Page 8 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

Arming the syringe, I approached the coyote again. The creature eyed the needle warily, but it still didn’t move. It didn’t even flinch as I moved around behind it and plunged the syringe into its thigh.

After a moment or two, the coyote wobbled, and Cal caught it. “All right, doc,” he said, “what next?”

“I need somewhere to operate,” I said.

He nodded, hefting the small canine up. He disappeared into the house with it, leaving the door wide open. I hesitated, then tromped in after him.

“Kitchen!” the blond called, and I hesitantly crossed the expanse of the foyer, what seemed to be a living room, a dining room, and, finally, a kitchen.

He jerked his head to the left. “Linen’s in the closet at the end of the hall. Grab some sheets or towels or something?”

“Right,” I said, then booked it to the end of the hall. I yanked opened a closet door with a squeal, thumbed through several ragged towels and a set of sheets, then trotted back to the kitchen.

Cal was still waiting with the coyote in his arms. I hastily spread a sheet across the top of an oak table that looked like it had seen better days. Once the sheet was down, he laid the coyote on top of it.

“You need anything from me?” he asked.

“Light,” I said, glancing up at the overhead chandelier.

“You got it.” The lights came up, almost painfully bright.

“Hot, soapy water?” I placed my kit on the kitchen counter and started pulling out instruments.

“On it.”

Cal retreated, leaving me with my thoughts as I approached my unconscious patient.

Had I totally fucking lost it? Much as I hated to see an animal hurt, and I didn’t like to think about the wounded coyote limping away into the woods to die a slow, painful death, tracking it down was bad enough. Now I was going to do surgery on it?

Vern would have my head if he found out. I didn’t know him that well, but I had no doubt he would have simply told me to shoot the damn thing, put it out of its misery.

My scalpel gleamed in the light as I lifted it, razor buzzing in the other hand as I sheared away fur, revealing the extent of the bullet wound. It wasn’t much, but the internal damage was more worrying.

Cal clomped back in. He pointed to the bucket he was carrying, then set it down near the stools. He gave me a thumbs up, then tromped back out.

I took a deep breath. That left me, my work, and the coyote.

Three days later, I stopped in to check on my patient. Cal had graciously offered to keep the beast in his laundry room, and he’d even given me a key to the back door, so I could let myself into the house if I happened to call when he wasn’t around.

Yesterday, he’d definitely been there. It had been late when I’d stopped in, having tailed Vern on calving over at one of the other ranches. I’d intended simply to check on my patient and go, but Cal had invited me to stay for dinner.

The coyote was healing up well. Better than I’d expected, actually, and faster too. Satisfied the animal would be fit to be released into the wild, I’d joined Cal for what seemed like a staple around Coyote Creek: beef, mashed potatoes, and frozenpeas. Vern had cooked the same thing the night before.

Cal’s brother, Cam, wandered in just as we were about to sit down. My gaze had snagged on his arm—wrapped in a sling. It definitely hadn’t been last time I’d seen him.

His eyes lit up, and he smirked at me. “Hm? Oh. I fell out of the hayloft. Again.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “Cam’s the clumsy brother.”

“Wasn’t it you that accidentally fell in the pond last week?” Cam asked, taking up a seat between Cal and me.

Cal grunted with irritation, but the rest of their sibling bickering had been lost as I tried to focus on anything and everything but Cam. I hadn’t been able to breathe all the way through dinner. Camdidthings to me.

I’d known I was gay for a long time—hello, little boy who loves animals so much and would rather play with My Little Ponies with the girls than soccer with the boys? But I didn’t know much about Coyote Creek yet. I didn’t want to make myself an outcast, especially not in the middle of a tiny town that was likely full of rednecks and intolerant attitudes.

So I swallowed the knot of desire and told myself I was simply admiring Cam. He was a nice-looking guy—not as burly as Cal, and his eyes were more of a honeyed amber, totally unlike Cal’s icy blues. His hair was tawny, and he had a few freckles strewn across his sharp cheeks, which spoke to too much time in the sun.

He looked like an all-American boy who had just walked off the set of some teen drama, and I knew better than to get any ideas. Those guys, if they weren’t ready to beat you to a pulp for even suggesting something less than straight, just wanted to toy with you. Try out the whole gay thing, take it for a test drive, then park it back on the lot and leave you waiting for the next one.