LITMIR.BIZ

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children. Not that Cheyenne cared one way or the other.

      “Speaking of the kids. How are they doing?” Trace asked.

      “Looking forward to summer break.”

      “Zoey, too.”

      “Summer’s great for kids. Not so great for single moms.”

      “Or dads,” Trace said.

      Okay, so they were both single. And attractive. Big whoop. She wasn’t here to admire the vet. She was here to work.

      “They’ll be relieved to know their beloved Bennie will be all right,” Annie was saying.

      At the mention of his name, the beagle looked up with sad eyes and moaned. All three adults laughed.

      “Bennie needs to lose a few pounds and stay out of the tall grass and weeds. These allergy capsules, one each day, should suppress the worst of the skin rash. You know the drill. Other than that, Bennie is as good as new.” Dr. Bowman handed Annie the small blue package. “Tell the kids to come over this summer and swim with Zoey.”

      “They’d love that. Thanks, Doc.”

      Trace set Bennie on the floor and snapped a thin cloth leash into the ring on his collar. He handed the end to Annie. “Are you still looking after Miss Lydia?”

      “Every day.”

      “How’s she doing?”

      Annie paused, a sad look crossing her face. “You know Lydia. If you ask her, she’ll smile that sweet smile, tell you she’s dandy and then ask about you. By the time the conversation is over, I feel better but I haven’t helped her much.”

      “How bad is she?”

      “Her heart gets weaker all the time. And lately, she’s really slowed down. Winter was hard on her. She hasn’t spent one day this spring in her flowers.” Annie started toward the door. “You know how beautiful her flowers always are.”

      Trace politely reached around and opened the exam-room door. “I’m sorry to hear that. Tell her she’s in my prayers.”

      “I will.”

      Cheyenne listened in as Trace and Annie Markham stood in the hallway and chatted a while longer about the Lydia woman with the pretty flowers and great attitude. She felt like an outsider, which she was, but she appreciated the way both Trace and the nurse glanced her way, including her in the conversation, even though she had nothing to add.

      After a bit, with Bennie moping along beside her, Annie said her goodbyes and left.

      “She seems nice,” Cheyenne said as she and the vet walked down the narrow hallway to the reception area.

      “Annie? Yeah. She’s had a rough few years but she’s stayed strong.”

      Cheyenne didn’t know whether to ask for details or remain quiet. She chose the latter.

      “Dr. Bowman?”

      Trace turned toward the voice. Jilly, his other assistant, stood in the door leading to the kennels. “Do you have a minute to help me with this horse?”

      “Be right there.” He handed Cheyenne Bennie’s manila folder. “Would you give this to Jeri at the desk?”

      “Sure.” She took the chart to the reception area.

      A middle-aged woman with dozens of neat, tiny braids covering her head and forty extra pounds, mostly on her hips, manned the desk. From what Cheyenne had observed in the short time she’d been there, Jeri Burdine was as grossly overworked as her boss. She booked appointments, escorted patients, answered the phone and collected payments, stocked shelves and generally ran the business end of the clinic.

      “If you’ll show me what you want done, I’ll help,” she told Jeri. “I don’t think the doctor needs me right now.”

      Jeri pushed at a pair of rectangular reading glasses. “Girl, you don’t have to ask twice. We have billing to do. Get your cute self back here and I’ll show you. There’s nothing to it but good record keeping.”

      With an inward grin at the woman’s friendly chatter, Cheyenne said, “I can handle that.”

      A cop kept good records or paid the price in court.

      In minutes she was sliding bills into envelopes and slapping on computer-generated mailing labels. Some of the bills were seriously overdue. “Does he charge a late fee?”

      “A what?” Jeri looked at her curiously. “Dr. Bowman? You gotta be kidding.”

      Well, no, she wouldn’t kid about a thing like that. This was a business, not a charity. But she kept her opinion to herself.

      She was piling a stack of envelopes into an outgoing mail container when the outside door burst open. Instinctively, Cheyenne jerked toward the sound, hand going to her nonexistent revolver. A woman’s frantic voice raised the hair on her arms.

      “My puppy is hurt bad. Can you help?” The voice quivered as she held out the limp body of a very small Yorkshire terrier.

      Cheyenne dropped the pile of envelopes and moved into action. “What happened?”

      The young woman cast a furtive glance behind her. “Uh, he—uh, my husband stepped on him by accident. He didn’t mean to. Chauncy got underfoot and he’s so little. Ray would never hurt him on purpose.”

      Some instinct warned Cheyenne that the woman was being less than truthful. She protested just a little too much. About that time, a hulking man came through the door. His focus went immediately toward the shaking woman.

      “Emma.” The tone, instead of tender and concerned, was harsh.

      The woman jumped, her eyes widened in fear. “They’re getting the doctor now, Ray.”

      Her look pleaded with Cheyenne to agree.

      Something was not right here. Every cop instinct inside her was screaming.

      Jeri took one look at the injured animal and said to Cheyenne, “Take them on back to the exam room. I’ll get Dr. Bowman.”

      As a cop Cheyenne had worked accidents, murders, shootings and just about every violent crime known to man. She’d seen unspeakable injuries up close and personal. Open wounds didn’t shake her. But the dog was basically a ball of bloody fur. Even the smell was deathly.

      The woman named Emma was trembling like an earthquake. “Is he going to die?”

      Probably. But Cheyenne didn’t say that.

      “Quit bawling, Emma,” the man said. “If he dies I’ll get you another one.”

      Yeah, as if that was going to help. Cheyenne wanted to clobber the insensitive clod.

      Instead she asked, “Is your dog a regular patient of Dr. Bowman’s?”

      “No.” Tears raced down Emma’s face and dripped on the dog. She was crying but doing her best not to make a sound. The effort worried Cheyenne. This was a traumatic event. Why should her husband be angry if she cried?

      “No problem. What’s his name?”

      “Chauncey Ray. He’s named after my husband.”

      “I bought him as a special gift for her birthday. Didn’t I, Emma?”

      Cheyenne managed a smile. She’d never had time for an animal and couldn’t comprehend the attachment pet owners felt for their furry friends. But she understood heartache.

      The man placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder. She tensed.

      Cheyenne narrowed her eyes in thought. There was a smugness about this Ray character that set her nerves on edge. She couldn’t put her finger on the problem, but her cop gut labeled him a jerk.

      They met Dr. Bowman in the hallway. “What’s the emergency?”

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