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  Sighing, he rubbed the horse’s mane, grumbling, “Will you get well so I can get out of here?”

  The more distance he could put between himself and Meredith Billings, the better it would be.

  * * *

  Shaking her head, Meredith went into the house and washed up. Sometimes that man made it awfully difficult to be civil to him. Yet, she couldn’t fault his dedication. He’d clearly worked all day, and here he was, ready to take his dinner in a stable and spend the night tending a sick horse. Plus, everyone else in the family thought he was the next thing to perfect, even after she’d told them that he wouldn’t be joining them for the meal. As the family bowed their heads over the food, she prayed they were right, at least about his skill as an animal doctor.

  Her father’s nausea had lessened during the day, and he seemed a little stronger than he had been the day before, but between him and Soldier, she’d had a busy day and suddenly felt quite tired.

  Rex spooned the lasagna Callie had made onto his plate, then looked at Meredith and asked, “How’s Soldier?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Burns. You know, I didn’t realize what a sweetheart he is.”

  “Stark?” Rex asked in obvious surprise.

  “No! Soldier. Stark Burns is a grumpy, pigheaded... Well, never mind that.”

  Rex chuckled. “I think Burns is a better man than you know. As for Soldier, he’s always been especially good-natured for a stud.”

  Meri shook her head. “If you say so. I remember him being frisky and stubborn.”

  “All studs are that way at first,” Rex told her. “Soldier settled down right nice, though. That’s why so many of Dad’s friends want to breed him. Albright brought some mixed Arabian stock from South America to Texas especially for Soldier. Too bad he brought along a mosquito, too. Even the mosquitos like our Soldier. But at least we get our pick of the colts, and Albright’s insurance will cover the vet fees. He’ll keep any fillies and remaining colts, so it’s still not a bad deal.”

  “And we get another stud,” Meri said.

  “That’s the plan.”

  Meredith smiled. “I hope he looks like Soldier.”

  “He is a fine-looking animal,” Rex agreed. “A little Soldier look-alike might soothe Dad if the worst happens.” Rex shook his head as if to clear away the gloom and dived into his food. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “I don’t know how Stark keeps up the pace. He’s planning to spend the night again, isn’t he?”

  “I assume so.”

  “How he manages his practice all on his own, I’ll never know. That man’s busier than a whole litter of hunting dogs.”

  “Why doesn’t he have help?” Meredith wondered aloud.

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” Callie put in, setting a big dish of banana pudding on the table. “He’s obviously very successful.”

  “Ooh, my favorite,” Rex said, pulling Callie down for a kiss.

  Callie chuckled. “You say that about every dessert I serve you.”

  “I was talking about you.”

  Meredith sighed mentally, telling herself that it was unbecoming to envy one’s siblings. Still, it hurt to feel so...alone. Callie pulled away from Rex and finally took a seat at the table.

  “Meri, do you think Wes could manage a bowl of pudding?”

  “I think so,” Meredith answered. “I’ll take some to him in a minute.”

  She quickly finished her meal, filled a small bowl with banana pudding and carried it into her father’s room. He sat in his hospital bed, watching television.

  “Hi, sugar. What you got there?”

  “Sugar,” she quipped. “Callie made banana pudding.”

  “Yum.” He clapped a hand to his flat middle. “Sounds good. I hope it’s still warm.”

  “It is.” She handed over the bowl and a spoon.

  Wes scooped up the first bite, humming his approval. With the second bite, he said calmly, “When are you kids going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Meredith’s gaze shot to his. She bit her lip, half-a-dozen options rolling through her mind, but she wasn’t about to lie to her father. Not telling him troubling news was one thing, lying to him was something else. On the other hand, this wasn’t her decision alone. She walked to the door and stepped out into the hall, calling for her brother. Rex came right away, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “What’s up?”

  “The jig,” Meri said grimly.

  “I’m not deaf,” Wes said, “and I keep hearing Stark’s name, along with Soldier’s.”

  Rex sighed and gave him an abridged version of the facts, leaving out the detail that they’d found Soldier down in his stall.

  Grimacing, Wes set aside his pudding. “And you’re sure it’s encephalitis?”

  “Yes. But Stark’s doing all he can,” Rex said.

  Wes nodded. “I don’t doubt it.” He glanced at Meredith, adding, “You don’t give him enough credit. I’ve never known a better animal doctor than Stark Burns. I haven’t seen many people doctors better than him. And I’ve had my share of both.” Meredith couldn’t argue with that. Wes handed the bowl of pudding back to her. “Think I’ve lost my appetite.”

  He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his Bible, opening it to Philippians. She knew exactly where he was going. They’d traveled this familiar ground together quite often lately, whenever it was necessary to turn off troublesome thoughts. She’d read the familiar verse to him so often—or vice versa—that she had it memorized.

  “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

  A job. Staying close to her family, especially her dad, not slinking away in petulant envy. That was noble, right, admirable. Wasn’t it?

  She wondered suddenly why Stark Burns didn’t have help with his practice. Maybe he couldn’t find anyone willing to put up with his special brand of obnoxiousness. Or maybe he just hadn’t found anyone with enough experience to be of use to him.

  Hmm.

  It was worth a shot. If he hired her, she might even be able to bring a little real compassion to his practice.

  She blew a kiss to her dad and left him talking to Rex, then went out to fill another bowl with pudding. Draping a napkin over it, she took a spoon and slipped out to the stable.

  Burns was nowhere to be seen—until she drew closer and looked over the stall gate. He reclined on his camp bed, fully clothed, reading on a handheld device.

  “Come to check on the horse or badger me?” he asked without so much as glancing in her direction.

  She ignored her spiking temper—really, no one else did that to her—and held out the bowl. “I brought you some dessert.”

  He sent her a dark look, switched off the device and got up to ease past the end of the gate.

  “That smells like banana pudding,” he said, carefully reaching for the bowl.

  “It is.”

  He made a face.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Love it.”

  She laughed. “Sorry to have pleased you.”

  Ignoring that, he gingerly took the spoon, crossed to the toolbox, sat and began to eat.

  “Good, huh?”

  “Very.” He continued to eat for several minutes, while she petted the horse and looked around. Suddenly he said, “What do you want, Meredith?”

  She tried not to jump at the deep, dark timber of his voice. “I, uh, want to help. In any way that I can.”

  He said nothing to that, just set aside the empty bowl and spoon. She examined the IV setup carefully from the suspension hook to the catheter, just as if she hadn’t already done so
repeatedly.

  “Very neat job of stitching,” she commented. “Do you always stitch the catheter in place?” She didn’t think he would answer at first, but eventually he did.

  “Even the smartest animals will instinctively pull out something sticking in their bodies, either intentionally or accidentally. Soldier might be too sick now to even realize it’s there, but as soon as he’s better, he’ll try to get rid of it. Can’t let that happen. And there’s always the chance someone messing around with him will accidentally pull it out.”

  She shot him a dry look. “I’m the last person you have to worry about doing that.”

  “Just saying.”

  “And I’m just saying that I could be of real help to you if you’d trust me and show me what you need.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I’d go so far as to say that I could help out with a lot of things if you’d let me,” Meredith told him cautiously, thinking that had gone easier than she’d expected.

  He folded his arms. “Ever seen a calf caught in barbed wire for so long that gangrene has set in?”

  She blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject. Then she saw the quirk of his lips just before he swiped the napkin over them, and she knew instantly what he was doing.

  Parking her hands at her waist, she said, “No. But I’ve seen plenty that would turn your stomach.”

  They traded horror stories for several minutes, each more gory than the last.

  Laughter bubbled up inside of her when she finally called a halt. “Look, I’m a nurse. You can’t gross me out.”

  A grin split his tanned face. “Okay. Okay. Truce?”

  She nodded. “Truce.”

  “And thank you for the pudding,” he said, picking up the empty bowl and spoon.

  Well, that was progress. She took a deep breath and plunged in.

  “I was wondering...hoping you might need help with your practice.”

  Sobering, he looked down. “No.”

  Just like that? “But Rex says that you work alone and that your practice is huge, too big for one person.”

  “Meredith,” he said, “I prefer to work alone.”

  Her heart sank. Could he be that antisocial? “Truly?”

  Shoving up to his feet, he held out the spoon and bowl, nodding. “That’s how I like it.”

  “But why? Everyone says you have too much to do.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “Still, I prefer to work alone.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Why would you want a job with me, anyway?” he asked, not even denying her last statement. “You’re an RN.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” she retorted, snatching the bowl from his hand hard enough to rattle the spoon, “there aren’t any nursing jobs around here. I’ve checked. I’ve put my name on the lists at all the hospitals and nursing homes within driving distance, and I’ve registered with every local agency. I’ve even called every doctor I can find. No one’s hiring.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened to your job in the City? I’m sure Rex told me you were taking a leave of absence.”

  “It’s still there,” she admitted glumly. “But I don’t want to go back. I want to be here. I’ve always wanted to be here. Not at the ranch, necessarily, but in War Bonnet or close to. And now that Rex and Ann have come home to stay...” She shook her head.

  “Just because they’ve come home doesn’t mean you have to,” he pointed out.

  “You aren’t listening. I never wanted to be in the City. You’ve no idea how much I hate it there. I want to come home. I want to be close to my family. I wasn’t really close to Dad growing up, and now it’s like we have a second chance. I want to be here.”

  “I want lots of things I’ll never have again, Meredith,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  Struggling not to weep, she shrugged, nodded and whispered, “Well, I have some time yet. Something might turn up.”

  “You never know,” he said.

  But she did know, all too well, and his tone said that he did, too. The truth was that if he didn’t give her a job, she wasn’t going to find one locally. The worst part was that it didn’t make sense. She could help Stark. They could help each other.

  Why wouldn’t he take what she offered?

  Did he dislike her that much?

  Or was something else going on here?

  Either way, unless God intervened, she was on her way back to Oklahoma City. Like it or not.

  Chapter Three

  As tired as he was, Stark had a difficult time dropping off to sleep between the hourly alarms set on his phone. He’d been too long without rest and knew his judgment would be impaired without it, but he couldn’t get Meredith Billings out of his mind. If she’d been male or fifty or as ugly as a mud fence, he’d have hired her with gratitude last night, but he had no room in his life, such as it was, for a pretty little thing like her.

  No, the last thing he needed underfoot was an attractive female like Meri. He couldn’t afford to take a chance that one or the other of them might form an attachment. After losing Cathy, he was never going there again. He’d never survive a second loss like that. Truthfully, he hadn’t really survived the first one. All that was left of him was an empty husk and the work. He tried to concentrate on the latter and ignore everything else.

  The horse seemed unchanged when Stark checked around four in the morning. He considered belting back one of the energy drinks that he lived on but decided against it. Instead, he stretched out on his bedroll again. The next thing he knew a woman’s shrieking voice woke him.

  “Stark! He’s not breathing! Stark!”

  The smell of strong black coffee cut through the odors of the stable, but he didn’t have time to think about it as he all but vaulted the stable gate. Meredith stood at Soldier’s head, her expression one of sheer horror. The horse’s head hung almost to the floor. Only the sling kept the animal upright. Stark grabbed his kit and found his stethoscope. After a quick examination, he was able to think.

  “His heart’s still beating, but I don’t know how long he’s been without oxygen.” Stark began palpating the horse’s windpipe and giving orders. “Quick. I need a trach kit. Right side of the bag. And lay out a sterile sheet. Blue.”

  Kneeling in the stall, Meredith worked swiftly, pulling on gloves and following instructions to the letter while Stark suited up. They had the tube in place in less than two minutes. Immediately Soldier twitched his ears and rasped in air. Holding the tracheotomy tube with one hand, Stark reached up to mop his brow with the other wrist, but Meredith beat him to it, blotting his forehead with a gauze pad. When he looked down, she had the suture kit open. As soon as he picked up the curved needle with the sewing silk threaded through it, she squirted antiseptic around the incision holding the breathing tube. It was as if the woman could read his mind.

  Working quickly, Stark secured the breathing tube, while a lightly sedated Soldier swayed on his hooves, occasionally flicking his ears. Finally, Stark stepped back, satisfied with the work and the result.

  He peeled off his gloves and tore off the coverall, saying grimly, “Get your brother while I clean up.” Shucking her gloves, Meredith dropped them onto the blue plastic sheet. “Meri,” he said, as she edged past him. She paused. It cost him, but he had to say it. “Good work.” She shot him a smile. “That doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods,” he warned.

  Nodding soberly, she took off at a trot. Stark used the stethoscope once more, listening to the faint rattle in Soldier’s lungs.

  By the time Meredith returned to the stable with Rex, Stark had bundled up the detritus from the tracheotomy and deposited it in the trash. He’d also zipped up his kit and performed a more thorough examination of the horse.
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  “Swelling in the retropharyngeal lymph nodes.” He showed Rex the bulging on the undersides of the horse’s jaws. “It doesn’t always happen with encephalitis, but it’s not that unusual.”

  “So what do we do now?” Meredith asked worriedly.

  Stark rubbed his chin, rough with three days’ growth of beard. Meredith had been a great help. She’d kept a very cool head during what had been a true emergency and had anticipated his every need as he’d worked. He couldn’t help being impressed by that. Now he was going to have to count on her to tend the horse while he was away, because he simply could not be in two places at one time. That was a fact with which he often had to deal, but it was seldom more essential than now.

  “Basically, we watch him like a hawk,” Stark said. “We were sure lucky you woke me when you did.”

  Almost as one, the brother and sister said, “I don’t believe in luck.”

  That rocked Stark back. “You don’t believe in luck?”

  “Not a bit of it,” Meredith told him firmly. She smiled at her brother, saying, “We believe in divine providence.”

  Smiling, Rex wrapped an arm around his little sister’s shoulders and hugged her. “I thank God you walked in when you did.”

  Stark clamped his jaw. He was well aware of the Christian teaching of divine providence, but he didn’t believe it for a moment. To believe that God tended to the personal lives of the average person was to believe that God had allowed Stark’s family to die, and that Stark could not—would not—accept.

  He licked his lips and said, “Be that as it may, we’re working with a heap of negatives here. Encephalitis. Lymph node inflammation severe enough to cut off the air passage. And, from the sound of his breathing, pneumonia.”

  “Oh, no,” Rex said, pushing a hand over his face.