to put him down, or do I have to call another vet to handle this for me?”
Before Sam could answer, a whirlwind of white-blond hair, clawing fingers and kicking feet came out of nowhere and attacked her. “You can’t kill my horse. I won’t let you!” the child screamed as she beat at Sam’s stomach and arms.
“Hey! Hold on there a minute.” Sam struggled frantically to get a grip on the little girl. Finally managing to close her hands on the child’s upper arms, she dropped to her knees in front of her, holding her in place. Though dried blood marked an ugly cut from hairline to eyebrow on the girl’s forehead, the injury didn’t seem to have affected her strength any. Her body remained rigid as she glared at Sam, her lips pressed tightly together, her cheeks red, her eyes puffy from crying.
In spite of her attack on Sam, the child’s concern for her horse placed her a notch or two above Nash Rivers in Sam’s estimation. “I’m not going to kill your horse, sweetheart, I promise.”
The girl continued to glare stubbornly at Sam. “What’s your name?” Sam asked, hoping to put the girl at ease.
“Colby.”
“Mine’s Sam.”
In spite of her resentment, the child sputtered a laugh. “Sam? That’s a boy’s name.”
“And a girl’s. Short for Samantha. What’s your horse’s name?”
The smile melted from Colby’s face. “Whiskey, and I’m not letting you kill him.”
“I’m not going to hurt him. But your daddy tells me that he hurt you.”
“He didn’t mean to!” Colby cried, her voice rising in panic. “We were just out riding and something spooked him and he shied. It wasn’t his fault! Whiskey would never hurt me.” She made two quick swipes across her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
From behind Sam came a disbelieving snort, then Nash was dropping down beside them, pulling his daughter from Sam’s grasp and onto his knee. “So how do you explain the bruise on your back and the cut on your head?”
Colby tipped her face up to her father’s, her blue eyes brimming. “But, Daddy, I told you that wasn’t Whiskey’s fault. I fell! He didn’t throw me.”
Nash stood, placing his daughter firmly back on her feet. “The results are the same,” he said, unmoved by her tears. “Now go on back to the house and let Nina tend to your scrapes.”
Colby planted her fists on her hips. “No! And you can’t make me!” She darted away before Nash could stop her and ran down the alleyway to Whiskey’s stall. Hitching a boot onto the bottom rail, she quickly scaled the gate and dropped down on the other side.
“Damn!” Nash muttered under his breath. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said, turning his anger on Sam. “If you’d put the horse down like I asked you, we could have avoided this emotional scene.”
Though Sam disagreed—and was tempted to get while the getting was good—something kept her in place. Maybe it was because she saw in Colby a bit of herself at the child’s age. Maybe it was because she’d also gone up against her own father—and lost more battles than she cared to remember. Or maybe it was simply because she was afraid that if she left, Nash would find another vet to do his dirty work for him. Whatever the reason, Sam dug in her boot heels. “You’ll break her heart if you dispose of her horse.”
Nash raked his fingers through his hair, turning the neatly combed style into dark spikes as he looked down the alleyway in the direction Colby had disappeared. “Yeah, but I’d rather break her heart than see her hurt by that beast.”
Sam lifted a shoulder. “Accidents happen. She could injure herself just as easily stepping off a curb as she could riding her horse.”
He turned to frown at her. “Thanks for the comforting words,” he replied dryly.
“I’m not trying to offer comfort. I’m stating facts. I’ve been riding horses since I was old enough to walk, and I can tell you right now I’ve hurt myself a lot more often walking than I ever have riding.”
“Doesn’t say much for your coordination, does it?”
Sam refused to let the barb penetrate. “She needs to have that cut on her head cleaned.”
Nash snorted. “I tried. She won’t let me touch her.”
“That’s certainly understandable.”
Nash snapped his head around, his eyes like flint as they scraped against Sam. She shrugged, refusing to let him intimidate her. “She’s more worried about her horse’s welfare than her own. As long as she feels she has to protect him from you, she isn’t going to let you near him or her.”
“So what do you suggest I do? Wait for her to collapse before I seek medical attention for her?”
In spite of his sarcasm, Sam saw the worry in the deep lines plowed between his brows, the concern for his daughter in his tightly compressed lips, in the depths of his gray eyes. That he loved Colby was obvious, that he was overreacting to an accident even more so.
But Sam figured if that cut on the kid’s head was going to get tended to, it would be up to her. She heaved a resigned sigh. “Stay here and I’ll see what I can do.” She strode down the alleyway and stopped in front of Whiskey’s stall. Propping her foot on the lowest rung, she draped her arms along the top of the gate. Colby stood inside the stall at the horse’s head, stroking Whiskey’s nose.
“Go away,” she grumbled. “Whiskey and me don’t need you.”
“I think you do,” Sam replied softly. When Colby whipped her head around to glare at her, Sam added, “I’ve already told you that your horse is safe with me. I would never put down a healthy animal.”
The battle waged within was obvious on the child’s face as she struggled to decide whether or not she should trust Sam. She narrowed an eye. “Swear?”
Sam quickly swiped a finger across her heart, just as Colby had done earlier. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“I thought you might need my services.”
Colby wrinkled her nose. “For what?”
“Well, Whiskey doesn’t need any doctoring, but you sure do.”
Colby touched a small finger to the cut on her forehead, frowning. “Daddy wanted to take me to the hospital.”
Sam stretched her neck over the gate, pretending to study the cut. “Doesn’t look that bad to me. A little cleaning, some antibiotic ointment, a bandage and you ought to be just fine.”
Colby peered at Sam suspiciously. “I thought vets just doctored animals.”
“Normally they do. But I’ve doctored some humans, too. In fact, one of my most frequent patients is my nephew, Jaime. He’s always getting bummed up in one way or another.”
Colby took a step closer. “This isn’t a trick,
