Busting Loose (3 page)

How the hell did this stupid scheduling system work? Bea clicked around, opening the scheduling system several times on the ancient desktop, but each time the schedule showed no patients. She knew that wasn't the case at all, since the backup handwritten schedule had markings all over it. Code, that is. The former receptionist must have had a system in place. She'd just have to check about that later, when Jaycee came in after classes. Maybe there was a different program she couldn't find. She would ask Morgan, but he hadn't come out of his office since they'd finished feeding the shelter dogs.

The bell above the front door rang, and she gave one final click before sighing in exasperation and turning to greet her first customer.

“Hey there.” Bea smiled brightly at the sweetheart with a bright purple shirt and coordinating shorts standing in front of her desk. “And who might you be?”

The little girl, maybe nine or ten years old, grinned, showing off a missing tooth, and whispered, “Alice Stevens.” The name came out as a lisp thanks to the missing front tooth.

“Hi, Alice. I'm Bea. It's nice to meet you.” She held out a hand, which the girl shook quite seriously. “Who have you brought in for us today?”

“Sampson,” she lisped, still barely audible. Kid couldn't catch a break with the
S
words today.

“Sampson, huh? Is he new?”

Alice shook her head, the long tail of carrot-orange hair slinking to and fro.

“Does your mommy or daddy have Sampson in the car?”

Alice nodded, grinning.

“Well, bring the handsome man in. I'm new, so I'm playing catch up here and meeting all the patients.” Bea couldn't help but smile as the little girl skipped out the front door. Kids. So much cuter in their natural habitat than on a sound stage. The few children she'd observed through her years on
The Tantalizing and the Tempting
had been . . . challenging. Either their intense stage-crazy parents made it all but impossible to deal with them, or they'd turned into royal brats far too soon. Bea could appreciate bratty behavior; she spoke brat fluently. But these kids put her tantrums to shame.

Not to mention, as a rehabilitated prostitute, her character, Trixie West, hadn't had that much contact with the kids firsthand.

But little Alice was a doll. Bea scooted her chair out from the desk and smiled at Milton, who was camped out by her feet. “See? This is going to be easy.” Milton raised his head, blinked one sleepy eye at her, then rolled over and ignored her. Typical.

Now, if only she could figure out the scheduling system. She tried one more time, looking under the program's saved files—of which there were apparently none—and sat back in the chair.

Defeated before nine in the morning. Great start to her first day.

The bell rang again and Alice raced up to the desk. “He's here,” she mouthed, pointing to a small plastic crate.

“So he's a small guy. Well, bring the little one here.” Bea patted the top of the desk and waited.

“Alice?” A woman—Bea could only assume it was the little girl's mother since her hair was only a shade or two darker than Alice's carrot coloring—stepped in through the door. “Alice, no, don't—”

But the carrier was on the desk, and Bea was face-to-face with a massive green snake, staring at her with one beady eye that blinked up rather than down.

Other than a short intake of breath, Bea was rather proud of her lack of hysterics. At least outward hysterics. She merely pushed back from the desk and stood up. “He's . . . lovely. How, uh . . . handsome?” When she looked to the mother for assistance, the woman hurried over and grabbed the handle on the crate.

“I'm so sorry. Alice loves this guy and forgets not everyone's into reptiles like she is. Alice, remember when I said it's not nice to surprise people with Sampson? And how if you did it again, you were going to be in trouble?”

“But she asked to see him,” Alice said, lip wobbling.

“It's true, I did,” Bea confirmed. “She was only doing what I'd asked.”

The mother glanced over her daughter's head skeptically. “You wanted to see the snake?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”
Until I realized it was a snake, anyway.
“I'm new at the clinic, so I'm just meeting all the patients as they come in.”

Sighing with reluctance, the mother held out her hand. “Janine Stevens. And I apologize again. We normally are in here early, before other patients, for obvious reasons. Not many people can handle sharing a waiting room with Sampson.”

“Of course.” When Alice looked at her, her lip wobbling a little at the insult to her beloved pet, Bea added, “Because they're so jealous. I mean, he's very . . . lovely. I have a pair of shoes that same color and they're one of my favorites.”

Alice seemed pleased with this, and grinned widely. “I can't take him to show-and-tell. The teacher said no.”

“More jealousy, I'm sure. The other kids would cause a riot, because they would all want to take him home.” Bea shook her head, not able to hold back a smile. “I'll tell Morgan you're here.”

She watched mother, daughter, and reptile take a seat and hurried back to the office door, Milton's nails clipping along with her heels. She knocked quickly. “Morgan? You've got a patient.”

“Already?” He opened the door quickly, faster than she'd expected. “Walk in?”

“Uh, I don't think so.”
I'd know if the darn schedule wasn't in code.
“Alice Stevens and her sweet Sampson?”

He stared for a moment, then winced. “Damn. When they're coming in, Jaycee warns me early so I can be out there to greet them. I'm sorry, I hope the snake didn't startle you.”

It had, but she was annoyed—in a contrary sort of way—that he didn't think she could handle a single snake. Not her favorite pet, sure. But still, what was she, a toddler? “No worries. They're out front. Where should I put them?”

“Room two—it's got the best table for all those sort of animals. The small ones,” he explained when she gave him a confused look. “Hamsters, gerbils, birds, so on.”

“Oh, right, right.” Ick, ick.
Time to get over it, Beatrice. You've got a sister to prove wrong.
“I'll show them in right now.”

“Thanks.” He grinned and winked. “You're made of sterner stuff than I might have thought. I'm impressed.”

She showed Sampson and his handlers into room two, closing the door behind her, and headed back to her desk. The compliment warmed something inside her. Something she hadn't realized felt so cold before now.

She ran a hand through her hair, then pulled the strands behind her ears rather than letting them hang in front like a swoop bang. There. More practical already.

Let the day begin.

B
ea pulled her sweet convertible drop top onto the M-Star property, and almost veered left to head to the main house. Most nights, she would have done just that. But tonight, she was too exhausted to spar with Peyton, even verbally.

Besides, she had a date to get ready for. Turning to the right, she wound her car around the many potholes that pitted the dirt driveway until she reached the back garage where the main ranch vehicles were stored. Above the garage was her apartment. Okay,
apartment
was a bit of a loose term. But it sufficed for her purposes, which were mainly privacy and . . . privacy.

“Come on, Milton. Let's head home.” She opened her door, and he launched himself onto her lap and down to the ground before she could even unbuckle her seat belt. He trotted over to the nearest patch of grass to relieve himself. Crazy dog. He was going to hurt himself pulling stunts like that.

Of course, Morgan would likely have some pithy remark about how dogs shouldn't be allowed to just do whatever they wanted. Ride in the back with the cargo, follow orders, blah blah blah. She rolled her eyes as she walked up the outside stairs to her door, Milton clamoring up behind her. His short legs struggled a little on the uneven, rough stairs, but the exercise was good for him. Plus, his feet were protected by the booties Morgan had mocked.

Maybe she could talk to Trace or Red about refinishing the stairs . . .
and oh my God.
That was a permanent thought. No. No, no, no.

As she opened the door to the main horse training quarters, she breathed the first sigh of relief. The second was when she toed off her heels and let them fall carelessly to the floor in a pile, along with her purse and keys. She'd pick them up later. Or not. Her place, her choice. Just another reason she had to get out of the main house.

She walked on the balls of her feet to the kitchen for water, stretching her insteps and then curling her toes under to regain some circulation. She'd rather burn at the stake than admit it, but Morgan was right about her shoes. When he'd said he needed a receptionist, she'd thought she'd be sitting all day, looking cute behind the desk while answering phones and using the computer—which still didn't operate at a speed acceptable in the twenty-first century. But no. She was up, she was down. She was back and forth to different exam rooms, into the shelter to let the dogs out for their afternoon run, scrambling back to the desk to answer calls because the crappy phone system kept eating voice mails and she didn't trust it.

This wasn't a cute little side hobby. This was a real job.

He could have warned her.

She sipped her bottle of water and walk-stretched herself over to the small kitchen table where she kept her laptop, opening it and pushing the power button. While that started, she grabbed a plate of fruit and cheese. She was too tired to make a sandwich or heat up soup, and she didn't have enough time to head to the main house for some of Emma's cooking and a delightful lecture on proper eating habits.

She just had a few minutes to change out of her office attire. Which was another thing she would need to reconsider. And okay, she'd started the day thinking she was turning the job down. But it occurred to her a few hours into the day that seated behind the desk, the modest cleavage visible in her mirror was much more lascivious when a man was standing up looking down at her from a three-foot advantage.

She smirked at the memory of a few bug-eyed men, and the one wife who had actually slapped her husband's arm for staring too long. The male species really was too predictable.

As she tugged her worn jeans on, kicking her feet to get the soft denim over her knees, her computer quacked with a FaceTime call. She shuffled over, buttoning the fly as she went, and answered the call with a click of the mouse.

“Hey!”

“Hey, girl. Okay, what's going on with the outfit there? Are you getting into the Howdy Doody spirit? Did someone steal your entire wardrobe?”

“What?” Bea sat, then realized her friend had gotten a good glimpse of her old jeans and worn denim shirt while she'd been standing. Whoops. “Oh, you know. It's so gross out here, I hate for my nice stuff to get messy.”

Keeley Corbin nodded, her perfectly highlighted brunette bob swinging around her chin. Bea's best friend was more of a ponytail kinda gal, but her character on
The Tantalizing and the Tempting
had recently decided to make a life change and chop off her long hair, so Keeley was suffering the consequences. “You growing the hair out?”

Her friend scowled. “Don't I wish. Apparently Desdemona”—she said her character's name with scorn—“has decided this suits her. Which is to say, Marc in hair and makeup made a call to the producers and said it flatters my fat face better.”

“Your face is not fat. But it looks good. Makes your eyes pop.” The whiskey color, which normally looked ordinary brown, almost reflected the highlights in the nearby strands and shone a little.

“Don't you start too.” She ran a hand through her hair, blowing out air when it settled back into place, framing her face. “I miss my ponytail, dammit. Now all I can do is bobby-pin it back or wear a headband. And those things hurt my ears.”

“Whine, whine, whine,” Bea teased. She'd chopped her own hair off without consulting anyone at the studio. A bold move, and one that hadn't won her any fans in the production team. They could have chosen a wig, but instead they wrote it into her character's story arc. Easier to beg forgiveness, she thought with a small smile.

“So what are you doing out there? I thought you'd be back ages ago.”

Bea scrunched up her nose. This part would be tricky. “Well, I got a job.”

“From long distance? Did you do a Skype interview? Holy hell, your agent must have worked miracles to pull that off! Tell me everything!”

Bea hid a grimace behind her hand as she fake coughed. “No, I mean, a job here.” Keeley blinked. “Like, a nine-to-five job.”

Keeley stared at her, frozen. Bea checked her Internet connection, but they were still up and running. Then her friend shrieked, “A job? A job!”

Bea winced. “It was an accident.”

“An accidental job.” Keeley rolled her eyes. “Only you could manage to pull that off. So spill. What's this job that's keeping you from your bestest friend ever? It must be something amazing. You haven't even mentioned once about coming back.”

Bea chewed her lip, then whispered, “I'm a receptionist.”

If Keeley hadn't blinked, Bea would have again thought they'd lost connection.

“At a vet clinic and shelter,” Bea added. As if that was somehow going to make it easier to understand.

“The place you got Milton?” Instead of shock, Keeley's's eyes went speculative. “The one run by that cute vet.”

“Yes, the place I got Milton. And how do you know he's cute?”

“You told me. Repeatedly.”

“I did not!” Oh God, had she?

“Something about glasses, and how he talks fast like he's nervous. And something about how he always seems to dress up, and then ruin it with animal hair everywhere.” Keeley's grin grew. “You're totally crushing on the nerdy vet.”

“That's ridiculous. He's a family friend, and I'm merely doing a favor.”

“You totally want to bang the vet.”

“That's gross, Keeley.” And now she couldn't erase the video playing in her mind. A video containing Morgan, putting his hands on her to steady her in the shelter. Those long fingers, that strong grip. How adorable his glasses were when they were smudged, and how he always looked like he was shocked by how awful they were. Like he never realized he was looking at the world through a blur.

“Beatrice and Vet Man, sitting in a tree,” Keeley sang softly.

Oh hell.
“Not true. And if you keep that up, I won't let you see Milton.”

Keeley snapped up. “Not fair. Where's the little guy?”

She reached under her chair and drew him out. This wasn't getting any easier, now that he was gaining weight and filling out from his previous skin-and-bones physique. “Here he is. Say hi to Auntie Keeley, Milton.”

He stared blankly.

“Hey, Milty. Are you being a good boy for your mommy?” Keeley cooed. She leaned forward in the frame, likely to look closer at Milton. Her hair flopped over one eye and she brushed it back with an aggravated swipe of the hand.

His ears flicked, but otherwise, he was completely uninterested.

Bea sighed. “Fine. Go.” She set him down. He ran for his stuffed frog and came back to sit under her chair, frog in mouth.

“So when are you really coming back, Bea?” Keeley looked serious now, and a little worried. “You've been saying it was a quick trip this whole time, but it's been nearly a year now. I thought you'd be back long before now. Are you . . . are you there to stay?”

“Hell no!” Bea laughed, but it sounded a little hollow. Luckily, Keeley wouldn't be able to tell, or she would attribute the off sound to the speakers. “There's not even a decent freaking mall in this area. I have to drive two hours to get to a mall with a Dillard's. A Dillard's, Keeley.”

Keeley gasped, eyes wide. “That bad? Honey, come home.”

I am home.
No, wait, that wasn't right. “I just have . . . a few more things to settle. I'll be back soon. Promise.”

“In the meantime, are you watching
T-and-T
?” Their abbreviation for the show's mouthful of a name.

“Every day.” Except now she'd have to DVR it and watch marathons on the weekends. Jobs were a lot of bother. “Desdemona's great. But watch out for Angelo. I have a feeling he might be in cahoots with his current girlfriend, Cassie, to give you the boot.”

Soaps were a cutthroat business, both on the screen and off.

Keeley nodded. “I'll keep an eye out. Thanks, sweetie. Love you!”

“Love you back.” She blew a kiss and disconnected the call.

After leaning down to scratch Milton's head—the ungrateful brat actually jerked the frog out from her reach, as if she wanted the slobbery thing—she stood and found her old riding boots.

In an hour or so, it'd be late enough she could sneak over, saddle Lover Boy, and head out. She needed to clear her head like she needed air.

And there was no way in hell she'd let Peyton know she used riding to do it.

 

Morgan watched as Bea's snappy convertible pulled up to the side of the vet clinic and screeched to a halt. The woman even drove like a maniac. But she stepped out of the car in those candy pink heels—sky high again, naturally—and white Capri pants with some navy top, and he had to roll his tongue back up in his head before she caught him drooling.

Milton pranced alongside his beloved—and aggrieved—owner, happy as a clam without his damn booties on. Booties for a dog. Hell.

“Good morning, Morgan.” She pushed her oversized sunglasses up and shot him a dazzling smile.

“Looking good, Bea.” He glanced down at her shoes and raised a brow.

She waved that off, as if his commentary on her footwear wasn't required. “You look different. Where's your suit?”

He smiled, slow and sure now. She was going to kill him. “Today's rounds day.”

“Rounds day,” she mouthed silently. His eyes strayed to watch her lips form the words, and he wanted to reach behind her, pull her in, and kiss the hell out of her. “I'm going to need a bit more, Morgan.”

“Did you look at today's schedule?”

She scoffed. “I was so busy yesterday trying to keep up with yesterday's schedule, there was no time. I figured I'd play catch up this morning.”

“Instead of fifteen-minute or half-hour appointments, you'll see big chunks of the day divided up. It's the day of the week where I head out to do big livestock checks. So I'm out of the office the entire day, basically, unless there's an emergency. One of the techs stays in to handle walk ins that don't need me or to make consults but otherwise, I'm out all day.”

“Oh.” She took that in for a moment, nudging Milton to the side a little with the side of her foot when he pressed into her. “So I man the desk and the shelter, and help out whoever's scheduled for today?”

“Nope. You come with.”

Her mouth dropped open, giving him those unreasonable kissing fantasies again. “But shouldn't one of your vet techs go with you? I'm useless. I can barely answer the phones. I ruined yesterday.”

“You did great yesterday, being thrown in the deep end. Give yourself some credit.” He watched as a blush stained her cheeks and she glanced down at Milton to hide it.

She'd handled his compliment about looking good without a bat of an eyelash. But mention her work ethic and she flushed like a shy girl being asked to dance. He risked the bold move and brushed a finger down her nose, pulling back before she could even register. “You were a big help. And it'll get easier every day. You'll be running this town before we know it.”

He almost laughed when she blushed harder, then bent down to adjust Milton's already straight collar. “I don't have to, like, do anything medical, do I?”

Now he did laugh. Pushing his glasses back up, he said, “You don't have to give vaccinations or anything. I just need you to take good notes and help keep things straight. Jaycee would come with me, but she's got class today and so for the next few weeks, you'll have to come with me. Then her schedule shifts and you're off the hook.”

“Well, then I guess I'll just go set the voice-mail system. At least I got that part fixed yesterday.” She walked past him, the faint scent of something floral tickling his nose. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “It might take me a few minutes to do that.”