Snowfall at Willow Lake

“Noah Shepherd,” he said. “I live right here. This is my driveway.” He gestured. The drive leading up to the house, flanked by pine trees weighted with snow, now lay beneath knee-deep drifts. A glimmer shone from the front window, and the porch light created a misty yellow aura around the front door. The entranceway to the clinic, kennels and stables lay off to the left, the security lights barely visible.

She paused, touched her teeth to her lower lip. “Even ax murderers have to live somewhere.”

“Right. So how do I know you’re not an ax murderer?”

She seemed completely unperturbed by the question. “You don’t,” she said simply, and got in the truck.

As he walked around the front to the driver’s side, Noah wondered if strange forces were at work. He wasn’t given to thinking of such things, but hadn’t he just been wishing for someone? Was the universe listening after all?

Of course, he didn’t know anything about his unexpected passenger. As she’d aptly pointed out, he didn’t even know whether or not she was an ax murderer.

Like that mattered. With those looks, she could be Lizzie Borden and he probably wouldn’t care. She was gorgeous, and she was sitting in his pickup truck. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? A gift horse. Ha-ha.

He hoped the smell of snow-wet dog and birth fluid wouldn’t bother her too much. Don’t blow this, he cautioned himself as he climbed into the driver’s seat. And quit jumping the gun. He didn’t know if she was seeing someone, married, engaged, gay or psychotic. The only thing he knew for sure was—

“Damn,” he said before he could stop himself, “Why didn’t you tell me you were wounded?” Grabbing the flashlight, he shone the beam on her, following a viscous crimson stain up her leg to the ripped knee of her trousers.

She made a sound in her throat, a wheeze of fright so intense that Noah cringed. Then she began to tremble, her breath coming in panicked little gasps. She said something in a foreign language, like a German dialect, maybe. It sounded like a prayer. She looked up at him with wild fear in her eyes, as though he were her worst nightmare.

So much for not blowing it, Noah thought.

“Hey, no need to freak out,” he said, but she was lost somewhere, drowning in panic, and then … nothing. She simply melted against the truck seat, her head tilting to one side.

“Hey,” he said again, louder now. Shit, had the woman passed out? He ripped off his glove and felt her carotid artery for a pulse. She had one, thank God. “Come on, miss,” he urged her, gently cupping her cheek in his hand. “Snap out of it.”

Behind him, Rudy scrambled to and fro, whimpering. He could probably smell her terror and her blood. Then he paused, put back his head and howled.

That’ll teach me, Noah thought. When he asked the stars to send him someone, he should be a little more specific. “Send me a Hooters waitress” was what he should have said, not some crazy-ass stranger who fainted at the sight of her own blood.

As far as Noah could tell, this was a loss of consciousness brought on by injury, fear and anxiety. In animals, it was sometimes a defense mechanism. In humans … he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. Regardless, he needed to check her blood pressure, tend to her wound.

He made sure the truck was still in four-wheel drive, then eased it up the driveway. He passed the house and continued to the next building, which was his clinic. The property had once been his family’s dairy, and this building had housed the company offices. When he set up his practice three years ago, he had transformed it into his veterinary clinic.

He got out of the truck and motioned to Rudy. With a yelp, the agile mutt cleared the front seat and bounded away, racing across a snowy field. Clearly he was eager to flee the stranger.

Noah jumped out and ran to the passenger side. “Miss? Can you hear me, miss?”

The woman was still unresponsive. He rechecked her pulse, then awkwardly pulled her from the cab, staggering backward in the knee-deep snow. She wasn’t a large woman, but her deadweight dragged at him as he carried her to the clinic. He shouldered open the door and stepped inside, pausing to disarm the alarm system, which he managed to do without dropping the woman. Then he crossed the dimly lit reception area to an exam room. He lowered her to the stainless steel table, extending it to accommodate her length. It wasn’t designed for humans, but he had no other choice. “Miss,” he said yet again. Damn. He wondered if he should start CPR.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he said, jiggling her with one hand, pulling out an oxygen mask with the other. The cone-shaped mask was designed to fit over a muzzle, but by pressing down hard, he made it work.

Her eyes flew open. Wide awake, she struggled and cried out. Noah backed away, holding his hands palms out. “Yo, calm down, okay?” he practically pleaded, thinking about the horse tranquilizer in his kit. He wondered what she would do if he said, Don’t make me get out the horse tranquilizer … Bad idea. He was at a loss here. Should he touch her? Soothe her? Or throw water in her face? Touch her, definitely.

“Miss …” He put a gentle hand on her wrist, intending to check her pulse.

Big mistake. She jerked away as though he’d burned her, scrambling to a sitting position and regarding him as though he were Jack the Ripper.

“Miss,” he said again, planting himself in front of her so she wouldn’t fall off the table if she passed out again, “you’re going to be all right, I swear. Please, look at me. I can help, but you need to focus.”

Finally, his words seemed to penetrate. He could see the glaze of fear in her eyes begin to soften. She took a deep breath in a visible effort to calm herself.

“Hey,” he said, resisting the urge to take her hand. “Calm down. It’s going to be all right.” He used his most soothing tone, the one he reserved for feral cats and skunks with distemper. “We’re in my clinic. I’m a—I have training.” Best to hold off explaining he was a vet. “I need to check you out, okay? I swear, that’s all I want to do. Please?”

She began to shake, her face as white as the moon. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you. I … I don’t know what came over me.”

No shit, he thought.

“My guess is you experienced a vasovagal syncope,” he said. “In layman’s terms, you fainted from the sight of your own blood. There’s been some physical trauma, so I need to ask you some questions, check your pulse and blood pressure.”

This time, finally, his words seemed to penetrate. He took a risk, touched his fingers to her chin and studied her pupils. Her skin was velvet smooth, but chilled and clammy. He felt her effort to stop trembling, saw the resolution on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still slightly tremulous. “That was unforgivable of me.” She squared her shoulders and tipped up her chin. She seemed to grow in confidence, transforming herself into a different person. The cowering victim disappeared. In her place was a controlled—though clearly shaken—young woman.

“No apology necessary,” he said. “Lots of people freak out when they’re hurt and bleeding.” He shrugged. “Proves you’re only human.”

“What is this place?”

“My clinic,” he said.

“I crashed my car in front of your clinic? That was good planning.” She offered a weak smile.

“Has this happened before?” he asked her. “The syncope—fainting.”

“No. Good heavens, no, never.”

“Before the episode, do you recall experiencing headache, back pain, chest pain, shortness of breath?”

“No. I was right beside you. I felt fine up until … I don’t recall.”

He took off his parka, then remembered his scrubs were stained with blood and fluid from the foaling. He quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see, peeled off his shirt, stuffed it into a hamper for the service, then grabbed a clean lab coat.

His patient was extremely quiet now. He turned to find her staring at his naked torso. Her mouth—a beautiful mouth, even for a crazy lady—formed a perfectly round O of surprise. Her face was still pale though; she was probably still at risk for syncope. And despite his fond wish, it was not over his physique. Something had spooked her, and he hoped it wasn’t him.

“Just need to put on a clean shirt,” he said.

Her gaze flicked away from him and darted around the clinic.

He felt her trust in him draining away. At vet school, they didn’t teach you not to take your shirt off in front of a patient, because as a general rule, the patient didn’t care.

“Sorry,” he muttered to her, and quickly slung a stethoscope around his neck, hoping that might reassure her. “I swear, I just want to help.”

“And I appreciate it,” she said, bracing her hands on the waist-high stainless steel table, the array of supplies and instruments on the counter. “I won’t go into a panic again. That was … it wasn’t like me. And this is all very … Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

Noah instantly flashed on Susan Sarandon in her bra and panties. I wish.

He used a foot pump to lower the table. “You’re still bleeding—no, don’t look.” He didn’t want another fainting episode. “I really need to check out that leg.” He scrubbed his hands at the sink, then plucked a pair of latex-free gloves from a dispenser, eyeing her leg as he drew them on. “I might need to cut your trousers off,” he said, then couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Is something funny?” she asked.

“It’s just that I’ve never said that to a patient before. Have a seat on the table, okay? And scoot back so your leg’s stretched out.”