Chapter 18

 

Finally Friday. Holy cow, this day couldn’t come fast enough. From the last stall in the Carsons’ barn, Gabby wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.

The rest of the week had been pure crap. They’d had to head to police headquarters twice to make statements regarding what she and Flynn had encountered in regards to the dogfighting. According to the district attorney, the most time Jose would get was five years in prison—likely out in two—and a two-hundred fifty thousand dollar fine. And that was if the judge tacked on animal neglect and cruelty charges.

Not nearly a long enough punishment. Flynn had been beyond irate, but law was law. It needed changing.

Avery had double-booked Flynn and Gabby’s clinic hours on Wednesday to give them an extra day for home visits in order to check up on the rescued animals. Thankfully, all were doing well, including the horses they’d followed up with today. They’d required new shoes and some wound care on their hooves, but other than needing nourishment, they’d be okay.

Cedar hadn’t fared so well. Drake had been forced to put the other Pitbull down. Unlike Cyprus, Cedar hadn’t adjusted to human contact and had displayed major aggression. Gabby had tried so hard to work with him on her lunch breaks and a little after hours, but she never got farther than approaching the kennel before the dog snarled, baring teeth. Drake had been so concerned, he wouldn’t let her change the food and water dishes. He’d done it himself.

With the dog muzzled and heavily sedated, she’d sat by his side, weeping buckets while Drake had administered the euthanasia. Flynn had stayed with her that night, holding her until she’d fallen asleep.

The whole thing kinda made her understand why some people believed in capital punishment. At least Cyprus was thriving. Able to lose the cone and most of the bandages, Gabby had worked with him in the kennel yard out back and he was very playful. Gentle. Drake planned on trying to incorporate his German Shepherd, Moses, and Cyprus together this weekend.

Blowing out a sigh, she stood just outside the last stall and glanced down the long passageway to the open barn doors. Rain came down in sheets, creating mud puddles and drenching the grass. Humidity hung heavy in the air and the temps were much warmer for spring than usual. Over snow, she’d take it.

In the stall beside her, Flynn worked on fitting the last horseshoe on their last patient. And thank God. In a few, they could head down the mountain, drop off their stuff at the clinic, and go home. She’d never been so grateful for a weekend in all her life. Especially because she’d be spending it with Flynn.

She shivered in anticipation. His initial hesitancy in changing their relationship seemed to have passed. He was open with her, with his desires, and it was obvious he wanted her. Oh God, she wanted him. Whether a flutter in her belly from his kiss or the lick of flames on her skin from his touch, he pulled so many visceral reactions from her. No one she’d been with had ever been as passionate as Flynn.

They were going to be so good together. Her girly parts zinged in expectation.

He wore dark green scrubs today that brought out the mossy flecks in his hazel eyes. His strawberry blond hair was this side of long and starting to curl a bit around his ears. A day’s worth of scruff covered his jaw, adding to the laid-back sexiness. Hard thighs, narrow waist, ripples on his abs, bicep muscles flexing, corded forearms...

Yes, please.

Watching the wide expanse of his back and the way the muscles shifted under his scrubs was becoming her favorite pastime. His tight ass when he bent over wasn’t an eyesore either. Not that drooling over his body wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t her only draw to him. It was in the way he held her or smiled or how he made her laugh. And the things he said sometimes? Holy Gawd.

You’re the sky. The rest of us are just circling your orbit.

Her belly heated just remembering. Would this day never end? She was so ready to get him alone.

Checking his progress and noting he was about done, she bent to retrieve the supplies. She’d finished her immunizations, rewarding the horses with carrots, and was just waiting on Flynn. Most of their farms did their own care, but Flynn had directed the rescue owners not to do anything with the horses until he could better evaluate. Good thing, too, because two of the horses had wounds from embedded gravel.

With the bag packed, she straightened and rolled her shoulders. After she got home, she would quickly shower and shave before going to Flynn’s. Maybe use that new perfume he’d bought her for Christmas. It had a light, airy scent that hinted at sexy without shoving it in his face. Subtle. She mentally went through her panty drawer, wondering if he would like her green lace or blue crisscross ones better.

Choices, choices.

She smiled. With any luck, she wouldn’t be wearing them long. It had been so long since she’d had a partner that nerves swam in her belly, but she quieted them with a mental bitch-slap.

A few of the horses in the stalls toward the barn’s entrance stirred. Pin prickles of awareness skittered up her spine. Unsure why, she paused to listen. The Carsons had five horses in addition to the four they’d rescued, and all but the one with Flynn seemed to be...agitated. Hooves scraped dirt. Whinnies rent the air.

As goose bumps rose on her skin, she exited the last stall doorway and stepped into the aisle to check on things. She froze mid-step, her heartbeat screeching to a stop. Roughly eighty feet were between her and the barn door, where a...mountain lion stood in the open space. Head up, it sniffed the air.

“Oh shit.” She glanced at Flynn, but he was in the stall and focused on the horse, his back to her.

The clinic bag with her supplies was inside the stall, but the emergency tote was several feet to her left by the tack room. The satellite phone and, most important, the tranquilizer gun, were in the second bag.

Crap, crap, crap.

This was the danger in mountain visits. Though the wildlife typically veered clear of humans, it wasn’t unheard of for them to prowl for game or come hunting near the farms. The closest she and Flynn had come to this scenario had been a black bear a couple years back who’d scared the owners when they’d fed chickens. Which had happened an hour before their arrival. She’d almost run over a bobcat last fall with the clinic SUV, and a herd of elk once blocked the road for thirty minutes four winters ago, but...

Holy shit. There was a mountain lion, and it was...looking...at...her. Its tan fur covered powerful, thick muscle that shifted as it turned its head, sidestepping. Huge, huge paws stopped in the dirt as it tilted its head, ears perked. Then...its yellow eyes resettled on her.

Her stomach bottomed out as her throat closed, body immobile. Her limbs locked as she stared back, fifty gazillion thoughts flittering through her head. Would there be anything left of her for an open casket? Would it hurt real bad or would she die fast? Would the red panties wash out her skin tone if she wore them tonight? Could she run fast enough from a wildcat to get inside a stall and lock the door? If she screamed, would it alert the owners in time to get a shotgun? Did she turn the coffeepot off this morning?

Okay. She forced air into her lungs. Aside from a cutout window on the doors, the stalls were floor to ceiling. The animals were protected. The lion would have to claw through the wooden doors to get to the horses, which would take time. It hadn’t seen Flynn, so as long as he didn’t make any sudden movements, he was good.

It was up to her to do something. Mentally, she scrolled through the contents of the emergency bag, trying to remember where, exactly, the tranquilizer gun was located. Main section, left side, in a black case. Crap. Besides needing to get to the bag, that meant unzipping said bag, opening the case, and removing the gun. Too many steps.

And damn. She’d only shot the thing once before. As practice.

Eyes on the lion, fine hairs standing erect, shaking arms held stiff at her sides, she chanced a slow step to her left. It followed the movement with his eyes, then sniffed the air again. Breaths rasping, she moved again. Its head jerked her way and a low rumble of a growl rippled to her. She whimpered.

Flynn’s shoes shuffled in the dirt and she nearly shut her eyes in terror. Please, please, please. Stay where you are, Flynn.

“Gabby?” His feet stuttered to a stop—by the sound of it, inches outside the stall—but she didn’t dare look.

Oh hell. The mountain lion glanced Flynn’s way.

Pressing her lips together to muffle another whimper, she held her palm up, hoping Flynn got the message and stayed put. Then she pointed to the emergency bag, telling him her plan. Blessedly, he didn’t move.

Her knees knocked and her legs shook, but she slowly inched closer to the bag, eyes never leaving the lion. Five feet. Four. She was almost there. Two. One.

In gradual degrees, she crouched by the bag.

Whinnies rent the air. Hooves banged against stalls.

Another low growl from the wildcat. It...stepped...closer.

No, no, no. She did not want to die. At least, not before she’d had the chance to have sex with Flynn. Maybe get married and have babies and... Screw that. She didn’t want to die at all. Most assuredly, not by being eaten alive.

Flynn’s exhalations were rough, short. He emitted a low noise of frustration and terror, which amped her fear to DEFCON. Her heart jack-hammered against her ribs and the breath in her lungs stalled when the thing set its sights on Flynn.

She fingered the tab on the bag and slid the zipper open. The sound of teeth releasing in the mechanism was like an air horn. Dipping her hand inside, she felt around for the black case and her fingertips brushed the cool metal. Working her hand down to the latch, she flicked the release and pulled out the tranquillizer gun.

The object felt foreign in her hand. Heavy. Awkward.

Uneven breaths hissed between her lips when she stood and pointed the barrel at the lion. Her movements jerked its attention back to her and Flynn flinched. In reaction, the lion growled, baring teeth. It prowled forward, one step, two, and Gabby released the trigger.

The pop echoed in her ears and the shot rattled her teeth. The lion roared, pissed off as hell, and whipped its gaze to where the tranquillizer dart protruded from its flank.

Well, shit. She’d hit him. First try, too.

The fur on its back rose and its ears lowered as yellow eyes narrowed to slits. Classic signs of aggression, which caused every red blood cell in her veins to chill thirty degrees.

To err on the side of caution, they’d dosed the gun with high levels to enact quickly should they ever encounter this scenario. Too high, and it would kill the animal. Too low, and it would do no good. She had no idea how long the sedative would take to be effective, but if her frazzled brain recalled right, it could be anywhere from seconds to minutes.

They didn’t have minutes because the lion whipped its head around and crouched as if to pounce. Shit, shit, shit. Raising the gun again, she aimed.

Footsteps pounded from her right. Flynn launched into her side, careening them into an open, empty stall. She had the vaguest blip of him grabbing the door edge and dragging it with them before they landed hard in a loose pallet of hay, him sprawled on top of her. The breath whooshed from her lungs.

Hinges rattled as the door thunked closed. Snarling followed from the other side. Scratching. A thump. Then, silence.

Chest heaving, Flynn jerked his chin over his shoulder toward the stall door. He watched it for several beats, then stared down at her. His frantic gaze ran over her face, lower. “Are you all right?”

She nodded repeatedly, probably resembling a bobblehead on a snowmobile. She was shaking so hard her muscles locked around bone and squeezed. Air wouldn’t pass through her airway...in or out.

Holy God Almighty.

Flynn collapsed on top of her, face buried between her breasts. His body vibrated, probably with residual adrenaline. After a moment of seemingly catching his breath, he groaned. “I should’ve been an accountant.” He lifted his head. Fear, frustration, and anger shone in his eyes, twisted his mouth. “A fucking accountant.”

Not that she’d been moving, couldn’t if she wanted to, but she stilled just the same. Her brain tried to process his words. She stared at him as a bubble of laughter rose in her chest and...escaped. Giddy, frenzied giggles that were ridiculous and unstoppable. And then her eyes welled, turning her hysterical laughter to tears. Sobs.

His gaze softened and he cupped her cheeks. “Gabby, sweetheart.” He kissed her eyes, her wet cheeks, her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand to dismiss his apology, but he wasn’t looking anywhere but her face. “I could’ve been your receptionist,” she wailed. The past week’s tension and stress caught up with her and she let go. Hot, outlandish tears dripped down her temples into her hair.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he waited her out.

After she didn’t know how long—the spell didn’t seem very lengthy, halting as fast as it began—she hiccupped through the last of the tears. God. She needed a drink.

“Dr. Flynn? Gabby?” Footsteps shuffled from outside the stall.

She tapped Flynn’s shoulder and he rolled off of her onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Mrs. Carson’s expletives muffled from the other side of the door, then it opened to reveal all five feet of the farm’s owner. Her gray hair stood on end. “Hell on wheels. You two okay in there?”

Gabby glanced at the woman’s feet where an unconscious mountain lion snored. She dropped her head back in the hay. “Yeah. Fabulous. I just need to look for my heart, which is somewhere over there.” She pointed in the general direction of the tack room. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, a crash impending.

Flynn sat up. “That tranquillizer won’t hold long. Have her call the ranger service to collect the animal.”

She nodded and translated his request. After Mrs. Carson left, Gabby unsteadily got to her feet and brushed hay off her scrubs, eyes on the wildcat.

If Flynn hadn’t barreled into her and shoved them into the stall, and managed to close the door, she’d be...dinner right now. The animal had clawed and fought another few moments once it had reached the stall. It had collapsed right where she’d been standing.

Screw this. She needed more than a drink. She’d take the whole bottle.

Flynn got to his feet, and by the look on his face, he was thinking the same thing. Hunching over, hands on his thighs, he shook his head. Sucking a deep breath, he straightened and hopped over the lion, grabbing the tranquillizer gun a few feet away. He checked the chamber, seemed satisfied, and then waved her over.

Gun pointed down, he took her hand in his other one and helped her out of the stall. “Get everything packed up. I’ll watch him, just in case.”

She eyed the main door down the long aisle. Oh, look. It had stopped raining.

With a sigh, she grabbed the bags, put them in the car, and called Avery from the satellite phone to tell her what happened. Humidity clung to her skin. The scent of saltwater and rain drifted in the air mixing with pine and damp soil.

“Crap on a cracker. You both are determined to bury me in paperwork so I don’t have a wedding next weekend.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re okay? Cade’s done for the day. I can send him—”

“We’re good. Just rattled.” She glanced up at the crunch of gravel. A white pickup belonging to the forest rangers pulled in the driveway and around the clinic SUV, followed by a yellow truck for the wildlife rescue. “I gotta go. We’ll be back soon.”

She headed for the barn and shook hands with Grant Carver, the wildlife guy. She took in his brown jumpsuit with a swift glance, noting he filled it very well. They’d gone to high school together, but she hadn’t seen him around much. “Thanks for coming so fast.”

He scratched his head, shifting his thick chestnut waves. “Not a problem. We weren’t far away, actually. So. New pet?”

“Ha.” She motioned for him to follow her inside where a forest ranger was standing beside Flynn and Mrs. Carson. Gabby translated the conversation about what happened.

Ranger Rick—she couldn’t remember his name as he was a recent Redwood Ridge transplant—crossed his arms. “Food supply must be scarce. This guy here is pretty skinny and they don’t tend to come toward civilization unless desperate.”

Skinny? She glanced at the lion, what looked like all one-hundred and ten pounds of him, and shuddered. Flynn ran a reassuring hand down her back.

Before the feral cat woke up, the guys transferred him into a large steel cage and into the back of a pickup. Then Gabby checked the horses one last time and headed for the SUV.

Flynn was waiting in the passenger seat, fisted hands in his lap and gaze straight ahead. His jaw ticked like a drum. Since he seemed ready to snap, she started the car and pulled onto the road. He didn’t move one muscle the whole drive back. She kept glancing at him, getting more and more concerned as they got closer to the clinic. When he still didn’t budge after she’d parked, she shifted in her seat and faced him.

She waved her hand to get his attention.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, not bothering to turn his head.

Was he...mad at her? “Are we still on for this weekend?”

A stiff nod was his only reply.

She lifted her hands to sign, but he was out of the vehicle. He stomped inside the clinic, leaving her confused.