Pamela Britton - Cowboy M.D.

“That is the ugliest damn cat I’ve ever seen.”

She straightened. “He’s not ugly. He’s just…hairless.”

“It looks like something out of E.T.”

“Nope. He’s from this planet. Russia, actually. He’s a Russian Peterbald.” Clean gave another howl. “I’m allergic to cat hair,” she explained. And something about the bald cat appealed to her, something that had to do with the poor thing being laughed at by everyone who saw it at the pet store. She knew what it was like to have people laugh at you.

“Where should I put him?”

“Put him in the back.”

“Of the truck?”

“No. The backseat.”

Oh. Well, okay. Shaking her head, she did as asked, Mr. Clean protesting from the back.

“Tell me I don’t have to listen to that all the way home,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Ali told herself to relax. Sure, he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her. And sure, he didn’t look exactly thrilled that she was staying at his parents’ dude ranch. But he’d adjust.

“I thought you needed to go someplace,” she said. It would have made things a whole lot easier if he’d put on weight or lost his hair. She didn’t like this awareness she felt while sitting next to him.

“I do—did. I’ll be late.”

He started up his truck, the onslaught of noise from the big diesel making it impossible to think for a second. “You were going to a friend’s house while dragging this big old horse trailer behind you?”

“Do it all the time.” He put his truck in gear. She hadn’t even known big trucks came with stick shift.

“No wonder your horse wanted out so bad.”

He shot her a look. “This from a woman who drags her cat across the country.”

As if agreeing, Mr. Clean let out another howl. “I was afraid to leave him at home. He’s delicate.” Like I once was.

“Does my mom know it’s bald?”

“He’s a hairless, and it didn’t come up in conversation. Why do you ask?”

“Because I worry about it frightening the other guests.”

She opened her mouth to defend her cat’s looks, only to realize that he was—miracles upon miracles—joking. She could tell by the way the side of his mouth twitched up a bit—just once—but she spotted it, and when he looked over at her, the twinkle in his green eyes confirmed the fact.

“You got to admit, that is one ugly cat.”

Ali glanced to the back seat, and though Mr. Clean was all she had in the world, she knew that he was, well, ugly.

“When I first saw him I thought he looked a lot like something from Sesame Street.”

This time he let himself smile openly.

What an improvement. Until that moment she’d managed to put from her mind what he’d looked like with just his Jockey—

“…adopt him?”

He raised a brow in question. He’d asked her something. She searched that fuzzy part of her brain that had heard what he’d said but not really registered it. Something about her cat…

“Everyone was making fun of him,” she said quickly.

He made a slow right-hand turn, his truck picking up speed as he headed toward the Diamond W Ranch. “I’d gone to the pet store to get myself a fish, for my desk at work. But I took him instead.”

His smile faded. She jerked her gaze forward, feeling strange things that made her distinctly uncomfortable, given that she was supposed to be in Los Molinas to recruit him. Granted, she was being underhanded in her recruitment tactics, but she was nothing if not determined.

“Look,” he said, and Ali realized they’d arrived at a sort of truce. “I’m not sure if you’re nuts or what. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my going to work for your hospital while you’re staying at my mom’s.”

“Why not?”

“My dad just died and I don’t want her thinking I’m leaving her to deal with the ranch alone.”

Funny, his mom hadn’t mentioned anything about that—not that it was something you’d admit to a guest.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not easy to lose a parent.”

“No, it’s not.”

She didn’t know what else to say and so she said nothing for about a mile, but she needed to clarify something.

“Dr. Sheppard—”

“Nick,” he corrected her.

Nick. She liked that so much better than Nicholas. It suited him, too.

“Nick,” she said. “I know you don’t want me around, but I am here on vacation. When I heard your family owned a dude ranch, I thought to myself how much fun that would be. I’ve always loved horses. And so while I don’t blame you for being upset with me, I’m really here for a vacation.” Not precisely, but he didn’t need to know that.

Around them green hills rose and fell like a poorly laid green carpet. It was beautiful country and, yeah, she wasn’t being exactly honest with him, but she was looking forward to visiting his family’s ranch—and if she could convince him to come work for her, so much the better.

“Well,” he said, “as long as we understand each other.”

“We do,” she said, crossing her fingers.

“Oh, wow,” Ali said as she caught sight of the Diamond W Ranch.

Nick remained silent, something he’d been from the moment they’d called their truce.

“It’s beautiful,” she added.

“Yup.”

Yup. Obviously the man wasn’t fond of conversation.

There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about his dislike of her. He’d realize she wasn’t the enemy in a few days. And if he didn’t, oh, well. She’d enjoy herself on vacation. Darn it, it’d been too many years since she’d had a good time.

She studied the home at the end of the long, gravel drive, which was horseshoe-shaped with a patch of golf-course-green lawn in the middle of the U.

A mansion.

That was the only way to describe it.

Ali knew from the dude ranch’s Web site that Nick’s great-great-something-or-other had sold everything he’d owned to come out West. Building his wife a mansion had been part of the deal. And so the Diamond W Ranch looked more like it belonged in the South. Four stories tall, the main house had three white columns and a wide, ante-bellum-type porch. Green shutters framed the window like peek-a-boo hands and there was a double door with etched glass sparkling in the afternoon light. Acres and acres of oak trees and some sort of scrub sprouting tiny white flowers surrounded the place.

“Does Colonel Sanders live here?”

When he didn’t crack a smile, she sighed.

What was it about men that she always rubbed them the wrong way? Was she too aggressive? Was that it?

They pulled up in front, Ali oddly at peace as she studied the home.

“My mom’s probably getting dinner ready for the guests,” Nick said. “You might as well go on around to the back where the kitchens are.”

“What if she mistakes me for a servant?”

He looked at her blankly.

“You know. Like in the movies.”

The man had a way of making her feel as if she had antennae sprouting from her head.

“What movies do you watch?”

“The romantic type.”

“Uh-huh.”

And the way he said it…uh-huh. What? Didn’t the man ever go on dates?

He opened his truck door.

Apparently not.

Her hopes of hiring him faded with each passing second. And it wasn’t so much that she didn’t think he’d take the job, it was more that she was beginning to wonder if he was the right person for the job. He has a nice smile. Well, yeah…if he ever used it.

The California sun had started to set, but it was still high enough in the sky that she felt it beat down on her head when she got out of the truck. Bits of white pollen floated on currents of air, and Ali wondered if they came from the scrub trees. And the smell. She tipped her head back and simply inhaled. It smelled like an Old West movie. Okay, like she imagined an Old West movie would smell. Like hay and dust and just the faintest hint of livestock.