Page 12 of Saddles and Snowstorms (Sagebrush Cowboys #4)

Brooks

“ Y ou’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me…” I sighed, glaring down at the dog as he dragged himself into the house. He was limping bad, his back leg stretched out at a strange angle. “What the hell did you get into this time, Hank?!”

The old mutt just whimpered, those big brown eyes looking up at me all pitiful-like. Damn dog knew exactly how to get to me.

“Christ almighty,” I muttered, crouching down to get a better look. His fur was matted with mud, and there was a nasty gash along his flank. “You tangle with a coyote again or just do somethin’ stupid?”

I ran my hand gently over his leg, and he yelped. Definitely something broken. Just what I needed after a fourteen-hour day at the ranch.

“Alright, boy. Looks like we’re payin’ a visit to the vet whether you like it or not.” I scooped him up as carefully as I could, wincing at his weight. Hank wasn’t no puppy anymore.

The screen door slammed behind us as I carried him to my beat-up truck.

The Texas sun was just starting to set, painting the Sagebrush hills in hues of gold and crimson.

Any other time, I might’ve stopped to admire it.

But right now, Hank needed help. As much as I didn’t want to go to the vet’s office, I had no choice.

I was gonna have to eat my words. Less than twenty- four hours after I’d yelled at Rowan, telling him I wanted to be alone and basically never see him again, I needed his help.

To be fair, I could’ve packed Hank up and driven him all the way out to Amarillo to find an emergency vet.

But that was time and money I didn’t have to waste. So, Dr. Walsh was my only option.

I was gonna look like a right fuckin’ fool showing up at that vet office. Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he refused to see me after the way I’d acted.

My truck rattled down the dirt road, each bump making Hank whimper in the passenger seat. I kept one hand on his back, trying to steady him while steering with the other.

“Easy, boy. Almost there.”

The lights of Sagebrush’s only veterinary clinic were still on—thank God. It was past closing time, but Rowan’s truck was in the lot. The man was a workaholic, something he’d pointed out during our last... encounter. Right before I’d told him to stay the hell away from me.

I pulled up close to the entrance, killed the engine, and sat there for a moment, my hands tight on the steering wheel. Pride was a dangerous thing for a man like me. Always had been.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, climbing out and coming around to Hank’s side. As much as the dog liked to annoy me, I loved that stupid mutt more than I could say. And he needed help.

The bell jingled overhead as I shouldered my way through the door, cradling sixty pounds of injured dog against my chest. The waiting room was empty, chairs neatly arranged, that antiseptic smell hanging in the air.

“We’re closed,” came Rowan’s voice from the back room, clipped and professional. “Emergency services are available in Amarillo if you need immediate assistance.”

“It’s... it’s me, Doc.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. “Brooks Callahan. My dog’s hurt bad.”

There was a moment of silence, then footsteps.

Rowan appeared in the doorway to the examination room, and damn if my heart didn’t do a little stutter.

Even with his face set in that cool, professional mask, he was still the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on.

His dark green eyes widened slightly when he saw me standing there, then narrowed as they took in Hank’s condition .

“Bring him back,” he said curtly, turning on his heel.

I followed him into the exam room, careful not to jostle Hank too much. Rowan gestured to the metal table, and I set my dog down as gently as I could. Hank whimpered, trying to lick my hand.

“What happened?” Rowan asked, already examining Hank with careful, practiced movements. His fingers probed along my dog’s flank, around the wound.

“Found him like this. Think he might’ve tangled with something out in the brush.”

Rowan nodded, not meeting my eyes as he continued his examination. His hands moved with practiced precision over Hank’s body, gentle but firm. The scar on his jaw caught the fluorescent light when he turned his head. It always caught my eye, something about it making him more handsome than usual.

“Definitely a fracture in the right hind leg,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

“And this laceration will need stitches.” He looked up then, those dark green eyes cool and professional.

“I’ll need to take some X-rays to confirm, but I’m pretty sure he’s got a clean break. Nothing too complicated.”

I nodded, feeling awkward as hell standing there. The silence between us was thick with all the things we weren’t saying.

“I’ll get him fixed up,” Rowan said after a moment. “It’ll take a couple hours. You can wait or come back.”

“I’ll wait,” I said, my voice gruff. No way I was leaving Hank. “You might need help.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need help from you. Waiting room’s where you found it.”

He turned away, heading to the back to turn all his machines back on. I hesitated, then reached out to scratch behind my dog’s ears before Rowan returned with a syringe.

“I’m going to give him a sedative for the pain,” he explained, not looking at me as he administered the injection with practiced ease. “He’ll be more comfortable while I work and easier to work on.”

I nodded, my throat suddenly tight as I watched Hank’s eyes grow heavy. “He gonna be okay?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Rowan said, his voice professional but not unkind .

Our fingers brushed as I gave Hank one last pat, and I felt that same jolt I always did when we touched. Rowan pulled back like he’d been burned.

“Waiting room,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

I retreated, closing the door behind me. The waiting room felt too small, the plastic chairs uncomfortable as hell. I paced for a while, then sat down, then got up again. Through the window, I could see night had fallen completely, stars pricking the vast Texas sky.

Two hours crawled by. I leafed through outdated magazines, checked my phone, and stared at the ceiling.

Every now and then, I’d hear Rowan moving around in the back, the occasional sound of equipment being shifted or drawers opening and closing.

Once, I heard him speaking softly, probably to Hank.

The tenderness in his voice made my chest ache.

I’d royally fucked up with Rowan. Known it the moment those angry words left my mouth yesterday. But seeing him now, the way he’d immediately jumped to help Hank despite our fight... it twisted something painful inside me.

The exam room door finally swung open around ten. Rowan stood there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a smudge of something on his forearm. He looked tired but satisfied.

“He’s stable,” he said, professional as ever. “Clean break like I thought. I’ve set it and put a cast on. The laceration needed twelve stitches, but there’s no sign of infection. He’s still coming out of sedation.”

I stood, relief washing through me. “Can I see him?”

Rowan hesitated, then nodded once, stepping aside to let me pass. Hank was lying on a padded surface in the recovery area, his leg encased in a blue cast. His eyes were half-open, drowsy but alert enough to thump his tail weakly when he saw me. I crouched beside him, running my hand over his head.

“Hey, boy,” I said softly. “Look at you, all patched up.”

“He’ll need to stay off that leg as much as possible,” Rowan said from behind me, his voice clinical. “Six weeks minimum in the cast. Limited movement. No running, no jumping, no stairs if you can help it.”

I nodded, still stroking Hank’s head. “Understood. ”

“I’ve written a prescription for pain medication and antibiotics.” He placed a small paper bag on the counter beside me. “Twice daily with food. The antibiotics are important—don’t skip them even if he seems better.”

“I won’t,” I promised, finally looking up at him.

Rowan’s face was unreadable, but I could see fatigue in the lines around his eyes. His short brown hair was mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it. There was that scar on his jaw, the one I’d always wondered about but never asked.

“What do I owe you?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

Rowan waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll have Tara send you a bill.”

“Nah, I’ll pay now,” I insisted, pulling out my wallet. Didn’t want him thinking I’d skip out on the bill. “How much?”

He sighed, those green eyes flickering up to mine for just a second before looking away. “Fine. Four hundred and fifty.”

I counted out the cash—I always kept a decent amount on me, didn’t trust banks much—and held it out to him. Our fingers brushed again when he took it, and this time, neither of us pulled away quite so fast.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice rough. “For takin’ care of him even after hours. After... everything.”

Rowan busied himself writing out a receipt, shoulders tense. “I’m a vet, Brooks. It’s my job to take care of animals, regardless of who their owners are.”

The words stung, even though I deserved them. Hell, I deserved worse after what I’d said to him.

“Still. Appreciate it.” I cleared my throat. “Need help getting him to my truck?”

Rowan hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve got a stretcher we can use. He shouldn’t be putting weight on that leg yet.”

We worked together in silence, sliding the canvas stretcher under Hank’s groggy form. The dog whimpered a little, and I found myself murmuring nonsense to him just to let him know everything was alright.

“Easy does it,” Rowan said as we lifted together. His voice was soft, meant for Hank, not me. “That’s a good boy.”

Our eyes met over Hank’s body as we carried him through the clinic.

Rowan’s gaze was guarded, professional, but I could see the hurt there, buried beneath the surface.

It was the same look he’d had yesterday when I’d told him to leave me the hell alone, that I didn’t need his city-boy pity.

That I didn’t want him around me at all.

God, I’d been a fool.

We eased Hank into the passenger seat of my truck, arranging him carefully so his cast wasn’t pressed against anything.

“He’s still pretty out of it,” Rowan said, checking Hank’s pupils with a small penlight. “He should be more alert by morning. Call me if he shows any signs of distress.”

“I will.” I stood awkwardly beside him, both of us illuminated in the harsh glow of the clinic’s exterior lights. Our breath clouded in front of us, the night turning colder than expected.

Rowan stepped back, putting professional distance between us again. “Remember, no weight on that leg. And make sure he takes all the antibiotics.”

“Got it.” I hesitated, one hand on my truck door. The night was still around us, just the sound of wind and the occasional distant lowing of cattle. “Listen, Doc—Rowan—about yesterday...”

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp as he cut me off. Those green eyes flashed. “You were perfectly clear. I don’t need an explanation.”

“I wasn’t clear. I was an asshole.” I took off my hat, ran a hand through my hair. “What I said... it wasn’t right.”

Rowan crossed his arms, his face half in shadow. “Which part? The part where you said you didn’t need my pity or the part where you told me to leave you alone for good?”

I flinched at his words. Hearing them thrown back at me made me realize just how cruel I’d been.

“All of it,” I admitted, my voice low. “I was outta line.”

Rowan stood there, the clinic’s light casting shadows across his face. For a moment, he just looked at me, those dark green eyes searching mine like he was trying to find something worth believing in.

“You were,” he finally said. “But I shouldn’t have pushed. You made it clear from the start you weren’t looking for...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely between us.

The silence stretched between us, filled with all the things we weren’t saying. In the truck, Hank whimpered softly, drawing Rowan’s attention. He immediately stepped forward, checking on the dog one more time.

“He’s just coming out of the sedation,” he murmured, his fingers gentle as they stroked Hank’s head. “It’s normal for him to be a little disoriented.”

I watched his hands, those careful, skilled hands that had just spent hours fixing my dog. The same hands that had brushed against mine when we sat together at the diner. The same ones that had gently and carefully examined the scar on my shoulder.

“Listen… do you… want to get lunch sometime?” I asked. “I feel like I need to make it up to you.”

Rowan lifted his head, a look of surprise on his face.

But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone, replaced with that cold professionalism he was so good at.

“You don’t need to make anything up to me,” he said, taking another step back.

“Now get this dog home and comfortable before he wakes up fully.”

I hung my head. “Right.”

Rowan couldn’t be any clearer than that.

I felt a little hurt that he wouldn’t even give me a chance.

But if I was in his position, I wouldn’t have given me a chance either.

I didn’t deserve it. I’d been hot and cold to him ever since we met, never giving him a straight answer.

Even after all the times he’d been out to my farm, I still didn’t know a damn thing about him because I was just too plain scared to even attempt.

I climbed into my truck, careful not to jostle Hank too much.

The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.

Rowan stood there, backlit by the clinic’s fluorescent glow, watching us.

I couldn’t read his expression, but something in the set of his shoulders made my chest tighten.

Just as I was about to pull away, he stepped forward, rapping his knuckles against my window. I rolled it down, heart jumping in my chest like some goddamn teenager.

“Call me if his breathing changes or if he seems to be in excessive pain,” Rowan said, all business. “And...” he hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, scribbling something on the back. “My personal cell. In case of emergency.”

Our fingers brushed when I took the card, and this time I didn’t imagine the slight tremor in his hand .

“I will,” I promised, tucking it carefully into my shirt pocket. “Thanks again, Doc.”

He nodded once, then stepped back, arms crossing over his chest. I pulled away slowly, watching him in my rearview mirror until he was just a silhouette on the horizon.