Groomed for Love

Although he grimaced at the thought of venturing there, Noah knew as friendly as Rylie was, she probably lived every free moment on Facebook and Twitter. It didn’t take but seconds before he logged in to his own account—a tedious requirement for him per office policy to make the public feel connected—and typed her name in the search box. Her page came up within seconds.

There was no ignoring the jump in his pulse as he clicked through her photo album, seeing that at her high-school graduation, she’d had waist-length hair. His next thought was that she had a ton of friends, including guys still carrying a crush, and a very proud family, he thought after seeing her parents gaze at her in each photo with love and adoration. Noah would never do the profiles or answer the idiotic questions they asked, but Rylie didn’t seem to have a problem with them. Some, anyway. Actually, she had a contagious sense of humor, he thought, as he caught himself smiling, and then chuckling a few times. At other times, he was left transfixed.

She’d thought about joining Cirque du Soleil before heading for college to become a veterinarian. Being an athlete and cheerleader in high school explained why. In college, she’d continued with the cheerleading and had been the highflier. Noah suspected that’s also what came with being the smallest in the group. Having witnessed her questionable balance, though, he wondered if she’d spent more time on crutches and in slings than on the practice floor.

She loved potatoes and gravy, wildflowers, pears in rum sauce, and confessed to craving steak too much to become a vegetarian. Nevertheless, she vowed she would jump at any chance to be on someone’s fishing boat, and found lightning both terrifying and hypnotic.

Her dislikes were questions about dislikes. She didn’t want to focus on the negative; every day was a new opportunity to her.

Just as you thought, the original optimist—or an eternal kid.

Then why were there secrets in her eyes?

“Good morning!”

Judy Millsap entered, bringing with her the scent of lavender and doughnuts. Since many sheriff’s deputies, bailiffs and clerks passed their open door numerous times a day, Judy liked to bring a box of doughnuts to place by the coffee machine on the counter. Goodwill to all who passed. In her own way, Judy was the older rendition of Rylie—without the impishness—the ambassador of their office. At least Judy was a realist and mostly did it because—as she put it—“You get more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“Morning,” he called back to her. If his heart wasn’t entirely in the greeting, it was because he knew he would now have to get focused on his day job. “Everything okay on your end?”

“It will be after another big mug of caffeine. I was up half the night ridiculously transfixed on listening to coyotes. Say something nice to me before I take off these sunglasses and offend you with the feed bags under my bloodshot eyes.”

“You run the best office in East Texas,” Noah replied, truthfully.

After a moment’s hesitation, Judy slid off the glasses and gave him a pained look. “For an attractive and intelligent man, you are truly clueless, Noah Prescott.”

Startled, Noah sat back in his chair. “What?”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“I just complimented you.”

With the smile of a patient mother, Judy replied, “You complimented what I do. That’s not who I am.”

He groaned inwardly. Women. Surely, Judy didn’t believe the two were separate. Not at this juncture of her life. She had been with the office for over twenty years, and there had been few eight-hour days, even in a small department like theirs.

“Have you been watching old Errol Flynn movies or that Don Juan something or other with Brando and Depp?” he asked, suspicious.

“Don Juan Demarco—as a matter of fact, I did. Last night because that horrible howling does bad things to my imagination. And even though I watched in the living room, would you believe Dwayne said the flickering lights coming down the hall and the audio—though set low—ruined his sleep, too?” From a singsong voice, she went almost feral. “Why couldn’t he just say that he missed having me beside him? You men never say what you mean.”

He thought he had. Noah suggested with more care, “You could always move. Away from the coyote problem, I mean.”

Judy rolled her eyes in disbelief. “You of all people have no business saying anything like that, Noah Prescott. Could you leave Haven Land?”

His first impulse was to remind her that he had done so. Before the accident that left him with responsibility too great to delegate to others. But Judy had lived in Cherokee County her entire life, and had never wanted to go anywhere else. She’d earned her business degree through a combination of the community college, online and via UT Tyler. Nothing wrong with that if it was what you wanted. He, on the other hand, hadn’t felt as though Haven Land soil was somehow intrinsic to his heart and liver function. Fate, though, seemed to be insisting otherwise.

Instead, he said, “I’ll catch the phones while you have your coffee.” With regret, he shut down the Facebook page. He would have gone on to the next idea/source, since he’d learned Rylie was from some small town around Palm Springs, California. Palm Springs gave him the hunch that there was a good reason why she could afford that RV. No wonder she hadn’t been star-blinded by his family name, or his mother’s friends. She had to be used to wealthy clients. That raised the question, what else was she used to?

* * *

“I’m used to a lot, and I’m game to try more.”

Rylie had been armpit-deep into a pregnant cow’s womb often enough not to hesitate trying to help Gage with a pygmy goat having a difficult labor due to tangled kids inside her. It was six hours after closing. She’d been in bed, asleep, for an hour when Doc had called her asking if she was up to helping with the emergency he was coming in to tend to. Now they were in the brightly lit clinic, and Gage had failed to get his big hand in far enough to remedy the problem.

“I know you’re borderline on time,” she added, “and need to do a cesarean soon or risk losing all of them.”

“That’s right,” Gage replied, “and you have the smallest hands, so you’re likely to be the least intrusive for the poor doe. Now we’ll see if you have the dexterity and strength. I’ll give you one try, and then I’m going to be forced to call this.”

“Yes, sir.”

Giving the animal’s owner—Vicky Turner, a longtime customer—a reassuring smile, she went to work, reaching in to feel what Gage had already discovered for himself. “Ah...I see what you mean,” she told him, keeping her eyes closed to rely on the most important sense right now—touch.

“Three, right?”

“Give me a second.” Hoping she was right in separating the twist of legs, Rylie suddenly felt a yielding, and slipped out the first baby, slick and slippery. From the protesting movements, it was apparent this one was alive.

“Great,” Gage said, immediately using a little suction bulb to make sure the mouth and nostrils were clear. “We have one pretty strong boy,” he said, laying the firstborn by the mother’s head.

She immediately set to licking him clean, and Vicky moved to that end of the table to make sure the infant didn’t inadvertently fall or get knocked off the table.

“He’s probably the biggest, so maybe the others will be easier.” Rylie reached in again. Sure enough, while the puzzle of body parts continued, she was able to pull out a second baby in half the time. “Hurry, take this one,” she said to Gage. “The next one is acting like this is a sprint to the finish line.”

Gage scooped up that baby and proceeded to give it the same treatment. “Hopefully, that’s it,” he said. “Mama’s wide, but not a big girl herself. Isn’t three her standard, Vicky?”

“No, this is Wink’s third litter, Doc. While she had three her first time, she had four last time,” the anxious woman reminded him.

Sighing, Gage stroked Wink. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to stick with two?”

“Well, Mrs. Turner, I have a feeling that’s what’s going on this time, too,” Rylie said, delving into the womb again. “Why else did a pretty girl like this try to emulate a small aircraft carrier?”

Just as the wife of the grocery-store manager laughed, the third baby emerged. Trying to catch the wet thing was like trying to grab a fish. Thankfully, she managed. This one was about the same size as the second baby. “Looks like we have two girls and a boy,” she announced.

“Excellent. Girls tend to be easier to sell,” the woman replied.

“Better check a last time,” Gage told Rylie. “You’re starting to make a believer out of me.”

Once again, Rylie eased her hand into the mother and gasped. “Oh! There is one more. Poor little thing was pushed way in back.” Rylie grinned as she learned through touch what was happening. “I guess with finally having some room, she’s content to stretch out and enjoy herself for a while.”

“Do you really feel movement?” Mrs. Turner moved the third cleaned baby to the mother’s teats. “It’s not just a birth reflex? I’ve lost a few of the ones that have to struggle for space.”

Gage nodded to Rylie. “Get it out. The sooner we get them all a good dose of colostrum, the better.”

Rylie knew the “first milk” from the mother needed to occur within the first hour of birth to help build immunity. Searching again, she finally got a safe hold and drew it out. As soon as the tiny creature emerged, it started wailing lustily.

“Ha!” Rylie chuckled. “Nothing wrong with her lungs.”

Vicky’s eyes welled and Gage grinned.

“Good job,” he said, automatically making sure the infant’s mouth and nostrils were free of mucus. Then he gave the baby to the mother. “Here you go, Mama. Three girls and a big boy. Wish they gave awards for that.”