Patricia Johns – Montana Mistletoe Baby (страница 2)

His jeans were mud smeared and he hadn’t shaved in several days, but he’d take the compliment. He allowed himself one more glance down her figure before he locked his gaze firmly on her face and kept it there. Her body—and her baby—weren’t his business.

“You look good, too,” he said. “You’re doing really well, then. Your veterinary practice, a baby on the way... So, who’s the lucky SOB? Anyone I know?”

It was annoying to admit it, but that was his biggest question right now—who’d managed to make her happy? He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t be a tiny bit jealous. A man didn’t marry a girl, vow to love her until death parted them and then watch her move on with some other guy without at least a twinge of regret.

“I doubt it.” Her smile slipped, and she turned toward the stall. “Is this the calf?”

So she wasn’t going to tell him? How bad could it be? This only made him all the more curious. He unhinged the latch and opened the gate.

“Seriously?” he asked. “All I have to do is ask Betty who you’re with—”

“I’m single.” She shot him a sharp look, then went into the stall and crouched down next to the calf. “I’ll take a look.”

Single? So, some idiot had knocked her up and walked out on her? That sparked some anger deep inside him. He’d walked out, but only after she’d shown him the door, and she most definitely wasn’t pregnant when he’d left. So he might be an SOB, too, but whoever had left her alone with this baby was higher on that list.

Barrie put on some rubber gloves, pulled a flashlight out of her bag and checked the calf’s eyes. Then she pulled out a thermometer and murmured reassuringly to the calf as she worked.

“So who’s the father?” Curtis pressed.

Barrie glanced up again, then sighed. “Curtis, I’m here to do a job. Would you like to know what’s wrong with this calf or not?”

“Fine.” He leaned against the rail and watched her check the calf’s temperature.

She looked at the readout on the digital recorder. “A cow’s body temperature rises continuously during the day, so it’s hard to get a really accurate idea of how much fever a calf is running...”

Barrie pulled the plastic cover off the thermometer wand, then dropped it back into her bag. She rose to her feet and turned to Curtis. “But this calf is definitely running a fever. I’m thinking it’s probably bovine respiratory disease. It’s catchy, so keep an eye on the other calves bought at the same time. It can be transferred to adult cattle, as well, so make sure you quarantine the sick ones or you’ll end up with a costly epidemic.”

“Got it.” He nodded. “Treatment?”

“I’ll give antibiotic doses for a few days. It’s caused by a virus, but the antibiotics treat any secondary illnesses that develop as a result and let the body focus on fighting the virus. If we find the sick cows early enough, they get over it. If not, it turns into pneumonia and you’ll lose them.” Barrie opened her bag again and pulled out some packaged cattle syringes and bottles of liquid medication.

She was beautiful when she was focused like that. Barrie had always been that way—she could be knee-deep in manure and still look sweet. Curtis cared about the cattle—and about the running of his aunt’s ranch—but right now, his mind was still working over the fact that Barrie was both single and pregnant. She’d always been the prim and proper type—so much so that it had driven him kind of crazy—so he knew how hard this would be on her.

“Tell me that you told the father to take a hike, and I’ll feel better,” he said after a moment.

“I don’t need defending, Curtis,” she replied. “Least of all from the man who walked out on me.”

“You kicked me out,” he countered.

“And you left.” Anger snapped in that blue gaze. Then she shook her head. “This is dumb. It was fifteen years ago. There’s no use fighting over it.”

She had a point. Their relationship was solidly in the past, and whatever her problems now, at least she wasn’t blaming him.

“So, how long are you in town?” she asked, turning to the calf again with a syringe. He wasn’t sure if she was asking to see how fast she’d be rid of him, or if this was just small talk.

“For a few weeks to help Betty until her ankle heals,” he said.

“I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“Yeah...” He cleared his throat. Her current state made his other news that much harder to deliver because he’d be the bad guy yet again. But he’d have to tell her eventually. There was no avoiding this one, even if he wanted to.

Barrie administered the syringe, then stroked a hand over the calf’s muzzle comfortingly.

“Poor thing,” she murmured.

“Will it be okay?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” she replied. “You may have caught the symptoms in time.”

She tried to stand but stumbled. Curtis stepped forward and caught her arm, helping her up.

“I’m fine.” She pulled back, and he felt stung. He’d reacted on instinct—she was a pregnant woman, after all, and any able-bodied man would want to give her a hand.

“Look, Barrie, I’m here for something else, too,” he admitted.

Barrie’s clear blue eyes met his, one eyebrow arched expectantly. She was so close that he could smell the soft scent of her perfume mingling with the tang of other barn aromas. She looked the same—the big blue eyes, the light eyebrows she always used to complain about, the faint spattering of freckles over her nose. Fifteen years had gone by, aging him beyond his ability to keep bull riding, and she still looked as fresh as the twenty-year-old he’d married. He really wished he could have come back a little more successful to prove that she’d missed out, but he couldn’t change facts.

“I’m selling the building,” he said.

* * *

PROFESSIONAL. IN AND OUT. That had been Barrie’s plan when Betty apologetically told her that Curtis was waiting in the barn with the sick calf. And seeing him again... He was older, obviously, but he was still the same Curtis who was too ruggedly handsome for his own good. But she was fifteen years older this time around, and pregnant. She had bigger worries than Curtis’s ability to make her melt with one of his half smiles. Besides, there was a far higher risk of him irritating her. She didn’t have the patience to deal with his boyish whims—her life had been turned upside down with this pregnancy, and she was facing her first Christmas without her mom, who had passed away last February from a stroke. She hadn’t seen that heartbreak coming, either.

“Selling the building?” she repeated, slipping past him into the aisle, his words not sinking in.

“The commercial building my uncle left me—the one you lease for your practice.”

Barrie whipped around in shock. “Wait—what?”

“I don’t have much choice, Barrie.”

“Selling it to who?” she demanded. A change in ownership didn’t have to mean an end to her ability to lease there... Her mind spun forward, sifting through the possibilities.

“Nothing’s finalized,” he replied.

As if that made his intentions any different. Anger simmered beneath the surface. She’d worked too hard for this, for too long, but Curtis had never cared about her ambitions. Fifteen years hadn’t changed much between them. What she needed was information—then she could make a plan. She’d had too many surprises lately, and a plan was an absolute necessity.

“But you have an interested buyer,” she countered.

“Palmer Berton is interested, but we haven’t nailed anything down.”

Barrie swallowed hard, her stomach dropping.

“You’re going to sell the building that houses my clinic to my business rival,” she clarified. “And you think he’ll keep leasing to me? I’m going to have to find a new place—move all my equipment, renovate the new space...” She was already tallying the cost of this, and as the tally rose, so did her anxiety. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s not personal,” he said. “I need to liquidate.”

Not personal? Curtis of all people knew how personal her practice was to her. “You need the money now?”

“I’m going to buy a stud farm with my business partner in Wyoming, and I need to sell to get the money for my half of the down payment. I don’t have a choice, Barrie.”

“So, what happened to bull riding?” She couldn’t control the ice in her tone. That had been the cause of their divorce—bull riding had stayed his priority, leaving her in the dust. She’d wanted a real home with him, not to follow after him in a beat-up trailer. She’d wanted to start a family, to pursue her education and become a vet. She’d wanted a life, not a road trip.

“My body can’t take it anymore,” he replied. “I’ve broken too many bones. This wrist—” He held up his arm and moved his hand in a circle. “You hear that clicking? Both of my ankles do that, too. I’ve gone as far as I can in the circuit. I’m officially old.”

At thirty-seven. Barrie had seen that coming, too, but he’d never listened to her. A body could take only so much punishment, and every time he’d get thrown and break a rib or dislocate his shoulder, she’d be the one patching up his injuries and begging him to find something safer, something more reliable... How many times had she sat in her parents’ kitchen, describing some new injury to her mom, who wisely just listened and offered no advice?