Winter at Mustang Ridge Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I think that does it for today. Don’t you? Want to roll upstairs?”
    The cat flicked one ear back, then yawned.
    “Your call. I’m heading up.” Another guy might be worried about getting caught talking to his cat, but a vet could get away with stuff like that without losing his man card.
    After draining the last of the root beer and three-pointing the can in the recycling bin, Nick shucked off his lab coat and headed across the office to hang it up. He was halfway across the room when the buzzer rang, letting him know someone was coming down the long driveway. A moment later, headlights crested the hill and lit the picture window out front.
    “Guess I spoke too soon, huh?” But, hey, at least he was still downstairs, and not in the shower, wearing nothing but shampoo. Been there, done that. And, besides, this was part of the deal when you ran a one-vet clinic and lived on-site. “Let’s see what’s up.”
    He pulled the coat back on and got it buttoned, and headed out into the reception area just as snow boots thudded on the front porch and the door swung open. A blast of frigid air swept in, haloing a bundled figure that stumbled past him into the waiting area. The furry pink boots and five-foot-something height said female, possibly young, but the rest of the details got swallowed up in a huge pink parka, blue wool hat, and a striped scarf. And the sight of a big, blanket-wrapped dog in her arms and smears of blood on her coat.
    Never a good sign.
    Adrenaline kicking in, Nick did a quick mental rundown of which pieces of equipment would need time to warm up. “Come in, come in. You can go straight back to Exam One.”
    Instead she swung back and gaped at him, her bright blue eyes widening in the gap between hat and scarf. “You’re not Doc!”

4
     
    M aybe it was the adrenaline coming from the near-miss with the truck plus the rushed drive to the clinic on a road that got slippery when the snow started to fall, or the relief of getting there in one piece, but Jenny’s mind blanked at the sight of the stranger standing in Doc’s office.
    Brain freeze. Nada.
    He looked like a young Harrison Ford, with tousled brown hair, a square jaw, sparkling hazel eyes, and a long, lean body clad in jeans, a lab coat, and battered hiking boots. Okay, so maybe he didn’t look all that much like Indy—there was no leather, fedora, or bullwhip in sight. But there was something about him that rooted her in place. And she wasn’t one to grow roots.
    Slightly uneven teeth flashed behind a charming smile, and a pair of killer dimples popped into view. “Doc Lopes retired and handed the practice over to me about six months ago. I’m Nick Masterson.” Nodding to the blanket-wrapped bundle, he added, “Who do we have there?”
    The question kicked Jenny’s brain back into gear, bringing a flush and sidelining her surprise that Doc wasn’t Doc anymore—and the new guy was hot.
    “I don’t know. He was up by our driveway. I was trying to get him, almost had him, but . . .” Her voice cracked. “He got away from me and wound up under an eighteen-wheeler. I don’t know how bad he was hit.”
    His eyes sharpened on her. “Are you okay?”
    She shook her head no, then changed it to a nod. “I’m fine. But the dog—”
    “I’ll take him back and see what we’ve got.” He held out broad, competent-looking hands to take the blanket-wrapped bundle. “Or do you want to stay with him?”
    Over and over during the drive to the clinic, she had reminded herself:
This isn’t Rusty, and it wasn’t your fault
. And if she kept telling herself that second part, eventually it might start feeling like the truth. “No. I’ll . . . ah, I’ll wait out here. Unless you need help?”
    “Not for the initial look-see.” He took the dog gently in his arms, showing none of the strain she had felt at lugging the fifty-some pounds of deadweight. “I’ll be a few minutes.” As he headed down the short hallway that led to