He made the first incision, then looked sideways at Jessie. She didn’t flinch.
Good.
He took the next instrument from her hand. In a matter of minutes he’d reached the foal, the mare’s steady vital signs a rhythmic beep-beep-beep in his ears.
“Almost there,” he said, reaching his gloved hand into the quarter horse’s distended abdomen.
“Ooh, gross,” Brandy said.
Rand ignored her. “Damn breeders are growing them bigger and bigger,” he said, feeling around for a leg. “The mares just aren’t equipped for a baby bred from a sixteen-two-hand stallion. Seems like I’m doing more and more of these of late.”
“Sixteen-two?” Jessie asked.
He nodded, tongue between his teeth as he reached farther inside. “And that’s on the smaller end of the scale. I’m seeing seventeen-hand stallions advertised in the Quarter Horse Journal.”
“Jeez.”
And then he had it, his hand closing around a miniature hoof. After a tug that seemed almost too infinitesimal to do much, the foal slipped from the mare’s abdomen.
“There we go.”
“Oh, wow,” Brandy gasped, reflecting how Rand felt every single time he welcomed a foal into the world. But it was far too soon to know if this little guy would be sticking around.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a scalpel, which he used to rip open the placenta.
“Not breathing,” he said. “Damn it.”
He stuck his finger up the tiny foal’s nostril, cleaning it out and then blowing into it in the hopes that he could jump-start the baby’s lungs.
One breath.
Two.
The foal’s chest suddenly twitched.
“Holy cow,” Brandy said when the newborn’s eyes opened.
“Here,” Jessie said, handing him a stethoscope. Rand checked the foal’s gum color. Within seconds they’d turned a healthy shade of pink.
“So far so good,” he said, clearing more of the placenta from around the animal and then grabbing the stethoscope.
He checked the baby’s heart, then the lungs. Clear of liquid. The foal tried to sit up, its unused neck muscles straining.
“Well?” Jessie said, and for the first time he heard emotion in her voice.
“I think he’ll be all right,” Rand murmured. “Brandy, come on over here and wipe the little guy down while Jessie and I close up.”
Chapter Three
She’d impressed him.
Jessie wanted to punch the air as she exited the post-op stall ahead of Dr. Sheppard. She didn’t, but it was damn hard not to smile.
The smell of fresh pine shavings filled the air, the horizontal aluminum bars that allowed people to see into the stalls gleaming in the late-morning light. It was a state-of-the-art barn, complete with closed-circuit cameras, heaters and even giant fans for those days when the Los Molinos mercury rose too high.
“So,” she said, leaning against the bars and staring at the mare and foal. The foal was trying hard to stay balanced on his new legs. “When do you want me to start?”
No answer.
“Well?” she asked, glancing at him, her euphoria at a job well done making her bold.
“Jessie,” he said, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I appreciate your help today, but I’m still not going to hire you.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, Rand, you couldn’t have done that surgery without me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, crossing his arms. He stared down at her in that serious way of his. The expression always made her uncomfortable. “Brandy could have helped.”
“And lost you valuable time. That girl doesn’t know OB pullers from a lead rope.”
“She doesn’t need to know,” he said. “I could have told her what was needed.”
Jessie stared up at him. “Look,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. His eyes darted downward.
She stiffened.
Had he just—?
Nah, she told herself. He hadn’t just looked at her breasts. No way. Dr. Rand Sheppard wouldn’t give her a second glance.
She pulled her shoulders back nonetheless, under the pretext of hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, her elbows bent so that her breasts strained against the white T-shirt she’d worn beneath her beat-up jacket.
He glanced down again, only this time his eyes narrowed and he frowned, his mouth a flat line. “Look at what?”
He was checking her out.
Jessie couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t happy about it, she could tell, but that’s what he’d just done.
She pulled her shoulders back even more, thrusting a hip out for good measure. “Look,” she said, making her voice softer, “I understand you don’t like me.” But you like my breasts. “Let’s put that aside for a moment,” she said rocking slightly. “You’re in a bind.”
“I could hire somebody tomorrow if I wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?” she asked.
“Because they’re not qualified. Everyone who’s applied so far has no experience and minimal education.”
“Which just proves my point…or the point I was about to make. Hire me until a qualified applicant comes along.”
He glanced down. And there it was again: the look. The one he tried too hard to deny—sexual interest.
He found her attractive.
In-ter-resting.
“If you find someone tomorrow, I’ll leave,” she added. “But I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
“I still don’t think—”
“Rand,” she said, clutching his arm.
He acted as if she’d touched him with a twelve-gauge needle.
“Don’t—” he pulled back “—touch me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
After
