Along Came a Cowboy (3 page)

When he is facedown, I lift his feet for a leg check.

“Ow!” He kicks my hand.

Not a normal reaction to a simple leg check. I carefully lower his foot. “Where's the pain?”

“My knee. Bursitis, I guess.” His voice is muffled against the face paper.

“Mind if I take a look?” I kick the lever to raise him back to standing.

“Be my guest.” He lifts the leg of his loose-fitting khaki pants.

I feel my eyes grow wide, but I quickly put on a professional face. “That's a lot of swelling.”

He shrugs. “It is a mite big, but I figure I'm old enough to be having a few aches and pains.”

“Maybe, but I don't think this is bursitis.” I squat down and touch the flesh lightly with my fingers; then something at the side of his knee catches my attention. “Ron, that looks like a bite.”

“A bite? What kind of a bite?” He twists his upper body around to try to see but can't.

“I can't say for sure, but it could be a spider bite. Have you
seen any brown recluse spiders around?” When his wife died a few years back, Ron moved out to a little log cabin by the river. Wonderful for peace and quiet. And perfect for spiders.

He grunts. “A few. But we have a deal. I don't bother them, and they don't bother me.”

I shake my head. “I'm afraid one of them didn't keep that bargain. You have to get Dr. Jackson to check this out.”

“I don't have time to go to two doctors today.”

I look toward my phone. “Maybe I should call an ambulance to come take you.” A totally empty bluff on my part, but it gets the desired result.

“The day I can't drive myself to the doctor will be the day—” He gives me an abashed grin. Which is quickly replaced by a worried frown. “What if he tells me I have to stay off my feet? What about the centennial celebration?”

“If there's anything pressing in the next day or two, I'll take care of it for you.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “You get that knee looked at and don't worry about anything else.”

“I'll stop by my office and send you a few notes for the meeting tonight.”

“Tonight?”

He nods. “We're supposed to meet at Coffee Central Bookstore at six.”

“How many people are on the committee besides you and Alma?”

“That's the problem, actually. Why do you think I was trying to recruit you?”

“You're kidding.” I'm incredulous. The centennial celebration may not be much compared to Mardi Gras or New Year's Eve at Times Square, but around here it's a huge deal. And
two people are handling it?

He snorts. “There
were
five of us. But Rupert passed away after the first meeting—”

“Now there's a real selling point. Where do I sign up?”

He laughs. “He was ninety and died with a fishing pole in his hand.”

“Likely story.” Of course I'd heard about Rupert's dying at his favorite fishing spot. But I still have to give Ron a hard time. “So what about the others?”

“When we started the committee, Retha Holland conveniently neglected to mention that she goes to Florida every summer.”

“Ever heard of the Internet? Or even good old-fashioned Ma Bell? She can still help from down there.”

He grimaces. “We tried that at first, but she was always running off to some senior citizen social. And finally she quit answering her phone.”

“Okay, so short of calling in a bounty hunter who specializes in tracking down little old ladies, I guess you're stuck. But that should still leave one other person.”

“Lucy Blount took a ‘leave of absence' not long after Retha skipped town. I think she just wanted to get away from Alma.”

Alma's and Ron's bickering is more like it.

“But she
said
she had to go to Alaska to be with her daughter.”

“I remember that now.” My patients love to share the latest news with me, so I've lost count of how many times I've heard that the optometrist's wife went to Fairbanks to take care of their daughter who is about to have her first child. Sometimes our town is almost too small.

I stare out my tiny window at the brick building next door. In my dream clinic, I'll have a floor-to-ceiling window
overlooking a small stream and rolling green hills. And patients who are more concerned with their health than their neighbor's business. Okay, that last is pure fantasy, but a girl can dream.

Who picked this committee is what I want to know, but I don't ask. The mayor is known for being hard to get along with. And I love Alma to death, but this morning proves that when she wants something, she can be a bulldog. Still, I can handle anything for a couple of days. Most things can be postponed. Like tonight's meeting.

“So you want me to meet with Alma, and it has to be tonight?”

“Not just Alma. Jack will be there, too. Alma's son. He's producing the centennial rodeo, which is what we're planning right now.”

I don't say a word.

“Real nice guy. Volunteers as a part-time sheriff 's deputy.” He peers at me. “Better be careful. Might give you a run for your money for Citizen of the Year.”

Ron is still talking, something about Jack and me being close to the same age and how he was born and raised next door to my folks' ranch, wasn't he? But I've stopped listening. “You know what, Ron? I'm afraid I can't do this. I'll call Alma and explain the situation. She can contact Jack. I'm sure they'd rather wait until you're available to meet.”

He frowns and rubs his knee. “Somebody said you were meeting your friends there tonight anyway. What's it going to hurt to go a little early and meet with the committee?”

If I lived anywhere else, the fact that he knows the Pinky routine might be construed as stalking, but around here, we just call it small-town life.

“Sorry. I just can't do it.”

Ron steps off the table, winces, and grabs his knee. “If you
can't go to the meeting, I'll have to go,” he grunts. “It's too close to time for the rodeo for us to postpone.”

“I'm sure Alma will manage.”

He casts his gaze toward the ceiling. “Yeah, she'll manage all right. Manage to make this rodeo a disaster. Her son is running a ranch for wanna-be cowboys, and whaddaya bet one of them gets hurt in the ring? You were at the rodeo that night a few years ago when the Lancaster boy got busted up so bad, weren't you?”

I nod. Was I ever. I still remember the announcer's voice over the intercom asking if there was a doctor in the house. Unfortunately, the local vet and I were the only ones who even remotely fit the bill. It took both of us working together to keep the teenager stable until the EMTs got there. It was a rough night and a rough few weeks for the town while one of their favorite sons lay in intensive care. Thankfully he lived, but he still walks with a limp. That was the last rodeo I ever went to.

“And Alma—she thinks this town was built on a gold mine.” He shakes his head. “Without me to hold them down. . . or you to do it in my place.”

I groan inwardly. I'd do anything for my patients and Shady Grove. But this is asking too much.

He hobbles toward the door. “Thanks anyway. Maybe I can get a free minute to go see Doc Jackson in the next couple of weeks.”

He wouldn't.

He would.

He has. He's pulled it out of his sleeve and quietly laid it on the table. The I'm-overworked-and-sacrificing-my-life-servant-of-Shady-Grove trump card.

I know there's nothing higher in my hand.

I fold.

“If I agree to go to the committee meeting tonight, will you go straight from here to the doctor?” I ask sternly.

He turns around slowly. “Right after I stop by the office to get a few papers you'll need for the meeting.”

I sigh. “Great. Just fax them over.”

Thirty minutes later, I'm between patients when Norma peeks in the adjusting room. “Mayor Kingsley on line one.”

I groan. Norma's only lived in Shady Grove a couple of years and doesn't realize that having the mayor as a patient is really a pain in the neck, not a status symbol.

I step into my office and pick up the phone. “Hi, Ron. Did you call Dr. Jackson?”

“They said to come right in.”

“Good. And you're going, right?” I say.

“That depends. Are you sure you'll be able to go tonight?”

I consider my commitment, because once I make it, I won't go back on it. I've been cautious and avoided Jack all I could since he got back to town several months ago, but maybe it's time for me to let the past be the past and look toward the future. “Ron, I promise I'll take care of the committee stuff until you're able to do it. Put that out of your mind.”

“In that case, I'm having a courier drop some papers off at your office.”

As if everyone didn't know that Mayor Kingsley's “courier” is old Sam Helms who sits out on the town-square bench all day just watching folks go by. I guess Ron thinks hand delivery is more prestigious than a fax. “Okay, thanks. I'll tell Norma to keep an eye out for Sam.”

T
he “papers” Sam brings by turn out to be a large white binder full of notes. I barely have time to tuck it under my arm and hurry to Coffee Central Bookstore after I see my last patient. I sit in the car and skim the short handwritten note Ron tucked in the front. My name is at the top, but it's more like a priority list than a note.

S
AFETY
F
IRST
. The words are underscored twice and followed by: “Keep liability in mind. Turn a profit. Publicity a must.”

My pounding heart calms some as I walk into the bookstore–coffee shop combination. Daniel Montgomery, Allie's fiancé, has taken a building that used to house a junk store and turned it into a haven for book lovers and java nuts. And anyone else who just wants a peaceful place to get away with friends or be alone. Rich coffee-color leather sofas are scattered throughout the book sections, and jewel-toned aqua paint accents the walls. I especially love how the coffee shop is in the center of the store. The man got his priorities right. The whole place smells like the coffee of the day—vanilla spice. I think I'm in heaven.

Alma waves from a table, and I make my way toward
her. Beside the table, Jack stands, talking to two other men in cowboy hats. This has gone from baby month in Shady Grove to cowboy month with no warning. Maybe heaven is an understatement.

I nod. The men leave just as I reach the table. I try for my most professional tone. “Alma. Jack.”

Alma smiles. “Dr. Donovan, glad you decided to join us. I'll go get us all a drink.”

I fumble in my purse, but she holds up her hand. “It's on the city since this is official business.” Jack and I tell her what we want, and she's gone faster than a weekend.

Jack pulls out my chair. “It's good to see you again so soon.”

Since “You, too” would be a lie, I settle for “Thank you” and hope he doesn't notice. A grin splits his handsome face as if I'd welcomed him with open arms. Guilt nudges me hard. It's not his fault that he was a part of the past I'm trying to forget.

I sink into the seat.

He takes the chair beside me. “So Ron appointed you to take his place while he's out of commission?”

I cringe and nod. “Appointed” sounds so official. “I'm filling in for him temporarily, but I'm sure he'll be back soon.”

“Let's pray you're right. Those spider bites can be nasty.”

I nod, unnerved by his casual reference to prayer. Hard for me to picture the rough-riding rodeo star praying.

“You still ride quite a bit?”

I look up at him. “Yep. Quite a bit. You?”

He grins, his brows drawing together. “Yep.”

Okay, obviously if I don't make small talk, he's going to. At least if I start it, I can choose the topic. “Don't you have some kind of cowboy school at your ranch, besides raising rodeo stock?”

“Cowboy school? Some people would say that's the school
of hard knocks. Literally.” He laughs. “Seriously, I don't have an official ‘school,' but a couple nights a week, I open up the arena to let local yokels practice bull riding, roping, whatever they need to work on.”

“For free?”

He nods. “To be honest, I hope these boys learn a few things besides ridin' and ropin'.”

“Like what?”

“Honor, integrity, faith. Cowboy values.”

Yeah, right.
I frown. “Cowboy values?”

He ducks his head and touches the hat lying beside him on the table. “I admit some men have forgotten them over the last few decades, but there are still a lot of good cowboys.”

Alma appears at the table holding two black coffees. She sets one in front of Jack then turns to me. “Your latte's going to be a few minutes, so the waitress said she'd bring it over.”

“No problem. Thanks.”

Alma sinks into her chair. “We're glad to have you, Dr. Donovan,” she says and pats my hand. “Are you familiar with our rodeo plans at all?”