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

“She’s looking good too,” he said finally, stepping back from the stall and wiping his hands on a cloth from his bag. “No signs of tearing or excessive bleeding. You might want to keep an eye on her udder though, looks like it could get a bit engorged if the calf doesn’t nurse enough.”

I nodded, trying not to stare at the way his forearms flexed as he packed his equipment back into his bag. “I’ll make sure he’s feeding properly.”

“How many head of cattle do you run?” he asked, glancing around the barn.

“Small operation. Just twenty-five. Quality over quantity.” I shifted my weight, oddly self-conscious about my modest ranch. “I sell direct to a few restaurants and shops in the area.”

Rowan nodded appreciatively. “Makes sense. I’ve heard about your beef, actually. Dolly at the diner mentioned you’re her supplier when I stopped in for breakfast the other morning. I didn’t have a face to put to the name until now.”

“That so?” I felt an unexpected flicker of pride. “Dolly’s a good customer. Fair prices, pays on time.”

“She said it was the best in the county.” Rowan’s eyes met mine again, and there was something warm in his gaze that made my throat go dry. “Said I hadn’t lived until I tried one of your steaks.”

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise, but pleased all the same. “Just raise ‘em right is all.”

The new vet moved closer, and I caught a whiff of his scent—clean soap mixed with a hint of something woodsy, nothing like the antiseptic smell the old vet used to carry. It stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Well, I’ll have to try it sometime,” he said, his voice lower than before. He was standing close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in those forest-green eyes of his. Close enough that I noticed how his dark lashes framed them.

I cleared my throat and took a step back. “Yeah, well. Dolly’s got a freezer full.”

Rowan seemed to sense my discomfort and gave me space, turning back to the cow and her calf. “I’m new to Sagebrush,” he said conversationally. “Just moved up from Austin last week. Quite a change of pace.”

“That’s an understatement,” I replied, grateful for the shift in topic. “What brings a city boy out to the middle of nowhere? Not exactly where most vets want to set up shop.”

Something flickered across his face, a shadow of something painful that was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Needed a change of scenery,” he said simply. “And Sagebrush needed a vet.”

I nodded, not pressing. Everyone had their stories, their reasons for ending up in a speck of a town like this. Most folks didn’t come here; they either stayed or left. New blood was rare. Me though? I was one of the folks that stayed.

“Well, we’re glad to have you,” I said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. “Old Dr. Mercer’s hands were getting too shaky for calving season.”

Rowan smiled again, that easy smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “Glad to be useful. Have you been in Sagebrush long?” he asked, running his hand along the calf’s spine with a practiced touch. The little bull twitched but stayed close to his mother.

“All my life,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “Never had much reason to leave.”

Rowan nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Must be nice, having roots like that.”

Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. There was a melancholy there, hidden behind that easy confidence. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Other times it feels like being stuck.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, surprise evident. “Didn’t expect that kind of honesty from the town hermit.”

I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “Town hermit?”

A flush crept up his neck, coloring those tan cheeks. “Sorry, that’s what Dolly called you. Said Brooks Callahan makes the best beef in three counties but barely shows his face in town except to drop it off.”

I couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped me. “Dolly’s got a big mouth.”

“She also said you were ‘handsome as sin but ornery as your cattle,’” Rowan added with a slight smirk, his eyes never leaving mine.

I felt heat spread across my face and down my neck. Damn Dolly and her big mouth. “Dolly needs to mind her own business,” I muttered, adjusting my hat lower over my eyes.

Rowan laughed, a warm sound that echoed through the barn. “For what it’s worth, she wasn’t wrong.” His eyes lingered on me a moment too long before he turned back to the calf, checking its legs one more time.

The air between us suddenly felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. I wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment or the way it made my heart thump harder against my ribs.

“You, uh, need anything else?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

Rowan straightened up, wiping his hands on a cloth from his bag. “Just a signature on some paperwork. Standard stuff for a new patient.”

I nodded and followed him out of the barn into the January sunlight. The cold air felt good against my heated skin. We walked side by side toward his truck, our boots crunching on the gravel. Hank circled around us, still fascinated by the newcomer.

“So,” Rowan said, pulling a clipboard from his truck, “you mentioned this was an accidental breeding. Do you normally breed your own stock?”

I leaned against his truck, watching as he flipped through papers. The sun caught his profile, highlighting that strong jaw and the scar that ran along it.

“Yeah, I keep one bull. Select breeding mostly. Try to keep the bloodlines strong without getting too close.” I shrugged. “Quality’s what keeps my customers coming back.”

Rowan nodded, handing me the clipboard. “Makes sense. Sign here, please.”

Our fingers brushed as I took the clipboard, and I felt that same unexpected jolt. I quickly looked down at the paperwork, trying to focus on the lines and boxes instead of how close he was standing.

“You run this place all by yourself?” he asked while I scrawled my signature.

“Just me and Hank,” I replied, nodding toward the dog, who was now rolling in something questionable near the fence. “Dammit, Hank!” I shouted, handing the clipboard back to Rowan. “That dog’s gonna be the death of me.”

Rowan chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “That’s dogs for you. Find the most disgusting thing in a five-mile radius and make it their cologne.”

I couldn’t help but smile, watching as he carefully tucked the clipboard back into his truck. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders and the way those jeans hugged his ass made my own jeans tighten.

“Must get lonely out here,” he said casually, leaning against his truck. “All by yourself.”

Something in his tone made me look up sharply. His green eyes were studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat.

“I’m used to it,” I said, my voice gruffer than I intended. He was getting too comfortable now. “Well, I better get on. These cows ain’t gonna feed themselves.”

Rowan looked slightly surprised but quickly covered it up with a nod of understanding. “Right,” he said. “I’ve got plenty more patients to check on myself. I’ll send a bill out once I get back to the clinic.”

“Right. Thanks again.”

I barely gave him a wave before I turned around and headed back toward the barn.

I knew I was being rude, of course, but the new vet was getting a little too personal for me.

I busied myself with checking the feed bins, pretending not to notice when Rowan’s truck pulled away, gravel crunching under the tires.

Only when the sound faded did I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“What the hell was that?” I muttered to myself, running a hand over my face.

I wasn’t sure if my new vet was just nice or hitting on me the entire time.

It was probably my imagination, but that didn’t stop it from scaring the hell out of me.

Whatever the hell it was, nothing was gonna come of it.

I’d sworn that shit off a long time ago.

Besides, he was easily ten years younger than me and the last thing I wanted to do was get mixed up with some pup that had nothing to lose. My world had been shaken enough.

Hank trotted back to me, his black and white fur smelling like death warmed over. I grimaced and pointed to the water trough.

“You’re gettin’ a bath, you nasty little shit. And I don’t care if you shiver for the next two hours either.”