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Tough to Tame

by

Diana Palmer
Her Lone Cowboy

by

Donna Alward

MILLS & BOON^®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Tough to Tame

by

Diana Palmer

Diana Palmer’s heroes are compelling, vibrant, and utterly impossible to resist—just like her novels!

Praise for

Diana Palmer:

‘Ms Palmer masterfully weaves a tale that entices on many levels, blending adventure and strong human emotion into a great read.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Nobody tops Diana Palmer when it comes to delivering pure, undiluted romance. I love her stories.’

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

‘Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly…heartwarming.’

—Publishers Weekly on RENEGADE

‘A compelling tale…[that packs] an emotional wallop.’

—Publishers Weekly on RENEGADE

‘This story is a thrill a minute—one of Palmer’s best.’

—Rendezvous on LORD OF THE DESERT

Diana Palmer has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humour. With over forty million copies of her books in print, Diana is one of North America’s most beloved authors and considered one of the top ten romance authors in the US.

Diana’s hobbies include gardening, archaeology, anthropology, iguanas, astronomy and music. She has been married to James Kyle for over twenty-five years, and they have one son.

For news about Diana Palmer’s latest releases please visit: www.dianapalmer.com or www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader

Dr. Bentley Rydel has had a special place in my heart ever since he showed up, surly and difficult, in HEART OF STONE. I thought he deserved a book of his own, and here is the result.

Over the years, veterinarians have been my best friends. They’ve taken care of my sick pets, comforted me when I lost them, and generally made my life richer and happier. We take them for granted, and we shouldn’t. I thank God for them, every day of my life.

I am also a fan of veterinarian technicians—of which my niece, Amanda, is one—and groomers, who do a wonderful job not only of keeping our pets looking nice, but of often finding conditions that we might miss, to the detriment of our furry friends.

I hope you enjoy Bentley’s story.

As always I am your fan,

Diana Palmer

I dedicate this book to all the fine veterinarians, technicians, groomers, and office workers who do so much every day to keep our furry friends healthy. Thanks!

In August, look out for three fabulous stories by Diana Palmer in one volume:

Innocence Protected

Only from M&B™

In the fictional town of Jacobsville, these three tall, tanned Texans are mercenaries, determined to protect the women they love.

MERCENARY’S WOMAN

Ebenezer was a bad boy to the core. Sally was sweet, gentle and naïve. Could she slip through his iron-clad defences and become this guarded mercenary’s bride?

THE WINTER SOLDIER

Everyone in Jacobsville steered clear of taciturn Cy. Aside from spirited Lisa, who might be the only woman able to tame the temper of the formidable loner…

THE LAST MERCENARY

Brave Micah was about to hang up his gun, until a virginal beauty from his past needed his help. Now he will do anything to rescue Callie from a terrifying criminal!

And this Christmas there’s another wonderful Diana Palmer story: THE MAVERICK From Mills & Boon® Desire™

CHAPTER ONE

CAPPIE DRAKE peered around a corner inside the veterinary practice where she worked, her soft gray eyes wide with apprehension. She was looking for the boss, Dr. Bentley Rydel. Just lately, he’d been on the warpath, and she’d been the target for most of the sarcasm and harassment. She was the newest employee in the practice. Her predecessor, Antonia, had resigned and run for the hills last month.

“He’s gone to lunch,” came an amused whisper from behind her.

Cappie jumped. Her colleague, Keely Welsh Sinclair, was grinning at her. The younger woman, nineteen to Cappie’s twenty-three, was only recently married to dishy Boone Sinclair, but she’d kept her job at the veterinary clinic despite her lavish new lifestyle. She loved animals.

So did Cappie. But she’d been wondering if love of animals was enough to put up with Bentley Rydel.

“I lost the packing slip for the heartworm medicine,” Cappie said with a grimace. “I know it’s here somewhere, but he was yelling and I got flustered and couldn’t find it. He said terrible things to me.”

“It’s autumn,” Keely said.

Cappie frowned. “Excuse me?”

“It’s autumn,” she repeated.

The older woman was staring blankly at her.

Keely shrugged. “Every autumn, Dr. Rydel gets even more short-tempered than usual and he goes missing for a week. He doesn’t leave a telephone number in case of emergencies, he doesn’t call here and nobody knows where he is. When he comes back, he never says where he’s been.”

“He’s been like this since I was hired,” Cappie pointed out. “And I’m the fifth new vet tech this year, Dr. King said so. Dr. Rydel ran the others off.”

“You have to yell back, or just smile when he gets wound up,” Keely said in a kindly tone.

Cappie grimaced. “I never yell at anybody.”

“This is a good time to learn. In fact…”

“Where the hell is my damned raincoat?!”

Cappie’s face was a study in horror. “You said he went to lunch!”

“Obviously he came back,” Keely replied, wincing, as the boss stormed into the waiting room where two shocked old ladies were sitting beside cat carriers.

Dr. Bentley Rydel was tall, over six feet, with pale blue eyes that took on the gleam of steel when he was angry. He had jet-black hair, thick and usually untidy because he ran his fingers through it in times of frustration. His feet were large, like his hands. His nose had been broken at some point, which only gave his angular face more character. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but women found him very attractive. He didn’t find them attractive. If there was a more notorious woman hater than Bentley Rydel in all of Jacobs County, Texas, it would be hard to find him.

“My raincoat?” he repeated, glaring at Cappie as if it were her fault that he’d left without it.

Cappie drew herself up to her full height—the top of her head barely came to Bentley’s shoulder—and took a deep breath. “Sir,” she said smartly, “your raincoat is in the closet where you left it.”

His dark eyebrows rose half a foot.

Cappie cleared her throat and shook her head as if to clear it. The motion dislodged her precariously placed barrette. Her long, thick blond hair shook free of it, swirling around her shoulders like a curtain of silk.

While she was debating her next, and possibly job-ending, comment, Bentley was staring at her hair. She always wore it on top of her head in that stupid ponytail. He hadn’t realized it was so long. His pale eyes narrowed as he studied it.

Keely, fascinated, managed not to stare. She turned to the old ladies watching, spellbound. “Mrs. Ross, if you’ll bring—” she looked at her clipboard “—Luvvy the cat on back, we’ll see about her shots.”

Mrs. Ross, a tiny little woman, smiled and pulled her rolling cat carrier along with her, casting a wistful eye back at the tableau she was reluctantly foregoing.

“Dr. Rydel?” Cappie prompted, because he was really staring.

He scowled suddenly and blinked. “It’s raining,” he said shortly.

“Sir, that is not my fault,” she returned. “I do not control the weather.”

“A likely story,” he huffed. He turned on his heel, went to the closet, jerked his coat out, displacing everybody else’s, and stormed out the door into the pouring rain.

“And I hope you melt!” Cappie muttered under her breath.

“I heard that!” Bentley Rydel called without looking back.

Cappie flushed and moved back behind the counter, trying not to meet Gladys Hawkins’s eyes, because the old lady was almost crying, she was laughing so hard.

“There, there,” Dr. King, the long-married senior veterinarian, said with a gentle smile. She patted Cappie on the shoulder. “You’ve done well. By the time she’d been here a month, Antonia was crying in the bathroom at least twice a day, and she never talked back to Dr. Rydel.”

“I’ve never worked in such a place,” Cappie said blankly. “I mean, most veterinarians are like you—they’re nice and professional, and they don’t yell at the staff. And, of course, the staff doesn’t yell…”

“Yes, they do,” Keely piped in, chuckling. “My husband made the remark that I was a glorified groomer, and the next time he came in here, our groomer gave him an earful about just what a groomer does.” She grinned. “Opened his eyes.”

“They do a lot more than clip fur,” Dr. King agreed. “They’re our eyes and ears in between exams. Many times, our groomers have saved lives by noticing some small problem that could have turned fatal.”

“Your husband is a dish,” Cappie told Keely shyly.

Keely laughed. “Yes, he is, but he’s opinionated, hardheaded and temperamental with it.”

“He was a tough one to tame, I’ll bet,” Dr. King mused.

Keely leaned forward. “Not half as tough as Dr. Rydel is going to be.”

“Amen. I pity the poor woman who takes him on.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t been born yet,” Keely replied.

“He likes you,” Cappie sighed.

“I don’t challenge him,” Keely said simply. “And I’m younger than most of the staff. He thinks of me as a child.”

Cappie’s eyes bulged.

Keely patted her on the shoulder. “Some people do.” The smile faded. Keely was remembering her mother, who’d been killed by a friend of Keely’s father. The whole town had been talking about it. Keely had landed well, though, in Boone Sinclair’s strong arms.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Cappie said gently. “We all were.”

“Thanks,” Keely replied. “We were just getting to know one another when she was…killed. My father plea-bargained himself down to a short jail term, but I don’t think he’ll be back this way. He’s too afraid of Sheriff Hayes.”

“Now there’s a real dish,” Cappie said. “Handsome, brave…”

“…suicidal,” Keely interjected.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s been shot twice, walking into gun battles,” Dr. King explained.

“No guts, no glory,” Cappie said.

Her companions chuckled. The phone rang, another customer walked in and the conversation turned to business.

Cappie went home late. It was Friday and the place was packed with clients. Nobody escaped before six-thirty, not even the poor groomer who’d spent half a day on a Siberian husky. The animals had thick undercoats and it was a job to wash and brush them out. Dr. Rydel had been snippier than usual, too, glaring at Cappie as if she were responsible for the overflow of patients.

“Cappie, is that you?” her brother called from the bedroom.

“It’s me, Kell,” she called back. She put down her raincoat and purse and walked into the small, sparse bedroom where her older brother lay surrounded by magazines and books and a small laptop computer. He managed a smile for her.

“Bad day?” she asked gently, sitting down beside him on the bed, softly so that she didn’t worsen the pain.

He only nodded. His face was taut, the only sign of the pain that ate him alive every hour of the day. A journalist, he’d been on overseas assignment for a magazine when he was caught in a firefight and wounded by shrapnel. It had lodged in his spine where it was too dangerous for even the most advanced surgery. The doctors said someday, the shrapnel might shift into a location where it would be operable. But until then, Kell was basically paralyzed from the waist down. Oddly, the magazine hadn’t provided any sort of health care coverage for him, and equally oddly, he’d insisted that he wasn’t going to court to force them to pay up. Cappie had wondered at her brother being in such a profession in the first place. He’d been in the army for several years. When he came out, he’d become a journalist. He made an extraordinary living from it. She’d mentioned that to a friend in the newspaper business who’d been astonished. Most magazines didn’t pay that well, he’d noted, eyeing Kell’s new Jaguar.

Well, at least they had Kell’s savings to keep them going, even if it did so frugally now, after he paid the worst of the medical bills. Her meager salary, although good, barely kept the utilities turned on and food in the aging refrigerator.

“Taken your pain meds?” she added.

He nodded.

“Not helping?”

“Not a lot. Not today, anyway,” he added with a forced grin. He was good-looking, with thick short hair even blonder than hers and those pale silvery-gray eyes. He was tall and muscular; or he had been, before he’d been wounded. He was in a wheelchair now.

“Someday they’ll be able to operate,” she said.

He sighed and managed a smile. “Before I die of old age, maybe.”

“Stop that,” she chided softly, and bent to kiss his forehead. “You have to have hope.”

“I guess.”

“Want something to eat?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“I can make southwestern corn soup.” It was his favorite.

He gave her a serious look. “I’m impacting your life. There are places for ex-military where I could stay…”

“No!” she exploded.

He winced. “Sis, it isn’t right. You’ll never find a man who’ll take you on with all this baggage,” he began.

“We’ve had this argument for several months already,” she pointed out.

“Yes, since you gave up your job and moved back here with me, after I got…wounded. If our cousin hadn’t died and left us this place, we wouldn’t even have a roof over our heads, stark as it is. It’s killing me, watching you try to cope.”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” she chided. “Kell, all we have is each other,” she added somberly. “Don’t ask me to throw you out on the street so I can have a social life. I don’t even like men much, don’t you remember?”

His face hardened. “I remember why, mostly.”

She flushed. “Now, Kell,” she said. “We promised we wouldn’t talk about that anymore.”

“He could have killed you,” he gritted. “I had to browbeat you just to make you press charges!”

She averted her eyes. Her one boyfriend in her adult life had turned out to be a homicidal maniac when he drank. The first time it happened, Frank Bartlett had grabbed Cappie’s arm and left a black bruise. Kell advised her to get away from him, but she, infatuated and rationalizing, said that he hadn’t meant it. Kell knew better, but he couldn’t convince her. On their fourth date, the boy had taken her to a bar, had a few drinks, and when she gently tried to get him to stop, he’d dragged her outside and lit into her. The other patrons had come to her rescue and one of them had driven her home. The boy had come back, shamefaced and crying, begging for one more chance. Kell had put his foot down and said no, but Cappie was in love and wouldn’t listen. They were watching a movie at the rented house, when she asked him about his drinking problem. He’d lost his temper and started hitting her, with hardly any provocation at all. Kell had managed to get into his wheelchair and into the living room. With nothing more than a lamp base as a weapon, he’d knocked the lunatic off Cappie and onto the floor. She was dazed and bleeding, but he’d told her how to tie the boy’s thumbs together behind his back, which she’d done while Kell picked up his cell phone and called for law enforcement. Cappie had gone to the hospital and the boy had gone to jail for assault.

With her broken arm in a sling, Cappie had testified against him, with Kell beside her in court as moral support. The sentence, even so, hadn’t been extreme. The boy drew six months’ jail time and a year’s probation. He also swore vengeance. Kell took the threat a great deal more seriously than Cappie had.

The brother and sister had a distant cousin who lived in Comanche Wells, Texas. He’d died a year ago, but the probation of the will had dragged on. Three months ago, Kell had a letter informing her that he and Cappie were inheriting a small house and a postage-stamp-size yard. But it was at least a place to live. Cappie had been uncertain about uprooting them from San Antonio, but Kell had been strangely insistent. He had a friend in nearby Jacobsville who was acquainted with a local veterinarian. Cappie could get a job there, working as a veterinary technician. So she’d given in.

She hadn’t forgotten the boy. It had been a wrench, because he was her first real love. Fortunately for her, the relationship hadn’t progressed past hot kisses and a little petting, although he’d wanted it to. That had been another sticking point: Cappie’s impeccable morals. She was out of touch with the modern world, he’d accused, from living with her overprotective big brother for so long. She needed to loosen up. Easy to say, but Cappie didn’t want a casual relationship and she said so. When he drank more than usual, he said it was her fault that he got drunk and hit her, because she kept him so frustrated.

Well, he was entitled to his opinion. Cappie didn’t share it. He’d seemed like the nicest, gentlest sort of man when she’d first met him. His sister had brought her dog to the veterinary practice where Cappie worked. He’d been sitting in the truck, letting his sister wrangle a huge German shepherd dog back outside. When he’d seen Cappie, he’d jumped out and helped. His sister had seemed surprised. Cappie didn’t notice.

After it was over, Cappie had found that at least two of her acquaintances had been subjected to the same sort of abuse by their own boyfriends. Some had been lucky, like Cappie, and disentangled themselves from the abusers. Others were trapped by fear into relationships they didn’t even want. It was hard, she decided, telling by appearance what men would be like when they got you alone. At least Dr. Rydel was obviously violent and dangerous, she told herself. Not that she wanted anything to do with him socially.

“What was that?” Kell asked.

“Oh, I was thinking about one of my bosses,” she confided. “Dr. Rydel is a holy terror. I’m scared to death of him.”

He scowled. “Surely he isn’t like Frank Bartlett?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t think he’d ever hit a woman. He really isn’t the sort. He just blusters and rages and curses. He loves animals. He called the police on a man who brought in a little dog with cuts and bruises all over him. The man had beaten the dog and pretended it had fallen down stairs. Dr. Rydel knew better. He testified against the man and he went to jail.”

“Good for Dr. Rydel.” He smiled. “If he’s that nice to animals, he isn’t likely the sort of person who’d hit women,” he had to agree. “I was told by my friend that Rydel was a good sort to work for.” He frowned. “Your boyfriend kicked your cat on your first date.”

She grimaced. “And I made excuses for him.” Not long after that, her cat had vanished. She’d often wondered what had happened to him, but he returned after her boyfriend left. “Frank was so handsome, so…eligible,” she added quietly. “I guess I was flattered that a man like that would look twice at me. I’m no beauty.”

“You are. Inside.”

“You’re a nice brother. How about that soup?”

He sighed. “I’ll eat it if you’ll fix it. I’m sorry. About the way I am.”

“Like you can help it,” she muttered, and smiled. “I’ll get it started.”

He watched her walk away, thoughtful.

She brought in a tray and had her soup with him. There were just the two of them, all alone in the world. Their parents had died long ago, when she was ten. Kell, who’d been amazingly athletic and healthy in those days, had simply taken over and been a substitute parent to her. He’d been in the military, and they’d traveled all over the world. A good deal of her education had been completed through correspondent courses, although she’d seen a lot of the world. Now, Kell thought he was a burden, but what had she been for all those long years when he’d sacrificed his own social life to raise a heartbroken kid? She owed him a lot. She only wished she could do more for him.

She remembered him in his uniform, an officer, so dignified and commanding. Now, he was largely confined to bed or that wheelchair. It wasn’t even a motorized one, because they couldn’t afford it. He did continue to work, in his own fashion, at crafting a novel. It was an adventure, based on some knowledge he’d acquired from his military background and a few friends who worked, he said, in covert ops.

“How’s the book coming?” she asked.

He laughed. “Actually I think it’s going very well. I spoke to a buddy of mine in Washington about some new political strategies and robotic warfare innovations.”

“You know everybody.”

He made a face at her. “I know almost everybody.” He sighed. “I’m afraid the phone bill will be out of sight again this month. Plus I had to order some more books on Africa for the research.”

She gave him a look of pride. “I don’t care. You accomplish so much,” she said softly. “More than a lot of people in much better shape physically.”

“I don’t sleep as much as most people do,” he said wryly. “So I can work longer hours.”

“You need to talk to Dr. Coltrain about something to make you sleep.”

He sighed. “I did. He gave me a prescription.”

“Which you didn’t get filled,” she accused. “Connie, at the pharmacy, told on you.”

“We don’t have the money right now,” he said gently. “I’ll manage.”

“It’s always money,” she said miserably. “I wish I was talented and smart, like you. Maybe I could get a better-paying job.”

“You’re good at what you do,” he replied firmly. “And you love your work. Believe me, that’s a lot more important than making a big paycheck. I should know.”

She sighed as she sipped her soup. “I guess.” She gave him a quick glance. “But it would help with the bills.”

“My book is going to make us millions,” he told her with a grin. “It will hit the top of the New York Times bestseller list, I’ll be in demand for talk shows and we’ll be able to buy a new car.”

“Optimist,” she accused.

“Hey, without hope, what have we got?” He looked around with a grimace. “Unpainted walls, cracks in the paint, a car with two hundred thousand miles on it and a leaky roof.”

“Oh, darn,” she muttered, following his eyes to the yellow spot on the ceiling. “I’ll bet another one of those stupid nails worked its way out of the tin. I wish we could have afforded a shingle roof.”

“Well, tin is cheaper, and it looks nice.”

She looked at him meaningfully.

“It’s cheap, anyway,” he persisted. “Don’t you like the sound of rain on a tin roof? Just listen. It’s like music.”

It was like a tin drum, she pointed out, but he just laughed.

She smiled. “I guess you’re right. It’s better not to wish we had more than we do. We’ll get by, Kell,” she assured him. “We always do.”

“At least we’re in it together,” he agreed. “But you should think about the military home.”

“After I’m dead and buried, you can go into a home,” she assured him. “For now, you just eat your soup and hush.”

He smiled tenderly. “Okay.”

She smiled back. He was the nicest big brother in the whole world, and she wasn’t abandoning him while there was a breath in her body.

It had stopped raining when she got to work the next morning. She was glad. She hadn’t wanted to get out of bed at all. There was something magical about lying in the bed with rain coming down, all safe and cozy and warm. But she wanted to keep her job. She couldn’t do both.

She was putting her raincoat in the closet when a long arm presented itself over her shoulder and deposited a bigger raincoat there.

“Hang that up for me, please,” Dr. Rydel said gruffly.

“Yes, sir.”

She fumbled it onto a hanger. When she closed the door and turned, he was still standing there.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked formally.

He was frowning. “No.”

But he looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She knew how that felt, because she loved her brother and she couldn’t help him. Her soft gray eyes looked up into his pale blue ones. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?” she ventured.

A laugh escaped his tight control. “What the hell would you know about lemons, at your age?” he asked.

“It isn’t the age, Dr. Rydel,” she said. “It’s the mileage. If I were a car, they’d have to decorate me with solid gold accessories just to get me off the lot.”

His eyes softened, just a little. “I suppose I’d be in a junkyard.”

She laughed, quickly controlling it. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“You’re sort of hard to talk to,” she confessed.

He drew in a long breath. Just for a minute, he looked oddly vulnerable. “I’m not used to people. I deal with them in the practice, but I live alone. I have most of my life.” He frowned. “Your brother lives with you, doesn’t he? Why doesn’t he work?”

She tightened up. “He was overseas covering a war and a bomb exploded nearby. He caught shrapnel in the spine and they can’t operate. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

He grimaced. “That’s a hell of a way to end up in a wheelchair.”

“Tell me about it,” she agreed quietly. “He was in the military for years, but he got tired of dragging me all over the world, so he mustered out and got a job working for this magazine. He said it would mean he wouldn’t be gone so much.” She sighed. “I guess he wasn’t, but he’s in a lot of pain and they can’t do much for it.” She looked up at him. “It’s hard to watch.”

For an instant, some fellow feeling flared in his eyes. “Yes. It’s easier to hurt yourself than to watch someone you love battle pain.” His face softened as he looked down at her. “You take care of him.”

She smiled. “Yes. Well, as much as he’ll let me, anyway. He took care of me from the age of ten, when our parents died in a wreck. He wants me to let him go into some sort of military home, but I’ll never do that.”

He looked very thoughtful. And sad. He looked as if he badly needed someone to talk to, but he had nobody. She knew the feeling.

“Life is hard,” she said gently.

“Then you die,” he added, and managed a smile. “Back to work, Miss Drake.” He hesitated. “Your name, Cappie. What’s it short for?”

She hesitated. She bit her lower lip.

“Come on,” he coaxed.

She drew in a breath. “Capella,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up. “The star?”

She laughed, delighted. Most people had no idea what it meant. “Yes.”

“One of your parents was an astronomy buff,” he guessed.

“No. My mother was an astronomer, and my father was an astrophysicist,” she corrected, beaming. “He worked for NASA for a while.”

He pursed his lips. “Brainy people.”

“Don’t worry, it didn’t rub off on me. Kell got all that talent. In fact, he’s writing a book, an adventure novel.” She smiled. “I just know it’s going to be a blockbuster. He’ll rake in the money, and then we won’t have to worry about money for medicine and health care.”

“Health care.” He harrumphed. “It’s a joke. People going without food to buy pills, without clothes to afford gas, having to choose between essentials and no help anywhere to change things.”

She was surprised at his attitude. Most people seemed to think that health care was available to everybody. Actually she could only afford basic coverage for herself. If she ever had a major medical emergency, she’d have to beg for help from the state. She hoped she could even get it. It still amazed her that Kell’s employers hadn’t offered him health care benefits. “We don’t live in a perfect society,” she agreed.

“No. Nowhere near it.”

She wanted to ask him why he was so outspoken on the issue, which hit home for her, too. But before she could overcome her shyness, the phones were suddenly ringing off the hook and three new four-legged patients walked in the door with their owners. One of them, a big Boxer, made a beeline for a small poodle whose owner had let it come in without a lead.

“Grab him!” Cappie called, diving after the Boxer.

Dr. Rydel followed her, gripping the Boxer’s lead firmly. He pulled up on it just enough to establish control, and held it so that the dog’s head was erect. “Down, sir!” he said in a commanding tone. “Sit!”

The Boxer sat down at once. So did all the pet owners. Cappie burst out laughing. Dr. Rydel gave her a speaking glance, turned, and led the Boxer back to the patient rooms without a single word.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN SHE got home, Cappie told her brother about the struggle with the Boxer, and its result. He roared with laughter. It had been a long time since she’d seen him laugh.

“Well, at least he can control animals and people,” he told her.

“Indeed he can.” She picked up the dirty dishes and stacked them from their light supper. “You know, he’s very adamant about health care. For people, I mean. I wonder if he has somebody who can’t afford medicines or doctors or hospitals? He never talks about his private life.”

“Neither do you,” he pointed out dryly.

She made a face. “I’m not interesting. Nobody would want to know what I do at home. I just cook and clean and wash dishes. What’s exciting about that? When you were in the army, you knew movie stars and sports legends.”

“They’re just like you and me,” he told her. “Fame isn’t a character reference. Neither is wealth.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being rich,” she sighed. “We could fix the roof.”

“One day,” he promised her, “we’ll get out of the hole.”

“You think?”

“Miracles happen every day.”

She wasn’t touching that line with a pole. Just lately, she’d have given blood for a miracle that would treat her just to a new raincoat. The one she had, purchased for a dollar at a thrift shop, was worn and faded and missing buttons. She’d sewed others on, but none of them matched. It would be so nice to have one that came from a store, brand-new, with that smell that clothes had when nobody had ever worn them before.

“What are you thinking about?” Kell asked.

“New raincoats,” she sighed. Then she saw his expression and grimaced. “Sorry. Just a stray thought. Don’t mind me.”

“Santa Claus might bring you one,” he said.

She glowered at him on her way out the door. “Listen, Santa Claus couldn’t find this place if he had GPS on his sleigh. And if he did, his reindeer would slide off the tin roof and fall to their doom, and we’d get sued.”

He was still laughing when she got to the kitchen.

It was getting close to Christmas. Cappie dug out the old, faded artificial Christmas tree and put it up in the living room where Kell could see it from his hospital bed. She had one new string of minilights, all she could afford, and she put the old ornaments on it. Finally she plugged in the tree. It became a work of art, a magical thing, when she turned out the other lights and looked at it.

“Wow,” Kell said in a soft tone.

She moved to the doorway and smiled at him. “Yeah. Wow.” She sighed. “Well, at least it’s a tree. I wish we could have a real one.”

“Me, too, but you spent every Christmas sick in bed until we realized you were allergic to fir trees.”

“Bummer.”

He burst out laughing. “Now, all we have to do is decide what we’re going to put under it.”

“Artificial presents, I guess,” she said quietly.

“Stop that. We’re not destitute.”

“Yet.”

“What am I going to do with you? There is a Santa Claus, ‘Virginia,’” he chided. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She turned the lights back on and smiled at him. “Okay. Have it your way.”

“And we’ll put presents under it.”

Only if they come prepaid and already wrapped, she thought cynically, but she didn’t say it. Life was hard, when you lived on the fringes of society. Kell had a much better attitude than she did. Her optimism was losing ground by the day.

The beginning of the week started out badly. Dr. Rydel and Dr. King had a very loud and disturbing argument over possible treatments for a beautiful black Persian male cat with advanced kidney failure.

“We can do dialysis,” Dr. King argued.

Dr. Rydel’s pale blue eyes threw off sparks. “Do you intend to contribute to the ‘let’s prolong Harry’s suffering’ fund?”

“Excuse me?”

“His owner is retired. All she has is her social security, because her pension plan crashed and burned during the economic downturn,” he said hotly. “How the hell do you think she’s going to afford dialysis for a cat who’s got, at the most, a couple of weeks of acute suffering to go before he faces an end to the pain?”

Dr. King was giving him very odd looks. She didn’t say anything.

“I can irrigate him and pump drugs into him and keep him alive for another month,” he said through his teeth. “And he’ll be in agony all that time. I can do dialysis and prolong it even more. Or do you think that animals don’t really feel pain at all?”

She still hadn’t spoken. She just looked at him.

“Dialysis!” he scoffed. “I love animals, too, Dr. King, and I’d never give up on one that had a ghost of a chance of a normal life. But this cat isn’t having a normal life—he’s going through hell on a daily basis. Or haven’t you ever seen a human being in the final stages of kidney failure?” he demanded.

“No, I haven’t,” Dr. King said, in an unusually gentle tone.

“You can take it from me that it’s the closest thing to hell on earth. And I am not, repeat not, putting the cat on dialysis and that’s the advice I’m giving his owner.”

“Okay.”

He frowned. “Okay?”

She didn’t smile. “It must have been very hard to watch,” she added quietly.

His face, for an instant, betrayed the anguish of a personal loss of some magnitude. He turned away and went back into his office. He didn’t even slam the door.

Cappie and Keely flanked Dr. King, all big eyes and unspoken questions.

“You don’t know, do you?” she asked. She motioned them off into the chart room and closed the door. “You didn’t hear me say this,” she instructed, and waited until they both nodded. “His mother was sixty when they diagnosed her with kidney failure three years ago. They put her on dialysis and gave her medications to help put off the inevitable, but she lost the battle just a year later when they discovered an inoperable tumor in her bladder. She was in agony. All that time, she had only her social security and Medicaid to help. Her husband, Dr. Rydel’s stepfather, wouldn’t let him help at all. In fact, Dr. Rydel had to fight just to see his mother. He and his stepfather have been enemies for years, and it just got worse when his mother was so ill. His mother died and he blames his stepfather, first for not letting her go to a doctor for tests in the first place, and then for not letting him help with the costs afterward. She lived in terrible poverty. Her husband was too proud to accept a dime from any other source, and he worked as a night watchman in a manufacturing company.”

No wonder Dr. Rydel was so adamant about health care, Cappie thought. She saw him through different eyes. She also understood his frustration.

“He’s right, too, about Harry’s owner,” Dr. King added. “Mrs. Trammel doesn’t have much left after she pays her own medicine bills and utilities and groceries. Certainly she doesn’t have enough to afford expensive treatments for an elderly cat who doesn’t have long to live no matter what we do.” She grimaced. “It’s wonderful that we have all these new treatments for our pets. But it’s not good that we sometimes make decisions that aren’t realistic. The cat is elderly and in constant pain. Are we doing it a favor to order thousands of dollars of treatments that its owner can’t afford, just to prolong the suffering?”

Keely shrugged. “Bailey, Boone’s German shepherd, would have died if Dr. Rydel hadn’t operated on him when he got bloat,” she ventured.

“Yes, and he’s old, too,” Dr. King agreed. “But Boone could afford it.”

“Good point,” Keely agreed.

“We do have medical insurance for pets now,” Cappie pointed out.

“It’s the same moral question, though,” Dr. King pointed out. “Should we do something just because we can do it?”

The phone rang, both lines at once, and a woman with a cat in a blanket and red, tearfilled eyes rushed in the door calling for help.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Dr. King sighed.

Cappie told her brother about Dr. Rydel’s mother. “I guess we’re not the only people who wish we had adequate health care,” she said, smiling gently.

“I guess not. Poor guy.” He frowned. “How do you make a decision like that for a pet?” he added.

“We didn’t. We recommend what we thought best, but let Mrs. Trammel make the final decision. She was more philosophical than all of us put together. She said Harry had lived for nineteen good years, been spoiled rotten and shame on us for thinking death was a bitter end. She thinks cats go to a better place, too, and that they have green fields to run through and no cars to run over them.” She smiled. “In the end, she decided that it was kinder to just let Dr. Rydel do what was necessary. Keely’s barn cat has a new litter of kittens, solid white with blue eyes. She promised Mrs. Trammel one. Life goes on.”

“Yes.” He was somber. “It does.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Any day now, there’s going to be a breakthrough in medical research and you’re going to have an operation that will put you back on your feet and give you a new lease on life.”

“After which I’ll win the British Open, effect détente with the eastern communists and perfect a cure for cancer,” he added dryly.

“One miracle at a time,” she interrupted. “And just how would you win the British Open? You don’t even play tennis!”

“Don’t confuse me with a bunch of irrelevant facts.” He sank back into his pillows and grimaced. “Besides, the pain is going to kill me long before they find any miraculous surgical techniques.” He closed his eyes with a long sigh. “One day without pain,” he said quietly. “Just one day. I’d do almost anything for it.”

She knew, as many other people didn’t, that chronic pain brought on a kind of depression that was pervasive and dangerous. Even the drugs he took for pain only took the edge off. Nothing they’d ever given him had stopped it.

“What you need is a nice chocolate milkshake and some evil, fattening, over-salted French fries and a cholesterol-dripping hamburger,” she said.

He made a tortured face. “Go ahead, torment me!”

She grinned. “I overpaid the hardware bill and got sent a ten dollar refund,” she said, reaching into her purse. “I’ll go to the bank, cash it and we’ll eat out tonight!”

“You beauty!” he exclaimed.

She curtsied. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, better hurry or the bank will be closed!”

She grabbed her old denim jacket and her purse and ran out the door.

The ancient car was temperamental. It had over two hundred thousand miles on it, and it looked like a piece of junk. She coaxed it into life and grimaced as she read the gas gauge. She had a fourth of a tank left. Well, it was only a five-minute drive to Jacobsville from Comanche Wells. She’d have enough to get her to work and back for one more day. Then she’d worry about gas. The ten-dollar check would have come in handy for that, but Kell needed cheering up more. These spells of depression were very bad for him, and they were becoming more frequent. She’d have done anything to keep him optimistic. Even walking to work.

She cashed the check with two minutes to spare before the bank closed. Then she drove to the local fast-food joint and ordered burgers and fries and milkshakes. She paid for them—had five cents left over—and pulled out into the road. Then two things went wrong at once. The engine quit and a car flew out of a side road and right into the passenger side of her car.

She sat, shaking, amid the ruins of her car, with chocolate milkshake all over her jeans and jacket, and pieces of hamburgers on the dirty floorboard. It was quite an impact. She couldn’t move for a minute. She sat, staring at the dash, wondering how she’d manage without a car, because her insurance only covered liability. She had nothing that would even pay to repair the car, if it could be repaired.

She turned her head in slow motion and looked at the car that had hit her. The driver got out, staggering. He laughed. That explained why he’d shot through a stop sign without braking. He leaned against his ruined fender and laughed some more.

Cappie wondered if he had insurance. She also wondered if she didn’t have a tire iron that she could get to, before the police came to save the man.

Her car door was jerked open. She looked up into a pair of steely ice-blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She blinked. Dr. Rydel. She wondered where he’d come from.

“Cappie, are you all right?” he repeated. His voice was very soft, nothing like the glitter in those pale eyes.

“I think so,” she said. Time seemed to have slowed to a stop. She couldn’t get her sluggish brain to work. “I was taking hamburgers and shakes home to Kell,” she said. “He was so depressed. I thought it would cheer him up. I was worried about spending the money on treats instead of gas.” She laughed dully. “I guess I won’t need to worry about gas, now,” she added, looking around at the damage.

“You’re lucky you weren’t in one of the newer little cars. You’d be dead.”

She looked toward the other driver. “Dr. Rydel, do you have a tire tool I could borrow?” she asked conversationally.

He saw where she was looking. “You don’t want to upset the police, Cappie.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Before he could reply, a Jacobsville police car roared up, lights flashing, and stopped. Obviously somebody in the fast-food place had called them.

Officer Kilraven climbed out of the police car and headed right for Cappie.

“Oh, good, it’s him,” Cappie said. “He’ll scare the other driver to death.”

Kilraven bent down on Cappie’s side of the car. “You okay? Need an ambulance?”

“Heavens, no,” she said quickly. As if she could afford to pay for that! “I’m fine. Just shaken up.” She nodded toward the giggling driver who’d hit her. “Dr. Rydel won’t loan me a tire iron, so could you shoot that man in the foot for me, please? I don’t even have collision insurance and it wasn’t my fault. I’ll be walking to work on account of him.”

“I can’t shoot him,” Kilraven said with a twinkle in his silver eyes. “But if he tries to hit me, I’ll take him to detention in the trunk of my car. Okay?”

She brightened. “Okay!”

He straightened and said something to Dr. Rydel. A minute later, he marched over to the drunk man, smelled his breath, made a face and asked him to perform a sobriety test, which the subject refused. That would mean a blood test at the hospital, which Kilraven was fairly certain the man would fail. He told him he was under arrest and cuffed him. Cappie vaguely heard him calling for a wrecker and backup.

“A wrecker?” She groaned. “I can’t afford a wrecker.”

“Just don’t worry about it right now. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

He helped her out of the car. She retrieved her purse, wincing. “I hope he has a Texas-size hangover when he wakes up tomorrow,” she said coldly, watching Kilraven putting the prisoner in the back of his squad car. The man was still laughing.

“Oh, I hope he gets pregnant,” Dr. Rydel mused, “and it’s twins.”

She laughed huskily. “Even better. Thanks.”

He put her into his big Land Rover. “Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

She sat quietly, fascinated with the interior of the vehicle. It conjured up visions of the African veldt, of elephants and giraffes and wildebeest. She wished she could afford even a twenty-year-old version of this beast. She’d never have to worry about bad roads again.

He was back shortly with a bag and a cup carrier. He put them in her lap. “Two hamburgers and fries and two chocolate shakes.”

“How…?”

“Well, it’s easier to tell when you’re wearing parts of them,” he pointed out, indicating chocolate milk stains and mustard and catsup and pieces of food all over her clothes. “Fasten your seat belt.”

She did. “I’ll pay you back,” she said firmly.

He grinned. “Whatever.”

He started the engine and drove her out of town. “You’ll have to direct me. I don’t know where you live.”

She named the road, and then the street. They didn’t talk. He pulled up in the front yard of the dinky little house, with its peeling paint and rickety steps and sagging eaves.

He grimaced.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she said. “It’s got a pretty good roof and big rooms and it’s paid for. A distant cousin willed it to us.”

“Nice of him. Do you have any other cousins?”

“No. It’s just me and Kell.”

“No other siblings?”

She shook her head. “We don’t have any family left.”

He gave the house a speaking look.

“If we had the money to fix it up, it would look terrific,” she said.

He helped her out of the car and onto the porch. He hesitated about handing her the bag with the food and the carrier of milkshakes.

“Would you like to come in and meet Kell?” she ventured. “Only if you want to,” she added quickly.

“Yes, I would.”

She unlocked the door and motioned him in. “Kell, I’m home!” she called. “I brought company.”

“If it’s wearing lipstick and has a good sense of humor, bring it in here quick!” he quipped.

Dr. Rydel burst out laughing. “Sorry, I don’t wear lipstick,” he called back.

“Oops.”

Cappie laughed and walked toward the room a little unsteadily, motioning the vet to follow her.

Kell was propped up in bed with the old laptop. He paused, eyebrows arched, as they walked in. “We should have ordered more food,” he said with a grin.

Cappie winced. “Well, see, the food is the problem. I was pulling out of the parking lot and the engine died. A drunk man ran into the car and pretty much killed it.”

“Luckily he didn’t kill you,” Kell said, frowning. “Are you all right?”

“Just bruised a little. Dr. Rydel was kind enough to bring me home. Dr. Rydel, this is my brother, Kell,” she began.

“You’re the veterinarian?” Kell asked, and his silvery-gray eyes twinkled. “I thought you had fangs and a pointed tail…”

“Kell!” she burst out, horrified.

Dr. Rydel chuckled. “Only during office hours,” he returned.

“I’ll kill you!” she told her brother.

“Now, now,” Dr. Rydel said complacently. “We all know I’m a horror to work for. He’s just saying what you aren’t comfortable telling me.”

“And he does have a sense of humor,” Kell said. “Thanks for bringing her home,” he added, and the smile faded. “My driving days are apparently over.”

“There are vehicles with hand controls now,” Dr. Rydel pointed out.

“We’re ordering one of those as soon as we get our new yacht paid off,” Kell replied with a serious expression.

Cappie burst out laughing. “And our dandy indoor swimming pool.”

Dr. Rydel smiled. “At least you still have a sense of humor.”

“It’s the only part of me that works,” Kell replied. “I’ve offered to check myself into a military home, but she won’t hear of it.”

“Over my dead body,” she reiterated, and glared at him.

He sighed. “It’s nice to be loved, but you can take family feeling over the cliff with you, darlin’,” he reminded her.

“Sink or swim, we’re a matched set,” she said stubbornly. “I’m not putting you out on the street.”

“Military homes can be very nice,” Kell began.

Cappie grimaced. “Your milkshake is getting warm,” she interrupted. She took the carrier from Dr. Rydel and handed one to Kell, along with a straw. “There’s your burger and fries,” she said. “Working?”

“Taking a short break to play mah-jongg,” he replied. “I’m actually winning, too.”

“I play Sudoku,” Dr. Rydel commented.

Kell groaned. “I can’t do numbers. I tried that game and thought I’d go nuts. I couldn’t even get one column to line up. How do you do it?”

“I’m left-brained,” the other man said simply. “Numbers and science. I’d have loved to be a writer, but I’m spelling-challenged.”

Kell laughed. “I’m left-brained, too, but I can’t handle Sudoku. I can spell, however,” he added, tongue in cheek.

“That’s why we have a bookkeeper,” Dr. Rydel said. “I think people would have issues if their names and animal conditions were constantly misspelled. I had a time in college.”

“So did I,” Kell confessed. “College trigonometry almost kept me from getting my degree in the first place. I also had a bad time with biology,” he added pointedly.

Dr. Rydel grinned. “My best subject. All A’s.”

“I’ll bet the biology-challenged loved you,” Cappie said with a chuckle. “Blew the curve every time, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I bought pizzas for my classmates every Saturday night to make it up to them.”

“Pizza,” Cappie mused. “I remember what that tastes like. I think.”

“I don’t want to talk about pizza,” Kell said and sipped his milkshake. “You and your mushrooms!”

“He hates mushrooms, and I hate Italian sausage,” Cappie commented. “I love mushrooms.”

“Yuuuuck,” Kell commented.

She smiled. “We’ll leave you to your supper. If you need anything, call me, okay?”

“Sure. What would you like to be called?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and went out the door.

“Nice to have met you,” Kell told the vet.

“Same here,” Dr. Rydel said.

He followed Cappie out into the living room. “You’d better eat your own burger and fries before they’re cold,” he said. “They don’t reheat well.”

She smiled shyly. “Thanks again for bringing me home, and for the food.” She wondered how she was going to get to work the following Monday, but she knew she’d come up with something. She could always beg one of the other vet techs for a ride.

“You’re welcome.” He stared down at her quietly, frowning. “You sure you’re all right?”

She nodded. “I’m wobbly. That’s because I was scared to death. I’ll be fine. It’s just a little bruising. Honest.”

“Would you tell me if it was more?” he asked.

She grinned.

“Well, if you think you need to go to the doctor later, you call me. Call the office,” he added. “They’ll take a message and page me, wherever I am.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thanks.”

He drew in a long breath. His blue eyes narrowed on her face. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders for a woman your age,” he said quietly.

“Some people have a lot more,” she replied. “I love my brother.”

He smiled. “I noticed that.”

She studied him curiously. “Do you have family?”

His face tautened. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“People get old. They die.” He became distant. “We’ll talk another time. Good evening.”

“Good evening. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

She watched him go with a strange sense of loss. He was in many ways the saddest person she’d ever known.

She finished her supper and went to collect her brother’s food containers.

“Your boss is nice,” he said. “Not what I expected.”

“How could you tell him what I said about him, you horrible man?” she asked with mock anger.

“He’s one of those rare souls who never lie,” he said simply. “He comes at you head-on, not from ambush.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s in his manner,” he said simply. He smiled. “I’m that way myself. It does take one to know one. Now come here and sit down and tell me what happened.”

She drew in a deep breath and sat down in the chair beside the bed. She hated having to tell him the whole truth. It wasn’t going to be pretty.