Healing Their Hearts

After nursing her ill father back to health, Meredith Billings must make a decision: stay on the family ranch or go back to Oklahoma City. Problem is, the one man who could help her is the only one she’d never ask. Widowed veterinarian Stark Burns is desperate for assistance in his busy vet clinic, but his tragic past has made him wary of letting anyone into his life—especially Meri. Because falling in love again isn’t part of his plan. But working side by side with the pretty nurse slowly brings his heart back to life. This might just be the second chance at happiness he’s been missing...

“What happened to your job in the city?”

“It’s still there,” Meri admitted glumly. “But I don’t want to go back. And now that Rex and Ann have come home to stay...” She shook her head.

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

“You aren’t listening. I never wanted to be in the city. I want to be here.”

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

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

“You never know,” he said.

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

Why wouldn’t he take what she offered?

Dear Reader,

Grief is a tough, horrific, unavoidable part of life. Everyone deals with grief in his/her own way. Some ignore it; some wallow in it. Some soldier on, never quite whole or healed. For some, grief becomes a way of life.

When it comes to the death of a loved one, I find it helps to try to look at things from the perspective of the one who has passed on. How would he/she want me to go forward? Would one who loves me want me to forever be sad, guilt-stricken or lonely?

I’m reminded that Christ, though living, sent the Holy Spirit to comfort, strengthen and guide us when He removed His physical presence from this world. Won’t He also, then, send us new love when the old must leave us?

I believe so.

But we have to find the courage—like Stark Burns—to accept it.

God bless,

Arlene James

ARLENE JAMES has been publishing steadily for nearly four decades and is a charter member of RWA. She is married to an acclaimed artist, and together they have traveled extensively. After growing up in Oklahoma, Arlene lived thirty-four years in Texas and now abides in beautiful northwest Arkansas, near two of the world’s three loveliest, smartest, most talented granddaughters. She is heavily involved in her family, church and community.

Her Cowboy Boss

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After Job had prayed for his friends, the Lord restored his fortunes and gave him

twice as much as he had before.

—Job 42:10

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Stop fussing, Meredith,” Wes Billings rasped. “You look as tired as I feel and need to rest now.”

Meri sighed and smoothed the covers over her father’s chest once more. The weeklong trip to Oklahoma City for his final scheduled chemotherapy treatment had been grueling, and, no doubt, he was as glad as she was to be back at Straight Arrow Ranch.

She prayed that the drugs, which had followed extensive surgery, had done their work and rid her father’s rangy six-foot-four-inch body of any remaining cancer. Only time and tests would tell, as Meri, a nurse, well knew. Still, time seemed to slip through her fingers with alarming speed. Her leave of absence from her job at the hospital in the city would soon end, and she would be forced to return there to work.

The irony struck deep as she bent and kissed her dad’s bald head through the paper mask that she wore. Meredith had never wanted to leave home. She’d settled on nursing after her mother’s unexpected death more than four years earlier, only to discover that her chosen career left her few employment options within driving distance of the tiny town of War Bonnet, some six miles from the ranch. Neither her older brother nor her sister had intended to return permanently to their hometown, yet they’d both recently married locally and settled in to live there, while Meri had come up empty—again—in her search for a job that would allow her to remain near her family.

She disliked living in a large city for many reasons. The summers were hotter and the winters dirtier. Everything was more expensive. Green spaces were few and far too formal. She’d never thought to miss a red-dirt road so much. As time had passed, the hundred miles between War Bonnet and Oklahoma City had started to seem like thousands to her. Moreover, the quality and quantity of medical care to be found there had robbed the smaller communities of hospitals and clinics even this far out, which meant that she couldn’t find a job closer to home.

How she hated to think of going back! The traffic and the noise grated on her, and the crime... She shuddered, touching the scar just above her left breast through her blouse.

If help had arrived even a minute later, she doubted she’d be here. In the city, when not working, she felt virtually trapped in her apartment with her cats.

Make that cat. She still grieved the loss of Tux, her black-and-white tom.

“Call out if you need me,” she said to her dad, stripping off the mask and gloves. She wore the protective gear to care for her father since his infusions had temporarily demolished his immune system. She dropped them into the receptacle beside the door and left the room, stepping into the back hallway of the sprawling old ranch house where she, her siblings and their father before them had grown to adulthood.

Her five-year-old nephew, Donovan, jumped down from his seat at the kitchen table and raced across the room, throwing himself at her, his fiery red head a blur. “Is Grandpa okay? Did you go shopping? Christmas is coming, ya know, and it’s my birthday.” It was only October, but Donovan was already counting the days to his next birthday.

“I might’ve done some shopping,” she answered cagily, sliding a narrowed gaze at the table, where she expected to find his parents. Her eyes snagged instead on the dark head of Stark Burns. Before she could catch them, the words that had popped into her mind slid right out of her mouth. “What’s he doing here?”

She didn’t like Stark Burns. She didn’t trust him. In her opinion, he’d let her cat Tux die after it had been injured the day of Rex’s wedding. Yes, the cat had been seriously wounded, but she believed that careful surgery and nursing care could have saved it. She’d heard that some veterinarians were too quick to put down animals with serious injuries and that large-animal vets were especially hasty in giving up on small animals. Both of those criticisms seemed to apply to Dr. Burns. Still, her brother, Rex, counted him a friend, and Wes paid him well to look after the livestock on the ranch.

And she’d just been rude. Again. Meri was never rude, except when it came to Dr. Stark Burns. She pulled in a deep breath.

“I—I mean, is there a problem with one of the animals?”

Rex frowned at her as Burns hitched around in his seat, hanging one long arm over the chair back and turning his head to cut his dark eyes at her. No one could say he wasn’t a good-looking man, with that thick, coal-black hair and brooding, hawkish features. Plus, he had to be at least as tall as her dad and looked every bit as comfortable in jeans and boots. He was more slender than either her brother or brother-in-law, and he looked just as fine in a hat, which he had the good manners not to wear at the table. She’d always thought sideburns a ridiculous affectation in a man—and given his last name she’d have advised him against them—but somehow they worked on him, which just made her dislike him all the more.

“Yes,” Rex said in reply to her question, shooting a look at their father’s closed bedroom door.

Obviously, Rex didn’t want to worry Dad. Meri couldn’t argue with that. She turned Donovan around and walked the boy to the table. The veterinarian’s silent gaze tracked her the whole way. Warily she pulled out a chair and sat, while her sister, Ann, sent Donovan into the living room to play with his little cousin, Bodie. Meredith didn’t know if that was because the other adults didn’t want Donovan to overhear their conversation or because Stark Burns didn’t like children. She’d noticed before that he went out of his way to avoid them.

That way of thinking was foreign to the Billings family. Bodie’s natural father had died in a flood before she was even born, and Donovan’s mother had abandoned him at birth, but the children were part of the Billings family now. Rex had considered himself Bo’s father from the moment he’d married her mom, Callie, and Ann had delighted in playing Donovan’s mom even before she’d married his dad, Dean, and become his mother in fact.

“What’s going on?” Meredith asked, glancing at the solemn faces around the table.

“It’s Soldier,” Rex said, referring to their father’s beloved stud horse.

They’d loaned the handsome sorrel stud to a friend, another rancher down in Texas, who had mares to breed. The horse had been scheduled to return to the ranch before Wes did. Had he not shown up, failed to perform or returned injured?

Callie, who had come to the ranch as the housekeeper, set a fork and a plate overflowing with apple pie in front of Meri. Smiling her thanks, Meredith picked up her fork. Stark Burns followed suit, his pie already half finished. Meri took a bite, humming in appreciation as she glanced at her sister, Ann. Dean, Ann’s husband of two months, snugged an arm around Ann’s waist, his chin nuzzling her long red hair. The expressions on their faces were serious enough to have Meri putting down her fork again.

“How bad is it?”

“Soldier didn’t look too steady when we got him back from Texas,” Ann explained. “Then we found him down this morning.”

“Oh, no.” A horse that couldn’t rise to its feet on its own strength could quickly die, because its organs wouldn’t function properly, especially its lungs. A horrible fear struck her. If that horse was dead... She abruptly sat forward again and faced Stark Burns. “What did you do?”

He set down his fork, swallowed and calmly wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before bracing his forearms on the tabletop. “I slung him,” he said.

Meri blinked. “Slung him?”

Sitting back, Stark crossed his long legs. “I brought in a hoist and a specially designed sling, got him to his feet, drew some blood for testing and set him up on IV fluids.” He crumpled the napkin in his hand and tossed it onto his plate. “It’s encephalitis, a particularly virulent strain I’ve been reading they have down in Texas.”

Meri’s heart thunked. Encephalitis was a deadly disease. She cast a desperate glance around the table. “Don’t we vaccinate for that?”

“Yes,” Rex said, “but it wouldn’t have covered this strain. This was recently brought up from Venezuela.”

Meri put her head in her hands. “This is the last thing Dad needs right now.”

“We know it, sis,” Ann agreed softly.

“And we’re all praying,” Dean said.

Burns pushed back his chair and rose. “Horse’ll need tending through the night for a while.”

Rex nodded. “We’ll take turns.”

Stark Burns shook his dark head. “Nope. The possibility of pneumonia is too great when a horse has been down. I’ll be staying nights.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Callie said as Burns’s long legs carried him toward the hallway flanking the back staircase.

“I’m used to this,” he assured her. “I’ll just run back to my place for some gear. See y’all in the morning.”

Meri narrowed her eyes as he disappeared from view. She would be keeping a very close watch on him. Maybe he hadn’t put down Soldier. Yet. But neither would he—if she could help it—let her father’s horse die. The others trusted Dr. Burns implicitly, but they had no medical training. She knew enough to assess the quality of his treatment, and she would do so whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Shoving a package of clean paper coveralls into his kit, Stark glanced around the Spartan interior of the small room where he slept most nights, trying to think if he’d forgotten anything. Exhaustion tugged at him, but when did it not? Pushing it aside, he ticked off supplies in his head, listing medications and equipment bundles, his hands gliding over each as he recalled them. The air mattress and sleeping bag were kept in the truck. Deciding that he could use a clean pair of socks, he reached into a drawer. His hand struck the small framed photo that he could not bear to display or resist looking at once he’d touched it.

The smiles always shocked him, especially his own, but there he was, tossing his daughter over his shoulder like a sack of grain, while she squealed and her mother laughed. Belinda’s ninth birthday. Such a happy day. He could almost hear her giggles.

Don’t drop me, Daddy! Don’t drop me!

Hold still then, Belindaworm. Mommy, give her that birthday spanking, and be sure she gets one to grow on.

Except there had been no spanking, and she hadn’t grown. It had been a joke, and less than five months later, they’d both been dead.

Words he couldn’t forget rang through his mind.

I just want to watch this football game. Then we’ll go.

Whatever you think best, sweetheart. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.

Ten minutes earlier. If they’d just left ten minutes earlier. The grief, nearly four years old now, swamped him, guilt digging its claws deep.

He swiped his thumb over his daughter’s face. He’d studied genetics in college. Dark eyes and hair were supposed to be dominant, but Bel had inherited his dark hair and her mother’s sky-blue eyes. His blonde, blue-eyed wife had been all things lovely, but his daughter’s combination of light and dark had fascinated him.

He shoved the picture back into the drawer and closed it, snagging his kit from the narrow bed as he whirled away and left the room.

Exhaustion pulled at him, so he took three cans of energy drink from the refrigerator in the dispensary. He wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, but he rarely slept well even when he worked himself to the point of exhaustion. On the other hand, only work and slumber let him escape the emptiness, grief and guilt.

He drove from his place on the edge of War Bonnet back to Straight Arrow Ranch. The Billings place was by far the biggest concern in the area. Two square miles in size and well run, the ranch apparently turned a good profit. Though the comfortable, sprawling old house couldn’t hold a candle to the home near Ponca City that Stark had walked away from after the deaths of his family, he couldn’t have gone back. He and his wife, Catherine, had built that place, pouring their hearts into every brick, board and stone. He never wanted to see it again.

Parking the truck to the side of the red-dirt road that separated the Straight Arrow home from the outbuildings, Stark shouldered his kit and automatically reached for his hat. Thinking better of that, he left the wide-brimmed black felt on the seat and got out.

Cool autumn air washed over him as he reached into the back for his bedroll. He hoisted it onto his shoulder, curling his arm around it, and trudged toward the stables, choosing the lit path on the backside of the building. Coming to the welded metal corral fence, he shoved his backpack and bedroll through the lower rungs and onto the ground, then climbed over and dropped down. He shouldered his gear again before going inside the darkened building. The light at the end of the long row outlined the shapely feminine form standing at Soldier’s drooping head.

Meredith Billings was the very last person Stark wanted to see tonight. In fact, she was the last person he wanted to see most days. Those accusatory blue eyes and her obvious disdain pierced him clear through every time. Sighing, he started forward, listening to half-a-dozen horses blow and shift as he walked down the long aisle. She waited, petting the butternut sorrel’s neck and casting glances into the dark as Stark drew closer.

He didn’t say a word, mostly because he knew it needled her, but partly because this was the first time she’d approached him in private. She obviously had something on her mind. He waited for her to come to the point as he carefully stowed his gear, placing the medical kit atop a nearby blue plastic barrel, then unrolling the bedding behind the open gate of the stall. Because the equipment to hoist a downed horse required a minimum of nine feet in clearance, they’d had to rig it from the stable’s central beam, which meant Soldier actually stood, supported by the sling, partially outside his stall. Stark placed the air mattress on the ground under the sleeping bag and attached the foot pump that would inflate the coils. Then he rose and turned to face Meredith, his arms folded.

She lifted her worried blue gaze, and asked, “What happens if he develops pneumonia?”

Stark shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to give you false hope. Pneumonia can be fatal, especially in an older horse, even one that isn’t already seriously ill. Let’s just take it a day at a time.”

Her chin shot up, and she went on the attack. “False hope! Is that your way of saying you’re going to let him die?”

Stark rolled his eyes. “The cat again. And keep your voice down. Animals don’t like shouting.”

She glanced in the direction of the horses. “Admit it! Your solution for every seriously ill or injured animal is a swift death sentence,” she hissed.

He sighed and grated out, “How many times do I have to say it? Your cat was gravely injured. There was nothing I could do.”

“You forget,” she reminded him tartly, “that I’m a nurse, and I know something about medical matters.”

“For humans,” he retorted. “Animals are not people. I suggest that you not assign human attributes to them.”

She stepped back as if stung. “I do no such thing!”

“Of course you don’t. Which is why your family calls you the crazy cat lady.”

“They do not.”

“No?” he shot back. “Then why did Ann forbid me to tell you that Donovan’s cat had kittens?”

Meredith’s eyes lit. “Kittens?”

“And I just told you,” Stark moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware of the horses grunting and knocking about in their stalls. “Look, Meredith, I’m sorry about your cat. I’d have saved it if it could have been saved. You can trust me to do all that can be done for every one of my patients.”

Meredith adopted a lofty tone, saying, “My concern here is my father’s well-being. He’s ill, and he loves his horse. I don’t want him to suffer any unnecessary losses, not with these tests coming up to determine the status of his cancer. I mean, if that doesn’t go well...” She shook her head. “He’s been through enough.”

Moving his hand to the horse’s flank, Stark stepped closer. It had been a long time since he’d noticed a woman, and he didn’t want to notice this one, but those soft blue eyes were tough to ignore. Package them in an oval face with broad, full lips and a petite nose, framed by long, strawberry blond hair, add a shapely figure meant for jeans and knit tops, and he’d dare any man to find a complaint with her looks. Okay, she could be taller. She had to be a foot shorter than him. And she had yet to smile in his presence.

Frowning at that thought, he said, “Meredith, everyone suffers unnecessary loss.”

She blinked at him, her head tilting just so, and he knew instantly that he’d given himself away.

Mumbling, “Excuse me,” he turned and strode down the aisle of the darkened stable toward the open door and the safety of solitude.

* * *

Meredith took a last look at her father’s drooping horse before turning and slowly following Stark down the aisle of the stable. As she stepped into the night, she pulled her cardigan closed against the crispness of the mid-October evening and headed toward the welcoming lights of the two-story ranch house across the red-dirt road. As she walked, she prayed for her father and his horse. Stepping up onto the porch, she wondered what “unnecessary loss” Stark Burns had suffered, for she had heard the unmistakable tone of experience in his voice.

That thought and others kept her awake late into the night. She didn’t know what came over her when Stark Burns was around. He never frightened her like some men did now, but something about him just pushed her buttons, every last one of them. Even with her cat, Tiger, curled next to her on the narrow bed, Meri couldn’t seem to sleep for more than moments at a time. Nevertheless, she woke early the next morning and instantly decided that she owed Stark some sort of apology.

Quickly dressed in jeans, boots and a sweater, she twisted her long, light red hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck as she left her room. She headed for the stairs, where she met her sister-in-law. Callie held a fingertip to her lips, indicating that at least little Bodie still slept. Wondering if Burns would be awake, Meri slipped out of the house and crossed the road to the stable. He hadn’t closed the door, so she crept inside quietly, only to find the light on at the far end of the aisle and the doctor changing an IV bag.

“How is he?” she asked, walking onto the scene.

Burns didn’t even spare her a glance. “He’s still with us. The next few days will be critical, though.”

“What do we do?”

“We keep as close an eye on him as possible, administer fluids and medication, try to get him to eat... I’m monitoring his temperature. That’s the important thing right now.”

“I can stay with him so you can go to the house for breakfast,” she offered politely. “Callie should be cooking as we speak.” He shook his head.

“No, thanks. I prefer to take my meals alone.”

Meri’s mouth fell open. “Always?”

“Usually.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“I have another appointment in an hour so,” he went on absently. “I’ll get something to eat after that.”

We’ll see about that, Meredith thought. Wouldn’t the confounded man even let her be nice to him?

She turned around and marched straight back to the house, where she found Callie busy in the kitchen, as predicted. Explaining that the doctor had to leave soon for another appointment, Meri quickly loaded up a tray and returned to the stable with her peace offering.

She set the tray, a clean dishcloth draped over it, next to his kit on the blue barrel. Stark sat atop a wooden box and glanced at the tray.

“What’s this?”

“Your breakfast. Callie made pancakes and bacon. There’s coffee, too, and it’s getting cold. How do you take it?”

He frowned at her for a long moment before saying, “Black.”

She picked up the mug and held it out to him. “Here you go.”

He took the mug, sniffed, sipped, then slugged back a healthy gulp, sighing. “Why does coffee taste so good when you’re hungry?”

“I drink it, but I’ve never much learned to appreciate it,” she admitted.

“Why do you drink it, then?” he asked, after swallowing another mouthful.

“Two words,” she answered. “Shift work.”

“That’s right. Nurses work around the clock in shifts.”

“And caffeine and shift work go hand in hand.”

“I hear you.” He set the mug back on the tray, picked up the whole thing and brought it down to his lap. Balancing the tray on his knees, he slathered butter on the pancakes with the tines of his fork, then poured on the syrup, saying, “This is mighty nice. Of Callie.”

Meri rolled her eyes. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

He squinted up at her. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?”

“You going to stand there and watch me eat?” he muttered, stuffing pancake into his mouth.

She turned away. Okay, if he didn’t want an apology, she wouldn’t give him one. Instead, she moved to the horse, reaching out a hand to signal her presence. Trailing her fingertips over the butternut hide, now dull with illness, she crooned to the animal.

“Hey, boy. How ya doin’?” The horse blew through his nostrils, as if acknowledging her concern, and Meri smiled. “You need to get well. The Straight Arrow wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“That horse doesn’t understand anything but your tone,” Stark pointed out laconically. “You know that, right?”

“Do you always have to be so surly?” she asked, turning just in time to spy a yellow-on-gold-striped cat slink around the bottom of the blue barrel. “Tiger!” she gasped, starting forward, “How did you get out?”

Following her horrified gaze, Stark set the tray aside and slid to the floor, easily capturing the cat as it attempted to streak past him. Crossing his legs at the ankles and bending them at the knees, he brought the cat into his lap, scratching it under the chin.

“Well, well. Haven’t seen this guy before. Tiger, is it?” He held up the cat in one hand, checking its eyes, nostrils and teeth with the other. “Healthy fellow.”

“I don’t know how he got out,” Meredith said, fighting the urge to snatch Tiger out of Stark’s grasp. “I keep him in my room.”

The doctor checked the animal’s paws and inclined his head. “Well, a declawed cat shouldn’t be out-of-doors, especially not in the country, but a bedroom seems like a small space to keep a cat in.”

“It’s not permanent,” she snapped. “He’s usually in my apartment in Oklahoma City. And he was a lot more content before Tux...”

Stark glared at her but otherwise ignored the truncated comment. “Why don’t you give him the run of the house? Just keep him out of your dad’s room. Contrary to myth, clean animals do not spread contagion.”

“I know that. It’s just that everybody forgets, and they let him out.”

“Poor kitty,” Stark cooed, bringing Tiger nose to nose with him. “Nobody looking out for you.”

“I look out for him!” Meredith protested hotly. “He’s all I have now.”

Stark sent her a glance of pure censure, a silent scold that spoke louder than words. She hadn’t meant it, of course. She had her whole family, a growing family, which she seemed doomed to leave. And what right did he, a loner by choice, have to judge her, anyway?

Thankfully, Ann called her name just then. Otherwise, she—the quietest, smallest, youngest, mildest, most timid of the Billings siblings—might have been tempted to do Stark Burns harm. Real physical harm.

Chapter Two

“Meri? Meri, the cat’s out!”

“We’ve got him,” Meredith called, keeping her voice even. Stark had to admit, if only to himself, that he liked baiting her.

Ann showed up an instant later, breathless, her long, bright hair billowing about her shoulders as she strode confidently down the aisle behind the stalls. “Oh, good.”

She was an attractive woman, Ann Billings Pryor, but a mite too in-your-face for Stark’s taste, not that Ann’s little sister didn’t have spunk, too. She’d given him what-for since he’d picked up her injured cat off the road out there next to the house the day of her brother’s wedding.

At Ann’s heels trotted the spotted Australian shepherd, Digger. While Ann and Dean’s son, Donovan, was in kindergarten half days, the dog seemed to have attached itself to Ann. Tiger instantly took exception to the dog, bowing his back and hissing.

“Now, now,” Stark crooned, soothing the cat.

“I was looking for you,” Ann explained to her sister. “I just cracked the door to your room, and the thing darted out. Dean was coming in the house behind me, and the next thing I knew, it was out the front door.”

“Really, Ann,” Meredith admonished. “How many times do I have to tell you...and with the dog beside you, no less.”

What a prissy little thing she was—prissy, pretty, intelligent and entertaining, an unwelcome combination as far as Stark was concerned. He had no interest in developing a connection with any woman. Still, he felt an odd compulsion to mend fences if he could.

“Let’s see if we can introduce these two,” Stark suggested, holding out a hand and clucking his tongue at the dog. “Come here, Digger. Come on. That’s a boy.”

The dog trotted over, and Tiger tried to climb Stark’s chest using his back claws. When a cat was declawed, only its defensive front claws were removed. Without those, they had only their tiny teeth and speed for protection. Stark held fast to the feline, talking softly. The dog sniffed and snuffled, while the cat hissed and bared its teeth without making much impression.

“Our cats never act like that around Digger,” Ann complained. “Of course, most of them are still kittens.” She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I already spilled the beans on that,” Stark admitted with a sheepish grin, while Meredith glared at her sister and the dog trotted off to check out the horses, which were shuffling around their stalls in hopes of being let out soon.

Ann stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders, folding her arms. “Meredith,” she said sternly, “you cannot have another cat.”

“Why not?” Meredith demanded. “Because I’m the crazy cat lady?”

Stark sighed as Ann glared daggers at him. “One or two spoiled cats do not make a crazy cat lady,” he said calmly. In point of fact, Meredith Billings was the furthest thing from a crazy cat lady he’d ever seen. And there was that smile at last.

He almost wished he hadn’t seen it. She was really quite amazingly lovely without it. With it, she took away his breath. Her teeth blazed white in her oval face, her plump pink lips forming a perfect bow, while her cheeks plumped into creamy apples and her blue eyes sparkled.

Which was more than enough reason to keep his distance.

The timer on his phone tootled, as if reinforcing that fact. Putting his feet on the floor, he rose in one smooth movement, thrust the cat into its owner’s arms and shouldered past the two sisters to the horse.

“I’ll just remove the IV bag before I go,” he said, “and be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Meredith began.

He gave her instructions as he worked. Nothing much could be done, but someone needed to keep an eye on the animal to make sure it didn’t take a turn for the worse before Stark could get back to set up another IV bag and administer more medication. Meredith watched as he removed the connections, leaving the catheter in the jugular.

“I’ll make sure Rex knows, and I’ll be out here every moment that Dad doesn’t need me.”

“Dean and I will be here as much as possible, too,” Ann promised.

Stark wrapped a bandage loosely around the catheter. “If his breathing seems labored, call me. I’ll drop what I’m doing and come.”

“Thank you,” Meredith whispered, looking worried.

Stark squeezed past her and picked up his kit, intending to walk out, but for some reason he couldn’t. He turned to face them, searching for some comfort to offer.

“Seems to be a law of nature,” he finally said, “that the crisis comes in the wee hours. I’ll be on hand.”

“We’ll be keeping watch on him all day,” Meredith said, stroking her cat.

He knew in his gut that meant she would be keeping watch. What he didn’t know was why that tied his stomach in knots. He didn’t have time to worry about it, though.

As usual, he had a full day of appointments, most of them in the field. Rushing to and from one ranch, farm or homestead, he managed to work in an IV bag for Soldier then return to remove it. Meredith was on hand both times.

By nightfall he’d put nearly 200 miles on his truck and missed lunch, so he’d swung by the diner on his way out to the Straight Arrow. He needed a shower, a shave and a change of clothes, but he couldn’t imagine when he’d have found the time. Seeing Meredith trying to coax Soldier to do more than hang his nose over a bucket of nutritional mash came as no surprise. As he walked down the aisle of the stable, the sick horse pushed his broad forehead against her chest. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around the horse, bending her own head to the animal’s neck, essentially hugging him, before scooping up a handful of the grainy glop in the pail. Soldier lipped up some of the mash.

The sight did strange things to Stark’s chest, things he didn’t even want to think about, and that made his voice sharper than he intended.

“You been feeding him by hand all day?”

She nodded defensively. “It’s the only way he’ll eat.”

“Has he taken any water?”

“A little.”

Stark laid his kit on the barrel and took off his hat, hanging it on the corner of the stall gate. “Well, he’s on IV fluids. But he needs to up his intake if he’s going to beat this. Is there anything special he likes to eat?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask. He sure doesn’t seem to care for that mash of yours.”

Her phone dinged. She slipped it from her hip pocket with her clean hand and swiped her thumb over the screen. “Speaking of eating, Rex says we should come in. Dinner’s on the table.”

Stark held up the paper bag in his left hand. “Brought my own.”

Meredith frowned at him. “You must know Callie expected to feed you.”

“I’m not here to eat. I’m here to take care of your horse,” he retorted, turning his back to unzip his kit.

“How come you make it so hard to be nice to you?” she demanded.

“How come you make it so hard for me to do my job?” he shot back.

“We’re just trying to help.”

“And I appreciate it, but this is what I do.” He turned to face her, holding up the IV bag and moving toward the pole.

“Don’t you ever make time to see your friends and family?” she asked, backing up a step.

“I see my friends all the time,” he said, hanging the bag. “On the job.”

“What about your family?”

Exasperated, he glared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be eating dinner? Or would you rather keep me from mine?”

Huffing, she grabbed a rag from the corner of the stall and scrubbed her hand, muttering, “Why do I even try?”

She slid by him and stalked off down the aisle, only to halt after several steps and pivot on her heel, bringing her hands to her narrow waist.

“Just so you know,” she told him smartly, “while I’m praying for my dad and his horse, I’m going to be praying for a wholesale change in your lousy attitude.”

“Don’t bother,” Stark snapped over his shoulder. He turned back to his task, mumbling, “God forgot I existed a long time ago.”

He felt her shock and her stare. For a long moment, he expected her to speak again, to demand an explanation or make an argument. Instead, she quietly turned and left him. Grimacing, Stark wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know why she so easily goaded him into saying too much, but if he wasn’t on his guard with her every moment, he found the most surprising things coming out of his mouth.

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

“Stark?” Rex asked in obvious surprise.

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

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

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

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

“And we get another stud,” Meri said.

“That’s the plan.”

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

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

“I assume so.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was talking about you.”

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

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

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

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

“Hi, sugar. What you got there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

“The jig,” Meri said grimly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is.”

He made a face.

“Don’t you like it?”

“Love it.”

She laughed. “Sorry to have pleased you.”

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

“Good, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just saying.”

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

“Is that right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “Truce.”

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

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

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

Sobering, he looked down. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That makes no sense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never know,” he said.

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

Why wouldn’t he take what she offered?

Did he dislike her that much?

Or was something else going on here?

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

Chapter Three

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

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

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

“Stark! He’s not breathing! Stark!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

By the time Meredith returned to the stable with Rex, Stark had bundled up the detritus from the tracheotomy and deposited it in the trash. He’d also zipped up his kit and performed a more thorough examination of the horse.

“Swelling in the retropharyngeal lymph nodes.” He showed Rex the bulging on the undersides of the horse’s jaws. “It doesn’t always happen with encephalitis, but it’s not that unusual.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So that’s it?” Meredith demanded pugnaciously, parking her hands at her waist, and quite a neat little waist it was, too. In fact, she curved nicely in all the right places, which just made Stark want to run right out of there. “You’re going to recommend putting him down, aren’t you?”

Stark was trying so hard not to look at her that he almost didn’t hear her. When her words finally registered, he welcomed them and the anger that they stirred. “No, Miss High-and-Mighty. I have to admit that his chances have diminished, but I’m not ready to give up on him yet. Are you?”

“Of course not,” she retorted, sounding both relieved and affronted.

“Good. Then you won’t mind babysitting him while I’m gone.” Stark reached down and snatched up his kit.

“H-how long will you be away?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he all but snarled, shouldering the kit. The woman sure had a way of getting under his skin. He took a deep breath. “It depends on how many other patients I have.” He pulled two syringes from his shirt pocket and held them out to her. “One in the IV plug every four hours. There’s an extra IV bag next to my bedroll. Change it out when this one is down to the last mark. These big bags are tricky to estimate, so pull the bottom out like this to make sure how much is in it.” He demonstrated with both hands. “Watch the flow rate. If it dumps too fast, it’ll wash out all the medication, so check periodically.”

Meredith nodded. “Got it.”

“Don’t try to feed or water him today. If he starts to struggle, coughs or collapses, call me at once. Think you can handle all that?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“I hope so, because the alternative is to try to get him to a clinic, and, frankly, I doubt he’d survive the trip.”

She looked stricken at that.

Rex said, “I don’t think we should tell Dad just how bad it is. Not yet.”

Meredith nodded, then looked at Stark as if asking for his input. The very idea made him break out in gooseflesh. He shook his head.

“None of my business. I take care of the horse. Wes is your father. Y’all take care of him.”

She looked to her brother, saying, “Whatever you think best.”

Those words slugged Stark in the chest, echoing down through the years.

Whatever you think best, sweetheart. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.

Stark practically ran after that, getting out of there as fast as he could. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t escape the memories. Throwing his gear into his truck, he all but dove behind the wheel. Then he sat there for several long minutes, shuddering at the sounds in his mind of screeching tires and clanging metal. When at last the empty silence returned, he started the truck and, with shaking hands, went doggedly on his way. His lonely, tortured way.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Dean argued quietly the next evening, his handsome blond head shaking. “I think you’re wrong.” A custom farmer, he’d come straight from the harvest to make his case, having neither showered nor eaten, so strongly did he feel. The weather forecast hinted at rain, which made for a long day for the harvesters. “When my granddad was ill, I learned quick that he resented more than anything for me and Grandma to try to protect him,” Dean said. “Grandpa said it robbed him of his pride and his manhood. Even though he was dying, I learned that the best thing I could do was sit down and talk man-to-man with him about whatever problems we were having.”

“And you were, what,” Ann asked, sitting beside him on the porch swing, “all of fifteen? Those must’ve been tough times for you, darling.” She brushed dust from his knee.

He nodded, wrapping his hand around hers. “They were. Now I have every hope that Wes is going to recover, but I’m not sure he’ll be happy if you keep this from him.”

“I have to agree,” Ann said, but then she was so in love with her husband that he could say the moon was made of seaweed and she would at least try to believe it.

Rex leaned against the porch railing, folding his arms. They’d convened this little family conference on the porch in order to be well out of Wes’s hearing, but they were still keeping their voices low. As he had recently proved, Wes was far from deaf.

“Dad’s so weak,” Rex mused, “and he loves that old horse. I—I just don’t know if we should tell him how serious the situation is. I feel we need to give Dad as much incentive as we can to live right now.”

“Maybe we could wait a day or two,” Callie suggested, sliding an arm around Rex’s waist.

Somewhere in the dark, an owl hooted. It was such a lonely sound, exactly how Meredith felt, standing here surrounded on a moonless October night by her siblings and their spouses. Still, it was better than sitting locked in her apartment with only her cat for company.

“Maybe Dr. Burns can give us some insight,” she said.

“Why don’t you go ask him?” Ann suggested.

Meredith caught—and ignored—the slightly suggestive undertone in her sister’s voice. “All right.” She turned away from the house. “He should’ve had time to make a full assessment of the horse by now.”

He had arrived well over an hour earlier, his usual bag from the local diner in tow. At some point during the day, he had taken the time to shower, shave and change clothes. He’d even shown up wearing a different hat, a cleaner, better version of his usual black felt Stetson. The sight had done strange, unwelcome things to her breathing, so she’d scampered out of the stable as quickly as she could, but she wouldn’t let that keep her from seeking him out now. She might not like Stark Burns, but he was in no way a danger to her. She knew that, had always known it, by sheer instinct.

Stepping off the porch, she walked down the well-beaten path beneath the trees. Behind her, she heard the thin wail of a tiny voice. Bodie was teething again, and sleep seemed to be eluding her. Meredith heard the screen door creak as her sister-in-law went into the house to see to the child. Ann and Dean had left Donovan at home with Dean’s grandmother.

Meri heard Ann say, “We ought to be getting back. Dean’s tired. Call me later.”

Rex replied something to that, but Meredith couldn’t make it out as she was moving farther from the house. She hopped over the bar ditch and out onto the dirt road. The vapor lamp atop the pole at the edge of the big red barn cast a wide circle of faint light over Stark’s truck. Cream colored, it looked gray in the light. The magnetic sign on its door read, Burns Veterinary Services, with a phone number beneath, followed by the words, War Bonnet, Oklahoma. He hadn’t bothered to include an address. War Bonnet was so small that a short drive around town would quickly locate the veterinary office on its outskirts, just past the Feed & Grain owned by Callie’s father.

Walking past the truck, Meredith stepped out of the circle of dim light and into the darkness once more before crossing the second bar ditch on the opposite side of the road, then crawling through the corral fence. There was a gate, but no one used it except to let horses in or out or drive truckloads of feed inside. As usual, except in the very coldest part of winter, the stable door stood open.

Meredith walked through the door and knew at once that Stark wasn’t inside.

She had no idea why he’d stepped out, but obviously he had. He couldn’t have gone far, though. His truck was still parked at the side of the road.

Going to Soldier, she checked his tracheotomy then the IV, the catheter first, followed by the bag. Wanting an accurate measurement, she tried to do it just the way Stark had shown her, pulling on the bottom of the big, heavy bag.

Suddenly, two arms came around her, trapping her, and two hands covered hers. Meredith screamed and jerked backward, colliding with a warm, strong body. Panicked, she threw first one elbow then the other and tore free, stumbling into the stall and throwing up her hands in defense.

“No! Let go! I’ll fight!”

Stark stood there, his arms held up, hands shoulder high and spread wide. “It’s okay,” he said gently.

Meri’s heart pounded so hard she thought she might be sick. Clasping a hand over the scar on her chest, she doubled over, gasping and swallowing down air.

“I thought you knew I was there,” he told her evenly, rubbing his ribs. “I just stepped out to enjoy the cool air for a minute. I followed you in. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

She tried to stop shaking, memories of the assault flashing over her, a dark night, a quiet place... She heard his voice telling her to shut up and do as she was told, saw the knife flash, felt it slice into her flesh. He’d dragged her backward between two cars.

“I...” Not another word would come.

“I was just going to correct your hand position,” Stark said conversationally, reaching for the bag. “You need to pull on the tabs. Like this.” He demonstrated how to properly get a measurement of the liquid left in the bag.

Meredith glanced over at him and nodded, gulping down air to settle her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed.

“For what?” he asked. “You didn’t scare me. I scared you. I should apologize.” Very sincerely, his hand placed flat against the center of his chest, he said, “I’m sorry.”

She knew that he was apologizing for more than scaring her, for something that he had not even done. Tears filled her eyes. She shook her head, waved a hand, tried to make light of it.

“It was silly.”

But it wasn’t silly. It would never be silly. She pushed it down, closed it off, as she had done from the beginning, and tilted her chin at the horse.

“How is he?”

“I feel he’s improved,” Stark said, easily shifting subjects. “I can’t quantify that, mind you. Just a feeling I have.”

Blowing out a breath, Meredith tried to smile, to feel better. It didn’t work. Fear had its claws in her now, and she knew from experience that it would be slow to let go.

“That’s...” She tried to swallow the knot strangling her. “That’s good. W-we have to decide what to tell Dad. Ann and Dean think he’ll resent being kept in the dark, but Rex and I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily.”

Stark shrugged. “None of my business either way, but I’ll happily talk to Wes if it’ll help.”

“All right. Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

She looked toward the door and the darkness beyond, suddenly dreading what now seemed like a long and very frightening walk back to the house. Gulping down the lump in her throat, she sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and prepared to say that she would leave. He beat her to it.

“I need to get something from my truck,” he announced. “If you’re ready, I’ll, uh, walk you out.”

He knew. He knew she was frightened. And at least suspected why. A sliver of the old shame pricked her, but she was too glad of the escort to pay it much mind at the moment.

Push it down. Pack it away. Think of other things.

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable...

Nodding, she clasped her hands together and walked as casually as she could manage out into the aisle of the stable. He fell into step beside her, his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.

As they reached the door, he said, “You’ve really been a lot of help.”

She felt herself relax incrementally. “That’s nice to hear.”

To her surprise, he turned to the right, taking a path that would carry them behind the stable, rather than to the left, the shorter path.

“I go this way,” he said, “because of the light.”

It was true that the vapor light shined over here. She hadn’t thought of it before, always choosing the shorter path, but then she hadn’t been frightened until now. Silently she trailed along in his wake. He climbed the fence. She crawled through. He didn’t try to help her, just waited for her to reach the other side. They crossed the bar ditch. She leaped, but it was hardly out of stride for him. As they walked over the dirt road, he didn’t even look at his truck, just moved on toward the house.

“I was wondering what sort of hours you were looking for,” he said. “In a job, I mean.”

Meredith caught her breath and had to focus to keep from stumbling. “I’m adaptable,” she answered carefully. “I’m used to shift work, after all.”

“Mmm. And pay? Nurses make good wages, better than you’re likely to find around here.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to pay rent,” she said quickly, “or utilities or even buy groceries, if I don’t want to. And gasoline is certainly cheaper, not to mention insurance, and then there’s fees. You’ve no idea how many fees are involved in nursing. So I could settle for less than I’m used to.”

“Uh-huh. Anything else in particular you’re looking for?”

“It’d be nice if I could wear scrubs, at least initially.” She wrinkled her nose, admitting, “I really don’t have that many clothes anymore. I mean, where would I wear them? It’s not like I go out. I work. I go to church when I can. That’s it.” Embarrassed, she looked down at her boots, realizing only then that they’d come to a halt on the pathway beneath the trees.

“There’d be a learning curve, you know.”

Meredith looked up, elated. So he really was thinking about hiring her. “I understand, but I’m a fast learner, and I love animals. I really do.”

“That might not be as much of a plus as you think.” He strolled onward. “Animals can’t tell us where or how it hurts, but they do suffer, and when they suffer, it’s obvious.”

“I understand,” she told him softly.

“Do you? They suffer, Meri, and sometimes they die. And too often there’s nothing we can do about it. That’s just the fact of it.”

They had reached the house. She lifted a hand to the porch column, looking up at him. “Why do you try to discourage me?”

“Why do you want it so badly?” he countered. “You don’t even like me. Doesn’t make sense that you want to work for me.”

She could have lied to him, could’ve batted her lashes and even flirted a little, but that wasn’t her way.

“I may not always like you,” she said bluntly, “but I have come to respect you. And you’re my only option.” She ducked her head, adding softly, “I’ve never felt safe there. I’ve never been happy there. I don’t want to go back.”

He said nothing for a long while. Then, when she looked up, he abruptly glanced away.

“I’ll think on it,” he told her, stepping away from her.

Meredith smiled, turned, climbed up onto the porch and went into the house. He’d given her hope at least.

Tonight had shown her that she couldn’t go back. She just couldn’t.

She’d thought she was past it. After all the counseling and all the precautions, she’d held on there as long as anyone could possibly expect. In the back of her mind, she’d thought that this respite, this sojourn at home, would at least prepare her to return to the City and her work there, but it had done the opposite. Her time here had shown her that she could never go back. She should be free now to find peace and safety. At home.

Please, God. She just wanted to come home to stay.

Chapter Four

Melting into the shadows, Stark watched Meredith enter the house. No wonder she was so desperate to find a job and stay here. He recognized all the signs of trauma now that he’d bothered to look. He ought to—he dealt with them himself pretty much on a daily basis. Oh, he didn’t scream at the unexpected touch of another’s hands, but sometimes when he passed a tractor-trailer rig on the highway... He shuddered, trying not to remember.

All too often he woke in the night, struggling to free himself from the twisted metal, calling the names of his wife and daughter. How many times had he asked himself why he hadn’t left earlier? Or later? Just ten minutes would have made all the difference.

Whatever you think best, sweetheart. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.

Meredith’s trauma didn’t stem from a freak accident, however. Her terror had been personal, deep, real and instantaneous. The moment he’d put his hands on her, the panic had completely overtaken her. She’d flashed back to some terrifying, horrifying event, and he very much feared that he knew what it was.

The thought made him ill. If he was right, and his gut told him that he very well could be, he wouldn’t have to worry about her developing an interest in him—or likely any other man—anytime soon. No wonder she didn’t like him. Not that he’d given her any reason to.

He wondered how long ago it had happened, who the man was. Surely Rex and Wes knew, but of course he couldn’t ask. Stark hoped sincerely that whoever had done that to her was locked away. Permanently.

Not that it was any of his concern. He had enough to deal with already.

Like a practice that was really far too big for one person alone to handle.

He rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should hire her and be done with it. She was certainly capable, and he wasn’t likely to find anyone else around here to match her skills. It might be the best solution all the way around. The unattainable man hiring the unattainable woman. Perfect.

Except...

Why couldn’t she have been a he? Some gawky kid who wouldn’t think twice about Stark’s rough ways or where he ate his meals?

Because God hadn’t been that good to Stark Burns in a long time, that’s why not.

At least that’s what Stark told himself as he ambled back out to the stable.

An owl hooted from somewhere near the old red barn. It was a lonely sound.

Loneliness, too, Stark knew well. It never left him, hadn’t left him in nearly four long years.

The anniversary of that awful day approached quickly. He tried to ignore it, telling himself that he hadn’t even been aware of the moment when his wife and daughter had left this earth, but that didn’t help. It only added to his guilt.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he walked back to the stable. The horse switched its tail when Stark drew near. Yes, definite improvement. That didn’t mean Soldier would recover, but a good sign was a good sign. He set his alarms and turned in.

His last thought before he slipped into sleep was that Meredith didn’t deserve to be frightened. He saw the look of terror on her face, and in his dreams, instead of standing there like a lump, he held out his arms, and she walked into them, smiling tremulously.

Her hair smelled of coconut. He didn’t know why or how he knew that, but somehow he woke the next morning with that fragrance in his nostrils.

Cathy had smelled of strawberries. He would never forget. The fragrance of strawberries sometimes still threatened to move him to tears, strawberries and sour apples. Bel had loved a certain tart candy that tasted of sour apples. Sometimes he bought a pack and opened it just to savor the smell, but then he had to throw it away.

What did Meredith Billings do to bring herself comfort?

She was trying to move home. And he could help her with that.

She and her strawberry blond, coconut-scented hair arrived with black coffee and a breakfast tray around six in the morning. He was waiting for her, sitting atop the toolbox.

“Morning.”

She gave him that devastating smile along with the breakfast tray. “Good morning.”

“Swelling’s gone down,” he told her, parking the tray on his knees. “I expect to repair the tracheotomy tomorrow.”

“That’s good.”

He removed the dish towel, uncovering a thick omelet topped with salsa and cheese, along with rolled tortillas and sliced melon. The Billings family did not stint in the kitchen. Mouth watering, he picked up his fork and said slowly, “I could use your help.”

Meredith caught her breath, but he pretended not to notice.

“Okay,” she said. “Someone has to miss service tomorrow to stay with Dad anyway.”

He’d forgotten that tomorrow was Sunday. He hated Sundays. They were his slowest days. This particular Sunday he hated most of all. But he wouldn’t think about that. He never thought about that.

Right.

Keeping his gaze on his plate, he said, “Best do it early.”

“That’s fine. After breakfast okay?”

“Works for me.”

“That’s settled then. Now, I have a favor to ask.”

Stark steeled himself, setting aside his fork to slug back strong black coffee, and nodded noncommittally. “You can ask.”

“You said you’d talk to Dad, give him an update on Soldier.”

Stark relaxed. “No problem.”

“We thought you might do that this evening. Ann and Dean are coming over for dinner. We’ll tell Dad everything that’s been going on the last few days, then you can give him the latest update on Soldier’s condition. If that’s all right with you.”

He knew she was asking him to do more than simply speak to her father about his horse, and he meant to tell her that speaking to Wes was all he would do, that he would not join the family for dinner, but he couldn’t seem to think of words that weren’t too sharp, rude or unintentionally wounding. In the end, he nodded curtly and ate his omelet. It had nothing, nothing whatsoever, to do with the date. Or so he told himself. Smiling, she skipped out of the stable, leaving him frowning at her back.

Looked like he was having dinner with the Billings family.

He tried not to think about it, going about his business on Saturday as usual. Plenty needed to be done. Somehow, though, he still found enough time to shower, shave, change and show up at the stable in time to give Soldier a thorough exam before Meredith insisted on dragging him into the house. She’d changed the IV bag before he’d arrived, and, try as he might, he could find no fault with her work.

“You want me to give your father a comprehensive report, don’t you?” he grumbled as she towed him by the arm down the aisle of the stable.

“Yes, and I also want to eat before dinner gets cold.”

He rolled his eyes, dragging his feet, but inside he felt an alarming tendency to smile. Countering it with a scowl, he allowed himself to be escorted to the ranch house. As soon as he passed through the front door into the foyer, he removed his hat and hung it on a peg on the wall. The instant he stepped into the living room, however, a little redheaded tornado hurled himself off the couch and straight at Stark.