Page 7 of The Dire Reaction

Thor’s laying down in the shade of the barn. Even the frosty air is too warm for him with his shaggy coat. Raising his head when he sees me, he offers a low whine when he rolls himself to his feet.

“I know, buddy, we’re going to try to fix that. Come.” I pat my leg, and he falls into step next to me.

Misty reappears, running circles around us while we walk. Thor gives her a low growl when she darts too close to him. Bad part about a herding dog is that their version of play is nipping at heels. Thor is touchy about his legs.

“He’s going to kick your ass, Misty, go on now.” She runs off to a new distraction, and I coax Thor to go into the house.

Becky is there, chatting with the doc.

“Good morning, Mr. Downing! This sweet girl is a veterinarian! Can you believe that?” Her round cheeks nearly hide her eyes as she smiles.

“Yes, Becky. Thank you and good morning to you, too.” Did that sound too dismissive? Fuck, I hope so.

I think she gets it.

“It was very nice to meet you, dear. I have to get back to work.” Becky heads back toward Alex’s room, quietly closing the door.

“She seems, nice.” Dani’s eyebrows pinch when she looks up at me. “She takes care of your, um, father-in-law?” She looks like she is choking the words out.

Fuck, Becky. Dammit.

“Yes. He’s been like that for ten years or more, I think? When my wife was dying of cancer, she made me promise to take care of him.”

Please don’t let this make things weird.

“Oh.” Her mouth makes a perfect circle, springing very wicked thoughts to my mind. But, relief floods through me as well when I see her features smooth, the impact of what I said working through.

“I’m sorry about your wife.” Her words are flat, almost monotone.

Dammit, Becky.

“Thanks, she passed two years ago.” It’s too fucking hot in here. I hang my jacket and wide brimmed hat on the hook by the door. Her eyes following me are not helping.

Thor stands between us, his head finding her lap, prompting double ear scratches from her.

“Would you like some coffee?” I pace to the coffee maker in the corner of the kitchen, digging out two cups before she responds.

“Yes, thank you.” She digs into her bag, withdrawing two IV bags and some tubing. “So, I brought an oral sedative for him. Do you have a favorite treat of his we can hide it in? That should relax him enough to start the IV, and then the medication has a dosage in it to keep him sleeping.”

I nearly drop the cups of coffee when I turn around. She’s shed her jacket. A tight little green blouse clings to her chest and small waist. What I would give to be that button, straining to keep her breasts in check. The white flash of her bra through the seam transfixes me, and only the scorching of the ceramic mugs breaks my concentration.

Setting them carefully on the table so I don’t spill any on her paperwork, I fetch milk and a package of hot dogs from the fridge.

“Sugar is on the table if you want it. Here’s a perfect Thor treat.” Tearing a little hole in the package, I squeeze out one of the cold franks.

I barely resist wiggling it at her, and settle for grinning like a teenager. She’s been nothing but professional. I really don’t want to push my luck.

It earns me a smile and a reddening of her cheeks when she holds the pills out for me. Her soft scent of vanilla and honey envelopes me as I hold my palm open for her to drop two tiny pills into it.

“These will take about thirty minutes to kick in once he eats them.”

Fighting back all of the ways I can envision to kill thirty minutes, I settle for stuffing the pills in the cold meat and giving them to a very willing dog.

Sitting in one of the hard backed chairs, I add a little milk to my coffee and watch her pull more items from her bag. A cordless shaver, a razor, some medical tape.

It has me involuntarily rubbing the stubble on my jaw. I didn’t get a chance to shave this morning in my rush to get out and move cows.

Actually, I think it’s been three or four days since I shaved. It’s past the itchy stage. Damn, my beard already shows a little gray when it grows out. Something to expect in my thirties, but she’s still maybe mid-twenties?

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