Part 7 (1/2)

”Me.” She sat stiff and straight, chin lifted, gaze forward. ”Even if I had a date with Emerson, or any other man in this town or the next, you gave up the right to care about it a long time ago.”

”No,” he said.

”No?” Her shrill voice made Reggie inch so close to Owen he was practically driving.

”I might have given up the right to date you, but I never gave up the right to care.”

Watley's driveway appeared, and Owen took the turn so fast, Reggie was thrown into her side. He yelped.

”Hey.” She set her hand on the dog's shoulder at the moment Owen did the same.

Their fingers met. They both jerked back; the dog snorted.

”What were his injuries?” Becca asked.

As if he understood, Reggie offered the paw on his injured leg. She smiled and ran her fingers down the appendage. Owen couldn't believe the dog allowed it. Most MWDs had to be sedated for veterinary care. They weren't the kind of animals who submitted to anyone other than their handler. But Becca was different.

”Just here?” she asked, palm directly over the inflamed area. Reggie started to pant.

”He's fine.” Owen negotiated the long, gravel lane then parked next to the brilliantly lit cow barn.

She lifted her hand from Reggie and opened her door, then hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, to examine the dog further, but duty called. ”Bring him by the clinic.”

”I'll do that.”

Her eyes narrowed. Had she heard the lie? She should be getting better at it by now-thanks to him.

”Becca?” Emerson stood in the circle of light just outside the open barn door. The man looked exactly the same as he had the day he'd chased Owen off his land with a rifle.

Was this place caught in a time warp? Owen had yet to run into anyone who had changed as much as he had.

Then again, he was the one who'd left. Which only made the time-warp theory more plausible.

”Thanks for the ride.” She got out of the truck.

”Don't you need your doctor bag or something?” Owen asked.

”I'm hoping all I have to do is turn the calf, and it'll come out easy-peasy.”

Owen had been around enough cows to know that if the delivery was going to be easy-peasy, it would have happened already with no need for veterinary a.s.sistance. ”You're gonna be up all night, aren't you?”

”Probably.” Becca rubbed Reggie's head one last time then slammed the door and went into the barn. The old guy cast a dubious glance in Owen's direction before following.

Owen rested his hand on the gears.h.i.+ft, but he didn't throw the truck into reverse. Reggie nudged his arm.

”Gotta go?” Owen opened the door and got out. After a curious glance in his direction, Reggie jumped out too. The dog had just been outside for hours, if he'd had to go, he would have. But Owen wanted to watch Becca work-or maybe just watch Becca. Either way, Reggie was a good excuse.

”Voraus.” Owen pointed to the tall gra.s.s at the side of the barn and the dog trotted off, nose to the ground. He'd probably already caught the scent of a field mouse and would be occupied tracking it for the foreseeable future.

Owen crossed the short distance from his truck to the barn. He'd been on his feet so much in the past few hours, his leg both ached from overuse and moved with less of a hitch for the same reason. Nevertheless he was glad the darkness shrouded him. Once he reached the barn door, it was an easy matter to steady himself with a hand on a stall, a stanchion, a pitchfork, a wheelbarrow.

The only people in the barn were Emerson, Becca, and Owen. One cow stood in a well-lit stall, her head confined in a portable gate. The rest lowed from the corral. At this time of year they should be walking free in the pasture, but for some reason they crowded around. Several hung their heads over the half back door. The way they chewed their cud and mooed every so often, dark, limpid gazes on the mother, they seemed to be giving advice.

Owen must have made a sound or a movement because Emerson glanced in his direction. ”Whaddya want?”

Becca, elbow deep in the cow, glanced Owen's way. ”I thought you left.”

”I wanted to watch.”

”It's not a reality show.” She turned her arm so her shoulder spun forward. The cow stomped, narrowly missing her toes.

”Watch it,” Owen said.

Becca gifted him with an evil glare. ”I know what I'm doing.”

The cow mooed-long, low, and mournful. He couldn't blame her.

”Do you need help?” Owen asked.

Obviously Becca had delivered calves before, though he wasn't sure how she'd managed to yank a hundred-pound animal out of a thousand-pound animal when she didn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds herself. She'd need to use the calf chains at her feet, once she grabbed hold of something to wrap them around.

”I can help,” Emerson muttered.

Owen cast him a dubious glance. Once upon a time the old man had possessed Popeye forearms. Most dairy farmers did, especially the ones who'd grown up hauling buckets of milk from the cow to the holding tank. When dairy farming went high tech-i.e., the lines ran from cow to holding tank, no more hauling-it got easier. However, there was plenty of work to keep a farming man fit. Pitching hay, shoveling manure, driving a tractor, lifting ... everything.

Emerson still had some impressive forearms, but the rest of him appeared more Olive Oil than Popeye. He was skinny as an exclamation point, and his back had started to hook like a question mark.

”I don't mind,” Owen said.

”The last time you were here you didn't mind helping yourself to my beer.”

”About that-” Owen began.

”Betcha didn't expect to get shot.”

”Does anyone?” Owen murmured.

”You shot him?” Becca straightened, though she still had her hand in the cow. She seemed to be mining for gold in there and not finding any.

The cow mooed, stamped, and s.h.i.+fted her huge rump. ”You probably don't wanna do that, d.u.c.h.ess.” Becca patted her b.u.t.t. ”Lord knows what I'll pull out if you don't stand still.”

d.u.c.h.ess blew air through her nose like a bull.

Owen didn't much care for that sound. d.u.c.h.ess might not have horns, or a ring through her nose, but she was as big as any bull and she could do some damage, even with her head in that gate, if she wanted to. In his present condition Owen wouldn't be able to reach Becca in time to help. In his present condition he probably wouldn't be any help even if he got there in time.

”She seems upset,” he said.