bring it in here quick!” he quipped.

  Dr. Rydel burst out laughing. “Sorry, I don’t wear lipstick,” he called back.

  “Oops.”

  Cappie laughed and walked toward the room a little unsteadily, motioning the vet to follow her.

  Kell was propped up in bed with the old laptop. He paused, eyebrows arched, as they walked in. “We should have ordered more food,” he said with a grin.

  Cappie winced. “Well, see, the food is the problem. I was pulling out of the parking lot and the engine died. A drunk man ran into the car and pretty much killed it.”

  “Luckily he didn’t kill you,” Kell said, frowning. “Are you all right?”

  “Just bruised a little. Dr. Rydel was kind enough to bring me home. Dr. Rydel, this is my brother, Kell,” she began.

  “You’re the veterinarian?” Kell asked, and his silvery-gray eyes twinkled. “I thought you had fangs and a pointed tail…”

  “Kell!” she burst out, horrified.

  Dr. Rydel chuckled. “Only during office hours,” he returned.

  “I’ll kill you!” she told her brother.

  “Now, now,” Dr. Rydel said complacently. “We all know I’m a horror to work for. He’s just saying what you aren’t comfortable telling me.”

  “And he does have a sense of humor,” Kell said. “Thanks for bringing her home,” he added, and the smile faded. “My driving days are apparently over.”

  “There are vehicles with hand controls now,” Dr. Rydel pointed out.

  “We’re ordering one of those as soon as we get our new yacht paid off,” Kell replied with a serious expression.

  Cappie burst out laughing. “And our dandy indoor swimming pool.”

  Dr. Rydel smiled. “At least you still have a sense of humor.”

  “It’s the only part of me that works,” Kell replied. “I’ve offered to check myself into a military home, but she won’t hear of it.”

  “Over my dead body,” she reiterated, and glared at him.

  He sighed. “It’s nice to be loved, but you can take family feeling over the cliff with you, darlin’,” he reminded her.

  “Sink or swim, we’re a matched set,” she said stubbornly. “I’m not putting you out on the street.”

  “Military homes can be very nice,” Kell began.

  Cappie grimaced. “Your milkshake is getting warm,” she interrupted. She took the carrier from Dr. Rydel and handed one to Kell, along with a straw. “There’s your burger and fries,” she said. “Working?”

  “Taking a short break to play mah-jongg,” he replied. “I’m actually winning, too.”

  “I play Sudoku,” Dr. Rydel commented.

  Kell groaned. “I can’t do numbers. I tried that game and thought I’d go nuts. I couldn’t even get one column to line up. How do you do it?”

  “I’m left-brained,” the other man said simply. “Numbers and science. I’d have loved to be a writer, but I’m spelling-challenged.”

  Kell laughed. “I’m left-brained, too, but I can’t handle Sudoku. I can spell, however,” he added, tongue in cheek.

  “That’s why we have a bookkeeper,” Dr. Rydel said. “I think people would have issues if their names and animal conditions were constantly misspelled. I had a time in college.”

  “So did I,” Kell confessed. “College trigonometry almost kept me from getting my degree in the first place. I also had a bad time with biology,” he added pointedly.

  Dr. Rydel grinned. “My best subject. All A’s.”

  “I’ll bet the biology-challenged loved you,” Cappie said with a chuckle. “Blew the curve every time, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I bought pizzas for my classmates every Saturday night to make it up to them.”

  “Pizza,” Cappie mused. “I remember what that tastes like. I think.”

  “I don’t want to talk about pizza,” Kell said and sipped his milkshake. “You and your mushrooms!”

  “He hates mushrooms, and I hate Italian sausage,” Cappie commented. “I love mushrooms.”

  “Yuuuuck,” Kell commented.

  She smiled. “We’ll leave you to your supper. If you need anything, call me, okay?”

  “Sure. What would you like to be called?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and went out the door.

  “Nice to have met you,” Kell told the vet.

  “Same here,” Dr. Rydel said.

  He followed Cappie out into the living room. “You’d better eat your own burger and fries before they’re cold,” he said. “They don’t reheat well.”

  She smiled shyly. “Thanks again for bringing me home, and for the food.” She wondered how she was going to get to work the following Monday, but she knew she’d come up with something. She could always beg one of the other vet techs for a ride.

  “You’re welcome.” He stared down at her quietly, frowning. “You sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded. “I’m wobbly. That’s because I was scared to death. I’ll be fine. It’s just a little bruising. Honest.”

  “Would you tell me if it was more?” he asked.

  She grinned.

  “Well, if you think you need to go to the doctor later, you call me. Call the office,” he added. “They’ll take a message and page me, wherever I am.”

  “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.”

  He drew in a long breath. His blue eyes narrowed on her face. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders for a woman your age,” he said quietly.

  “Some people have a lot more,” she replied. “I love my brother.”

  He smiled. “I noticed that.”

  She studied him curiously. “Do you have family?”

  His face tautened. “Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “People get old. They die.” He became distant. “We’ll talk another time. Good evening.”

  “Good evening. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “No problem.”

  She watched him go with a strange sense of loss. He was in many ways the saddest person she’d ever known.

  She finished her supper and went to collect her brother’
s food containers.

  “Your boss is nice,” he said. “Not what I expected.”

  “How could you tell him what I said about him, you horrible man?” she asked with mock anger.

  “He’s one of those rare souls who never lie,” he said simply. “He comes at you head-on, not from ambush.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s in his manner,” he said simply. He smiled. “I’m that way myself. It does take one to know one. Now come here and sit down and tell me what happened.”

  She drew in a deep breath and sat down in the chair beside the bed. She hated having to tell him the whole truth. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CAPPIE HITCHED a ride to work with Keely, promising not to make a regular thing of it.

  “I’ll just have to get another car,” she said, as if all that required was a trip to a car lot. In fact, she had no idea what she was going to do.

  “My brother is best friends with Sheriff Hayes Carson,” Keely reminded her, “and Hayes knows Kilraven. He told him the particulars, and Kilraven had a talk with the driver’s insurance company.” She chuckled. “I understand some interesting what-if’s were mentioned. The upshot is that the driver’s insurance is going to pay to fix your car.”

  “What?”

  “Well, he was drunk, Cappie. In fact, he’s occupying a cell at the county detention center as we speak. You could sue his insurance company for enough to buy a new Jaguar like my brother’s got.”

  She didn’t mention that Kell had owned a Jaguar, and not too long ago. Those days seemed very far away now. “Wow. I’ve never sued anybody, you know.”

  Keely laughed. “Me, neither. But you could. Once the insurance people were reminded of that, they didn’t seem to think fixing an old car was an extravagant use of funds.”

  “It’s really nice of them,” Cappie said, stunned. It was like a miracle. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. My brother is an invalid, and the only money we’ve got is his savings and what I bring home. That’s not a whole lot.”

  “Before I married Boone, I had to count pennies,” the other girl said. “I know what it’s like to have very little. I think you do very well.”