Her Cowboy Boss Page 9

  Callie wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I’m sorry?”

  “Breakfast,” he repeated. “I want you to know how much I appreciate what Meri brings in every morning.”

  “Well, you’d better tell her, then,” Callie said, tossing away the towel. “I haven’t been cooking your breakfast. Haven’t been cooking hers, come to that.”

  He stared at her for several seconds, watching a smile spread across her face. So Meredith had been cooking his breakfast every morning. He nodded and left.

  Why had Meri let him think that Callie was cooking for him? She must have known that he’d make that assumption. Did her cooking for him make Meri as uncomfortable as it did him? Did it please her as much? The whole issue felt like terribly dangerous ground all of a sudden.

  Back in his truck, he headed down that red dirt road to his next appointment, but he couldn’t help thinking of Meredith. Even after all she’d been through, Meredith’s heart was soft toward others. She was a generous, caring, supportive woman. He couldn’t believe she compared herself to her sister and found herself wanting. Ann was all right, but she didn’t strike Stark as being nearly as compassionate and empathetic as Meri.

  If he could find the man who’d hurt Meredith...

  In an effort to push aside the anger welling up in him, Stark thought of Wes, fighting cancer, his family rallying around him. The whole Billings family were good people. Stark hoped that the cancer had been eradicated. He sometimes had to deal with it in animals, and it was always scary and expensive to treat. Most people didn’t even try. He hated to think how Meri would react if the cancer took her dad. Would she blame herself?

  “Lord, don’t let it happen,” he said. “Those folks believe. They count on You. Show them mercy. Please.”

  He realized with a shock what he was doing. Nine days. Meri Billings had worked for him nine days, and he was praying again. Without even thinking about it!

  He hadn’t prayed, really prayed, since his wife and daughter had died. He hadn’t even thought he could.

  What was happening? What was Meredith doing to him?

  If he had an ounce of sense, any thought of self-preservation, he’d cut her loose now. Today.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. Not today. Not tomorrow.

  Maybe he should be praying for himself, for his sanity, because letting this go on was surely asking for heartbreak. And he just could not endure any more of that.

  * * *

  “How did you survive this without me?” Meri chortled as Stark braced his hands against the top rung of the low fence and hopped over it to safety, a pair of dark hooves lashing out yet again in his direction.

  “I told you,” he said with undisguised disgust, “they hate men.”

  “I believe you,” Meri said, trying not to grin.

  Crouched between the two goats, which were snugged to the wall of the barn by halters, she had performed as much of an examination as possible, following Stark’s precise instructions. Every time he even leaned in too close, however, one of the goats tried to kick or bite him. Just getting the goats rounded up and into the barn had been a carnival act, and Meri was convinced that the elderly twin sisters who owned them had intended it purely for their own entertainment. Otherwise, why would they have sent her and Stark into the pen with the contrary animals and cackled when the wily beasts charged and kicked him, only to calmly walk in later with halters, slip them over the animals’ heads and lead them into the barn, as docile as lambs—unless Stark came too close.

  “What now?” Meri asked.

  “Ears,” Stark answered, reaching out to hand her the appropriate tool for the examination. Both animals skittered sideways, knocking Meredith on her rump. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She got her feet beneath her, stood and brushed herself off. No wonder he came home some days and showered in his clothes. “Not your fault.”

  He had told her what to look for, and after scanning photos on the computer earlier, she felt fairly confident that she’d recognize any true anomalies. Then she lifted the first long, droopy ear and didn’t even have to shine a light inside.

  “Eww.”

  “Okay, that’s got to be cleaned out,” Stark decided. “We’ll have to sedate her. While I get this ready, you can check the other one.” Nodding, Meri slipped the otoscope into her hip pocket and turned to the other goat. While Stark filled a syringe, he muttered, “I ought to get the dart gun.”

  “You have a dart gun?” she asked as she checked the other goat’s ears.

  “I do, but I only carry doses for larger animals. If I hit her with one of those, she’d be out for days. Or maybe permanently.”

  Meri suppressed the urge to laugh. These goats really hated him, and the feeling seemed mutual. “This one’s ears seem fine.”

  The first goat barely twitched when Meredith injected the sedation, but she had to shove the other goat out into the corral before Stark could tend the sedated one. The untreated one ran around, bawling so frantically that the sisters came out to see what was going on.

  Standing beside the truck later, she and Stark pulled off their gloves and the overshirts they’d worn because the goats were infuriated by the sight of the brightly colored treatment coveralls. Meredith had again worn her dad’s old snap-front flannel, now flecked with paint. Stark’s mottled, dark green shirt had been worn thin with washing, and one cuff and the collar were torn. They bundled everything together and tossed it all into the backseat of his truck, then scraped off their boots and dusted down their jeans before climbing into the front.

  “Well, here’s a new record,” Stark said, tapping the digital clock on the instrument panel of his dash. “I believe I might actually have time for lunch today, thanks to my goat wrangler.”

  Meredith laughed.

  “What do you say? It’s on me. Can you stomach the diner?”

  “I can if you can.”

  “As long as I don’t have to eat goat cheese,” he quipped, starting up the engine.

  Meredith could hardly believe her ears. Stark Burns was teasing. Would wonders never cease? She had to smile, something very like happiness welling up inside her.

  They drove the couple miles into town, laughing about how those goats had chased and charged Stark. “They really don’t like you,” Meredith said again.

  “I’m telling you, they don’t like men. They hated me the first time I showed up, before I ever laid a finger on them. That’s an all-female establishment, and the goats like it that way.”

  Meri giggled. “How did you manage on your own?”

  “I came home bloodied and bruised!” he declared.

  She bubbled over with laughter. “But you keep going back.”

  “Someone has to. No one else to do it.”

  “You’re a nice man, Stark Burns. You don’t seem to want anyone to know it, but you’re really a very nice man.”

  “Humph,” he said. Then, after a moment, he said, “You were good out there today. You keep a cool head. You follow instructions. And you have sure hands.” He cut her a glance, adding, “You handled those man-hating goats well.” He grinned, and she laughed.

  “Thank you. I feel like I’ve finally been of real help.”

  “You’ve been helpful all along. How are you at bookkeeping?”

  She shrugged, trying not to show how hopeful she felt, as if she might really be making a place for herself here. “I can balance a checkbook.”

  “It’s a beginning.”

  They reached town and drove along Main Street, all two blocks of it, to park in front of the War Bonnet Diner. The place was bustling when they went in, but that didn’t mean all the tables were filled. Stark took the table nearest the door. That put them right in the pathway of everyone coming and going. People stopped to ask Meredith about her dad and to say they
were praying for him. She gave them all the same report.

  “He’s feeling better every day and looking more and more like his old self. We’re expecting good news in a couple of weeks, and we sure appreciate y’all’s prayers.”

  The pastor of the town church, where her family had attended before she’d left home, was one of those who stopped by to inquire about Wes. Meri rose to hug the middle-aged man, and talk wandered into old times. She couldn’t help noticing that he seemed to make Stark uncomfortable. Stark was hunched over his plate and seemed to be trying to ignore everything that was said, whereas he’d quietly joined in with other folks. He’d even told several people that Meredith was working for him now.

  As he was taking his leave, the pastor paused and said, “Dr. Burns, good to see you again.”

  Stark lifted his chin in acknowledgment, but his smile was cool at best. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to speak, Meredith said, “I’m working for Dr. Burns now.”

  The pastor brightened. “Oh! Does that mean you’re staying in War Bonnet?”

  “I hope so,” she said, glancing at Stark. “I’d like to.”

  She hadn’t officially quit her job at the hospital yet, and the lease wasn’t up on her apartment until the end of March, so if things didn’t work out at the veterinary clinic, she could always go back to Oklahoma City. She didn’t want to, though.

  “Your father must be so pleased,” the pastor said, smiling. “I know I am.”

  “Thank you,” Meredith told him. “It was good to see you again. Give my best to your wife.”

  “I will.”

  He glanced at Stark, his smile fading, and went out.

  “That was awkward,” Meredith said softly, reclaiming her seat.

  Stark shrugged, then sighed. “We’ve had quite a few...debates. I guess that’s the best word.”

  “Ah.”

  Stark dropped his fork and wiped his hands. “He was anxious to get me into church when I first came here, and I...wasn’t ready for it.”

  “I see.” She steepled her hands over her plate. “Well, maybe you’d be more comfortable attending services at Countryside Church with me and my family then. The atmosphere is very relaxed there. I think that’s one of the things Dad likes best.”

  He picked up his fork again. “I’ll think about it.”

  Meredith rolled her eyes. Thinking about it was always his fallback position. “Stark,” she said gently, keeping her voice low, “you can’t stay mad at God forever.”

  He left his fork on his plate and laid his hands flat on the table, staring at the food he hadn’t eaten yet.

  “I don’t know how to be anything else,” he said, never lifting his gaze from his plate.

  Automatically, she reached across the table, laying her hand on top of his. After a moment, he flipped his hand and curled his fingers, interlacing them with hers. Then he picked up his fork with the other hand and finished his meal. He chewed for a long while, swallowed and lifted his glass for a sip of water before carefully wiping his mouth with the paper napkin beside his plate. Finally he sat back, pulling his hand from hers. Only then did he allow their gazes to meet.

  Smiling tenderly, he said, “Your lunch is getting cold.”

  Meredith somehow managed to finish eating.

  It wasn’t easy with her heart lodged firmly in her throat.

  Chapter Eight

  He actually considered going to church the next day. Sundays were Stark’s one day to sleep in, and he didn’t set an alarm. Yet, he’d woken in plenty of time to make the morning service, had he chosen to do so. What had surprised him most was that he’d kind of wanted to go. He kept imagining how pleased Meri would be if he showed up.

  Her whole face would brighten, and she’d smile in that beautiful way that made him want to...

  Oh, there he went again, thinking of things he had no business thinking. She would not welcome such thoughts, not from any man, especially him. Besides, he had no intention of following through. The very last thing either of them needed in their lives was romance. That’s what made this arrangement work.

  Wasn’t it?

  So why had she taken his hand in the diner yesterday? Come to think of it, why had she never shied away from him except for the one time he’d surprised her? Was he wrong about what had happened to her? He thought back, recalling all she’d said on the subject. Several things stood out.

  If it hadn’t been me that night, it would have been some other woman... He told me to be quiet and let him do what he wanted and he wouldn’t hurt me, but I screamed and struggled, so he stabbed me... I wasn’t going to let him take anything more than I had to.

  A chill shivered through Stark. How easily she could have been killed! If not for that necklace she’d been wearing she could so easily have died. It was bad enough that she had been assaulted, very likely raped.

  He closed his eyes, hurting for her. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to live with fear and distrust now or the kind of loneliness that he sometimes sensed in her. He wanted less trauma and more well-being for her, for every woman. But every woman did not fall into his orbit. This one did. It was natural that he should feel a tendency to take care of her.

  Wasn’t it?

  Recalling that a short time ago he’d considered her trauma a good reason to hire her, he felt a curling shame, which gave him more reason for prayer. As if a dam had burst, he found himself suddenly in conversation with the God he had ignored—if not railed against—for four long years now. At the end of it, he felt he could stand a little straighter, perhaps taller, than he had since his wife and daughter had died, and for once he didn’t hate Sunday quite so much.

  He watched a movie that he’d downloaded onto his computer, napped, ate lunch and dinner out of his own private stash of groceries there in the clinic, caught up on his reading and packed his kit for the next day’s appointments. When Meredith came in the next morning, he surprised them both by greeting her with a brief hug.

  She’d brought that delicious oatmeal for breakfast again. As he watched her unpack the meal, he said, “If you’re going to cook for me every morning, why don’t you bring enough for the both of us and eat here? Looks like it would be easier. Might even save a little time.”

  She froze for an instant, then calmly resumed setting out the foodstuffs. “Or,” she said, “you could get one of those portable electric burners, and I could cook here.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but he shrugged. “Whatever works.”

  “You know,” she went on carefully, “if you had a lunch kit, I could pack you a lunch to take with you. Then you wouldn’t miss so many meals.”

  He glanced down at her. “Determined to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

  “More like not let you waste away.”

  He chuckled and patted her on the back, leaving his hand in place. “It wasn’t a complaint.”

  She shot him a brief smile, not seeming to mind his touch in the least.

  He took his hand away and pulled his wallet from his pocket. Extracting a credit card from its leather slot, he tossed it onto the desk. “Buy whatever you need.”

  “Okay,” she quipped, “where’s my boss, and what have you done to him?”

  He laughed and sat down at the desk. “Your boss has gotten used to good food again.” He took her hand in his. “And in case he hasn’t said it before, thank you.”

  She smiled, squeezed his hand and asked, “Want some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Moving away, she went to the coffeepot, leaving him to wonder if she thought he was harmless because he still grieved his late wife. To his own shock, he was discovering that she would be wrong about that, so wrong that over the next couple days touching her became a game for him.

  He
never surprised her. That would be cruel and wrong. Nevertheless, he took advantage of every opportunity for contact. While scraping his boots clean at the back door, he’d held on to her shoulder instead of the door frame. The hems of her sleeves frequently needed straightening. While going over the bookkeeping with her, he’d had to brush her hair out of the way in order to look over her shoulder and lean close, bracketing her with his arms, his hands planted on the desktop. He’d found a dozen different ways to touch her, and not once had she protested or seemed uncomfortable. Nor had she made the slightest overture of her own. She hadn’t taken his hand again or batted her eyelashes at him or, except for the occasional fleeting smile, really even acknowledged that he’d touched her.

  Then, on Wednesday morning, the monthly supply shipment came.

  He always made time in his appointment schedule to put things away. Otherwise, the clinic quickly became impassable and he could never find what he needed when he needed it. This was another chore that Meredith could take over, but first he had to show her how to date the boxes and rotate the older ones from the higher cabinets to the lower ones. That meant getting out the ladder and setting it up in the back hallway. He used a rolling cart to carry the boxes so he didn’t have to go up and down the ladder a dozen times. Still, it meant several trips up and down to get everything in place.

  “This is one job I will not miss,” he told her as she carefully bent to pick up yet another box from the cart. They’d already moved the higher boxes to the lower shelves that had emptied as the month had passed. Frowning at how far she had to bend and noting that she’d hooked her foot around the leg of the ladder in an attempt to stabilize herself, Stark said, “You might have to come down another step.”

  But she was already toppling headfirst toward the cart. He shoved the cart back and caught her. She landed facedown in his arms, her upper hand clamping around his neck, the other grabbing onto the side of his shirt just above his belt. The ladder went skittering sideways and wound up leaning against the back door on two legs. Lifting her, he brought her up chest to chest, facing him. He could feel her heart hammering in time with his. For a long moment, they stared at each other in shock. Then she just sort of relaxed, her arms going around him and her legs bending at the knees.