The deputy hooked the cuffs over her belt. “If what you’ve told us is true and the animal has been beaten, the owner will have to get a court order to reclaim his property.” She flashed Samantha a saucy grin. “A more likely scenario is that the judge will slap him with a heavy fine and give him some jail time. In Oregon, the penalty for animal abuse is a maximum of five years in prison and one hundred and twenty-five grand. The horse will go to a shelter to be adopted out. If the guy owns any other animals, the same will go for them.”
“I’m impressed,” Samantha said. “I had no idea our laws on animal abuse were so strict.”
“Legislators have concluded that there’s a link between animal abuse and human abuse,” the deputy explained. “By cracking down on criminal acts against animals, they hope to reduce the number of crimes against people as well.”
Tucker folded his arms across his chest. “While on the subject, I need to fill out a report on this incident.”
The deputy narrowed an eye at him. “Give us a break. okay? You’ll be walking out of here shortly. By filing countercharges, all you’ll do is create more red tape.”
“I don’t want to file charges, just a report,” Tucker replied. “If I witness animal abuse of any kind, I’m required by law to file a report. If I fail to do so, I can be fined up to a thousand dollars, and it goes on my record.”
“I don’t remember any law like that,” the deputy said dubiously.
Tucker shrugged. “Look it up. I’m a vet. Oregon statute 686.455.”
The deputy’s penciled brows lifted. Then she nodded. “I’ll bring you the paperwork.”
Samantha tucked in her shirt with short, expert jabs of her slender fingers as she followed the deputy to the door. “I need to contact my family. No one knows where I am, and they’re going to be worried. Can I use this phone?”
“No, ma’am. We’re so busy that all the lines have to be left open for official business only. When you’re released, you can call out on your cell or use the public phone in the other room.”
Samantha sighed as the door closed behind the departing officer. She turned to face Tucker. Except for the bruise on her cheek, which was still bright pink, and the slight swelling under her eye, she was to him absurdly beautiful for a woman who’d been through all that in one day. Her black hair fell to her shoulders in shimmering curls that looked artfully tousled rather than mussed, and her durable clothing showed few signs of the punishment it had taken.
“I thought the law guaranteed me one phone call,” she complained. “That’s not considered official business?”
“Guess not.” Tucker cocked his head to listen to the cacophony of ringing phones, buzzers, office machines, and voices. “From their side, I suppose our contacting members of our family ranks pretty low on the importance chart right now. Business is pretty good today.”
She puffed at a lock of hair that had fallen over her eye. “It’s definitely crazy out there.”
A few minutes later Tucker sat behind the desk filling out a form and trying to compose a concluding statement while Samantha paced from one side of the room to the other. Every few seconds she glanced at the wall clock. Blue’s competition started at three, and it was already two forty. Even if she were released right then, she couldn’t reach the fairgrounds in time. The realization brought a lump of disappointment to her throat. She and Blue had worked so hard to prepare for this day. Now she would miss seeing him win the championship.
“So you’re a vet,” she mused aloud to the top of Tucker’s bent head. His hair was the rich color of homemade fudge that hadn’t been whipped long enough to lose its gloss. “I’m surprised you didn’t mention that.”
He glanced up, his blue eyes twinkling above his swollen, discolored, and off-center nose. “At what point—before I hit the guy, or afterward?”
“I realize it wasn’t exactly a great time to exchange personal information.” Pivoting on her heel to change direction, she added, “It just seems strange, is all. When we were talking later, you mentioned volunteering at the rodeo because it was good for business, but you never said what your business was.”
“I figured it went without saying.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Because I showed up carrying a satchel, and I’m wearing a name badge that says Tucker Coulter, DVM?”
“I never saw a satchel, and you’re not wearing a badge.”
He glanced down and shoved a finger into a hole in his shirt above the right breast pocket. “I’ll be damned. It was there earlier. The jerk ripped it off.”
He looked so upset that Samantha said, “I’m sure they’ll give you a new one.”
“Not possible. It’s irreplaceable.”
“The name badge?”
“No,” he replied, sounding exasperated, “my lucky shirt!”
Samantha examined the garment in question. It looked older than the hills and much the worse for wear. “Your lucky shirt?”
“Yes.” He plucked at the hole again. “Good things always happen when I wear this shirt.”
He’d done it again—made her smile. “I hate to point it out, but I don’t think it brought you any luck today.”
Frowning, he tugged at the rip again. Then he glanced up at her and his expression cleared. “I don’t know about that. I met you, didn’t I?”
Samantha chose to ignore that. “So do you specialize in large animals?”
He signed the form, tossed down the pen, and rocked back on the chair. “I’m working my way into that, yes. My brother and I are partners at a clinic. He enjoys the small-animal end of it, and I love the fieldwork. I’m especially fond of working with horses.”
Samantha gave him a thoughtful study. “Are you any good?”
His firm mouth tipped into a grin. “I’m the best. Unfortunately it takes a while to build a reputation, and I’m just getting started.”
“No conceit in your family, because you have it all?”
He chuckled. “You asked, I gave you an honest answer. I’m not merely good; I’m phenomenal.”
Samantha couldn’t help but laugh. What was it about this man that she found so difficult to resist?
“What makes you so good?” she asked.
“My rapport with horses,” he answered easily. “Runs in my family, along with conceit. You ever heard of my brother, Jake Coulter?”
Samantha thought for a moment. “The horse whisperer?”
Tucker let loose with another deep chuckle. “He isn’t a whisperer. Is there such a thing?”
Samantha hugged her waist, a posture she recognized as being defensive even as she assumed it. As much as she liked this man, he frightened her on a deep and purely feminine level. She felt like a starvation dieter who’d stumbled into a room filled with chocolate cake.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” she challenged.
He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and gazed at her over the tips of his steepled fingers. “To my knowledge, horse whisperers don’t really exist. Rare individuals who have an instinctive understanding of horses are another story. My brother Jake is one of them. He calls himself an equine behavioral analyst.”
“A sort of horse psychiatrist?”
“That pretty much sums it up. He takes in horses with serious behavior issues and patiently works with them to correct the problems. Then he sends them back to their owners so the problems can start all over again. He’s a firm believer that the major problem with any horse is the person who owns it.”
Samantha held to that belief herself. “And you? What do you think?”
“I absolutely agree. Which leads me straight back to why I’m so good with equines—because I have more respect for them than I do for most people.”
Samantha nodded. “I know what you mean.” And she did. In the stables with her horses was the only place she felt truly at peace. No lies, no subterfuge, no heartbreaking betrayals. Her animals loved her absolutely and unconditionally, and they were unfailingly st
eadfast. She couldn’t say that about many of the humans she’d known over the course of her lifetime. “They’re incredible creatures.”
“Very large, powerful creatures,” he elaborated. “Which is why a lot of vets prefer a small-animal practice. Going into a stall with a strange horse can be a dicey situation, especially if the animal is sick or in pain.”
“But it doesn’t bother you?”
“Didn’t say that. I have a healthy respect for the kicking power of an equine. I don’t waltz into a stall and start poking and prodding, I can tell you that.”
Samantha had seen cautious vets in action. They came armed with hobbles and lip twitches. She had nothing against a vet using preventive measures with an ill-mannered horse, but she strongly objected when her own equines were victimized. Every animal on her ranch had been imprinted at birth and was easy to handle. “You take precautions, then?”
“I do,” he confessed. “I start off by having a talk with the horse. Normally they’ll let me know, right up front, if they’d like to kick my teeth down my throat.” Amusement warmed his eyes. “Most times they wouldn’t. They seem to realize I’m there to help and are glad to see me.”
“I own a horse ranch,” Samantha revealed.
A deep dimple she hadn’t noticed before slashed his lean cheek. “You don’t say? Never would have guessed.”
She chose to let that pass. She knew her clothing marked her as a horsewoman, and she had no intention of changing that. As she retraced her steps across the room, she said, “This community can use another good horse vet. Doc Washburn, the vet we’ve used for as long as I can remember, is getting close to retirement age. My father worries that he may be the last of a dying breed.”
The door swung open just then, and the female deputy entered with two plastic bags in her hands. “You folks are free to go,” she chirped as she put their possessions on the desk. “Mr. Matlock finally admitted striking you,” she said to Samantha. “Unapologetically, I might add. He says you interfered between him and his horse, and you had it coming for trying to call the cops on him.” She picked up the report Tucker had filled out. “Very good. I’ll make sure this goes on file. One more nail in his coffin when he goes before a judge.”
Samantha emptied her things from one of the bags and quickly curled her fingers over the rosary beads, which she carried in her jeans pocket everywhere. “Any news about the horse at the fairgrounds yet?”
The deputy gave her a thumbs-up. “They found him. He’s cut up pretty bad and has clearly been beaten. As sad as that is, it may be the horse’s lucky day. He’ll get a new home now and won’t be mistreated again. The rescue folks screen applicants very carefully.”
Samantha was glad to hear that. The gelding’s passive acceptance of such cruel mistreatment had touched her heart. An animal like that deserved to be loved and pampered just a little.
A quarter of an hour later, after they’d both tried to contact family members on the public phone without success, Tucker and Samantha stood in the parking lot, at a loss. Both their vehicles were at the fairgrounds.
“I can’t believe my dad isn’t answering his cell phone,” she complained.
“My sister and brothers are all at the rodeo. Could be they’ve turned off their cells or just can’t hear them over the crowd. Not my folks, though. I thought sure they’d be home. They never go to the rodeo anymore.”
“Why is that? Is their health deteriorating?”
His mouth tightened. “No. My sister was badly injured in a barrel racing accident several years ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. She’s happily married and has two kids. It was a sad time in our lives, but it’s over now. For most of us, anyway. My mother and father still hate watching any kind of rodeo competition.” Tucker gazed thoughtfully at the cell phone in his hand. “You want me to call you a cab?”
She shook her head. “I left messages on all their voice mails. One of them is bound to check his missed calls soon and come pick me up.”
Tucker hated to leave her. He reached to rub his nose, but stopped just in time. “I need to visit the ER. If this schnozzle of mine swells any more, they won’t be able to fix it tonight.”
She tipped her head to study his face. “It’s probably only the swelling, but it seems to be leaning sideways more than it was earlier.”
Tucker had visited the men’s room before leaving the building, and he’d gotten a shock when he looked in the mirror. His nose looked bad, no question about it. In the course of his work, he often got the cartilage broken. Most times he straightened it as best he could, shoved cotton balls up each nostril to hold it in place, and called it good. Treating the injury himself didn’t strike him as being a wise idea this time.
“Do you have any money on you?” he asked. “I don’t want to leave you stranded.”
“Not enough for cab fare clear back to the fairgrounds.” She held up a staying hand. “No, please. You’ve done enough.”
He already had his wallet halfway out of his hip pocket. “Come on. A cab only costs a few bucks. I’ll give you my address. You can send me a check to cover it.”
“My dad or one of my brothers will show up any minute,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine. Really. Good luck at the hospital.”
Tucker wanted very badly to ask her out. Considering the mess his face was in, the timing sucked, though. Instead, he dialed Information, got connected with Yellow Cab, and arranged for transportation to Saint Matthew’s.
While waiting for his ride he stood beside Samantha, wishing he could think of something memorable to say. Nothing came to mind.
When the cab rolled into the parking lot, he turned and thrust out his hand. “It’s been an experience.”
She treated him to one of those slow, hesitant smiles that eventually made her face glow and her eyes sparkle. When she placed her slender fingers across Tucker’s palm, he felt a zing he’d never experienced with any other woman, a promise of the magic that had been eluding him all his adult life. As he tightened his grip on her hand, he searched her beautiful brown eyes, wondering if she felt it, too.
“Can I call you?” he blurted, then immediately wanted to kick himself. Over the last twenty years he’d asked a fair thousand females out on dates and knew his lines by heart. “I’d like to see you again, get to know you better.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate what you did for me today, but I’m very busy.”
Normally Tucker countered that excuse with, “You have to eat, don’t you? We’ll go to dinner, talk, call it an early night. Nothing serious intended or expected.” But somehow he couldn’t say those words to her.
They would have been a lie.
He decided to leave it for another day. He knew her name. He could look her number up in the book. As he climbed into the cab, he sent her one of his failproof grins. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She laughed. “Can’t blame a gal for saying no, either.”
Normally Tucker would have agreed, but something in her eyes told him that this time, no just might mean maybe. She wasn’t as immune to him as she tried to pretend.
“Whoa! What the hell are you planning to do with that?” Eyes rolled back to see the doctor standing at the head of the gurney, Tucker glared at the rubber mallet the man held in his hand. “You hit my nose with that, partner, and we’re going to tangle.”
The lanky young physician with blond hair and a bobbing Adam’s apple gave Tucker a reassuring smile. “I have to straighten the bridge, Dr. Coulter. Ever heard the expression ‘Follow your nose’? You’ll be walking in a circle the rest of your natural life if I leave it like this.”
Tucker pushed at the sheet and tried to sit up. The ER physician placed a staying hand on his shoulder. “The injections for pain were the worst part of the treatment. Now that your nose is numb, you’ll barely feel a thing.”
Tucker didn’t care if he felt it or not. “I’m
out of here. Nobody is taking a hammer to my nose.”
“It’s a mallet, not a hammer.”
“Mallet, then. It’s still not coming anywhere near my nose.”
“And what is all this fuss about?” a feminine voice asked.
Still propped partway up on one elbow, Tucker twisted to see his short, plump mother pushing through the striped privacy curtain. His father and his brother Jake trailed behind her, looking like sun-burnished, rough-and-tumble actors who’d just stepped off the set of an Old West movie. Their Stetsons, Wranglers, and riding boots, standard-issue in the Coulter family, looked incongruous in the sterile surroundings.
“This poor excuse for a doctor was about to pound on my nose with a hammer,” Tucker grouched. “Nohow, no way. I’ll fix it myself. That’s what I’ve always done before.”
“No wonder the bridge is so crooked,” the doctor observed under his breath.
Mary Coulter, a matronly woman with curly brown hair and kindly blue eyes, clucked her tongue and came around the gurney to gently push Tucker onto his back again. After giving the mallet a worried study, she grasped Tucker’s hand and smiled at the attending physician.
“A misunderstanding, I’m sure. Your poor nose has suffered enough abuse for one day. Right, Doctor?”
The young man blushed. “I only need to tap on it a few times. See that one big knot along the bridge? If I don’t straighten it now, it’ll be there forever.” He gave Tucker a pointed look. “Is that what you want, to have a crooked nose the rest of your life?”
“I’m used to a crooked nose.”
“Please, Tucker, don’t try to sit up,” Mary urged with another push on her son’s shoulder. “That knot has been there a good long while,” she informed the doctor. “He wouldn’t look the same without it.”
Jake came to stand at the opposite side of the table. Dark countenance creased in a frown, blue eyes glinting with mischief, he bent low to peer at his brother’s face. “I have to side with the doctor. He’ll be prettier without the knot, Mom. Let the doctor whomp it a time or two to straighten it out. Tucker’s a big boy. He can handle it.”