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She dropped his arm as if it were a red-hot coal. “This time Denver’s gone off the deep end,” she said angrily. “But then he has a history of that, doesn’t he?”
“So does your father.”
The wound cut deep—like the slice of a razor. Whirling, she poked a single finger at his chest. “My father has his reasons for not trusting you and for hating your uncle. But I thought we were going to bury the hatchet and try to forget all that. I even thought we were going to try to ‘start over,’ isn’t that what you said? Well, someone better clue Denver in!”
“I will. When he gets back.”
“And when will that be?”
“As soon as he can.”
“Great! I can’t wait to give him a piece of my mind,” she declared, turning on her heel and starting for her pickup. Of all the insane, horrid notions! If Denver McLean were here right now, Cassie would personally throttle him!
Righteous indignation staining her cheeks the color of the dawn, she threw open the door of the truck and climbed inside. But before she could slam it closed, Colton had wedged himself between the door and seat. “Now who’s jumping off the deep end?” he demanded.
“Excuse me, but I think my reputation and my father’s were just assassinated.” She jammed the key into the ignition. The old engine caught. “I’d just like to know, Colton,” she said, looking down at him from her perch in the truck’s cab, “what happened between last night and this morning! Remember last nigh
t—out here in this very yard? Weren’t you the guy trying to get me to stay with you? Sleep with you? Make love to you?”
His fingers flexed, the knuckles white.
“Well, I’m not interested,” she said. “Not until you and I have some mutual trust!” With a toss of her head, she slammed the truck into gear.
* * *
By the time she reached the clinic, Cassie had cooled off. Her anger had given way to incredulity, disappointment and indignation.
“Any messages?” she asked, letting herself in through the back door and catching Sandy feeding the few patients housed in the cages of the back room.
“No—and your first appointment isn’t until nine.” She poured feed pellets into a small dish and placed them inside the hutch of an ailing white rabbit. “Coffee’s on if you want some.”
“Thanks. I could use a cup. I just hope it’s not decaf.”
“Ouch. Bad morning?” Sandy asked.
“You could say that.” Cassie checked on the Edwards’s poodle and the three puppies that had been brought into the world via Cesarean section. “How’re you?” she whispered, petting the dog’s soft gray head as the tiny puppies squirmed and squeaked, shifting into position against their mother’s shaved belly. Cassie eyed the neat row of stitches and the ochre color of disinfectant staining the bitch’s underside.
“Puppies are doing fine—Mom feels a little ragged,” Sandy said.
“I don’t blame her,” Cassie murmured to the dog, and was rewarded with a sloppy tongue against her palm. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” she said, grinning as she stood and gratefully accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Sandy.
“Craig wanted me to remind you about the Edwards’s party Friday.”
Cassie made a face. She’d completely forgotten about the annual event. As this was her first full year working with Craig, and Nate Edwards brought a lot of business into the clinic, Craig was adamant she attend. “I don’t suppose you know of a way to get out of it?”
“Why would you want to?”
“I hate those things!” Cassie replied.
“Oh, but it’s great! No one can throw a party like Paula Edwards!”
“No one would want to.” After examining the animals housed in the cages, she asked, “Has anyone called in about sick horses? Horses with an elevated temperature or pulse?”
“Only Colton McLean yesterday and Vince Monroe a few days ago. Craig went out to see the mare.”
Vince Monroe! One of her father’s best friends. Her palms began to sweat. “Do we have that file?”
“Unless Craig has it with him.” Sandy walked through a connecting door to a small file room, ran one finger across the color-coded tabs and pulled out a thick folder for the Monroe ranch. “Here it is,” she said, handing the bound sheaf of papers to Cassie.
