critical in the middle of it.
Once they reached his vehicle, he opened a frosted utility panel and pulled out a bottle of penicillin. “He’ll need 20 cc’s twice a day the first couple days.”
“With a needle?” Jodie took a step backward, her hand rising to her chest.
“With a needle,” he agreed, holding the bottle out. She accepted it gingerly.
“Will you come back to give the shots?” Sam gave a small negative shake of his head and Jodie’s eyes went a little wild. “I can’t….”
“I’ll leave the syringes, too.”
“No,” she stated adamantly.
Under other circumstances it would have been amusing to see the calm, collected lawyer knocked out of her comfort zone by something as simple as an injection. But these were not ordinary circumstances and there was nothing amusing about the Bartons.
“When’s your father getting back?” He knew from the very efficient grapevine that Joe Barton had left the day after Christmas for a long vacation in Europe.
“Weeks from now.”
“How about your worthless foreman?”
Jodie didn’t even blink at the insult, which Sam felt totally justified in delivering. The arrogant SOB had tried to testify against him in the malpractice suit. He’d come off looking stupid—one of the few satisfactions Sam had had during the trial, with the exception of the not guilty verdict.
“Chandler quit just after Thanksgiving,” she said stiffly.
Thank goodness, Sam thought, wondering if perhaps Joe had finally fired him. When the foreman had testified at Sam’s trial, he’d smugly announced he had degrees in human resources and agribusiness, but hadn’t said a word about being a ranching menace.
“What about the other hand?” Joe had hired a cowboy with some veterinary training when he’d come to realize that no vet in the area would service his ranch. For the big jobs he flew in a fancy vet from Las Vegas.
“Mike is in Idaho visiting family.” Her expression grew more hopeful. “But he’ll be back in two days. You’d have to make only a couple trips….”
Sam hated people who wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Lady, I’m not driving thirty miles to give an injection. Besides—”
“You know I’ll pay you,” she interrupted. “I’ll pay you right now if you want.”
“I have other clients that need my services.”
“But like I said,” Jodie replied significantly, “I’ll pay you.”
“Times are rough,” Sam snapped. He wasn’t going to have this rich bitch looking down her nose at his friends and neighbors who sometimes couldn’t make payments. “And I was about to tell you that Margarite can give a shot if she has to.”
“Really?” Jodie seemed shocked at the idea, though why, he didn’t know. Injections were common on a ranch and Margarite had grown up on a huge one up north.
“Yes.” Sam pushed back the edge of his coat sleeve and glanced at his watch. He might just make it back for the second half of his nephews’ basketball game. “I want to be paid now.”
“Don’t trust me?” Jodie asked sardonically.
“Don’t want to see you again.”
She stilled, but her expression didn’t change. “That’s to the point.”
Sam shrugged. “It’ll take me a few minutes to calculate the bill.”
“Calculate away.” She strode off toward the house, which was about twice the size it used to be now that Joe Barton was done pouring a boatload of money into it.
Sam charged full price and then some for the after-hours call. By the time Jodie came back with a checkbook he had the figures for her.
“What’s the damage?”
He held out the paper, which she slowly scanned, noting each item. Then she began to write. What would it feel like, Sam wondered, to write a check for that amount and not tell the recipient to please hold it for a day or two while he transferred funds to cover it?
“Thank you for coming,” she said briskly. Then her eyes traveled upward to the top of his head. To the Elmer Fudd hat.
Sam’s mouth tightened as he took the check, written on the ranch account. He hoped hers was one of the authorized signatures, since Tim Paulsen at the bank would notice. Jodie didn’t actually live at the ranch, but visited when the whim hit her. The rest of the time she spent in Las Vegas, practicing law.
“Thanks.” He folded the check once and shoved it into his pocket before walking back to the truck. Mission accomplished. Now he hoped he never had to set foot on the Barton ranch again.
Jodie checked the horse at ten o’clock and then again at midnight, tromping through the snow to the barn in silk pajamas, a down coat and insulated rubber boots. Usually Mike, her father’s cowboy, had trails cleared between the buildings, but it had snowed during his days off and Jodie hadn’t yet gotten around to shoveling the paths. Snow was not something she dealt with in Las Vegas, but after growing up in Chicago, she’d had enough white stuff to last her a lifetime.
Bronson was lying down when Jodie came in through the side door, as he’d been the last time she’d checked. But now he lifted his head and seemed more alert as she approached the stall. She couldn’t believe the number of sutures Sam had so patiently tied in the cold and dark, while the light she was supposed to be holding steady wavered about. Maybe he had made a fatal mistake with her father’s horse last year, but he’d done a good job tonight. The horse would have bled to death if he hadn’t relented and agreed to treat the animal.
Was it her fault that the horse had gotten out in the first place? She honestly didn’t know. The gate had been open when she’d found him, injured and bleeding, and she had used it earlier that day. Margarite had gone through it, too. One of them was responsible.
Even if it wasn’t her fault, Jodie felt like crap. She hated making mistakes. She pushed her hands into the pockets of the down coat and watched as the horse tucked his nose to his chest and closed his eyes. A few minutes later she left the barn. She needed to get some sleep.
Or try to.
Margarite was in the kitchen tidying up when Jodie walked into the covered porch. The woman’s charcoal-colored hair was rolled into pin curls—something Jodie hadn’t seen since her grandmother had passed away—and she was wearing a blue fuzzy robe that zipped from her ankles to her chin. Quite the look, but somehow Margarite managed to pull it off with an air of dignity.
“Do you want some tea or something?” she asked through the open door to the porch as Jodie slipped out of her boots and hung up the coat she’d worn over her pajamas.
“No. Thanks.” She padded into the kitchen in her stocking feet, ruffling her hair to shake off the droplets of water from melting snowflakes.
“Is he okay?” Margarite folded the dishcloth she’d been using to wipe down the counters, then adjusted the stools at the breakfast bar. The housekeeper liked everything to be just so. Margarite would have latched the gate all the way.
“So far.” Jodie hoped he stayed okay or she’d have even more explaining to do to her father.
“He’ll recover.” The housekeeper snapped off the kitchen light and both women walked through the dining room to the staircase.
Again Jodie felt a wave of guilt.
Margarite tilted her chin up to look Jodie straight in the eye. “Accidents happen on ranches.” Her voice was stern. “Understand?”
“Yeah.” Jodie pressed her lips together. “Are you sure you can give the shot tomorrow?”