McKettricks of Texas: Austin (18 page)

Austin liked him.

“Mornin',” he said, standing outside the stall and looking in.

Strivens smiled tentatively. Nodded his head. “Morning,” he replied, wiping his hands down the front of his flannel shirt after he was done dosing Molly with the ointment.

A movement at the periphery of his vision distracted Austin; he turned his head, out of curiosity, and saw Tom and Cliff Pomeroy standing at the far end of the
breezeway. They seemed to be having a serious conversation, both of them gesturing, but their words didn't carry far enough for Austin to pick up on the topic.

If Cliff was around, Austin reasoned idly, pondering the faintly unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one his granddad had called botheration, then Doc was probably there, too.

Austin thanked Strivens for tending to Molly and turned to head for the open doorway at the other end of the barn.

As he came nearer, Cliff flushed and worked up a smile. Tom nodded a greeting to Austin and went on about his business.

“Hello, Cliff,” Austin said. The man had been away from Blue River for years, and Tom was little more than a drifter, according to Tate. Such men tended to turn up out of nowhere, wanting a job, work just hard enough to get by and quit without notice as soon as they'd racked up a paycheck or two.

Cliff's gaze moved to Austin's sling, and his expression changed subtly. “Dad wanted to stop by and check up on your animals,” he said.

“We appreciate that,” Austin said, glancing down at his canine sidekick. “Don't we, Shep?” He looked his father's one-time friend over and wondered what it was about the man that troubled him.

They stepped out into the cold November sunlight.

Doc was standing at the back of his truck, with the tailgate down, and Reese was practically on top of him, yammering on about something.

Austin surely would have liked to know what that something was.

Shep, meanwhile, turned testy again. His hackles rose and he gave a snarling growl of warning.

Austin reached down and got him by the scruff of his neck just as he would have lunged, bandaged leg and all.

Reese turned his head, saw the dog and backed up a step. His neck turned a dull shade of crimson, though, while his face went pale.

It was a disturbing contrast.

Doc waved the man off and approached Austin and Shep. Cliff stood just behind Austin, and when Doc got close, it seemed that his gaze shifted briefly to his son and narrowed.

Austin made a mental note to find out what had brought Cliff Pomeroy back to Blue River after all these years. As far as he knew, the man hadn't even visited, once he'd decided to leave Blue River.

“I've come for a look at the little mare and this dog,” Doc answered, and his countenance softened as he crouched to look Shep in the eye.

Uneasy, Cliff wandered back toward the barn.

Doc ruffled Shep's ears and straightened. “He gets around pretty well on that bandaged leg,” the old man observed. “Poor critter will do his best to keep up with you, Austin, no matter what the effort costs him. Try to keep that in mind for the dog's sake, if not your own.”

Austin registered the message, acknowledged it with a nod. Shep probably
did
need a rest, but he wouldn't light anywhere unless his master did.

“What was that all about?” he asked when it was clear that Doc wasn't going to volunteer anything about the apparent argument he'd had with Reese. “You and the ranch hand, I mean.”

Doc heaved a sigh. Took off his hat, tugged it on again. Today, he was wearing a beat-up Stetson, a change from his usual billed cap with the sweat stains and the thread-bare seams.

Maybe he had a hot date after rounds, Austin thought whimsically.

“Best you take that up with him, rather than me,” Doc said, going around him to head for the barn, where he meant to examine Molly. “You get that dog inside the house. He needs to rest a spell, and it wouldn't hurt you to take a load off, either.”

Austin agreed, but he didn't move, and neither did Shep.

“Doc?” Austin said.

Farley Pomeroy stopped. His back stiffened, and he didn't turn around or speak.

“The dog I shot last night. You got a look at him before we buried him and you came in to tend to Shep?”

Farley faced him then, but his face was screwed up against the sunlight and Austin couldn't read his expression. “Course I did. Had to make sure he was gone. Couldn't let him suffer.”

“
I
made sure he was gone, Doc.”

“I reckon you did,” Doc allowed, not unkindly. Then he shook his head, remembering. “It was a good, clean shot, Austin. I couldn't have disposed of that animal any more humanely than you did. He was a fine specimen, though—some Mastiff in him, I think. I've seen
ponies
that weren't as big as he was.”

Tate and Garrett had moved the carcass the night before, buried it on the other side of a copse of oak trees, not wanting the women or the kids to see it.

“Did you see any signs of rabies?” Austin persisted,
though he knew Doc wanted to get on with it, look in on Molly, collect his son and move on to the next sick animal, on the next ranch or farm.

Doc considered the question for a long time. Could have been he was just debating with himself, deciding whether to answer or not. “He wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything like that, but he was hungry. Ribs stood out like pickets along a fence. I figure, you probably did that poor critter a favor by shooting him.”

“He meant to go for my throat, Doc,” Austin said. “And when my dog got in the way, he damn near killed him.”

Doc sighed. “I hate to see any animal die before it ought to,” he said, his voice gruff. “But there are times when something just plain has to be done, and last night was one of them. You did the right thing, Austin, if that's what you're asking me. You did the only thing you
could
do, under the circumstances.”

Austin swallowed, nodded. “But the dog belonged to Reese, didn't he? That's why he was ranting at you, a few minutes ago.”

“Yes,” Doc finally admitted. “The dog was his. He claimed he kept the critter close to home, in a kennel he and his friend rigged up out behind the bunkhouse. Said the dog had been known to run off now and again but was tame, wouldn't hurt anybody. He's pretty riled up about it.”

“But not ‘riled up' enough to ask me directly?”

“I guess not,” Doc said. His gaze moved to Austin's sling, lingered there for a moment. “Might be he figured that wouldn't be right, you being all bunged up and everything.”

A charitable view if Austin had ever heard one. “You said you thought the dog was hungry.”

Doc set his jaw hard. “He was,” he said. “Critter like that never gets to be a pet. No, sir. His whole purpose in life is to make a statement for some asshole who thinks owning a mean dog makes him look tough.”

Austin felt a pang of sorrow for the fallen animal, and it wasn't the first. Looked around for Reese, thinking he'd have a word with the man, but then he decided to wait.

Shep was panting, in need of water and his blanket pile, and there were too many people around anyway. He'd wait until Doc and Cliff and Ron Strivens had gone, at least.

So Austin went on into the house, and then the bedroom.

There was no sign of Paige; she was probably still upstairs, shooting the breeze with her sisters. The image of the three of them with their heads together made him smile.

He reached for the book he'd brought downstairs earlier, from his apartment, and stretched out on the bed, though he was careful to keep his boots off the edge.

Shep, once he was certain that Austin meant to stay put, curled up on his blankets nearby and shut down his engines for a while.

Austin read a few paragraphs before deciding to rest his eyes. When he opened them again, the slant of the light at the windows was different, and somebody was pulling his leg. Literally.

He opened one eye, saw Paige struggling womanfully with his left boot. The right one was already off; he could feel a breeze through the fabric of his sock.

“This is an antique quilt,” she fussed.

“I can't hear you. I'm asleep.”

“Right,” Paige said, and if she still had a sense of humor, it was not in evidence. She finally succeeded
in separating the boot from his foot, and nearly fell on her perfect backside in the process. “Honestly, Austin. What if you'd gotten mud or manure on this exquisite heirloom?”

Austin eased himself upright, far enough to sit with his back against the headboard. Grinned and set the book aside. “Then I guess that would become part of its history,” he said. “‘See this stain here?' some future McKettrick might say to another future McKettrick. ‘Ole Great-grampa Austin himself did that, way back when. Yes, sir, went to bed with his boots on one day and damned if some woman didn't give him three kinds of hell for it.'”

Paige tried to look stern, but in the end she couldn't hold back a giggle. So she turned and crossed the room and chucked the boots willy-nilly into the closet.

Austin heard them thump against the back wall before landing.

When she turned around again, her arms were folded.

Austin peeked over at Shep, still snoozing on his blanket pile, and raised a finger to his lips. “Tone it down a little,” he told Paige. “You'll wake up the dog. According to Doc, Shep needs his rest.”

She rolled her eyes.

He loved it when she rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “And so do you.”

“Typical medico logic,” Austin remarked, wanting to keep the conversation going, even if it
was
a mite on the prickly side. “Come in here and wake me up, pulling off my boots, and then preach a sermon about how I ought to get more sleep.”

A grin flicked at the corner of her mouth. “Did you take your meds?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven't eaten anything yet and I'm not supposed to take them without food—Nurse Remington.”

“Don't call me Nurse Remington,” she said. She smiled, high beam, but it was all for Shep, who'd hauled himself up onto his haunches by then, yawning big.

“Why not?” Austin asked, vaguely irritated.

“Because you only say it to be a smart-ass,” Paige told him.

“I say
everything
to be a smart-ass,” he replied.

She sighed. “Well,” she said cheerfully. “You've got me there.”

He laughed. “How was breakfast?” he asked. And when she looked blank, he added, “With your sisters?”

“Turned out to be a bait and switch,” Paige answered, patting Shep on the head once before starting to putter with things on top of the bureau and then the bookshelf. “They just wanted me to look at another awful bridesmaid's dress.”

Austin assumed an expression of mocking horror. “Not that.”

“Pink,” Paige fussed, straightening out things that didn't need any straightening. “Pink, with ruffles. Tons of ruffles—”

“Hey,” Austin said in a gentle rasp.

She looked at him, and he wondered if all the misery he saw in that beautiful face could really be about a bad dress. He patted the mattress, scooted over to make room for her.

“Oh, no, you don't,” she said.

“I promise not to subject you to another round of screaming climaxes,” he said mildly.

Paige glanced anxiously in the direction of the door. Closed it carefully. “I did
not
scream,” she pointed out in a hissing whisper.

“But you did climax,” Austin teased. “Repeatedly.”

“So did you.”

“Once,” he said. “And I definitely didn't scream.”

Her face was pink—perhaps as pink as the dress she so desperately wanted
not
to wear in the wedding.

“Is this conversation going somewhere?” Paige asked.

He patted the mattress again, arched his eyebrows.

She didn't move an inch.

“I was hired as your nurse, Austin,” she informed him. “Not your sexual plaything.”

He gave a snorting laugh. “My ‘sexual plaything'?”

She glared at him, still keeping her distance. Still with her arms folded. “If we're going to get along with each other for the next fifty years,” she reasoned, “we're going to have to avoid doing what we—almost did last night.”

“What we
almost
did?”

“We
didn't make love.
” She was really flustered now. “And it doesn't have to happen again.”

“How can it happen
again,
” Austin wanted to know, “if it never happened in the first place?”

“You
know
what I mean.”

“You mean,” he replied gravely, in the tone of a man grappling with a weighty philosophical dilemma, “that what happened between us last night wasn't sex because we didn't actually—
connect.
Am I right?”

“It wasn't sex,” she insisted. “Technically.”

“Then why can't we do it again? Nontechnically, of course.”

She looked around, probably for something to run over him with.

Fortunately, there was no golf cart handy.

“It's time for your medicine,” she said, after unclamping her lips. “I'm bringing you a grilled cheese sandwich, Austin McKettrick, and you will
eat it
and take your pills and go back to sleep.”

Austin saluted.

That
so
pissed her off. She stormed out.

Shep crutch-hopped it over to the side of the bed, laid his muzzle on the mattress and gave a little whimper.

Austin chuckled. Then he got off the bed and he and Shep made their way into the kitchen.

Paige was there, banging things around, making grilling a sandwich a lot more complicated, it seemed to him, than it had to be.