Chapter
Twenty-two
The calf was a big one, even for its large-boned
breed, weighing almost as much as she did. Bloody to the armpits,
her coveralls soaked with amniotic fluid, Jillian dragged the
creature out of the three-foot long incision in its mother’s side.
The cow, blissfully unaware of that incision due to the contents of
a large syringe carefully inserted between two of its vertebrae,
was looking around in mild interest. She blinked in surprise as the
vet slipped in the wet straw and went down under 110 pounds of
wriggling Charolais calf.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, we’ll get
you out.” Jillian fought her way to her knees, deftly stripped the
sac from around the calf’s golden face, reached into its mouth to
pull its tongue forward and clear the throat. And laughed when her
fingers were seized and sucked with gusto.
Grabbing a towel, she rubbed vigorously
to dry the calf, grunted as she hauled the newborn over to where
the cow could nose it. For a moment the veterinarian looked on in
satisfaction as the mother licked her newborn, memorizing the
scent, cementing the bond between them. Animal bonds, Jillian knew,
tended to be unshakeable. Not like humans.
Sighing, she unwrapped a fresh surgical pack—the contents of the
first had fallen into the wet straw—and began the long process of
closing up.
The full moon was more than halfway
across the sky when Jillian drove away from the Murdock’s farm. She
had the heat on full blast and she’d taken off her coveralls, but
her clothes were wet through. Her teeth chattered as she fumbled
with a radio station. Most farmers would at least have offered her
some coffee or something. But then, every farmer she knew would
have come out to the barn and pitched in. She had hoped for that
kind of help when she couldn’t reach Caroline. Jillian had thought
about asking Connor for help. After all, it wasn’t his fault his brother was a jerk. But she just didn’t
feel up to seeing any of the Macleod clan tonight. And so she had
taken the calving call alone, even though the farm was in a remote
location, nearly two hours away.
At least both cow and calf were fine.
Jed Murdock hadn’t been pleased that Jillian had shown up instead
of Connor, but he wouldn’t be able to complain about her work. And
maybe a hefty bill for the extra hours she’d spent would encourage
the Murdocks to be a little more helpful next time.
Not that she minded being busy. It was
harder for unwelcome thoughts to creep into her awareness when she
was focused on work. That was why she had thrown herself into every
task she could find at the clinic, why she was even making up
tasks. Birkie had eyed Jillian with concern when she’d restacked
the hay bales in the livestock area, but she didn’t care. It was
better than thinking about how much she ached inside, how much
James Macleod had hurt her. Except for the card that came with the
flowers, she hadn’t heard from him. No letters, no phone calls. And
certainly no face-to-face communication. After being at the clinic
every single day, he hadn’t come by even once for three solid
weeks. Pretty hard not to read that
message. She would never have picked him for
the one-night stand type, but then, how much did she really know
about him? It was her own fault for getting too involved too soon,
for letting her hormones off the leash way too early. The fact that
her heart had led the way didn’t bear thinking about.
And so Jillian was determined not to
think about anything. Her plan was to keep busy, so busy that the
thoughts wouldn’t stand a chance of getting through, so busy that
she simply fell into bed late each night and was asleep before she
hit the pillow. The system had worked just fine for the past three
weeks. But now she was worn right out, and for the first time she
wondered how long she could keep this up.
There was certainly no shortage of
tasks to keep her busy tonight, even though it was well after
midnight. The instruments still needed to be unpacked, washed, and
sterilized. The surgical drapings and her wet coveralls had to be
put in the washing machine and soaked. And she was already so damn
tired. Her eyelids fluttered down, once, twice. . . .
Jillian jerked her head up just as the
cab of the truck was flooded with light. There was another vehicle
behind her with its brights on. She squinted as it rapidly closed
the distance between them. From the height of those blinding
headlights, she judged it to be a truck. A car’s beams wouldn’t
have filled her pickup cab so thoroughly. Sound flooded in as well.
Though her windows were closed, she could hear the high-pitched
thrum of a powerful engine and the brain-beating bass of a massive
stereo system. It had to be kids. How did they stand to be inside
that? She could feel the vibration of whatever music they were
playing in her teeth, for God’s sake.
Jillian prayed the driver would switch
to low beams soon. She peered through half-closed eyes at her side
mirror. It was indeed a tall pickup truck, but it was weaving back
and forth, fishtailing on the gravel road. “Great, they’re fooling
around or drunk. Probably both.” Jillian was suddenly uncomfortable
about being alone and wondering where she’d stashed her cell phone
when a row of dull orange spots appeared like eyes on the other
truck’s roof. Jillian made out the rack of hunters’ floodlights
just as they powered on.
Dammit! Jillian
slapped at the rearview mirror, flipping its face to the ceiling.
“Stupid asses!” She cursed vehemently as white light shot back at
her from the side mirrors, the dashboard glass, everywhere. Pain
stabbed her tired eyes. She cupped a hand around her brow as a
flimsy shield and tried to focus on the road ahead. The light was
bright . . . and getting brighter. She wanted to slow down. She’d
been under the fifty miles per hour speed limit for the gravel
road, but not by much. She touched her brakes lightly, once, twice,
hoping the other truck was paying attention and wouldn’t run into
her.
A bright yellow diamond flashed into
view on her right, dazzlingly bright in the other truck’s lights.
She squinted at the highway sign and deciphered its symbols:
a hill with a steep grade. She realized at
once where she was. At the bottom of the hill would be the narrow
steel bridge that spanned Little Burnt Creek. If the other truck
was going to pass her, it would have to do it soon. She prayed it
would pass. Her nerves were already rubbed
raw by the assault of light and sound.
Suddenly the headlights swung away to
her left, leaving her in abrupt darkness and temporarily
blind.
She took her foot off the gas pedal as
her eyes fought to adjust and her unknown antagonist thundered by,
bass pounding so loud it hurt Jillian’s ears and stabbed at her
brain, vibrated in her very bones. “Stop it! Stop it!” she yelled,
unable to even hear herself. The vehicle passed her in a blast of
impossible noise and a rattle of gravel, hurtling down the hill.
She caught a glimpse of a large red pickup with shiny chrome roll
bars before the darkness swallowed it. The mind-numbing bass faded
into the distance and was finally gone.
Shaken and disoriented, Jillian pulled
the truck to the shoulder of the road. It wasn’t there. There was
nothing under the right front wheel as she tried in vain to steer
the still-rolling truck back to solid ground. Suddenly there was a
sickening lurch as the rear passenger wheel dropped over the road’s
edge as well. The truck teetered on the crumbling brink, and she
realized she couldn’t make it back onto the road. Jillian steered
instead for the deep ditch, trying to take it at an angle so the
truck wouldn’t tip. But then the ditch itself dipped and
disappeared into darkness. The brakes couldn’t stop the momentum of
the heavy truck as it hurtled down the steep embankment through a
stand of brush.
Thick branches slapped at the
windshield, cracked it. Books and packages on the seat flew up and
struck her as the vehicle lurched and bounced crazily. She saw the
dark surface of a creek in her headlights, then glittering plumes
of water all around her as she struggled to steer through it. A
roaring filled her ears, her brain. There was no time to hope that
the water wasn’t too deep, to pray that the engine would keep
going. And no time at all to react as the darkness in front of her
suddenly resolved itself into a tree. It was the last picture in
her mind as something enormous punched her full in the
face.
Awareness faded then rushed back like a
tidal surge. Heavy folds of white material swamped her, and Jillian
screamed as she tried to bat it away. The air was thick with dust,
choking her. Finally her brain kicked in and she realized she was
fighting with the air bag.
Her whole body jellied in relief, and
she was grateful she was already sitting down. For several minutes
Jillian just sat there with her hands gripping the wheel. She took
a deep breath that sent her into a coughing fit. When it abated,
she hit the button to roll down the window and leaned forward to
rest her head on the steering column and let the cool air wash over
her until her heart stopped hammering. Until she felt steady.
Steadier. Well, almost steady.
Looking around, she assessed the
situation. Truck. Tree. Water. She was half in and half out of the
shallow creek, the front of the truck resting against a large
poplar on the opposite bank. The hood didn’t look bashed in from
here. Maybe the vehicle was still drivable. Maybe she could walk
the truck out in four-wheel drive. But first she’d have to lock the
hubs on the front axle by hand. Note to self: Next
time, pick a vehicle you can shift into four-wheel drive from the
inside. Jillian popped the shoulder belt and spent a few
minutes fumbling behind the seat for a flashlight. It was hard
work. Her body was sore and her face felt like she’d tried to stop
a train with it. One of her hands didn’t seem to work very well.
She cursed repeatedly as new pains flashed here and there, as her
feet kept getting tangled in the deflated air bag. There seemed to
be enough of the sagging white material to make a goddamn hot air
balloon.
She kicked free of it and paused to
catch her breath. “Okay, then, I’m okay. Everything’s okay. Let’s
get it done.” Jillian swung open the door, saw it skim the surface
of the water but didn’t hesitate to jump down. She gasped at the
iciness of the water, as the fast current both shoved and pulled at
her. It had to be mountain runoff—it felt like it came straight off
a glacier. Reaching for the door with one hand and gripping the
flashlight with the other, she took a step forward. And discovered
too late that the bottom of the creek was slick with mud and
algae.
Without warning, her feet flew out from
under her, plunging her beneath the icy water. The current
immediately dragged her along the bottom. Panicked, Jillian clawed
and flailed at the dark surface—the creek couldn’t have been more
than three feet deep—but there was something in her way, something
she kept banging her head and body against, that kept her
submerged. Her lungs were screaming, her mind was screaming as she
fought blindly for her life.
Then something grasped her arm, gripped
it tight. She fought that too, but it was strong and towed her
along the icy bottom, then up into the blessed, blessed air. A
moment later she was on her hands and knees on dry ground, coughing
and choking and puking up water.
It took a little while before she
became aware that someone had an arm around her waist, supporting
her, pounding her back. Jillian gulped in air in huge, ragged
breaths and collapsed, her strength utterly spent. Powerful arms
encircled her, lifted her, cradled her in warmth.
“It’s okay, doc, you’re okay now. It’s
over, just breathe now, baby. Just breathe.”
With a jolt she realized she was
sobbing like a child. Embarrassed, she scrubbed a hand over her
face and yelped when both her hand and face protested the contact.
Opening her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a
Viking.
“What the hell are you doing here?”