a bird’s.
“I’m Sarah Marsdon.”
“The new vet?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Told me you were a lady, but didn’t say that you were a pretty one. I’m Jack. Jack Renfro. I’m your vet tech, your surgery assistant, and your jack-of-all-trades, no pun intended.”
The slight southern accent was overlaid with a thick cockney twang.
“Jockey?” Sarah grinned back at him.
“And exercise boy and groom before I got too old and too stove up to ride. What I don’t know about horses ain’t been writ down as yet.”
“How about cows?”
“Hate the stupid buggers, but I can handle ’em. And anything else with four feet comes into this place.”
“Good.” Sarah extended her hand. “What’s with the lights?”
Jack blew out his breath. “Bloody contractor’s supposed to have everything done here today. But then, he was supposed to finish last month, wasn’t he?”
“Was he?”
“You weren’t to know, of course, but we’ve had one muck-up after another. That woman kept trying to turn the place into a bloody palace, then the almighty rain and the mud, and delivery problems, and if that weren’t enough, we have the neighborhood rowdies at night.”
“Rowdies?”
“Kids. Too much time and no sense, is what I says. Don’t know much about tractors and such myself, but I do know you can’t run one without a carburetor. Took a week for the contractor to get a new one in and installed. Meantime we had to rent another tractor. Cost a bloody fortune.”
“They stole a carburetor?”
Jack humphed. “As good as. Turned out the little devils hid it behind a stack of plywood, but the contractor wasn’t to know, was he? Only found it a month later when he’d already bought the new one. Then there was the great plumbing caper.” He sounded disgusted.
“Plumbing?”
“Contractor came in one Monday and found every bit of PVC pipe spread out over the two back paddocks. Spelled out words not fit for your tender ears.”
Sarah laughed. “You’d be surprised how un-tender my ears are. Besides, I know that’s annoying, but it doesn’t sound as though they’re really destructive.”
“That bit of mischief took four men and a truck most of the day to pick up and get the mud out. Costs money, things like that. And time we didn’t have.”
“If we had an emergency, could we handle it?”
Renfro cocked an eye at her. “That’s up to you, ain’t it?”
“You mean I’m it?”
“You got Dr. Eleanor Grayson comes in, but she’s part-time, mostly night or when we’re pushed. We’re supposed to be open twenty-four hours a day, but right now, we only got a couple of part-timers on call after midnight. And Dr. Mac can muck in if you need him. Staff’s good, but they’re mostly used to handling puppies and kittens.”
Sarah laughed at the obvious sneer in his voice. He grinned back at her through his terrible teeth.
“Well, I says, don’t ya know, if it ain’t good for racing or eating, then what’s the sense of it, I says.”
“Don’t let the clients hear you say that.” Sarah laughed.
“Keeps me thoughts to me’self. You worry about the cutting, Doc, I’ll handle the rest of it.”
“Deal. Nice to work with you, Jack. By the way, they say I’m going to be working a good many nights and weekends, as well, until we’re fully staffed. What are your hours?”
“My good lady says they run from ‘kin to cain’t,’ but she’s from Arkansas and talks funny. Don’t you worry. You need me at four in the morning, I’ll be here.”
Suddenly Sarah didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed as she had, with the problems she faced. With an old pro like Jack Renfro to back her up, how could she fail? She glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell, I’m late for Rick’s meeting.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Get more done without these infernal meetings of his. You run along. I’ll hunt up that contractor and put a flea up his nose. You’ll have your lights and that office cleaned up today.” He trotted off with the rolling, bowlegged gait of a man used to having horse flesh between his knees.
“Jack?” Sarah called after him.
He turned.
“I’ve got a list of medications and stuff I need in my truck cabinet. It’s lying on the front seat of my truck, which is, I’m sorry to say, in front of the clinic instead of where it belongs.”
“Toss me your keys. I’ll move it and stock it for you.”
“You’re a wonder. Thanks.”
“MARK, MY CHILD is driving me nuts.” Coy Buchanan slumped into his maroon leather desk chair in the corner office of Buchanan Enterprises. It had been specially constructed to accommodate both his height and his bulk, but it still groaned under his weight. He reached for his oversize mug of New Orleans coffee.
“Margot Hazard may be your child, Coy,” Mark said from the chair across the acre or so of inlaid leather on top of Coy’s desk. “To the rest of the world, she’s a grown woman.” And an annoying one. Mark didn’t voice that thought.
“I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to take her calls. Terrible thing to start screening out your only daughter’s telephone calls.”
“Switch her over to me.”
“Oh, I’ve tried, son, believe me. She says you aren’t responsive, whatever the hell that means.”
“It means I don’t sit up and jump through hoops for her. You pay me for not jumping through hoops.”
“I know, I know. But couldn’t you at least act like maybe you’re planning to leave the ground occasionally?” Coy grinned. “Make my life one hell of a lot easier.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to sign blank checks.”
“It’s that damn animal clinic,” Coy said, and gulped half the mug of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “Why couldn’t Margot have married somebody like Ted Turner or Donald Trump? Even a king might have been able to afford her. But no, she’s got to go and marry a veterinarian. And then try to turn him into a millionaire. Last I heard, wasn’t nobody trading veterinary stock on Wall Street.”
“True, but we’ve got investors, Coy. You are not the only one. And some of them can’t afford to lose what money they’ve put into the clinic.”
“Hell, you think I can?” Coy came close to roaring. “First rule of business my daddy taught me is ‘Don’t lose money.”’
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