Authors: Lilly Christine

Tags: #McGreer Series, #barrel racing, #cowgirl chick-lit, #Lilly Christine, #sweet romance, #rodeo, #Crashing Into Tess, #Western romance, #Texas Hill Country, #Texas

Designs On Daphne (12 page)

“Right Kinda Bull” (McGreers #3)

T
exas A&M Veterinary Clinic

Lindsay Robbins tossed short red curls from her face and peered at the night docket, “
Ty McGreer, 6312 Red Rock Ranch Road, Hobble Creek, TX. Black Angus bull weanling calf, #2319, colic/irritated gut, possible obstruction. Departure time 3:37 PM. Expected arrival 6:30 PM.”

Hurrying towards the locker room, she clattered down concrete steps in flex-step clogs.
Ty McGreer? Why does that name sound familiar?

But the client’s name didn’t really matter; she only had fifteen minutes to prep for his bull calf’s surgery.

******

Ty McGreer decelerated down the off-ramp, slowly braking before the intersection. Checking his side-view mirror, he clicked the blinker and turned right onto Raymond Stoltzer Parkway. Hours before, he’d found his favorite weanling bull calf in the pasture, sweating and kicking at his stomach.

He’d called Doc Timpson, who admitted his hands weren’t as steady as they used to be. Doc suggested Ty take the ride to College Station. Texas A&M, Ty’s alma mater, was three hours from the ranch.

It was August, high summer, and too damn hot. He hoped his little black Angus bull calf was holding up back there, leaning on his momma. They’d be at the clinic in just a few minutes.

******

Lindsay walked into the surgery in green scrubs and a cap and booties, glad that Samantha was on. Sam was her favorite vet tech, and a super competent surgical assistant. Scratching the soft, ruffly spot between the little calf’s ears, she looked over the ultrasound. It showed a white, spherical object lodged firmly in the tiny ruminant’s first stomach.

The bull calf’s daddy stood in the corner. He was a cowboy, tall and broad-chested, way too handsome, with friendly amber eyes and curly brown hair.

Ty McGreer? Shit! Ty McGreer!

They’d met at a frat party. After a few drinks, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him.
And now, in his plaid shirt and dark Levi’s, he stood there exuding the same male hotness that had wreaked havoc with her self-control years before.

It was a frat party, he doesn’t remember,
Lindsay told herself. But the look on his face said maybe he did.
Uh-oh.

“Golf much?” she asked, keeping her voice cool.

Ty shook his head. “I don’t, but my cousin does. He visited last weekend. He’s not much of a rider, so I give him a bucket of balls and he practices towards the corn fields. Apparently, his aim was off. A ball must have made it into the bull pasture.”

“Apparently so,” Lindsay agreed, arching an eyebrow. “You better look for another, too, Ty. In my experience, balls in bull pastures usually come in pairs.”

He laughed at her joke, his white teeth bright against his tan face. A hot charge jolted her spine.
That was lame, Lindsay. It’s been way too long since you’ve gotten properly laid, but your clients don’t need to know it.

Red-faced, she pivoted to her helper. “Let’s get an IV in this little guy, Sam, and get him on the table.” She turned back to Ty, awkwardly conscious of her scrub cap and booties. “This won’t take long. We’ll have him right as rain in no time, Mr. McGreer.”

The hot cowboy cleared his throat. “Um, Dr. Robbins? I was thinking about the National Angus Show for this little guy as a three year old. He’s got the breeding to take the title. How much of a scar will there be?”

Lindsay took latex gloves from the box on the aluminum shelf. Snapping them on, she smiled at him. “I’ll be extra careful with the sutures, Mr. McGreer. In six months, the scar will be barely visible. I doubt you’ll be able to find it in a year’s time.”

“Great.” The way Ty grinned down at her, it was an effort not to squirm. “Thanks for that. I’m not usually much on appearances, but I had semen flown down from Wyoming this year from an award winning bull, and my cows threw some fine bull calves. I’ve waited a long time for this little guy.”

“Gotcha,” Lindsay said, turning away to hide her confusion. Then a surge of annoyance washed over her.

As I recall you ARE big on appearances, Ty McGreer. The blonde cheerleader you dropped me for was a knockout.

Checking the bull calf over carefully, she couldn’t help remembering how Ty’s full, soft, and incredibly hot lips pressed against hers.
He wasn’t interested, and I’m being pathetic. I’m wearing a scrub cap, for God’s sake! He’s not attracted to me. This is all in my head. Again.

Lindsay’s record of surgical successes was excellent. Her record with men.
Worse than abysmal.

Sam was leading the little guy to the hydraulic table. The IV sedation was taking effect, and the bull’s head drooped. Pointing to the glass window, Lindsay told Ty, “The viewing room’s out there, Mr. McGreer. You’re free to watch.” Then she dropped her mask over her mouth.

Ty smiled as he backed out of the room. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, Dr. Robbins. It’s been a long day. I’ll just go get a beer.”

“We’ll be here.”

His lips still gave her the fidgets.
Dammit!

As he turned into the hallway, she caught a glimpse of his butt and thighs, firm beneath his Levi’s. Shutting her eyes, Lindsay closed the door firmly.
This isn’t helping my concentration any.

The surgery table was lifting hydraulically, Sam was holding a tray for her, and the little bull was fully sedated.

Back in her comfort zone, Lindsay picked up the scalpel. Ty McGreer was most assuredly not what she needed right now. . .

Cover Art by Libra Press Graphics

LIBRA PRESS

Libra Press is a division of Equilibria, LLC

Designs On Daphne copyright 2014 by Lilly Christine
ASIN: B00JAW3T1G

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This is a work of fiction.

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