“She’s your dog so you get to pay the bills.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Mark replied. “I do not have room in my life for a dog. She’s probably not housebroken, she’s probably sick and I’m away a lot of the time.”

As though she understood that her fate was being discussed, the puppy wriggled over and laid her head on Mark’s hand with a sigh. Her little rear wagged as she looked at him hopefully.

“See that?” Sarah said. “She is your dog. Besides, someone has to pay for all the treatment we’ve given her. Isn’t that what you always say, Mr. Scott?”

“Whoa.”

“No whoa. You found her, you helped me work on her, you saw what we did. It all costs money. The clinic has to make money. That’s also what you always say. Well, Mark, you’ve just spent about two hundred bucks, and by the time I get through loading you with all the things you need for her, you’ll have spent a bunch more.”

She rubbed the pup’s ears. “Sweet baby, Mommy loves a paying client.”

Dear Reader,

Those of us who love romance tend to love all God’s creatures. Personally, I draw the line at poisonous snakes, but I’m sure there are those of you out there with a soft spot in your hearts for copperheads. Our pets give us so much more than we could ever give them, and when they’re sick or hurt it’s up to us to help them.

Our veterinarians and their staffs are truly special. Who else would work through the night in a freezing barn to save somebody else’s calf?

Medical doctors need to know about one species—human beings. But a vet has to know that aspirin will kill a cat, that chocolate will poison a dog and that pythons sometimes can’t tell the difference between eggs and tennis balls. And then there are the owners—much more trouble than the animals, to hear my vet friends talk.

In The Money Man, Sarah Marsdon has completely uprooted her life to take over as large-animal vet for a new clinic, only to find that the equipment she needs—and was promised—hasn’t even been ordered, thanks to Mark Scott, her personal roadblock. He’s not going to spend another dime. After all, a bankrupt clinic can’t help even one animal.

Until the clinic is out of the woods financially, Sarah must make do with what she has. But she isn’t willing to offer less than the very best to her charges. She’s certain Mark could find the money if he really wanted to.

They’re both too bullheaded to give an inch, even though the romantic sparks fly between them from the minute they meet. Can they find some way to compromise before their conflict destroys their love? Or will everyone lose—the animals, as well as Mark and Sarah?

Carolyn McSparren

P.S. I love to hear from readers. You can reach me by email at cmcsparren@aol.com.

The Money Man

Carolyn McSparren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To all the veterinarians I know, their families and their staffs. These wonderful people answered thousand of questions, let me watch procedures, recounted funny and heart-rending tales and taught me about the inner workings of a veterinary clinic.

DEDICATION

For Dr. Melissa Poole of Mississippi State University, Camille and Dr. Mark Akin of the Akin Equine Clinic; everyone at the Bowling Animal Clinic; Elizabeth Lee, a great veterinary technician from Albuquerque, and Sam Garner and Bobby Billingsley, who convinced me all cows are crazy!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

DR. SARAH MARSDON shoved open the double glass doors and walked into the reception room of Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic.

She breathed in the faint odor of damp fur, disinfectant and enzyme cleaner used to remove doggie scents from floors.

From the area to her left came the occasional barking and yipping and the persistent baritone yowl of a Siamese cat. In the week since she’d left her job in St. Paul, she’d missed the sound of a waiting room filled with animals.

She’d paid a high personal and professional price to get here, but this job at Creature Comfort was a dream come true. At last she was going to be treating large animals—horses, cows, goats, sheep, even pigs.

“Why do you want to be a large-animal vet?” Steve, her previous boss, had asked. “Fancy pets—that’s where the money is. And you don’t get called out at two in the morning. Nobody wants to do large animals anymore.”

Well, this particular body loved working with large animals, even if that meant making less money and spending long nights treating colicky horses or orphaned calves.

She walked up to the reception desk, where a small man was speaking to the blond receptionist.

He could barely hold on to the leather leash of a young Great Dane who obviously wanted to be somewhere else. “Ernest T., down! Stay!” the man said.

The dog sighed and sank to the floor. He rolled his sad eyes up at Sarah.

“Okay, Mr. Bass, you and Ernest T. have a seat. It’ll be about ten minutes,” the receptionist said. She smiled and picked up the telephone beside her. “Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic.”

“Come on, Ernest T.”

The dog sighed again and heaved himself to his feet. His uncropped ears flopped endearingly around his face.

Sarah walked up to the reception desk and said, “Hi, I’m Dr…”

“Watch out behind you!”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder and shrank back against the reception desk, but not fast enough to avoid a butt behind her knees from a stumpy black pig. She caught herself on the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Egg Roll, stand still.”

The “miniature” Vietnamese pot-bellied pig stood nearly three feet tall at the shoulder and must have weighed about two-fifty. The woman he towed at the end of his leash weighed maybe one-ten. Anyone could tell who was in charge.

The receptionist punched her hold button and leaned over her desk. “Egg Roll, cut that out!” She tossed a piece of hard candy onto the floor.

The pig hesitated, snuffled, then scarfed up the treat. A moment later he collapsed into a big black blob of contentment. His owner wiped her forehead and gasped, “Thanks, Alva Jean. He hates having his hooves trimmed.”

“No problem, Judy. Candy gets him every time. You better wait in room three.” She picked up the phone once more. Judy nudged the pig with her toe. Still snuffling contentedly, he stood and lumbered through the door beside the counter.

A sigh of relief went up from the waiting dog and cat owners. Sarah sighed as well. The chaos felt just like home.

“NO.”

“But I promised when I hired her.”

“Un-promise.” Mark Scott leaned back in his rickety desk chair and propped one knee against the scarred edge of his elderly desk. Once the clinic was fully operational, this room would hold patients’ records, but at the moment it served as a general storeroom and Mark’s office.

From the far side of the wall came the pop of a nail gun. A small puff of plaster dust floated down from this side of the unprimed wallboard.

Rick Hazard sneezed, wiped his nose and eyes. “Mark, we need Sarah. She’s young, she’s top-notch, she’s hungry, and we’re getting her cheap because she wants to work large animals. She’ll build that side of the practice fast. Don’t act as if we’ve never talked about this. We’ve got to have another full-timer. She’ll start with evenings, some weekends—fill in whenever she’s needed, until the large-animal practice is big enough to occupy her full time.”

“Fine, you need her, but you don’t need a portable fluoroscope or a laser. And definitely not a large animal MRI.”

“We do.”

“We can’t afford to buy any more equipment at the moment, Rick. We can’t afford to lease, either. She’ll have to make do with what we have until the clinic generates some decent income.”

“But I promised her if she’d move here—”

“Answer me this—would you rather participate in the grand opening of this clinic or appear in bankruptcy court?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s close. The cost overruns on Margot’s design changes and the construction delays have killed you.”

“I’m not responsible for the wettest winter and spring since the 1880s,” Rick protested.

Mark longed to say that Rick was certainly responsible for his wife’s continuing upgrades and changes, but he kept his mouth shut. No sense in antagonizing Margot any more than he had to, and even less in forcing Rick to defend her. “Blame the gods, blame the weather, blame the contractors. None of that changes the fact that you’re skating very close to the edge of your available capital—what the hell, your capital, your wife’s capital, your partners’ capital, your investors’ capital, your credit and every other type of financing you can lay your hands on. How can I explain this to you in terms you understand, my friend? I can’t— won’t—approve a purchase order for any more equipment until you at least come close to meeting the objectives in your business plan.”

Rick sucked in his breath. “The small-animal area is more than meeting objectives.”

“That’s true, thank God. But Bill Chumney hasn’t finalized the contract with the zoo or the wildlife conservation people to treat their exotic animals—”

“He will. We already have a verbal agreement. They’re just waiting for us to finish building the flight cage to handle their raptors. That won’t take more than a week. Bill already has one of their eagles in recovery. He’s done a great job reconstructing that wing. The wildlife people will have to be impressed.”

“Wonderful. However, a verbal contract is not worth the paper it’s written on. The fluorescent lights aren’t connected in the large-animal surgical suite, there’s no hardware on the intensive care stalls for the cows and horses, the observation cameras aren’t calibrated yet.…”

“Punch list problems. We’ll have them done by tomorrow, close of business.”

“That’s what you said last week. Give it at least a month before you bring in Dr. Marsdon, Rick.”

Rick hunkered down in his chair like a sulky child. “The only person with no vested interest in this clinic is you.”

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ve been over that before. I want this clinic to succeed because that’s what Coy Buchanan wants, and I work for him. Like I’ve said from the beginning, I never invest my own money in a project I’m overseeing. Don’t want my own financial concerns to cloud my judgment.”

The door behind Rick opened, and Alva Jean stuck her head in. “Dr. Hazard, there’s a Dr. Sarah Marsdon waiting to see you.”

“Oh, God, not now,” Rick moaned. “She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me she was already scheduled?”

“What am I going to say to her?”

“Start with your punch list,” Mark said.

The door opened again.

Sarah Marsdon was silhouetted in the light from the hallway behind her. Mark had assumed a woman who dealt with horses and cows would look like Hulk Hogan.

Sarah’s silhouette looked more like Julia Roberts.

“Hi, Rick.” The silhouette spoke. “The drive from St. Paul took less time than I thought.”

She came forward into the light.

More Melanie Griffith than Julia Roberts. Hair the color of well-aged honey and eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

Rick hugged her, then turned to introduce Mark. “Dr. Sarah Marsdon, may I present Markham Scott?”

She shook his hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Mark responded. “Although I—”

Rick stepped in with a nervous laugh. “Mark’s vice president of operations for Buchanan Enterprises. He’s the money man of Coy Buchanan’s company. Coy is Margot’s father—my father-in-law. He gave us the land for the clinic and lent us Mark to handle the finances.”

Waiting for Rick to wind down, Mark caught Dr. Marsdon’s curious glance. She’d obviously picked up on Rick’s nervousness. Time to step in. “He’s telling you I’m the resident bad guy, Dr. Marsdon. Rick says my middle name is Scrooge.”

“I’ll try to stay on your good side, Mr. Scott.”

“Mark—please. As a matter of fact…”

Rick jumped in. “Come on, Sarah, let me show you around.” He put a hand to the middle of her back and practically pushed her into the hall. Then he turned to Mark. “Would you mind organizing some temporary accommodation for Sarah?”

Mark nodded. Sooner or later Rick would have to tell her she wouldn’t be getting her equipment for a while. He wondered how she’d react. She seemed like a nice enough lady, but he’d learned to be wary of vets. Even the nice ones exploded when they thought something stood between them and the welfare of their animal patients.

At least this one was easy on the eyes. Very easy. The sort of woman who went around stirring up male hormones without even realizing she was doing it. Not that her looks would get her one step closer to that portable fluoroscope. Mark considered himself immune to feminine wiles. And plenty had been used against him. So far none had succeeded.

He clicked on his cell phone and speed-dialed his office. “Beth? Mark. Rick’s just dumped a new lady vet in our laps. Get her a suite at the motel, could you? And stock it? Ground floor, I think. Thanks.”

He hung up, shut his briefcase and headed for the door. He’d be willing to bet that the job of letting Dr. Marsdon down gently was one Rick would leave to him.

“SO, HOW WAS THE WEATHER in St. Paul?” Rick said as he propelled Sarah down the hall.

“I left in a snowstorm.”

“You have snow in April?”

“Won’t last long, but it was a mess to drive in until I got south of Eau Claire. After that, I made great time. Drove half the night. I can’t believe it’s almost summer in Tennessee.”

“Just wait until August.”

“It gets hot in St. Paul, too.”

“Not a soggy heat like Memphis, I’ll bet.” He opened a door onto a small operating room. “Mac, when you’re finished spaying that Dachshund, stick your head in my office and meet Sarah Marsdon, our newest staff member.”

The large man in scrubs and mask who stood at the operating table grunted but didn’t lift his head from the small brown dog that lay on her back.

Rick closed the door quietly. “John McIntyre Thorn, our resident ogre. The best surgeon I have ever met, but he has the personality of a Tasmanian devil.”

“That makes two people whose bad sides I don’t want to get on. You got any nice guys around here?”

“Everybody else is pretty nice. But overworked.”

“What else is new? This place is enormous, Rick, and downright palatial. You’re very lucky to have this much suburban land to build a clinic on.”

Rick opened another door on a small utilitarian office. “Margot’s dad is the biggest real estate developer in these parts. He gave us the ten acres. Sit. You must be tired after your drive. Want a soft drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Sarah sat down. “What about zoning variances? You’re surrounded by expensive mansions with acres of manicured lawns. Didn’t the neighbors object?”

“That’s where Mark Scott comes in. He was dead set against this project, but once Coy told him we were committed, he did the research. The land was zoned agricultural and light industrial and hadn’t ever been changed to residential.”

“Like I said, lucky you.”

Rick rubbed his fingers under his eyes. “A few of the neighbors don’t approve. Most of the area residents were glad to see us—better than a fast-food joint or a chicken ranch—but a couple of people whose kids prefer motorcycles and fast cars to horses are still fighting us tooth and nail.”

“I see.”

“Hey, it’s just another of those handy-dandy little problems that come with the territory, right?”

Sarah wondered at the weary exasperation in his tone. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. He was a far cry from the bouncy guy she’d met two years ago at the Kansas City conference, when he’d approached her about taking a job in the new clinic he was planning to build.

She shoved down her misgivings. “I’m dying to see the large-animal facilities,” she said, and noted the change in Rick’s color to pale gray.

“Um, yes. We’re a little behind on getting everything finished.” He hurried on. “Punch list things. Minor, mostly. Look, I know you must be exhausted. Go get some rest. I’ve got you scheduled for two to ten p.m. for the first few days, so you overlap all but the midnight-to-eight shift. But if you could come in about eleven tomorrow you could meet the day staff first. Then we can go over the whole place and go through the large-animal area. Okay by you?”

She didn’t want to wait until morning. She’d never been able to hold on to her lollipop until she got out of the candy store. But something told her Rick was uncomfortable, and it was never a good idea to start a new job by making your boss uncomfortable. She tamped down her anxiety and said, “Sure. I’ll need a hotel room for a week or so while I look for someplace more permanent. Any suggestions?”

“I asked Mark to book you into a good motel. Check with him.”

The blond girl named Alva Jean stuck her head in the door. “Hey, Dr. Hazard, could you give us a hand with Egg Roll? He’s got Dr. Bill backed into a corner.” She snickered. “He’s looking at Dr. Bill like he’s another piece of candy.”

“Of course,” Rick said, with what Sarah thought was relief. He raised his hands apologetically. “Sorry, Sarah, duty calls.”

“Can I help?” Sarah asked. “I like pigs, and I’m generally pretty good with them.”

“No, no, wouldn’t think of it! Alva, please ask Mark to take care of Dr. Marsdon.” And with that, Rick was gone. When he opened the door to the examining room, Sarah heard a cacophony of grunts, a female voice shouting, “Egg Roll, stop that!” and a male tenor shouting, “Get off my foot, dammit!”

Sarah desperately wanted to help, but Rick had told her she wasn’t needed. She sat on the hard chair and crossed her arms. Great. Just great. What was that old saying? When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Rick’s job offer had sounded like paradise and had come at absolutely the best possible moment. Things at home were a mess. No matter how often she tried to tell him, Gerald never understood why she was so upset with him. Neither did her family. They always took Gerald’s side. In addition to her personal problem was her unhappiness in her job. No wonder Rick’s offer had seemed like the perfect opportunity to start afresh.

The door opened and Mark Scott leaned in. “Hi. How about we get out of here and go see your motel? We’ll have to take both cars, so I’ll lead, you follow.” He handed her a card. “This is my cell phone number. If you get lost, call me.”

“On what? A can and a string?”

His eyebrows went up. “No cell phone?”

“It belonged to the practice in St. Paul. I’ve never had one of my own.”

“Okay. I’ll put that on my list. We’ll get you one tomorrow morning. Until then, just stick close to my tail.”

He turned around and left with the blithe assumption that she’d trot after him. Watching that particular tail in its well-tailored slacks, she suspected that most women did trot after him.

She intended to keep her vow. No more good-looking men. No more entrepreneurs and titans of industry. No more hard-driving A-type personalities. She’d sworn off them forever. One Gerald in a lifetime was one too many.

The next time she fell for a man, if she ever did, she’d find a nice, gentle nest-builder with a sensitive heart, who actually listened to the things she had to say. A nurturer. Someone with glasses.

Her ruminations took her to the parking lot, where she watched Mark climb into a British racing-green Jaguar sedan. He would drive a Jag. He’d never be able to fit his long legs under the dashboard of a Porsche.

She climbed into her black Dodge Ram truck and pulled in behind him. He drove well and made following him easy, though she’d never be able to find the clinic again on her own with all the twists and turns they took down country roads, past vines heavy with wisteria and riots of azaleas in bloom.

After a twenty-minute drive, the Jag pulled up to a shiny new motel advertising executive suites. He climbed out, waited for her to pull up beside him, and lo and behold, opened her door for her and offered her a hand. It felt cool, smooth. She was certain that if she glanced down she’d find his fingernails better cared for than hers.

“Come on. My assistant said the keys would be over the door. Bags?”

She opened the back door of her truck and pointed to a pair of bulging duffel bags. She was suddenly aware of how ratty they looked. He probably carried matching monogrammed pigskin cases—but he reached for her duffels without batting an eye.

She tried to take at least one, but he walked off before she could snag it. The man had shoulders on him. Probably one of those guys who worked out at the gym five days a week and did iron-man competitions on the weekend. No wedding ring.

She followed him down the hall, waited while he carefully lowered the bags (which she would have simply dropped), unlocked the door and stood aside. She entered, to find a tiny hall, a small living area with a couch, a couple of chairs at a round table and chairs for dining, a credenza, a small kitchen that could be closed off with louvered doors, and at the back a bedroom with a king-size bed and a bath with a whirlpool.

The thought of the whirlpool was seductive. Her arms and shoulders ached not only from the drive, but from the tension of the past few days.

The suite was institutional and bland, but still more than she had expected. “I can’t possibly afford this,” she said.

“The clinic is paying for the first two weeks,” he said over his shoulder as he carried her bags to the bedroom. “By then, you should have your own place and can send for your things.”

“What things? With the exception of books, stereo equipment, my computer and a few old pictures that mean something to me, I’m starting from scratch. New furniture, new town, new job, new apartment.”

“Excellent idea. I didn’t know whether you’d prefer to be on an upper floor, but this level has a small terrace—and the security is good.”

“A terrace?” She hadn’t noticed. She walked past him, unlocked a sliding glass door, and opened it. The motel had been built on the edge of a golf course, and acres of landscaped grass stretched down from the tiny terrace. She turned. “This is heaven.”

For the first time Mark smiled. “Glad you like it.”

He had a genuinely sweet smile. “You ought to do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. Makes you look human.”

“Coy says it makes me look like a gator who’s just spotted an absent-minded duck.”

She laughed. “He has a point.”

“I had the refrigerator and the bar stocked. Could you use a drink?”

“Yeah, I guess I could. Could we sit out here?” She pointed at the two molded plastic chairs.

“If you like. I didn’t know what you like, so my assistant brought over a bit of everything. Frankly, I’m amazed she got here and left again before we arrived— but then, Beth’s amazing.”

“I’d better go with what the natives drink.”

“That would be Jack Black and branch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jack Daniels bourbon and branch water. Or in this case, good bottled water.”

“Oh. Make it very light, otherwise you’ll have to pour me into bed when I pass out.”

He raised an eyebrow. She felt her face go red, as he turned away and went back into the suite. One lousy eyebrow, and she reacted like a schoolgirl.

He handed her the drink in a heavy crystal glass that clearly had not come with the motel’s stock of bar glasses, and took the chair beside her. He stretched his long legs in front of him. “To crime.”

“How about to secrets?”

He glanced over at her. “Huh?”

“Come on, Mr. Scott…”

“Mark.”

“I doubt you generally baby-sit newcomers in your busy executive life, yet here you are playing bartender, while Rick ran from me to trim a pig’s toenails. What gives?”

He took a deep breath. “You’re too observant for your own good, Dr. Marsdon.”

“Oh Lord, don’t tell me there’s no job!”

He raised a hand quickly. “No, no, there’s a job. There’s very much a job. You are our only full time large-animal specialist at this point. We’ve got a couple of part-timers, and everybody has had some experience with large animals—but we definitely need you.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is the same as it usually is with any start-up organization. Money is tight.”

“Is that all?”

“Oh, that is very much all. Or is likely to be if we’re not careful.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that everyone connected with the clinic is going to have to start generating income big-time or make do with a great deal less in the way of resources for the foreseeable future.”

“No problem.” She hesitated. “How much income? And how much less are we talking about?”

He sighed. “That’s the thing. We’re only now going fully operational 24–7, and you are the low man on the totem pole, since you are the newest vet.”

“And?”

“That means we need you not only to cover the large animals, but to work small animals most evenings and some weekends.”

She sat up. “And I sleep and eat when?”

“You’ll have time off during the day and at least two—possibly three—weekends a month, but most of that time you’ll still be on-call for large-animal emergencies.”

“For how long?”

He opened his hands. “A few weeks, maybe a few months.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back and peered at him. He avoided her eyes. “I don’t mind the hours, since I obviously don’t have any other life yet. What else?”

“There have been a few construction problems, delays, cost overruns. Nothing unusual in the start-up phase of an operation this size.”

“Rick said that.”

“The thing is, Rick tends to make promises—all in good faith—that he may not be able to deliver on.”

“What precisely can he not deliver on?” Her drink splashed onto her jeans.

“Calm down. We’re talking a little glitch here.”

“How little?”

“At the moment, there aren’t sufficient funds to equip more than one operating theater for large animals, and even that is not quite finished. We need additional lights, for one thing.”

“Is that all? I can’t operate on more than one animal at a time, anyway, and we can always bring in portable lights for a few days. You had me worried. As long as I’ve got the diagnostic equipment and the other stuff…”

“Yes, well. Unfortunately, that is the other problem. We don’t quite have all the equipment yet.”

She set her drink down on the plastic table beside her. “The equipment is nonnegotiable, Mr. Scott. Why do you think I uprooted my life and dragged myself down here to work with Rick? He promised me lasers, ultrasound, magnetic imagery, fluoroscopes, an anesthesia machine—a state-of-the-art operating theater.”

“And you’ll get all of it, Dr. Marsdon. Just not in the next few months.”

“But it’s ordered, right? You’re simply having a problem with delivery dates?”

“Unfortunately, no. The orders have been held up.”

“By whom? You? Scrooge Scott?”

“That’s my job.”

“Who says?”

“The bank says, the stockholders say, the mortgage company says, and most of all, the medical equipment supply houses that require payment before they ship so much as a scalpel say.”

“Then, send them the money.”

“At the moment that is not possible. I’m just the messenger, doctor.”

“At the moment, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the messenger, just like in the old days, Mr. Scott. I can guess what a building like that clinic costs, and the equipment I want is small potatoes next to that. Don’t tell me you can’t find that money, because I do not believe you.”

“That’s your choice. The point is, I can’t until I’m certain that this place is going to fly and not turn into another dog and cat hospital where pampered pigs get their damn nails clipped!”

“I’m surprised you’re paying for this place. Can you afford it?” She heard the contempt in her voice and wished she’d suppressed it, but the sort of obstruction she was running into from a man who didn’t understand the problem pushed all her buttons at once.

“We’re getting the corporate rate, and Rick promised you moving expenses.”

“And this place is a sop to keep me pacified so that I don’t pitch a fit about the equipment he promised me? A couple of thousand bucks to stave off paying a couple of hundred thousand?”

“There’s no point in continuing this discussion at the moment, Doctor. We can go into the circumstances tomorrow when you’re more…rested.” He put his glass down and walked back into the bedroom.

“You think you’ll be able to handle me tomorrow? Forget it. Rested, I just get tougher.”

“Good night, Doctor. You’ll find some food in the refrigerator, in case you don’t want to go out.”

She heard the door open and close a little harder than necessary. She picked up the crystal glass, ready to hurl it after him, then stopped. She’d only have to clean up the mess afterward.

She sat and took a swig of her drink, then coughed as it hit the bottom of her throat. She could feel the bourbon all the way down to her toes. She set the glass down, suddenly feeling guilty about yelling at Mark. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized. But she had counted on that equipment. She’d been promised that equipment, and Mr. Mark Scott was going to have to come up with a stronger argument than lack of funds if he expected her to accept the delay.

If only she had enough money to buy the things herself. But she didn’t, even though she’d finally almost paid off her student loans. Truth was, even if Steve Stapleton in St. Paul had broken down and allowed her to buy a partnership in his clinic, she’d have had to hock her eyeballs to get the money together.

No, the thing to do was to persuade Mark that the equipment was crucial to the success of the clinic.

She took her drink into the kitchen and poured the rest down the sink. Pity to waste good bourbon, but she didn’t want to pass out in the Jacuzzi. She opened the small refrigerator and found eggs, bacon, bread, butter, sweet rolls, and an assortment of sandwich makings with condiments. Good. She could take her sandwich and a soda, and dine while the water washed away all her aches and pains.

Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle Mark. Tomorrow she’d meet the staff, assess the facilities, and do some real work. Tomorrow she’d start lining up allies in her battle against the bureaucracy. This was one battle she expected to win, and win quickly. Mark Scott didn’t have a clue how hard—and how dirty—she could fight. When it came to her patients, she was like a mamma grizzly defending her cubs.

CHAPTER TWO

SARAH CALLED HER FATHER in St. Paul before she went to bed, only to get his answering machine. She gave it her telephone number and hung up. She supposed he’d gone over to one of his sons’ houses for a family conference on the best way to get Sarah to come back home.

It was nearly midnight when the phone rang. Sarah picked it up.

“At home at least you had an apartment. Now you live in a motel,” Lars Marsdon said in his clipped voice.

“Actually, this is nicer than my apartment, and the clinic is paying for it.”

“You quit your job and ran off to Tennessee because you had a fight with your fiancé. You’ve made your point, so come back home.”

“Dad, I just got here this afternoon.”

“So, you won’t have had time to settle. They will not miss you. Your old job is still available. Steve told me he would hold it for a couple of days, although he is annoyed because you walked out on him.”

“Dad—” She tried to sound patient, but could feel her heart rate increasing with every sentence. “Steve was never going to allow me to be a partner. Then, when I gave him notice, he got so mad he told me to get out right that minute. I would have stayed two weeks. The choice was his, not mine.”

“This is your home. This is where your family, your fiancé, your job are. Come home where you belong.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Call back when you’re ready to speak sensibly.” He hung up.

Sarah lay back and tried to slow down her breathing.

How soon would Lars Marsdon mobilize the troops? Would he ask all three of her brothers and their wives to call and put additional pressure on her? That’s what he generally did when he didn’t agree with her choices. Occasionally Peter would refuse, but the other two always went along with their father. They were all so content with their lives that they couldn’t understand why she wanted more.

Sarah always wondered whether they made up their own scripts or said what Lars told them to say. Didn’t matter. This time she was free, and intended to remain free.

Now, all she had to do was make Mark see things her way.

“HEY, DR. SARAH,” Alva Jean Huxtable chirped, when Sarah walked in the front door of the clinic the next morning. “Mr. Scott said to tell you he’s bringing you a cell phone, and there’s a parking place for you around back. The staff park there.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like we’re running out of parking space in front.” Alva Jean looked at the nearly empty waiting room.

“Dr. Rick said he was going to try to get everybody together at eleven so you could meet them.”

“Where?”

“He calls it his conference room, but it’s really our break room. He’s got a drink machine and a snack machine in there and a little refrigerator. If you bring your lunch, you better mark the sack with your name—otherwise somebody’s bound to steal it.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Thanks, I’ll remember that. Do I have a desk?”

Alva Jean shook her head. “Not yet, but there are some extra file cabinets in the storeroom. You can have one of those, if Rick says it’s okay.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

She pushed through the door to the central hall and glanced in at Mark’s partially open door, but he wasn’t in. For some reason, she felt a stab of disappointment. Was she so anxious to go into battle with him again? Or was there another more personal reason? Nonsense. The fact that he was tall with brown eyes that crinkled at the corners had nothing to do with anything. She simply relished a good fight with a worthy adversary. Period.

At this point she didn’t even know the full extent of the battle she needed to wage.

At the far end of the hall there was a door with a smoked-glass panel in the upper half. Beside it someone had taped a small handwritten sign that read, Large Animals. No fancy brass plaques back here.

To the right, a solid door had a green lighted exit sign over it. That must lead to the employees’ parking area. She’d move her truck there as soon as she’d done a bit of exploring. She needed to restock the vet cabinet in the back of her truck, anyway. One of the vet techs here ought to be able to restock for her. While she’d half watched television in her motel room last night, she’d put together a basic list of the drugs and paraphernalia she’d need.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Then stood for a moment and stared. The room was cavernous, the central hall more than wide enough to admit an eighteen-wheeler. On the right, doors could be rolled up into the ceiling so that a big rig of cows could be backed into the slot that opened into a large fenced pen.

She opened the first door on her left. It was empty except for packing boxes and paint cans. She assumed it would eventually be her office. She’d probably have to leave room for storage shelves that would hold everything except the drugs that had to be kept double-locked and accounted for to the government.

She walked past the cow pen, and past the small stalls where cows or bulls could be kept individually so that they could be examined safely in a relatively confined space. Looked strong. Good. An angry bull or cow could do extensive damage.

Past that area on her right were three doors. She peeked through the window of the first and saw a completely padded stall—floor, walls and ceiling. The recovery area—where a large animal could come out of anesthesia without hurting itself. The next two doors opened into similar stalls, but without the padded walls. These, then, were the ones that Mark had told her weren’t quite finished. Three recovery stalls—impressive for a private clinic. Many of the teaching veterinary hospitals didn’t have as many.

On her right across the broad hall, she discovered the prep room where the animals could be anesthetized and readied for surgery. Through the double doors at the end of the prep room, she could see the surgery. She opened the door, but when she flipped the light switch, nothing happened. Great. She hoped no horses or cows would have to be operated on by candlelight.

The surgery seemed to contain only basic equipment. The lights, when they were hooked up, would no doubt be more than adequate, but at the moment it was difficult to tell much in the gloom.

As to the diagnostic equipment she’d been promised—one portable ultrasound was all she could see. Well, that would change.

She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. First priority—get the blasted lights hooked up. That was something Mark could darn well put at the top of his To Do list.

“Help ya?” A raspy voice spoke from behind her.

She jumped and turned.

“New doc, are ya?”

The man who leaned against the far wall grinned at her. He stood no more than five-two or -three and probably weighed a hundred ten pounds. His face was covered with sun-ruined skin, wrinkled like badly tanned leather, and the teeth revealed in that grin were crooked. His blue eyes were bright as a bird’s.

“I’m Sarah Marsdon.”

“The new vet?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Told me you were a lady, but didn’t say that you were a pretty one. I’m Jack. Jack Renfro. I’m your vet tech, your surgery assistant, and your jack-of-all-trades, no pun intended.”

The slight southern accent was overlaid with a thick cockney twang.

“Jockey?” Sarah grinned back at him.

“And exercise boy and groom before I got too old and too stove up to ride. What I don’t know about horses ain’t been writ down as yet.”

“How about cows?”

“Hate the stupid buggers, but I can handle ’em. And anything else with four feet comes into this place.”

“Good.” Sarah extended her hand. “What’s with the lights?”

Jack blew out his breath. “Bloody contractor’s supposed to have everything done here today. But then, he was supposed to finish last month, wasn’t he?”

“Was he?”

“You weren’t to know, of course, but we’ve had one muck-up after another. That woman kept trying to turn the place into a bloody palace, then the almighty rain and the mud, and delivery problems, and if that weren’t enough, we have the neighborhood rowdies at night.”

“Rowdies?”

“Kids. Too much time and no sense, is what I says. Don’t know much about tractors and such myself, but I do know you can’t run one without a carburetor. Took a week for the contractor to get a new one in and installed. Meantime we had to rent another tractor. Cost a bloody fortune.”

“They stole a carburetor?”

Jack humphed. “As good as. Turned out the little devils hid it behind a stack of plywood, but the contractor wasn’t to know, was he? Only found it a month later when he’d already bought the new one. Then there was the great plumbing caper.” He sounded disgusted.

“Plumbing?”

“Contractor came in one Monday and found every bit of PVC pipe spread out over the two back paddocks. Spelled out words not fit for your tender ears.”

Sarah laughed. “You’d be surprised how un-tender my ears are. Besides, I know that’s annoying, but it doesn’t sound as though they’re really destructive.”

“That bit of mischief took four men and a truck most of the day to pick up and get the mud out. Costs money, things like that. And time we didn’t have.”

“If we had an emergency, could we handle it?”

Renfro cocked an eye at her. “That’s up to you, ain’t it?”

“You mean I’m it?”

“You got Dr. Eleanor Grayson comes in, but she’s part-time, mostly night or when we’re pushed. We’re supposed to be open twenty-four hours a day, but right now, we only got a couple of part-timers on call after midnight. And Dr. Mac can muck in if you need him. Staff’s good, but they’re mostly used to handling puppies and kittens.”

Sarah laughed at the obvious sneer in his voice. He grinned back at her through his terrible teeth.

“Well, I says, don’t ya know, if it ain’t good for racing or eating, then what’s the sense of it, I says.”

“Don’t let the clients hear you say that.” Sarah laughed.

“Keeps me thoughts to me’self. You worry about the cutting, Doc, I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“Deal. Nice to work with you, Jack. By the way, they say I’m going to be working a good many nights and weekends, as well, until we’re fully staffed. What are your hours?”

“My good lady says they run from ‘kin to cain’t,’ but she’s from Arkansas and talks funny. Don’t you worry. You need me at four in the morning, I’ll be here.”

Suddenly Sarah didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed as she had, with the problems she faced. With an old pro like Jack Renfro to back her up, how could she fail? She glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell, I’m late for Rick’s meeting.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Get more done without these infernal meetings of his. You run along. I’ll hunt up that contractor and put a flea up his nose. You’ll have your lights and that office cleaned up today.” He trotted off with the rolling, bowlegged gait of a man used to having horse flesh between his knees.

“Jack?” Sarah called after him.

He turned.

“I’ve got a list of medications and stuff I need in my truck cabinet. It’s lying on the front seat of my truck, which is, I’m sorry to say, in front of the clinic instead of where it belongs.”

“Toss me your keys. I’ll move it and stock it for you.”

“You’re a wonder. Thanks.”

“MARK, MY CHILD is driving me nuts.” Coy Buchanan slumped into his maroon leather desk chair in the corner office of Buchanan Enterprises. It had been specially constructed to accommodate both his height and his bulk, but it still groaned under his weight. He reached for his oversize mug of New Orleans coffee.

“Margot Hazard may be your child, Coy,” Mark said from the chair across the acre or so of inlaid leather on top of Coy’s desk. “To the rest of the world, she’s a grown woman.” And an annoying one. Mark didn’t voice that thought.

“I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to take her calls. Terrible thing to start screening out your only daughter’s telephone calls.”

“Switch her over to me.”

“Oh, I’ve tried, son, believe me. She says you aren’t responsive, whatever the hell that means.”

“It means I don’t sit up and jump through hoops for her. You pay me for not jumping through hoops.”

“I know, I know. But couldn’t you at least act like maybe you’re planning to leave the ground occasionally?” Coy grinned. “Make my life one hell of a lot easier.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to sign blank checks.”

“It’s that damn animal clinic,” Coy said, and gulped half the mug of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “Why couldn’t Margot have married somebody like Ted Turner or Donald Trump? Even a king might have been able to afford her. But no, she’s got to go and marry a veterinarian. And then try to turn him into a millionaire. Last I heard, wasn’t nobody trading veterinary stock on Wall Street.”

“True, but we’ve got investors, Coy. You are not the only one. And some of them can’t afford to lose what money they’ve put into the clinic.”

“Hell, you think I can?” Coy came close to roaring. “First rule of business my daddy taught me is ‘Don’t lose money.”’

This time Mark grinned. “You lost two fortunes before you were forty.”

“Yeah, but I made ’em back, and then some. I’m getting too old for this game. I hired you to see I don’t lose any more. I just want to build nice office buildings and fancy subdivisions, pay the IRS entirely too much of what I earn, and still have time to go fishing occasionally. I’ve got a good mind to go do that right this minute and leave you to deal with Margot all by yourself.”

“You do, and I quit.”

“You won’t quit. You got too much junkyard dog in you. How many times I fired you?”

“I lost count after fifteen.”

“And have you once ever started cleaning out your desk? No, you have not. You know I don’t mean it, and you’re just too damn mean to leave.”

“If I ever do start cleaning out my desk, Coy, you’ll know I really have quit. In the meantime, I will be pleasant but noncommittal. I will not give her or Rick carte blanche to spend whatever they like on fancy furniture, equipment or additional personnel until they’re fully operational and at least breaking even. Do I have your agreement on that?”

“Sure you do.”

“You’ll back me up, no matter how hard Margot pleads?”

“Yeah, yeah, if I have to. But—” Coy looked sheepish “—I have to ask you for something.”

“Oh, damn,” Mark muttered. “Here it comes.”

“I know you’re supposed to be going to Houston tomorrow to meet with the Center City Commission…”

“Right.”

“I’ll take the meeting. For at least the next month I want you to stick close to town and spend most of your time out at that clinic.”

“Coy…”

“I know it’s been years since you supervised a construction project personally—at least a penny-ante one like the clinic.” Coy sounded plaintive. “I need you to do this for me, son.”

“Construction’s almost finished. You don’t want a construction supervisor. You want an on-site CFO to deal with the problems while you wine and dine and avoid Margot’s telephone calls.” Mark sighed. “Last time I checked, I still work for you.” Mark stood. “Okay, I’ll keep up with things here and check on the clinic at night.”

“I wouldn’t ask…”

“Sure you would.” Mark walked to the door and stood with his hand on the knob. “But too much Margot, and the next time you fire me I may just go.”

“I’LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS FAST,” Rick said to Sarah in front of the assembled people in the break room. “This is everybody I could track down at the moment. You’ll have to introduce yourself to the others when you run into them. People, this is Dr. Sarah Marsdon who is going to put our large-animal clinic on the map.”

“I’ll certainly try.” Sarah smiled at the group. “But I’ll need some help and I’ll need a surgery with lights.” She gave Rick a hard look.

Rick looked uncomfortable. “The lights were supposed to be hooked up yesterday. I’ll check.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again and tried to keep her tone light and even. This was no time to air her dirty laundry. “Jack Renfro’s going to harry the contractor.”

“Good. I’ll back him up.” Rick pointed to a tall man with a gray buzz cut who stood over a coffee urn at the back of the room. “That’s Dr. Mac Thorn, the other senior partner. Mac, I introduced you yesterday, remember?”

“I don’t remember anything while I’m operating,” he said grumpily.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. So Dr. Thorn had an attitude.

“Jack Renfro says you’ll assist me if I need help in surgery,” she said.

He nodded and took a sip of coffee.

“This is Bill Chumney, our exotics man. He’s about to get us a very lucrative contract with the local animal refuge, to do all their vet work.”

“Actually,” Chumney said, “I’m a raptor man by preference, but I can handle everything from armadillos to iguanas if I have to.”

“What are the laws about exotics in Tennessee? Can people keep them as pets?”

“The state is extremely strict about issuing permits to people who want to keep local fauna, or zoo animals—big cats, elephants, that sort of thing. Iguanas, reptiles, ferrets, hedgehogs, even sugar gliders—small creatures bred and sold to be pets—are okay. Sometimes Rick and Mac handle them in the small animal section, sometimes I do. And then somebody has to look after the raccoon whose mother got hit by a truck, or a possum with his tail bitten off. That’s why we’re anxious to get the contract with the animal refuge people signed. We’ll handle all the hurt animals the public brings in. And the zoo, too, of course. They have their own staff, but it’s pretty limited.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not yet, but we will be when that contract goes through. That’s my flight cage they’re building outside by Dr. Sol’s research lab.” He glowered at Rick. “It was supposed to be finished, and a damn sight larger, as well. I’ve got an eagle about ready to try his wings. Eagles need space to get lift.”

“Okay, okay. After the lights are up. I promise I’ll check it out.”

Rick turned back to Sarah. “Dr. Sol Weincroft isn’t in today. He’s actually more of a silent partner for the next few months. We’re building him a wing out back for his research in return for financial support from him and the pharmaceutical companies funding his research. He’ll be available in emergencies, but he’s concentrating on research as much as he can. I think you may have met him in Kansas City, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded. “Heard him give a paper on his research on an equine infectious anemia vaccine.”

“And he’s very, very close to success. That’ll be one hell of a feather in our caps.” Rick sighed. “Eleanor Grayson isn’t in, either. She’s part-time and your backup after hours. She was here pretty late last night with a flipped gut.”

Sarah knew Rick meant that one of Dr. Grayson’s charges had a flipped gut—not an unusual occurrence in large breeds of dog. It was a deadly emergency requiring instant surgery—and there was only a fair chance of saving the animal’s life.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a hip dysplasia in twenty minutes,” Mac said. He put down his coffee cup and left.

“Now that the Grinch has departed,” a small blond woman said, “I’m Liz Carlyle. I just graduated from Mississippi State last year. I’m on small animals, but I kind of swing where I’m needed. I really want to go into ophthalmology eventually, but I can’t go back to school until I make some serious money, or until and unless my husband gets one heck of a promotion.” She shrugged and turned pink with embarrassment.

Sarah thought she was very young indeed.

“That’s the current veterinary staff,” Rick said. “We’re piecing out for the first few months with a roster of part-timers from midnight to eight. So far, there hasn’t been much call that late. You’ve met Alva Jean, who handles the desk during the day, does the billing and such. Mabel Halliburton comes in at four, so you’ll mostly be working with her. She kind of mothers us all, and she’s a wonder with the paperwork. Does our ordering, backs up Alva Jean. We’re still hiring kennel and cleanup staff. People keep quitting on us after a week or so. Nobody seems to want to work so hard for minimum wage.”

“Go figure,” Liz whispered.

Rick glared at her. “We’re going to need at least three more vet techs once we’re fully up and running, but at the moment we’re making do with Jack for large and Nancy here for small, and part-timers from other clinics hired on an hourly basis.”

Sarah took the sure, brown hand of the woman who offered it. “Nancy Mayfield. I do anything and everything. At the moment I’ve got to go get Dr. Mac ready for his hip dysplasia.”

“You’re assisting?”

“Yep. I’m better at surgery than Jack. He’s better at post-op. We complement each other.”

The telephone on the wall beside the door rang. Liz jumped. Rick answered it and listened for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, Mac. She’s on her way.”

Nancy Mayfield grinned at Sarah and stood up slowly. Sarah saw her catch her breath. The woman stood for a moment with her eyes closed.

She’s in pain, Sarah thought.

Nancy caught her eye. “Jack and I are a lot alike. He raced, I rode hunters and jumpers in the show ring. We’re both too stiff to do it any longer.” She glanced at her own strong hands. “Nothing wrong with these. It’s my neck that gives me fits. Ah, well, I’d better head on out before Dr. Mac explodes.”

“We’d better all head on out,” Rick said. “Sorry you couldn’t meet everybody at one time, Sarah.”

“That’s okay. If I see anybody in greens with an animal under his arm, I’ll assume he’s a staff member.”

“Nice to have met you,” Bill Chumney said. “Now I’m off to exercise Marvin’s wings for him. This time I think he’s really going to fly.”

The telephone rang again, and Nancy answered it. “I’m coming!” She listened a moment, then turned to the room. “Scratch the dysplasia. We’ve got a couple of bull terriers who’ve just been hit by a car.”

“Damn!” Rick said.

Chairs scraped. Bill Chumney reached the door first. The moment it opened, Sarah heard the howls from the waiting room.

“Oh, God,” Liz whispered. And ran to help.

Sarah ran, as well. She noticed on her way by that Mark Scott stood in the door of his office. “Come on,” she said. “We may need another pair of hands.”

A broad, gray-haired woman, in a pair of disreputable shorts and a shirt that said Kiss the Gardener, sat on her knees on the floor just inside the door cradling the body of a dog wrapped in a blanket. She sobbed, the dog whined pitiably. The blanket in which it was wrapped was bloodstained.

“George is still in the car, I couldn’t carry him. Please, please, they’re badly hurt.” She grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Don’t let them die!”

Sarah dropped to her knees and pulled the dog’s lips back. The dog made no attempt to bite at her, which in itself showed how close to shock she was. The gums were too pale. “Nancy! Ringer’s stat—push. And get out a couple of surgery packs and some Ketamine, in case we have to immobilize fast. Call Jack. Tell him to bring a couple of gurneys.”

The dog whined again. Mark said over her shoulder, “I can carry him to OR.”

Sarah shook her head. “Could do more harm than good. Go help get the other one in.” She began to touch the dog gently, expecting the terrier to turn on her. “What happened?”

“They’re never out of the yard! Never!” the woman sobbed. “This morning we had a new meter reader. He must have left the gate ajar.” She caressed the white fur beneath her hand. “I was planting azaleas, and then I heard these brakes screech and…” She broke down completely.

“Here you go, Doc,” Jack Renfro said.

Half an hour later, both dogs lay on surgical tables on either side of the small-animal operating theater. Mac Thorn worked on the large male dog, while Sarah worked on the female.

“She got a crack on the head,” Sarah said to Jack. “But the X rays say she doesn’t have any broken bones or skull fracture. Both her eyes look normal—pupils are the same size and responding. Not sure about internal bleeding, but if there was any, it seems to have stopped. We need to clean her up, stitch her up and watch her.” She worked steadily, confidently, and in silence except for an occasional instruction to Jack.

Mac Thorn, on the other hand, kept up a running stream of curses, demands and snarls, which didn’t seem to bother Nancy Mayfield a bit, but which occasionally made Sarah lift her head in astonishment. Sarah finished with her dog, left it to Jack to bed down in the ICU, and moved over to Mac while she pulled off her gloves. “Need a hand?”

“No, dammit! Blasted idiots! Let dogs run loose! Broken pelvis—have to pin it, blast it. People!”

Sarah was certain Nancy was grinning, but that was impossible to tell with her mask on. Sarah grinned back and got out of the way. She went to find the dogs’ owner.

Not in the waiting room. Odd. She walked back down the hall, and heard voices from Mark’s office. She pushed open the door. The owner of the dogs pushed herself out of the chair across from Mark’s desk.

“Are they going to be all right?” She clutched a cup of what appeared to be coffee.

“Mrs. Jepson needed someplace quiet to sit,” Mark said. “And something hot to drink.”

Sarah looked at him with new eyes. So he wasn’t a total dolt.

“Mrs. Jepson,” she said, “I’m Sarah Marsdon. What are the dogs’ names?”

“George and Marian.” Mrs. Jepson began to cry again.

“They’re beautiful bull terriers. And they’re tough little critters, you know.”

“Otherwise, General George Patton would never have kept one with him,” Mark said.

“Oh, you know that? That’s why my husband insisted we get one. George and Marian are our fourth and fifth.” She sniffed. “They’re the last pups my husband and I bought before he died.”

“Marian may have some internal trauma that hasn’t shown up yet, Mrs. Jepson, so we’ll be watching her very carefully. But I cleaned her cuts and stitched her up. I doubt she’ll even have scars, once the hair grows back.”

“And George? She’s never been without him. They were litter mates.”

“Dr. Thorn is the best surgeon there is,” Sarah said, although she had no way of knowing whether that was true. “He’ll talk to you himself…”

She stopped. That would not be a good idea. Dr. Mac Thorn’s bedside manner would probably involve blasting Mrs. Jepson for something that was only marginally her fault. “Tell you what, Mrs. Jepson. When I left, Dr. Thorn was saying that he could pin George’s hip and that there was every reason to believe he’d be all right.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Jepson began to cry again.

Mark stared at her helplessly, then handed her a pristine handkerchief.

“It’s going to be a long haul, probably physical therapy. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.”

“I don’t care! As long as I have George and Marian back safe and sound.”

She raised her head as a knock sounded on the door, and Nancy Mayfield stuck her head in. “Mrs. Jepson? Didn’t know where you were. We’re taking the male dog to Recovery now. If you’d like to see them for just a moment—”

“Oh, please!” Mrs. Jepson followed Nancy out, and Sarah sank into the chair that was still warm from her body.

“Hell of an introduction,” Mark said. “You want a cup of coffee, too?”

“In a minute. At the moment I simply want to sit.”

“Are they really going to be all right?”

“I have no idea. Looks good, but there’s always something that can go wrong.” She glared at Mark. “Now, about my equipment…”

“Whoa! Can we put this off until later? I’m late for a meeting downtown at Buchanan.”

“Are you avoiding me?”

“No. I’ll be here this evening after work. I promise we’ll talk then.” He went out the door before she could call him back.

“Fine,” Sarah said. “Tonight it is, Mr. Mark Scott. You can’t avoid me forever.”

MARK SPENT THE AFTERNOON at Buchanan Enterprises, putting out more fires. When he walked into the clinic late that afternoon he found the waiting room filled with sick pets whose owners had obviously held off until after work to bring them in for treatment. Despite the heavy-duty sound-deadening tiles on the ceiling and the upper third of the walls, Mark felt an instant kinship with Noah, who must have wished constantly for earplugs during that forty days and forty nights in the ark.

Alva Jean motioned to him while continuing to make ‘uh-huh’ noises to whoever was on the phone, which seemed to grow out of her ear. He pulled his electronic notebook from his breast pocket, keyed in “headset fr desk” and slid the device back into his pocket. That was the sort of simple change that wouldn’t cost more than a little petty cash and should make the receptionist’s job both easier and more efficient.

Alva Jean covered the mouthpiece and hissed, “Dr. Marsdon is looking for you.” She rolled her eyes to leave Mark in no doubt that Dr. Marsdon was not a happy camper.

He hadn’t expected her to be. Apparently, Mark was going to be dealing with Margot and Dr. Marsdon. He sighed. At least the good doctor was single, beautiful and sexy. He rather enjoyed the thought of mixing it up with her again.

He looked into the room next to his and found that the walls had been finished and painted. The paint odor still lingered, but otherwise the place was ready for storage shelving and file cabinets. Tomorrow morning he’d call and have the stuff delivered. He sighed with satisfaction.

Maybe things were coming together, after all. Lately he’d about given up hope.

He ducked into his office and shut the door. Then he shucked his jacket and hung it on the nail somebody had driven into the woodwork. An accident waiting to happen. He made another note: “hammer nails into walls.” And prayed that when he got around to checking his notes at midnight he’d have some inkling of what he’d meant.

He kneaded the muscles along the tops of his shoulders and slumped into the ratty desk chair. A normal day at Buchanan. Endless conference calls, endless meetings, a Chamber of Commerce luncheon with Coy, more meetings, work with engineers on HVAC bids for a bank headquarters in Charlotte that had come in high, a surprise visit from the INS about forged green cards on a job they were subcontracting in Little Rock. More telephone calls chasing down the general contractor in Little Rock. Protestations of innocence followed by arguments that the only decent drywall workers in the entire southeast were illegal Mexican laborers.

Mark believed him—and so, for that matter, did the INS. But that didn’t matter. He pulled out his notebook. “Check grncds subcon vet.” What were the chances he could decipher that tomorrow?

His left temple throbbed, and he longed to go home to his quiet house, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, pop a cold beer, and watch mindless television until he fell asleep. What a life for a man who was supposed to be in his prime.

Anyone meeting him would think he had the world by the tail—a great job with a boss he not only respected but liked, more money than he’d ever dreamed of and an excellent reputation among his colleagues and friends.

Right. Friends. Acquaintances, more like. There simply hadn’t been time to develop a life away from work, much less create anything resembling a family. He was like the new Silicon Valley computer kids who ate, slept and lived their jobs.

A far cry from the life he’d envisioned when he was eighteen, before his father’s death had brought the world crashing down around his head.

At the knock on his door, he glanced up.

It opened immediately. Dr. Sarah Marsdon came in— no, marched in—and shut it a little too forcefully behind her. Mark didn’t bother to stand up.

She sat down. “I’d about decided you weren’t coming, Mr. Scott.”

He sighed. “Mark—please. I thought we’d settled that.”

“That’s the only thing we seem to have settled. Now, let’s talk about my equipment.”

CHAPTER THREE

MARK SIGHED. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Believe me, I wish I could. But let’s get to my list. Bear in mind this is the basic equipment we need. We already have a portable ultrasound. It’s a thousand years old, but it will do for the moment.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“However, we are missing the mobile fluoroscopy machine and the portable X ray…”

“To the tune of eighty thousand bucks or more.”

“And the endoscope and laser. Shouldn’t run more than about twenty-five each for the bare bones. I can share the X-ray developer with the dogs and cats for the moment, but I’ll really need it to stay in my area. The small-animal technicians can come to me to develop their plates rather than the other way around. Of course, a second developer would solve that problem.”

“Another twenty-five thou, if we’re lucky.”

“Be lucky.” Sarah ticked off on her fingers. “I was promised an anesthesia machine. You may be able to find one of those from a ‘human’ medical supply house for about forty-five or fifty thousand.”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“That leaves a portable laser, which you can probably pick up for around ten thousand dollars used, and a blood chemistry analyzer. We have an autoclave. I won’t ask for a nuclear cytography machine yet, but I do need a laptop computer with Internet and fax capability that I can carry in my car so I can fax ultrasounds and fluoroscopes either back here to the office or to the vet school at Mississippi State. Oh, and the vet cabinet in my truck is too small. Jack said he’d stock the one I have, but I don’t have enough room for all the equipment and medication I’ll need to take with me on off-site calls. And I need keys to the Schedule 2 drug storage cabinet—both keys, please.”

“Is that all?”

“For the moment. Eventually, we really will need an MRI. And that will involve training at least one employee to use it. Oh, one more thing—a really good pair of surgical clippers for large animals. I can have one sent overnight for four or five hundred dollars. And I’ll have a list of additional medications and supplies I’ll need, as soon as I check what you already have.” Sarah started to get up. “That’s it for now.”

“Whoa, there, Doctor. You’ve just given me a list that runs over two hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s what I was promised.”

“I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t pull two hundred thousand bucks out of the air.”

Sarah took a deep breath. “Look, I know I sound peremptory. But surely Rick had a budget for the things he promised me.”

This time Mark sank back in his chair. “I haven’t looked at the original equipment list lately. Frankly, I’ve been too damn busy putting out fires. The truth is that Coy Buchanan gave Rick and Margot this piece of land. He could have put up several more mansions on it and made a great deal more money. He’s been in on the plans for the building from the beginning, and we’ve given this place every break on construction we could give.”

“But?”

“You’ve met Margot.”

“And?”

“And Margot has continued to make the building more and more elaborate. The changes have cost much more than originally budgeted. Then the weather, the damage we’ve had—it all adds up. We’re at least a month away from a grand opening, when it should have taken place in February. I think Rick—no, make that everybody—I’m as guilty as he is—has been robbing Peter to pay Paul, and now Peter is presenting his bill. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is—at least for the next six months, maybe longer.”

“You do think you’ll eventually be able to pull things together?”

“I’m dancing as fast as I can. Will you work with me?”

Sarah stood. “I understand your problems, and I’ll try to be as patient as I can. But remember, this is lives we’re talking about, here.”

“Animal lives. Animals can be replaced.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He’d done something he seldom did—speak first and think second. She’d gotten to him.

From the look on her face, Sarah wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

“Tell that to the teenage girl who loses her very first pony because we have to take it four and a half hours away to Mississippi State for colic surgery. You might as well say you should avoid an expensive procedure to save your grandmother because she’s old and ill.”

“A grandmother is a human being, and most people don’t have but two. You can’t put a price on human life.”

“You certainly can put a price on animal lives, Mr. Scott. Farmer A knows precisely what his prize Angus bull is worth. If we screw up through negligence, or because we don’t have the right diagnostic and operating equipment, we’ll have to pay that price. You might add that to your two hundred thousand.”

“That’s what we have liability insurance for.”

“Liability insurance won’t cover that teenage girl’s heartbreak. Do you think Mrs. Jepson would prefer to have the value of George and Marian so she could buy a pair of puppies to take their place?”

“No, but she would replace them.”

“Not replace them. She’d bring other dogs into her life, but she’d never forget them or stop grieving for them. And that’s not one bit different from the way you feel about your grandmother.”

“Both my grandmothers are alive and very well, thank you.”

“Dammit!” Sarah snapped. “Don’t play games with me. So long as you don’t see the value of animal lives, you and I will never be able to communicate.” She walked out of his office.

“Hey…” he said, “I didn’t mean…”

The woman always put him on the defensive, made him say stupid things he would never say to anyone else. The problem was, he liked her. He wished he could give her everything she wanted. But there was no way—not if the clinic was to survive. Drat Margot Buchanan, anyway. If she hadn’t been able to wrap Coy around her little finger, if she hadn’t been able to con Rick…Hell, if Mark hadn’t been in Texas building a mall for three months last year, he could have headed her off. Now his job was doubly difficult.

Because Sarah Marsdon stirred his blood.

Even in the loose scrubs he could see the outlines of her body. He liked the way she moved with an easy swing that was more than a little cocky. He grinned. She might have been put on this earth to complicate his life, but at least the complications made him feel more alive than he had for years. Now, if he could only figure out some way to accommodate everybody’s needs without either bankrupting the clinic or giving himself an ulcer, he’d be fine.

Maybe for some lonely people animals did fill an unfillable gap in their lives, but that still didn’t compare with the loss of a grandmother, say, or a father.

Or did it?

Suddenly, his mind flashed back to the only animal he’d ever owned. Okay, so Mickey had been different. But when Mark and his mother had been forced to move into the apartment after his father’s death, he’d done what everyone had told him was the best thing for Mickey—he’d given his dog to Uncle Greg, who had a farm and young children for Mickey to play with. Uncle Greg had told Mark he’d always be welcome to visit the big black Labrador when he was home from school.

He’d only visited once. Seeing Mickey, playing with him, then driving away had been too painful to endure a second time. Mickey—now long dead and buried under the wild dogwoods at Uncle Greg’s farm.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about the dog for years. Hadn’t trusted himself to think about Mickey. How come he still felt as deep an ache of emptiness as he did when he thought about his father’s wreck? That was stupid. They weren’t the same thing at all. Were they?

Obviously the point was that he must never allow himself to care that deeply about anyone or anything again, whether it was a Mickey or a father. Building the walls to keep out the pain of inevitable loss took too much effort.

He took out his notebook and reached for the spike impaling a half-dozen telephone messages. Both his temples throbbed. How could such a beautiful woman have such a devastating effect on him?

SARAH POPPED the top of a diet soda with so much force that it spewed all down her front. Obviously Mark was one of those people who simply didn’t recognize the relevance of animals in people’s lives. The kind of person she used to despise. Now she simply felt sorry for them. She’d long since learned that animals gave their humans far more than they took.

Mark’s attitude might be fixable. Once she was settled and knew her way around, she would try to convince him to come with her when she went to the local old folks’ home with one of the visitation dogs, or to a Special Cargo class, in which developmentally delayed children rode horses. Simply watching a sheepdog herd sheep wouldn’t do it. He’d be impressed with the dog’s skills, but not with its ability to provide emotional support.

She’d lay out her strategy carefully. It might take a few months, but before she was through, she’d have Mark as passionately committed as she was to Creature Comfort and its clients.

As she finished her soda, Bill came in, got himself a drink, opened it and drank deeply. Then he plopped his body down in the chair opposite Sarah’s.

“So he’s screwed you, too.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Scott. I’ve been out supervising the workmen finishing up my flight cage. He cut back the dimensions. He told me we’ll enlarge it when there’s more money, but I know he’s hiding money that we could use right this minute.” He sounded on the verge of angry tears.

“What makes you think he’s hiding money?”

“He’s noted for it. He’s overcautious, and in this case, he’s not really committed to the clinic.”

“He doesn’t want it to fail, surely.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s got his own agenda. We go under, he and Buchanan sell this place to a medical group or bulldoze it and put up apartments.”

“Bill, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m just as annoyed about his tightfistedness as you are, but I don’t think he has any deep and sinister plot. He probably thinks he’s doing the right thing. I don’t agree with him, and I intend to change his mind, but he does have a right to his opinion.”

“Oh God. I can’t believe he’s conned you, too.” Bill threw his empty can in the general area of the trash can and stomped out.

She finished her soda, picked up Bill’s can, and tossed both into the trash container. Then she went to find her next appointment.

A monumental woman in a flowered print dress stood behind the examining table with a gigantic black-and-white Maine coon cat, who began to yowl the instant Sarah walked in the door. The cat sounded hoarse. “Mrs. Pulaski, the desk says that Sweetums has a cold.”

BY THE TIME Mark worked through the telephone messages, his stomach was rumbling.

So was the weather, as it turned out. His cubicle was so insulated that he didn’t hear the thunder until he walked into the hall. The yaps and meows seemed to have increased in volume to vie with the cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning—although the waiting room was nearly empty.

Alva Jean on the desk had been replaced by Mabel Halliburton, fiftyish and comfortable. She cocked a motherly eye at Mark and said, “You look like you been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I was hoping it didn’t show.”

“Well, it does. Go home, have a nice glass of wine and a decent dinner. Can you cook?”

“Can but don’t. My idea of a gourmet feast is takeout Chinese.”

“Then take out. You need a good woman, Mark. Somebody to look after you.”

Mark laughed. “My mother gives me a decent dinner most Sundays when she’s not traveling. That’s as close to a good woman as I’m likely to get.”

Mabel shook her head and picked up the ringing telephone. “Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic,” she trilled as she waved her fingers at Mark.

Damn! He’d forgotten to order that headset. He’d call Beth first thing tomorrow.

He stood for a moment in the doorway of the clinic and watched the rain sluice down. The wind drove it against the building and the cars. He looked at the flapping tarps that covered the remaining piles of building materials and fence posts, and hoped that whatever was underneath stayed dry.

The temperature had dropped about thirty degrees since he’d arrived at the clinic several hours ago. A night for neither man nor beast, as his grandfather would have said.

He took a deep breath and raced toward his car, clicking the button on his remote door lock as he went. As he yanked the door open, he saw a flash of dirty gray that looked like the head of an old mop skitter behind his front wheel.

“What the—”

The mop slid farther forward, flattened under the car. Some damn animal must have gotten loose from its owner. The last thing he needed was to drive over somebody’s pet tabby.

Rain ran down under the collar of his coat and dripped off his eyelashes. He was about as wet as he could possibly get. He hunkered down, and saw only the end of a matted behind. Didn’t look like anybody’s pet anything. But whatever it was, was shivering and soaked, much like Mark, himself.

He moved around to the front of the car and squatted to look under the bumper—and came nose to nose with a small, wet, gray face with shoe-button eyes rimmed in white.

A dog. Something resembling a dog. A terror-stricken little creature. Mark called to it. It stayed flat. He could see the water pouring under its belly. He couldn’t drive off with the thing under his car.

“Come on out of there,” he said.

The button eyes held his. The shivering continued. Damn thing must be half frozen. No way could that matted coat provide any protection.

Lightning flashed, and the dog whimpered, turning its head slightly in the direction of the flash.

It was wearing a collar. Oh God, it was somebody’s lost pet. Long lost, judging from the condition it was in. He’d heard that abandoned dogs tended to go feral, became frightened of human beings. Maybe this one was too cold and too wet and too frightened to run.

But probably not too frightened to bite Mark’s hand if he reached out for it. And it might be rabid.

For a moment he considered going back into the clinic and hunting up Jack Renfro or one of the kennel cleaners to capture the pup. But it might disappear in the meantime. The animal might not be Mark’s problem, but he couldn’t leave the poor thing to suffer.

He took a deep breath and reached out a tentative hand. “Come on, boy,” he whispered. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

He expected the dog to snarl or back away. For a moment nothing happened, then it began to wriggle its body forward toward Mark’s outstretched hand.

Mark ignored the water streaming into his eyes. Suddenly the only thing that mattered was that he win this creature over. He kept talking.

The dog kept inching.

Mark was afraid that if he made a grab for the dog, it would spook, so he kept up his soft patter, kept his hand out there while the rain ran down his arm.

“We’ll both wind up with pneumonia,” he whispered. The rear end of the small body gave an answering wriggle—as though the dog were trying to wag a tail that was no longer there.

The small triangular head had almost touched Mark’s knee. He reached down and touched the wet fur between the ears. The little dog sighed softly and came all the way out to lean against Mark’s leg.

“What the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked as he stroked the pitiful body. His hand felt lumps under the matted fur.

Ticks. The dog was covered with them, buried deep in his fur. Mark hated ticks. He’d had to pull them off Mickey after they’d spent an afternoon in the woods. Pulled them off himself, as well. Fat, bloated, disgusting things. He closed his eyes.

“Okay, up you go,” he said. “But if one of those things comes off on me, you’re in big trouble.”

The animal couldn’t have weighed more than eight or nine pounds. When Mark lifted it, he felt its ribs and heard its heart fluttering. Mark held it against his chest.

He walked back to the clinic, pushed the door open with his hip and walked in.

“Car won’t start?” Mabel asked as she looked up from her registration sheet. “Oh my God, what on earth…?” She came around the counter at a run.

“Stray, found him under my car. Can you take him?”

He held the dog out, but it struggled to remain in his arms.

“Wait, I’ll call Dr. Marsdon.”

Two minutes later, when Sarah reached across the steel examining table to take the dog, he whimpered again and buried his head under the shoulder of Mark’s jacket.

Mark cupped him possessively. “You’re scaring him.”

“I know,” Sarah said. She came around the table. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay.” She stroked the small body.

Her gentle voice, the soft hand that touched his chest as she reached for the dog, made Mark’s whole body tense.

She took the dog and set it carefully on the table. “Hand me some of those towels over there,” she said, pointing to the corner of the room.

Mark complied. She began to dry the dog gently. It cowered on its belly, eyes never leaving Mark’s face.

“We’ve got to get these ticks off,” Sarah said. “Lord knows how much blood she’s lost.”

“She?”

“She. Didn’t you check?”

“Who could tell under all that matted hair?”

“Well, she’s a she, and…” Sarah raised the corner of the dog’s mouth. “Her gums are pretty red. That’s a good sign. It means she’s not as anemic as I thought she might be, with all the fleas and ticks.”

“Fleas?” Mark began to feel itchy at the very suggestion.

Sarah glanced up. “Don’t worry. They prefer dogs when there’s one available. Just hold her, while I take some blood and fecal samples for a workup.”

The dog cowered deeper against him. He put a hand protectively around her head.

Sarah sighed. “I won’t hurt her, I promise. But we need to see whether or not she has heartworm.”

She picked up a needle and syringe. Mark tensed.

“Oh, come on,” Sarah said as she stuck the needle into the flesh of the dog’s neck and drew a vial of dark blood. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She disappeared from the room for a moment with the vial.

When she came back, she said, “We can get quick results on the heartworm test. In the meantime, give me a hand bathing her. She trusts you. After that, we’ll get the vermin off, trim off all that hair, then we’ll give her another bath—and by that time we may see what kind of a pup we’ve got here.”

“Pup?”

“Probably less than a year old. Mostly Jack Russell terrier would be my guess, but with something furry mixed in. Maybe Lhasa apso or shih tzu. Whatever gave her all this hair, it’s got to go.”

“So do I,” Mark said. “She’s in good hands.”

“No, you don’t,” Sarah said. “She’s your responsibility. Some idiot abandoned her or lost her, and she’s found you. You try to walk out that door, buster, and I will personally lock it and throw away the key.”

“All I did was find her.”

“That’s all it takes. Give me those scissors—we need to cut this collar off her and start cutting some of the worst stuff off before we stick her in the washtub.”

“If she’s lost, we can call her owners.”

“No address on the collar. I’ve got Mabel checking the want ads we keep on the computer—but the dog doesn’t have a registration tag, and I can’t feel a microchip under her skin. There may not be owners looking for her. Somebody may have simply tossed her out with the garbage. People do it all the time.” Sarah’s voice was suddenly hard.

Over the next hour, the pup had a flea and tick bath, and was personally deloused by Sarah—and Mark, at Sarah’s insistence. Then the matted hair was snipped, clipped and shaved. Finally the little dog had another bath, but this time the bathwater was clean and not crimson from her blood.

Jack Renfro stuck his head in the door, as they were toweling the dog off for the second time. “The test says no heartworm. Lucky.”

“Thank God,” Sarah said. “But we’ll give her her shots and start her on dewormer and flea stuff and everything else she needs. Bring me a couple of cans of dog food and a water dish. She’s been damn patient with us, but I suspect she’s starving, and I know she’s dehydrated.”

“Shouldn’t we have fed her first?” Mark asked, rubbing the small head with the towel.

“Judgment call. I wanted to see what we had to work with.”

Mark guessed that Sarah wanted to see whether the little dog was too sick to be saved. He gave a small prayer of thanks that apparently the tiny dog wasn’t.

She was, however, hungry. She devoured a can of food and drank half a bowl of water, while Sarah and Mark looked on, smiling like happy parents.

“She’s really a precious little thing,” Sarah said as she stroked the newly fluffy white head, with its black circles around the eyes and over one ear. “How could anyone toss her out to die like that?”

She glanced up at Mark, who saw tears in her eyes.

“She would have died, you know. If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. Run over by a car, eaten by a coyote or a bigger dog. Or she’d have starved to death eventually. It makes me so angry!” Sarah said.

“If the people who owned her couldn’t look after her any longer and couldn’t find a home for her, why wouldn’t they take her to the Humane Society?”

“Because people have this crazy idea that letting an animal, a pet animal like this, out into the world to fend for itself is all right. I would love to throw those people out into a totally unfamiliar environment and see how well they do.”

“Harsh.”

“Not really. We understand what we’re doing. They—” she touched the pup “—don’t.”

“So what happens now? You put her up for adoption?”

Sarah stared at him. “Why? She already has an owner—you.”

“Oh—no, you don’t. I do not have time or room in my life for a dog. She’s probably not housebroken, she’s probably sick, and I’m away all the time.”

“Take her with you. She can stay here during the day if you like, then you take her home at night.”

“Why not let her stay here all the time, and find somebody else to take her?”

As though she understood that her fate was being discussed, the pup wriggled over, sighed, and laid her head on Mark’s gloved hand. Her ragged little rear wagged gently as she closed her eyes.

“There, you see—” Sarah said. “She is your dog. Besides, somebody has to pay for all the treatment we’ve given her—isn’t that what you say, Mr. Scott? If she’s your dog, she’s your responsibility, and you get the bills.”

“Whoa.”

“No whoa. You brought her, you worked with me, you saw what we did. It all costs money—isn’t that what you say? That we have to make money? Well, Mark, you have just spent about two hundred bucks, and by the time I get through loading you up with all the things you’re going to need for her when she goes home with you tonight, you will have spent a bunch more.” She rubbed the pup’s ears. “Sweet baby, Mommy loves a paying client.”

Sarah raised her blue eyes, and batted her eyelashes at him in a parody of sweet innocence.

For a moment he hesitated, then he began to laugh. The pup woke up for a moment to stare at him, then obviously assumed everything was fine and went back to sleep.

“Okay, Doc, I’ll pay the freight. But I still can’t manage a dog.”

“Didn’t you ever have a dog?”

He glanced away. “Yeah, once.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’m off in about—” Sarah glanced at her watch “—twenty minutes. Good thing it’s been quiet tonight. Dr. Grayson can take over from here. If she needs me, she can page me. I think it’s stopped raining, so we’ll get the pup a new collar and leash. You can take her out to go to the bathroom, while I collect what you’ll need for her. Then I’ll follow you home and help you get set up.”

“What about food? I just realized I haven’t had anything to eat.”

“Me, neither. We can order a pizza. Deal?”

“You, Doctor, are a monster, you know that?”

“Where animals are concerned, you bet. Deal?”

“Yeah, at least for tonight. Deal. And you can order your clippers. After tonight, I realize you do need them. But I’m not agreeing to keep this thing.”

“Thanks. Stay here. I’ll send Mabel in with a collar and leash.” Sarah walked out of the examining room and softly shut the door behind her. “But you will, Mr. Mark Scott,” she murmured to herself smugly. “You will. You’re the proud owner of a dog.” She pumped her arm up and down. “Yes!”

CHAPTER FOUR

“MARK’S LETTING YOU get away with this?” Mabel said as she hefted the bag of kibble and a few cans of dog food. “And here, I thought he was such a hard-nose.”

“I sandbagged him,” Sarah said happily as she checked the plastic animal carrier at her feet. “Yeah, this is the right size. She should be happy to have her little den to crawl into when she’s frightened. Tomorrow we can get her a regular wire kennel to keep in his office here, and whatever else I can figure out to spend his money on.”

“Dr. Marsdon, you are a devil,” Mabel said, grinning.

Sarah lifted her eyebrows. “I was hoping to keep that a secret for a couple of days.” She glanced around the now empty waiting room. “Here are my car keys,” Sarah said, and tossed them to Mabel. “Stick that stuff on the back seat of my truck, if you don’t mind, while I brief Eleanor on what’s going on in ICU. You have my new cell phone number if you need me, don’t you?”

“Sure, but Dr. Eleanor’s able to handle most things— she’s as good with the large animals as she is with the small.”

Sarah glanced up at Mabel. “Why is she only working part-time? Seems as if she’d be a partner in her own clinic by this time.”

Mabel sighed. “Long story. Lost her husband, lost her confidence, I think. She’s finally coming out of her funk, though.”

“She doesn’t seem to lack confidence now. I watched her work with Dr. Thorn. At any rate, I need to brief her on what’s happening with the animals. Then I’ll pick up our new dog owner and his pup. And off we go to her new life.” Sarah laughed. “And his.”

THE RAIN HAD STOPPED and a watery new moon hung high, barely bright enough to reflect in the pools that rimmed the parking lot at the clinic. Mark felt the little dog quiver in his arms when he tried to put her down on the asphalt.

“She’s afraid you’re going to throw her away,” Sarah said.

“I ought to. Little scrap of ratty fur like this,” he said, but the softness in his voice belied his words.

“I don’t know where you live, so I’ll follow you again,” Sarah said. “I’ve got your stuff in my truck.”

Before he could shift his car out of park, the little dog had scooted across the seat so that her read rested on his knee. “You’re going to have to learn to ride in one of those carrier things,” he said as he caressed her head. “But not tonight. How the hell did I get conned into this?” He glanced in his rearview mirror at the headlights of Sarah’s truck. He knew damn well. He’d been suckered by a better con artist that he’d met in some time. Considerably better than some of the manipulative subcontractors he dealt with.

He hated to admit it, but it was those darn blue eyes of hers. And those darn black eyes of the pup in his lap. An unbeatable combination.

Well, he’d keep the pup tonight, and tomorrow the clinic could start searching for a permanent home for her. He obviously couldn’t spend the time with her that would be necessary to get her over her fear. She needed someone who could be with her all the time, give her a fenced yard to play in. Maybe a couple of kids to play fetch with.

He realized he was driving one-handed while he scratched the pup’s ears with his other hand. Okay, so he did have a fenced yard, small though it was. But no kids, no time, no experience, and absolutely no desire to take this creature into his life.

He poked the remote garage door opener, waited while the door swung silently up, and then pulled into his two-car garage. Sarah’s truck pulled into the empty space beside him. He shut the garage and opened his car door.

“I should have known you’d be one of those people who never stores stuff in their garages,” Sarah said as she climbed out of her truck. “Neat freaks always give me the willies.”

“Not a neat freak. I don’t have stuff,” Mark said. The pup began exploring the corners of the garage.

“I think she needs to go out,” Sarah said.

Mark opened the side door that led to the yard, and a motion sensor light came on. As he walked out, a stream of water from the gutters ran down his neck. He jumped and cursed. Instantly the little dog dropped and flattened herself against the paving stones.

“Hey, you scared her—don’t do that,” Sarah admonished.

He picked up the dog gently and took her to the backyard, where he let her off her leash and watched her investigate the interesting smells until she finally did her business. It was like having a baby, except that the pup could walk on its own and didn’t use diapers. He definitely was not used to scooping poop, and he doubted the expensive yard crew that did his gardening would appreciate stepping in it. He wondered whether he could pay them extra for the service.

“Come on, sweetie,” Sarah said, dropping to her haunches and clapping softly. “Let’s go see your new home.”

Twenty minutes later Sarah knelt on the quarry tiles of Mark’s largely unused gourmet kitchen and watched the pup nibble at her dry dog food. The lights overhead reflected on Sarah’s still-damp hair and turned it to antique gold. Mark longed to reach down and touch it, to see if it felt as silky as it looked.

“What’s her name?” Sarah asked.

He drew back his hand without touching her. “How should I know?”

“She’s your dog.”

“She is not.”

“Sure, she is. What are you going to call her? Dow Jones?”

“How about Merrill Lynch?”

“Yukk.”

“Ameritrade? Paine Webber?”

“None of the above. She’s not a stock certificate.”

“How about Phoenix? She’s definitely been reincarnated.”

Sarah sat back on her heels. “Better, but I always see the Phoenix as this huge, ugly bird with a really loud voice and big claws.” She touched the pup, who moved over to lean against her knee.

“The way she slides along the ground, I ought to call her Lava.”

This time Sarah laughed. “Not Lava. How about Pudding?”

Mark hunkered down beside her. “Here in the south, that would be Puddin.”

“Oh, brother. I can hear it now. ‘Isn’t ’um the sweetest ole puddin?”’

“I refuse to have a dog called Pudding. How about Nasdaq?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Suddenly the little dog shook the entire length of her body in sheer delight and let out the faintest hint of a bark.

This time both Sarah and Mark laughed out loud. Mark stood and reached a hand down to Sarah. “Nasdaq it is.”

She took his hand and came to her feet close to his chest. They grinned foolishly at one another for a moment. Slowly, the smiles subsided. Their eyes locked.

Mark could feel his heartbeat against his chest and see the answering pulse in Sarah’s slender throat. He felt as though he’d suddenly been struck dumb. Dumb and breathless. Sarah’s blue eyes were deep enough to drown in, and that’s what he longed to do.

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, bent his face to hers, felt the touch of her lips like flaming velvet against his mouth. She felt good in his arms—not soft and boneless but lean and supple. A woman who would bend to him only if she chose. Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted her to choose. He wanted her body beneath him, wanted to ignite the passion he sensed beneath that cool exterior. Wanted—

The doorbell buzzed—an ugly brap sound that went on until he couldn’t ignore it.

Neither could Nasdaq. She cowered between their feet, her body flattened against the tiles, her eyes staring up imploringly.

“Damn!” He released Sarah. “Must be the pizza.”

The instant he released her, Sarah sank to the floor again and gathered Nasdaq’s shivering body into her arms. “It’s all right, baby,” she crooned, knowing that it had very nearly not been all right. “Now, you listen to me, dog,” she continued, “I am starting a new life. I have sworn off males. I have just dumped one man who tried to run my life. I am not about to take on another.”

Nasdaq listened attentively with one ear perked, the other drooping slightly.

“I swear you understand. I don’t think you’ve had puppies yet, but I’ll bet you’ve done some fast running to escape the boys, haven’t you.”

She panted eagerly.

“Pizza,” Mark announced from behind her.

“Great, I’m starved.”

“You want a glass of wine?”

“Not when I’m officially still on call, and I do have to drive home.”

Mark wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to drive anywhere—not on his account, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to suggest she stay. The moment they had shared seemed forgotten, as she casually accepted her pizza.

Nasdaq sat at their feet expectantly, but when Mark pinched off a bit of pizza to offer it to her, Sarah put her hand over his. It felt incredibly warm. And insistent.

“No, you don’t. She’s probably had too much food for her stomach as it is.”

“So she’s going to throw up?”

“Possibly, but I doubt it.”

She was reaching for another piece of pizza when the telephone rang. “Oh, heck.” Sarah grabbed for her shoulder bag, dug into its depths and answered the phone. “Dr. Marsdon.”

She listened for a moment, then said, “Okay, I’m on my way.” She clicked off the phone. “Well, Mr. Scott, you got your wish. We’re going to see whether we can make do with what we’ve got. We just had a client roll in with a walking horse with a bad case of colic. Dr. Grayson thinks we may have to do an emergency bowel resection. God, I wish I had that ultrasound!” She grabbed her purse. “Open your garage for me.”

“Sure. But can’t Eleanor handle it?”

“It’s a very complicated and delicate surgery, and recovery rates aren’t that good at the best of times. We may even need to call in Mac Thorn.” She knelt to rub the dog’s head. “Look after our girl. See you tomorrow.”

Mark stood in the garage and watched her drive away. Nasdaq sat at his feet—no, on his feet. Rain had begun to spatter the road once more.

“Okay. One more bathroom run, and then you get in your nice new carrier and go to sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”

As a precaution, he laid papers around the carrier in the corner of the kitchen, and put Nasdaq into it before he latched its door. He hadn’t taken two steps before she began to whine—softly at first, then with increasing insistence.

“Be quiet. That’s your new house. Get used to it.” The whining increased to a low wail.

He turned out the kitchen light. “Go to sleep,” he said in what he hoped was his authority-figure voice.

She didn’t seem to be impressed. He listened to her cry while he brushed his teeth and stripped for bed. Then he gave up. “How can one little dog be so much trouble?” he said as he opened her door. She trotted out in obvious triumph and followed him into the bedroom.

“I do not share my bed with nonhumans,” he said. “You stay down there on the carpet, or I’ll put you back into that carrier thing and put a pillow over my head to keep out the sound. You got that, dog?”

She wagged her tail and jumped up on the bed.

He removed her.

This time she stayed down. He turned off the light and cradled his pillow, wishing it were Sarah Marsdon. She’d probably be up all night. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be.

He rolled over onto his back. He hoped she wouldn’t need that fluoroscope.

Without warning, lightning flashed through the room. Two seconds later the thunder crashed. “Close,” Mark said, just as Nasdaq landed on his stomach in a quivering ball. He stroked her gently. “It’s okay, girl. You’re all right with me.”

He started to shove her off the bed. “Oh, what the hell,” he said, and rolled over with the little dog cradled against his stomach. “Maybe all I’m good for is to keep you from being frightened.”

She nestled against him and laid her head on his arm. She smelled of fancy flea shampoo and just the faintest aroma of Dr. Sarah Marsdon—a blend of disinfectant, hand lotion and newly ironed cotton. Hardly an expensive perfume, but its effect on him was the same. He found himself thinking of Sarah and recalling that kiss—even though it hadn’t even been much of a kiss. Given the chance, he could do much better.

He would do much better at the first opportunity.…

TO AVOID having to take Nasdaq into the offices of Buchanan Enterprises, Mark spent a good hour in the morning on his cell phone and his Internet connection at home, while the dog ran around the backyard. However, by the time she came inside, her paws were matted with mud, which she proceeded to deposit on the kitchen floor.

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