a loss and go back to making no attempts at a romantic life whatsoever.
But he didn’t. “Of course,” he said. “You can’t let something happen to an animal just because you’re on a dinner date.”
“I really can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. She put it on the table and offered an apologetic smile before turning and leaving. Before he didn’t accept her contribution to the dinner.
She was not going to make him pay for the entire meal on top of everything.
“Have a good evening,” the hostess said as Kaylee walked toward the front door of the restaurant. “Please dine with us again soon.”
Kaylee muttered something and headed outside, stumbling a little bit when her kitten heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. That was the highest heel she ever wore, since she was nearly six feet tall in flats, and towering over one’s date was not the best first impression.
But she was used to cowgirl boots, and not these spindly, fiddly things that hung up on every imperfection. They were impractical. And how any woman walked around in stilettos was beyond her.
The breeze kicked up, reminding her that March could not be counted on for warm spring weather, as the wind stung her bare legs. The cost of wearing a dress. Which also had her feeling pretty stupid right about now.
She always felt weird in dresses, owing that to her stick figure and excessive height. She’d had to be tough from an early age. With parents who ultimately ended up ignoring her existence, she’d had to be self-sufficient.
It had suited her to be a tomboy because spending time outdoors, running around barefoot and climbing trees, far away from the fight scenes her parents continually staged in their house, was better than sitting at home.
Better to pretend she didn’t like lace and frills, since her bedroom consisted of a twin mattress on the floor and a threadbare afghan.
She’d had a friend when she was little, way before they’d moved to Gold Valley, who’d had the prettiest princess room on earth. Lace bedding, a canopy. Pink walls with flower stencils. She’d been so envious of it. She’d felt nearly sick with it.
But she’d just said she hated girly things. And never invited that friend over ever.
And hey, she’d been built for it. Broad shoulders and stuff.
Sadly, she wasn’t built for pretty dresses.
But she needed strength more anyway.
She was thankful she had driven her own truck, which was parked not far down the street against the curb. First date rule for her. Drive your own vehicle. In case you had to make a hasty getaway.
And apparently she had needed to make a hasty getaway, just not because Michael was a weirdo or anything.
No, he had been distressingly nice.
She mused on that as she got into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. She pulled away from the curb and headed out of town. Yes, he had been perfectly nice. Really, there had been nothing wrong with him. And she was a professional at finding things wrong with the men she went on dates with. A professional at finding excuses for why a second date couldn’t possibly happen.
She was ashamed to realize now that she was hoping he would consider this an excuse not to make a second date with her.
That she had taken a phone call in the middle of dinner, and then had run off.
A lot of people had trouble dating. But often it was for deep reasons they had trouble identifying.
Kaylee knew exactly why she had trouble dating.
She was in love with her best friend. Bennett Dodge. And he was not in love with her.
She gritted her teeth.
She wasn’t in love with Bennett. No. She wouldn’t allow that. She had lustful feelings for Bennett, and she cared deeply about him. But she wasn’t in love with him. She refused to let it be that. Not anymore.
That thought carried her over the gravel drive that led to the ranch, back behind the house, just as Bennett had instructed. The doors to the barn were flung open, the lights on inside, and she recognized Bennett’s truck parked right outside.
She killed the engine and got out, moving into the barn as quickly as possible.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Dave Miller was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, standing back against the wall. Bennett had his hand on the cow’s back. He turned to look at her, the overhead light in the barn seeming to shine a halo around his cowboy hat. That chiseled face that she knew so well but never failed to make her stomach go tight. He stroked the cow, his large capable hands drawing her attention, as well as the muscles in his forearm. He was wearing a tight T-shirt that showed off the play of those muscles to perfection, his large biceps, and the scars on his skin from various on-the-job injuries, and he had a stethoscope draped over his shoulders. Something about that combination—rough-and-ready cowboy meshed with concerned veterinarian—was her very particular catnip.
“I need to get the calf out as quickly as possible, and I need to do it at the right moment. Too quickly and we’re likely to crush baby’s ribs.” She had a feeling he said that part for the benefit of the nervous-looking rancher standing off to the side.
Dave Miller was relatively new to town, moving up from California a couple of years ago with fantasies of rural living. A small ranch for his and his wife’s retirement had grown to a medium-sized one over the past year or so. And while the older man had a reputation for taking great care of his animals, he wasn’t experienced at this.
“Where do you want me?” she asked, moving over to where Bennett was standing.
“I’m going to need you to suction the hell out of this thing as soon as I get her out.” He appraised her. “Where were you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re wearing a dress.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t at home.”
He frowned. “Were you out?”
This was not the time for Bennett to go overly concerned big brother on her. It wasn’t charming on a normal day, but it was even less charming when she’d just abandoned her date to help deliver a calf. “If I wasn’t at home I was out. Better put your hand up the cow, Bennett,” she said, feeling testy.
Bennett did just that, checking to see that the cow was dilated enough for him to extract the calf. Delivering a breech animal like this was tricky business. They were going to have to pull the baby out, likely with the aid of a chain or a winch, but not too soon, which would injure the mother. And not too quickly, which would injure them both.
But if they went too slow, the baby cow would end up completely cut off from its oxygen supply. If that happened it was likely to never recover.
“Ready,” he said. “I need chains.”
