Chapter Fifteen
C
onnor hadn’t been at the North Star Animal Hospital for a week. The tall vet had drafted Caroline for an annual trip to a number of small isolated communities further north. And that meant Birkie and Jillian had been running the clinic, and running, literally. Today had already included two cesareans (one cow, one dog), four pet spays (two dogs, one cat, one ferret), an overweight hamster, a snake with a skin condition, a goat with a broken leg, and a blur of vaccinations and check-ups.
As much as Jillian enjoyed the work, was stimulated and challenged by it, the sheer volume was something she had never experienced before. She couldn’t imagine how on earth Connor had managed it on his own for such a long time. She wasn’t certain how
she
had managed it in his absence, but fortunately she’d continued to sleep well. She blessed Birkie’s name frequently for that. Although Jillian had been skeptical at first, the herbs seemed to be doing the trick. Even the dream catcher seemed to be working, since she couldn’t remember a single dream. She smiled at that. The dream catcher’s power probably lay in suggestion, but that was fine by her. Whatever worked.
However, she had to admit she was certainly tired now. A headache was throbbing behind her eyes, probably because she’d had nothing but coffee since breakfast. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any breakfast. As soon as the clock struck five, she had plans to go straight to her apartment and either eat or lie down. Maybe eat and lie down at the same time. The ancient Romans were said to have dined like that, so maybe she could too. Connor and Caroline would be back sometime tonight and would be at work in the morning. She only had to get through the rest of today. . . .
Jillian made her way to the front reception area to ask Birkie something but what was coming through the door made her forget all about it. A very small woman with blood-spattered jeans was dragging in the largest dog Jillian had ever seen, a Great Pyrenees. The giant breed was often used to protect livestock from predators—and this one’s thick white fur was soaked and matted with blood. One of its ears was mostly torn off. Even injured, the dog looked formidable as it growled with lowered head and showed its sizable teeth.
The woman jerked the leash as they cleared the door. “Goddammit, quit that snarling this minute.” She looked up from under a broad-brimmed hat, nodded at Birkie, then fixed bright black eyes on Jillian. “You’d be the new one. Name’s Ruby. We had a little trouble with some coyotes. Cujo’d taken care of most of them by the time I got out there with the .22, but as you can see, the coyotes got a piece or two of him.”
Jillian directed the pair to an examination room, and Ruby hauled on the leash like she was leading a recalcitrant steer. Cujo followed his mistress but glanced back at the vet and growled all the way down the hall, in spite of the trail of bright blood he was leaving.
“You can tell by the name that Ruby’s a die-hard Stephen King fan,” explained Birkie. “Most of the time, Cujo’s actually quite a friendly and loveable fellow. But he hates this place. Some animals just get bad associations, no matter how good we are to them. Last time he was here, he’d been in a fight with a black bear and had the skin peeled off one of his hindquarters. Connor had to roll it up like a big sock and sew it back on. Time before that, one of his feet was bitten clear through.”
“Dog’s a real warrior then.”
“Has to be. Ruby runs the biggest sheep operation in northern Alberta. And there’s nothing a Pyrenees won’t do to protect his flock.” Birkie stood up from her desk and straightened her pristine lavender jacket. “Connor just called to say he’s still finishing up inspections at that new bison processing plant. He’ll be back tonight, but it’ll be a good six to eight hours at the very least. Caroline’s with him of course, so there’s just you and me and Ruby. I figure if we all pile on Cujo, we might be able to get a shot into him. But it’ll have to be an elephant tranquilizer—that boy doesn’t go down easy.”
Jillian took a deep breath and considered her options. Although she appeared old enough to be someone’s great grandmother, Ruby was clearly tough as nails. Tough enough to put a muzzle on her injured pet? Or hold it down? The heavily muscled dog had to weigh in at over 200 pounds, bigger than even a St. Bernard and certainly a lot heavier than Ruby. And although Birkie was adept at restraining small animals, throwing an arm around this beast promised to be a real rodeo.
Jillian ran both hands through her hair and thought out loud. “I’m reluctant to give him a tranq or even a muscle relaxant. He may be on his feet, but his eyes look shocky to me, probably from blood loss. I wish we could wait for Connor, but we’ve got to stop that bleeding. Plus, that ear’s got to be stitched back together quick or we’ll lose it,” she said. “And if Cujo hasn’t eaten us by then, every one of those bite wounds will have to be washed out and sewn up, or there’ll be infection from hell.”
She grabbed a large muzzle and walked quickly down the hall—sideways to avoid the blood—and entered the surgery. Ruby had both hands on the dog’s collar and was trying to pull him into a sitting position, but he snarled and lunged at the vet the moment she appeared. The massive jaws snapped shut with a chilling ring, as Ruby swore like a construction worker and muscled the animal back a couple steps. He twisted free and ran to the other side of the steel table, where he crouched behind a chair, dwarfing it. There he continued to bare his teeth and growl, even at his owner.
“Just leave him be, Ruby. Move back away from him for now. He’s in pain and he’s pretty scared, plus I think he’s in shock. Sometimes injured animals will lash out at their owners without meaning to. Birkie. . . .” Jillian knew the receptionist was close behind her. “I don’t want you to come in here right now.” Knowing her only hope lay in gaining the animal’s cooperation, she stood still and spoke quietly to the dog. “Hey Cujo, you’re not very happy to be here, and I don’t blame you a bit. But you need a little help, so we’re going to see what we can do for you.” Slowly she began to move, intending to try to restrain the animal herself, when suddenly a tall, broad-shouldered man pushed roughly past her. For a moment she thought it was Connor—and then her brain registered the blond hair. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He shushed her with a backward wave. All his attention was on the dog. He didn’t communicate with four-legged creatures in quite the same way as his brother—Connor could have whole conversations with animals if he wanted to—but James’s Changeling abilities could easily quiet a dog, even a monster like this one. A few murmured words and a light touch was all it took before Cujo’s lips relaxed back over his teeth, and the growling ceased. A muzzle was no longer necessary, but James knew the humans in the room would feel a whole lot better with one in place. Quickly he took a roll of heavy gauze from the wall and tethered the threatening jaws with a simple but effective figure eight, then lifted the dog to the stainless steel table. “Atta boy,” whispered James and lightly placed a powerful hand on the animal’s thick neck while sending soothing thoughts. Cujo lay quietly on the table as Jillian approached, remained still while she tended to the injured ear. Ruby talked incessantly about the sheep market while her dog was stitched up, but James paid little attention to the monologue. He was too busy wondering why Jillian was so angry. Fury radiated from her in waves.
In fact, Dr. Jillian Descharme didn’t say a single word to him. Not until she was done, her patient was on his way home with his owner, and Birkie had left the building.
“Okay, what the hell did you think you were doing?” Her sea green eyes were bright with indignation as she wiped down the table with antibacterial spray. “I don’t need untrained people jumping into dangerous situations like that.”
James went over to the sink and washed his hands, even though they really didn’t need it. Every movement was calm and deliberate, not just because he had to remember how to do this task—and the water felt strange, almost ticklish on his human skin—but because he was trying to measure out how to respond to Jillian when he didn’t have a clue what the problem was. “Exactly right, doc. It was a very dangerous situation. The owner was in danger, and your receptionist. And so were you.”
“I knew what I was doing. I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I didn’t say that. No one’s accusing you of being helpless. But trying to handle everything yourself isn’t necessary or smart—”
“What the hell do you know about what’s necessary?” she snapped. “I have to handle stuff like this every day on my own. If I can’t do the job, I have no business being here.”
He glared back. Why the hell was she so upset? “The job doesn’t require you to place yourself in harm’s way.”
“Dammit, I’m a licensed veterinarian—” she began but he cut her off.
“Yes, you are, and because you are, you know damn well that going into that situation alone was stupid. If it had been a poodle or a cocker spaniel, it might have been different.” James shook the towel out before putting it back on the rack, aware that he’d like nothing better than to shake Jillian. “But that animal outweighed you, was injured and in pain and looking to tear into you. And not one soul in that room, including you, doc, would have been able to stop it.” The mental picture clutched at his gut.
“So you decided you should just waltz in and rescue us females?”
James’s voice dropped lower, his eyes narrowed to steely blue slits. He stalked forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with her, although he had to lean over to achieve that. “Don’t you reduce this to gender shit. That just demeans both of us. I stepped in because I had the experience and the muscle to do what was needed in this particular situation. So you could then do what you’re skilled and experienced at. What I did is nothing against you, and if you think it is, then you’re not as smart as I pegged you for.”
She was spitting mad. James could see the rage radiating from Jillian like smoke from a wildfire. If looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing. But there were other things in those glaring green eyes. Tiredness.
No, more like all-out exhaustion.
And pain. A headache? Suddenly concerned, he skimmed her cheek with the back of his knuckles—and caught her lightning fist in his hand an instant before she connected with his face. Caught the other fist too and held them both captive. Then James did something else completely reflexive. Still holding her hands, he bent his head and kissed that angry mouth.
For a split second he was certain she would either bite him or head-butt him. He could feel the outraged shock vibrate right through her; then something shifted subtly, changed. Whether it was in him or in her, or both, he didn’t know, but there was a sudden spark of surprised recognition. The spark flared. He released her hands, and she didn’t pull away. The kiss deepened, and they all but fell into each other. Her lips were both giving and demanding, and so were his. Hungry. Needing, then needing more. Neither of them was steady on their feet when they finally stepped back from each other.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Her voice was still angry but also a little shaky. Then he looked in her eyes and saw not anger but desire. Raw desire. The surprising power of it punched him in the gut a full three seconds before her fist did. By the time he got his wind back, Jillian was gone.
Jillian tried walking for an hour to distract herself, calm down. Then she shopped in every store along Main Street. She needed a giant economy package of work socks, didn’t she? But even with her body still vibrating like a plucked string, tiredness and hunger won out. She had to find a place to sit down, refuel and regroup. She considered going to the Jersey Pub but remembered there was a baseball game on the big screen TV tonight, which would draw a large and boisterous crowd. Instead she headed over to the Finer Diner. Birkie had brought her there during her second day in Dunvegan, claiming it was the best place in town to eat. The little gas station and convenience store combo hadn’t looked promising as a restaurant, but Jillian was a believer after that meal. Although she could sample much of the Finer Diner cuisine from the staff fridge anytime, microwaving a container just didn’t equal the fresh-made experience.
She waved at the big man working the till as some teenagers purchased giant cups of soda and multiple bags of chips. Bill Watson was nearly as tall as Connor and built like a champion wrestler—which at one time he was—with a multitude of both tattoos and freckles covering his muscled arms. The backstreets of London and the outback of Australia blended in his voice, along with pure good humor. Deep and loud, his words boomed easily across the store to the red vinyl booth where Jillian had planted herself.
“Right then, lovey, no doubt you’ll be looking for supper. The special is fish’n’chips, and Jessie’s made her best-ever slaw to lie down wi’ that.”
“Sounds great.” She leaned back and surveyed the store, glanced out the window at the row of businesses across the street and watched the gaggle of folks who stopped in front of the post office to chat or to sort their mail. It never failed to surprise her how much she enjoyed the little northern town and the people who lived here. There was a sense of community she’d never experienced before, even though she was more of an observer than a participant.
She certainly hadn’t been just an observer when James kissed her.
That kiss . . .
Good God, she could still taste him. Jillian sighed a little in spite of herself. She remembered the way James had pulled her close, the feel of his hands running up and down her body, the incredible heat that radiated from him, that blond beard surprisingly soft against her face.