Cowboy Vet

Reviewers and readers Love Pamela Britton!

“NASCAR fan or not, let In the Groove drive you to distraction.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)

“A fairy tale that succeeds.”

—Publishers Weekly on Scandal

“This is the kind of book that romance fans will read and reread on gloomy days.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tempted

“Passion and humor are a potent combination…author Pamela Britton comes up with the perfect blend.”

—Oakland Press

“This nonstop read has it all—sizzling sexuality, unforgettable characters, poignancy, a delightful plot and a well-crafted backdrop.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub (Top Pick) on Tempted

“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters.”

—Booklist (starred review) on Seduced

Dear Reader,

When I was in my teens, my friends and I had a huge crush on the large-animal vet who used to work on our horses. We would tease one another about calling the vet when our horses “sneezed” (actually just horse snorts) or when our horses needed their annual vaccinations (why couldn’t we vaccinate them more frequently?). When that vet’s truck pulled into the stable yard, we’d get as giddy as schoolgirls. Actually, I think we really were schoolgirls.

My hero in Cowboy Vet is nothing like the object of my childhood affection. (Okay, so my nose just grew a few inches.) Rand Sheppard is a culmination of all the vets who’ve worked on my horses over the years—yes, even the female veterinarians. To me, there’s nothing more heroic than the men and women who stay up late at night tending to sick animals. This book is a tribute to each and every one of them.

I hope you enjoy Cowboy Vet. If you’re in the mood to chat, feel free to drop me a line at www.pamelabritton.com. I love hearing from readers.

Pamela Britton

Cowboy Vet

Pamela Britton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PAMELA BRITTON never inflicted her early, unpublished works on friends or family. Instead she passed her books to the wives of famous race-car drivers and crew chiefs. Fortunately, the response was overwhelmingly positive, so she took the plunge and submitted them. Seven publishing contracts later, Pamela’s work has been voted the best of the best by Barnes & Noble, the Detroit Free Press and Romantic Times BOOKclub. Recently one of Pamela’s novels, Scandal, outsold J. K. Rowling—for two whole days.

You can visit Pamela on her wacky Web site, www.pamelabritton.com, or snail-mail her c/o P.O. Box 1281, Anderson, CA 96007.

This one’s for all the real-life veterinarians out there who’ve helped me with my animals over the years. You’re all the best.

Books by Pamela Britton

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

985—COWBOY LESSONS

1040—COWBOY TROUBLE

1122—COWBOY M.D.

HQN BOOKS

DANGEROUS CURVES

IN THE GROOVE

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jessie the Jezebel.”

Jessie Monroe stared down at the man who’d spoken, a row of windows to the right perfectly illuminating his handsome, scowling face. The glass coffeepot she held tipped dangerously toward his lap.

“Well, well, well,” she mimicked. Her least favorite customer. “If it isn’t Dr. Dolittle.”

The restaurant seemed to grow quiet around them, everyone in the tiny diner no doubt listening in. Not surprising, since everyone supposedly “knew” what it was she’d “done” to Dr. Dolittle’s cousin.

Dr. Sheppard leaned back, the orange vinyl squeaking in a way that sounded crass. He didn’t seem to notice. “You going to pour me that cup of coffee or do I have to get it myself?”

She shifted her weight to her other leg, slowly lowering the pot, the liquid glug-glug-glugging as she poured. “Guess that answers your question, huh, Doc?”

“Guess it does.” He gave her a smile that could only be called smug as he peered at her from beneath his black cowboy hat.

“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order,” she said in a monotone, turning away from his booth without giving him another glance. Damn the man. Not only did he think he was God’s gift to women, but he always, always took pleasure in baiting her. His own form of revenge, she supposed.

“You and Dr. Cutie are exchanging evil glances again, I see,” Mavis said, her dark skin glistening beneath one of the warming lights as she picked up four plates of food and balanced them precariously up her arms. It was late spring, but you wouldn’t know it. The diner didn’t have air-conditioning.

Jessie looked over at the table. “I think he likes me about as much as I like him.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have a crush on him like half the women in this town.”

“Guess so,” Jessie said. In fact, she was probably the only woman who didn’t fancy the good doctor. Not that she didn’t understand his allure. She might not like him, but she was honest enough to admit that something in his eyes made her want to squirm.

Tall, dark and handsome he was, the term cliché and yet somehow appropriate. He looked like he belonged out on the range with a few hundred head of cattle milling nearby. There was nothing, absolutely nothing guaranteed to melt female hearts faster than a man who wore boots and who doctored furry little animals for a living.

“You gonna go back over and take his order, or shall I?” Mavis asked.

Jessie smiled. Leave it to Mavis to try to run interference. The two of them had formed a fast friendship the first day Jessie had come to work at the diner. They’d bonded over their mutual dislike of the pink polyester dresses they were forced to wear.

“No thanks, Mavis. I can handle Rand Sheppard.”

“Can you?” the man himself asked when she walked up to him a second later, order book in hand.

Jessie turned as red as the blinking Open sign, or at least it felt that way.

Damn it, she hadn’t meant him to hear. Or maybe she had. Her feelings always ran hot and cold where he was concerned. All that smirking self-confidence drove her nuts.

“Dr. Sheppard, I hate to bruise that overlarge ego of yours, but I’ve eaten men like you for breakfast.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “So I’ve heard.” He looked back at his menu. “I’ll take the Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins.”

“English muffins?” she said with a lift of her eyebrows. “Would you like some Earl Grey with that?”

“Nope. Just the muffins,” he answered gruffly, back to his usual surly self.

“Coming right up.” She tucked her pencil behind her ear, much easier to do ever since she’d chopped off all her red hair. “Rancher’s Special with a side of bacon and English muffins,” Jessie called out, slipping the order sheet into the spinner, then flicking it toward Frank. “Extra arsenic,” she muttered under her breath.

But as she moved about the Kleenex box-shaped diner, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing in Rand Sheppard’s direction. It seemed every unmarried woman in town had set her cap for him—and failed to win him. And while Jessie knew better than to form a crush on the man, a part of her still wished he’d treat her as kindly as he treated everybody else. But that would never happen, she thought, watching as a man from the Diamond W slid into the booth across from Rand. Jessie had one of the worst reputations in town, one that had started when she’d—supposedly—ruined Rand’s cousin’s life.

“She only lasted two days,” she heard Rand say, over the clinking of dishes and silverware. “Shortest vet tech career at Sheppard Veterinary.”

Vet tech? He’d hired a new vet tech? What had happened to Sandy Anders, his old one? The woman was an icon at Sheppard Veterinary, almost as much a fixture as the ancient wagon wheels that guarded the clinic’s gate.

“So what are you going to do?” she heard the wrangler—Pete, she thought his name was—ask. Jessie picked up a hot plate while straining to listen. “You need help.”

“I know,” Rand answered.

She set the plate down in front of Hank, the smell of cooked bell peppers and cheese wafting up to her.

“Can I have some salt?” Hank was one of her regulars, a crusty old cowboy with a beat-up straw hat.

Jessie handed him the sugar.

“I said salt, Jessie.” He tapped the scarred white laminate turned yellow with age.

She blinked. “Oh, yeah. Sure, Hank. Salt. Sorry.”

She grabbed one of the forty salt-and-pepper sets on the bar beside the old-fashioned pie display, all the while listening in.

“You going to run another ad?” Pete asked.

“Guess I’ll have to. But I don’t hold out much hope of finding someone soon. You know how it is. Five hundred people want to work with animals, but only a few are qualified. Then they find out we’re out in the sticks and, well…”

They didn’t want to commute from the city. Jessie knew how it was. For three years she’d done the opposite commute from Los Molinos to the city—the nearby Bay Area. It’d taken her three years of night school and days of working in the diner, but she’d gotten her degree in animal science.

What Rand Sheppard didn’t know was that she, Jessie the Jezebel, was a certified veterinary technician.

And she was about to ask Rand Sheppard for a job.

FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Pete had left, Rand didn’t know what surprised him more, how hot the damn coffee was that Jessie Monroe served him, or that she slid into his booth after pouring him a cup.

“Mmph,” he mumbled, as some of the coffee dribbled back onto his chin.

“Too hot, I know,” she said.

And, as always happened when he looked at Jessie Monroe, he was struck by her eyes. Huge. And green, so green they looked like the new leaves that sprouted up around town. So green he found himself wondering yet again how the heck they could be such an impossible color. And then, as he always did when he caught himself staring, he remembered who she was.

“You could have told me it was hot,” he said, whipping the paper napkin off his place mat, the silverware tinkling as it spilled onto the Formica table.

“Why warn you? You’ve eaten here enough times to know it’s hot, and that it doesn’t taste very good.”

He did. And that irritated him all the more. She riled him. She always had—even before she’d been responsible for his cousin going to jail.

“Look,” she said, peeking over her shoulder toward the kitchen where Frank flipped bacon, oblivious to his employee’s defection, “I need to talk to you.”

Rand leaned back, his hand crumpling the napkin beneath the table. His whole body tensed, although truth be told he’d been on edge ever since he’d seen who his server was.

“What about?” he asked, his fingers digging into the paper.

“I want to work for you.”

If she’d told him she was about to rip her clothes off and dance naked, he couldn’t have been more surprised. “What?” he asked.

Actually, he might like that….

“I want to interview for your vet tech job,” she said, glancing at Frank again, the pink dress she wore gaping open as she leaned forward.

“But you’re not qualified,” he protested. Good Lord, the thought of Jessie Monroe coming to work for him…

“Actually,” she said, lifting her chin, “I am. I have a degree in animal science.”

What? “How?”

“Lots of late hours at the coffee shop while commuting to the Bay Area.”

“Which college?”

“Gavilan,” she said.

Something in his eyes must have made her think he wasn’t impressed, because she added, “It’s one of the top junior colleges in the state.”

“I know it is,” he said. It wasn’t the college she’d gone to, it was that she wanted to work as his veterinary assistant. Her. Jessie Monroe. Who as a wild-child teenager had let Tommy take the rap for her.

Rand absolutely would not hire her.

“Look, Jessie,” he said, “I’ve had hundreds of applicants—”

“Qualified applicants?” she asked, having obviously overheard him talking to Pete.

Rand tipped his head. “Some, yeah. My point being that there are people who’ve applied already, people I need to consider ahead of you.”

“But I might be better qualified than them,” she said. Her eyes seemed to shimmer. “Something you won’t know unless you interview me.”

“Nah. I’ve already looked over the applicants. A few of them have actual work experience, Jessie, not a bunch of college credits and a few lab classes under their belt.”

“How do you know that’s all I’ve got?”

“Educated guess.”

She leaned toward him. “Sometimes the most highly educated individuals are incompetent.”

“You got more than that?”

“Actually, I do,” she said proudly. “I’ve been interning at a breeding farm in the Bay Area part-time.”

“Then why don’t you go work for them?”

“Because the commute is killing me.”

He looked up at her. He didn’t really believe that excuse. “Then move to the Bay Area.”

“I don’t want to move. I like this town.”

“Jessie—”

“You just don’t want to hire me,” she interrupted.

“No. That’s not it—”

“Bull,” she said, slipping out of the booth. “Your refusal to interview me has nothing to do with my qualifications and everything to do with your cousin.”

“Well, yeah,” Rand said. “I’m not going to lie to you.”

She stared, and he could have sworn he saw hurt in her eyes. “You still think those drugs were mine?”

“With your reputation, why would I think that?”

“Because people are innocent until proven guilty.”

“There was nothing innocent about you.”

“And Tommy Lockford, cousin to the great Rand Sheppard, was a saint.”

“More of a saint than you were.” Rand took another sip of coffee, even though the topic of conversation all but turned his stomach.

“So you think.”

“So I know,” he said, throwing her words back in her face.

She shook her head, her bangs falling in her eyes. She pushed them away impatiently. “Why did I think you might give me a shot?” she muttered under her breath. “You wouldn’t hire me if I held a degree in veterinary medicine from UC Davis.”

All right. Time to cut to the chase. “You’re correct,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t.”

She stiffened.

“Order up!” Frank called.

Jessie half turned toward her boss, then looked back again. “We’re not through with this conversation, Dr. Sheppard.”

“Yes, we are,” he said in an equally stern tone. “You’re too late. I’ve already got someone in mind.”

She flicked her hair over her ears, her face coloring in a way that told him she knew he was lying.

“But if it looks like she’s not going to work out, I’ll let you know.”

“No, you won’t,” she said, walking away.

And he wouldn’t, Rand knew, because the idea of staring into those green eyes every day…well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

When he paid his bill a short while later, he realized why he was so worked up.

He didn’t want to hire Jessie because he had the hots for her.

And that was God’s honest truth.

Chapter Two

He hated her.

It was undisputable fact, Jessie thought as she finished her shift, Dr. Sheppard having long since hit the road.

By the end of the week, Jessie wished she could give herself a frontal lobotomy. Every time she recalled their conversation she went from burning mad to horribly embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him for a job.

But no matter how humiliating, she didn’t regret it. She’d do anything to break into her chosen field.

Which was probably why she found herself listening in on yet another conversation in the lineup at the espresso shop on her way to work.

“Hear he’s had a devil of a time keeping up with all the work.”

“That’s what happens when you’re the only large-animal vet in a town of two thousand.”

“Yeah,” said the first guy.

The sound of a coffee grinder filled the air; the chocolate smell of the beans made Jessie’s mouth water. If only Frank made coffee as good as this place. “I tried to get an appointment with him this morning but his receptionist said he was on his way into the clinic for an emergency surgery.”

“Gonna have a hell of a time doing that without an assistant. Or did he find someone?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Surgery? Jessie thought, placing her order a moment later. If he was supposed to do surgery he would need help. Unless he sent the animal out to another clinic. But hauling a sick animal might put too much stress on it, which meant he’d have to—

“You know what?” she said to the young woman making her drink, who raised her diamond-pierced eyebrow. “Scratch that order,” she said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

If the woman was mad at her for leaving, Jessie didn’t stick around to find out. She brushed by the people waiting in line and all but ran from the place.

Outside felt more like late winter than May. Los Molinos’s downtown strip was empty except in front of the Elegant Bean, where all the action usually took place this time of morning. Jessie snuggled into her down jacket, the faux fur around the hood tickling her cheek. The car she drove, a Honda that had seen better days, sat at the end of a string of vehicles. She was ten feet away when she saw the pool of radioactive-green coolant on the asphalt.

“Oh, Gladys,” she said, wincing and shaking her head. “Not today.”

A stream of vapor trailed her to the clinic on the other side of town. By the time she arrived, the motor gurgled as if it were on its last legs—and it probably was. She ignored it, choosing to deal with her engine’s lack of performance later, after she’d talked to Rand. If she talked to him.

That was a big if, she thought as she slipped out of her car into the cool morning air, her cheeks momentarily heated, saunalike, by condensation leaking from her radiator. On the glass door, the words Los Molinos Veterinary Clinic stood out in white letters. Her heart pounded like the horses that ran behind the low buildings.

Unfortunately, that same heart stopped the moment she saw who manned the front desk: Pauline Patterson, her childhood nemesis. Her old schoolmate really should have outgrown her animosity toward Jessie, but had never forgiven her for stealing the object of Pauline’s affection back in the seventh grade.

Oh, great.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at Jessie. She still wore her brown hair feathered back even though Jessie was pretty certain that style hadn’t been popular since the seventies—long before either of them had been born.

“Is Dr. Sheppard in?” Jessie asked, inwardly wincing at the malice she saw in the woman’s expression. Jeez. What would she have to do? Whip herself with rosary beads and wear a crown of thistles?

“What do you need to see him about?”

“I swallowed a mouse and I need his help getting it out,” Jessie said, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. Like the rest of her wardrobe, it’d seen better days. The faux leather bag was peeling away from its cotton backing. She hid it under her armpit. Not that it mattered. Pauline’s eyes hadn’t left her own.

“Okay, seriously. I heard he was on his way here with an emergency surgery. I wondered if he might need help.”

“He’s not available right now.”

She hadn’t asked if he was available, Jessie almost pointed out. “Is he prepping for surgery?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Did Jessie have to pull a gun on her? “Okay. Well, will you tell him I stopped by? And that I’m available to assist?”

“You?” Pauline asked, her fleshy arms coming to rest on her desk. “Available to assist?”

“Yes, me,” Jessie said, holding on to her temper by a thread.

“Since when do you know anything about veterinary medicine?”

“Since I graduated with an A.A. in veterinary science.”

Pauline huffed in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said, “you got it over the Internet.”

Okay, that did it. “Pauline,” Jessie said softly, drawing on the psych class she’d been forced to take for college credits, “I really don’t understand your animosity. But I wish we could bury the hatchet, especially since I’d like your help in convincing Dr. Sheppard to hire me.”

Silence. “You want Dr. Sheppard to hire you?” From the expression on Pauline’s face, it was as if Jessie had announced her intention to cure cancer using nothing more than nose drops.

“Why not?” Jessie said. “I’m local. I love animals. And I have a degree.”

“Well, I’m sure Dr. Sheppard will be thrilled to hear all about your qualifications, but no amount of schooling can teach a person integrity.”

If Jessie didn’t leave now, she’d do something she might regret. “Just tell Dr. Sheppard I dropped by, ’kay?” she asked. “Can you do that?”

All she got in response was what might be an attempt at a smile.

Jessie shook her head, turned around—

And ran smack dab into Dr. Sheppard.

“Jessie Monroe.”

“Hello, Rand,” she said, clutching his arms at the same time he held her by the shoulders, his black hat knocked askew, his big hands warm even through her thick coat.

His expression, however, was cold. “What are you doing here?”

HE KNEW HE SOUNDED RUDE, but he was in too much of a hurry to care.

“I stopped in to see if you needed help with your surgery.”

The surgery? How had she known…? It really didn’t matter. He glanced at Pauline. “Did Dr. Franklin call?”

His receptionist shook her head, her face creased in a frown. “Sorry, Doctor. He’s out of the office for the week.”

“Well, did you ask if his assistant could come?”

“There’s nobody.”

Damn it. He’d been dreading this exact scenario. In vain he’d tried to get a qualified vet tech out here to help out. Failing that, he’d tried to get an out-of-area vet to be on call. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but for some reason every vet within a sixty-mile radius was either already on call for another clinic or out of the office.

“Where’s Brandy?”

“She’s in the back, cleaning kennels.”