Chapter Ten
After working at the Aspen Creek Veterinary Clinic for the past thirteen months, Dr. Darcy Leighton had encountered a lot of interesting situations. But walking into the clinic on Friday morning to find a tall, dark and muscular cowboy rifling through the file cabinets was certainly a surprise.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had broken in, searching for drugs or money, but this guy looked like he’d never touched an illicit drug in his life. Why on earth was he here, and how had he disabled the new burglar alarm? She and the other staff had inadvertently set it off more times than she could count, to the point that now someone from the alarm company just called her cell to ask if they’d tripped it again.
But there’d been no such call on her cell phone today.
The intruder had tossed an ivory Resistol hat on the desk, and from his pewter fleece vest and long-sleeve shirt to his well-worn jeans and ostrich Western boots, he appeared more suited to a ranch out West than this little resort town in Wisconsin. Not at all like the jittery, tattoo-covered thief she’d inadvertently confronted late one night while returning to check on a surgery case.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply, pulling her cell phone from a jacket pocket. She took a single cautious step back and pressed the speed dial numeral for 911. “I think you’d better leave right now, mister. The sheriff will be here any second.”
He shot a brief glance at her over his shoulder, then frowned and gave her a much longer second look. With a dismissive shake of his head, he turned back to the files and continued thumbing through them. “Explaining this filing system would be useful. Are you the receptionist?”
Receptionist? Three months ago, the attorney handling Dr. Boyd’s estate had sent out a team of accountants who had pored over every last document and computer file for days, then recorded an inventory down to the last paperclip. But this guy sure wasn’t wearing a suit and shiny loafers.
“No, I’m not. How did you get in here?”
“A key and the alarm code.” He shoved the drawer shut and turned to face her with a sigh. “I’m serious about this filing. Someone here has just a passing acquaintance with the alphabet.”
Her gaze landed on the discreet veterinary caduceus logo on the front of his vest. Realization dawned as she stared at a man who had the potential to ruin completely the future she’d so carefully planned. “So...y-you are...”
“The new owner as of last week.” He reached forward to shake her hand. “Logan Maxwell.”
Still wary, she held back. “We haven’t been notified of any sale. Surely the attorney would have let us know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. The firm doesn’t seem all that competent.” He snagged his billfold from his back jeans pocket, withdrew a business card and tossed it on the receptionist’s desk. “Call them.”
She swallowed back the knot rising in her throat as she eyed the familiar card with the scales of justice symbol in the center and flowing script, but she went ahead and made the brief call to the attorneys’ office anyway. Sure enough, this guy was the new owner. Logan Maxwell, DVM.
The news made her heart sink.
She’d been praying that the practice wouldn’t sell until she’d saved enough for a solid down payment and finally found a bank that would grant her a long-term loan. She’d also been praying that if that didn’t happen in time, the new owner would want to continue business as usual with her on board.
Maybe a younger version of Dr. Boyd, rest his soul.
Not over six feet of toned cowboy with thick, dark lashes shading startling blue eyes, and a grim, suspicious expression on his way-too-handsome face. What was with that narrow-eyed, penetrating stare, anyway?
He was the one who’d looked like he might be robbing the clinic when she first walked in, while she’d just been coming in to continue working in the career she loved.
She bit back the wave of disappointment settling in her chest with the weight of an anvil as she called to cancel the 911 request. “I’m Darcy Leighton. Dr. Boyd started slowing down, and he needed an associate vet to keep the clinic running.”
“So I heard.”
She managed a faint rueful smile. “He’d promised to let me start buying into the practice after I’d been here for a year.”
He directed a level look at her. “But according to the attorneys, no contract was ever signed, and no money was paid.”
The anvil pressing down on her heart grew heavier, obliterating her long-held dreams. It took her a moment to respond. “Correct. He died six months after I started, but the attorneys wanted the practice kept running until it could be sold, to maintain its value. So we’re all still here.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do the other employees come in by seven thirty?”
Darcy nodded.
He tipped his head toward the hallway leading from the waiting room to the lab, two exam rooms, the surgery room and two offices. “Instead of standing here, let’s go back to Boyd’s office. We have a few things to discuss.”
He stepped aside and followed her to the back office, where she hesitated for a split second before dropping into one of the leather club chairs facing the massive old mahogany desk. He settled behind the desk as if it had been his for decades, and she felt a flare of sorrow.
“It doesn’t seem right, seeing someone else in his chair. Doc was an institution here in town for more years than anyone can remember.”
“And probably well loved, though from what I see in this clinic, he was behind the times.”
“He was a good vet,” she shot back, defending her old boss though she knew Maxwell was right. “Even if...some of the equipment here is out of date.”
The man had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Show me something that isn’t. The list is staggering, but I knew that before buying the place.”