“I’ll see you again tomorrow, Mason. Great session. Everything is going well.”
Mason smirked. “I don’t feel any different than when we started two weeks ago.”
Rick, the Physical Therapist, smiled indulgently. “These things just take time. You’re doing awesome with the upper body strength training, and the circulation in your lower extremities is great. There is minimal muscle atrophy. We just need to keep at it. We could try some hydrotherapy, if you want. I can set up some appointments at the pool in Missoula. It would mean driving there, of course, but it wouldn’t hurt to add that to our regimen.”
Mason nodded at his physical therapist, who finished packing up his bag and headed for the door. Everything was always “great” for Rick. He wasn’t the one stuck in a wheelchair.
“I’ll think about it.”
He pushed the door to the exercise room shut once Rick had left, and stared at the equipment. What the hell was he doing? Day after day, he was locked in this room, sweating and working on strengthening every part of his body, except the parts that really mattered – his legs. He hadn’t regained any feeling, and after more than six months since the accident, it was getting more than tiresome.
Mason grabbed his phone off the table in the corner, and stared at it. Every day, he stared at it, contemplating whether to call Doc Johnson. The old vet had stopped by last week between farm calls. He hadn’t pushed or asked about whether he was coming back to work, and Mason hadn’t said anything, either. They’d laughed over lemonade and left-over fried chicken, and reminisced about old cases.
Looking back on it now, it had been Doc Johnson’s subtle way of reminding Mason that he missed his work more than anything. He’d restrained himself from asking how Lori was getting along. Luckily, he hadn’t had to ask – Doc Johnson had brought her up himself.
“Fabulous diagnostician with the dogs and cats,” he’d praised. “The clients are starting to warm up to her, but you know how that can be. Folks are set in their ways, and it’s hard to get them to change.”
Mason had grinned, then winked at his mentor. “Kind of like old vets who are set in their ways.”
Doc Johnson’s boisterous belly laugh had reminded Mason of Santa Claus. “Lori’s been getting on my case about some of my – what she calls – archaic instruments that belong in a museum. I’ve had some of that stuff since vet school, and it worked fine then, and they work just as well now. I don’t need any of those fancy gadgets you young kids like to play around with these days. I suppose you’re right and I am set in my ways.”
“Even veterinary medicine needs to come into the twenty-first century, Doc.”
“Well, when I’m gone and Lori . . . or someone else, takes over, they can get all the new fancy equipment they want.” Doc Johnson had stared at him with that comment, and to avoid eye contact, Mason had found the breadcrumbs on his plate highly fascinating.
“Remember that call she went on a couple weeks ago? The laminitis pony that belongs to Brody Evans?”
Mason had nodded. How could he forget that day? It was on his mind constantly, and not because of the cases he’d seen with Lori. Their discussion in the truck after leaving Rory Anderson’s place had given him no peace.
Losing a patient under any circumstances was never easy, but losing one in surgery had to be devastating. From what Lori had described, however, she should not have been alone during that surgery. She’d been fresh out of school, and something as complicated as a hemangiosarcoma should not have been left for her to deal with on her own. In her mind, however, she’d taken full responsibility.
Holding her while she’d been visibly upset had come as naturally as breathing. Mason had pulled her into his arms before he’d even had a chance to think about his actions. It had only been meant as a consoling hug, but somehow it had felt like so much more. Memories of her clinging to him, soft and vulnerable in his arms, had plagued him ever since, adding to his frustrations and feelings of utter helplessness.
Girlfriends had come and gone over the years, but he’d never been serious about anyone before. The likelihood of starting a relationship now was less than zero. Yet, he couldn’t get his mind off Lori Emerson.
While other people had homed in on his wheelchair, she hadn’t so much as given it a glance or looked at him with pity. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d chastised him for letting the damn thing get in the way of carrying on with his life, similar to how his sister had badgered him relentlessly. Trouble was, he sure didn’t think of Lori as a sister.
“What about Brody’s laminitis pony?” Mason had glanced at Doc Johnson and forced his mind away from Lori. “Is it improving?”
Doc Johnson had rubbed his chin. “Thanks to Lori’s diagnosis and treatment plan. I saw that pony weeks before, and I didn’t catch what was really wrong with it.”
“Insulin resistance,” Mason had said.
Doc Johnson had pressed his lips together and frowned. “I simply chalked it up to, what I always called ‘fat pony syndrome’, and told Brody to stop feeding it grain and maybe put it on a dry lot to control its grass intake.”
Mason had shrugged. “That’s good advice, but I know it’s not enough in these cases.”
“The old-school vet in me ignored all the recent literature on insulin resistance. Back in the old days, we couldn’t explain most cases of founder. We simply assumed it was due to overfeeding grain. I can’t keep up with all this new science.”
“That’s why you hired a new vet, fresh out of school. I’m sure she’s completely up to date on all the new science.”
Doc Johnson had looked at him with a sad expression on his face. “It’s time I retired. You’re schooled on all the new science, too, Mason.” In the next instant, the old man had coughed to clear his throat, then stood from the table. “I’d best get back to work. Rory Anderson is having a fit and needs me to take a look at one of his first-calf heifers he bred to Boone Macklin’s prize bull. It sounds like she’s got pregnancy toxemia.”
Mason smiled and stared at his phone, thinking back to the visit with Doc Johnson last week. It would be so easy to tap on Doc’s number and ask if he needed any help. As much as he kept telling himself it didn’t matter, or that he couldn’t go back to work and do his job in his condition, talking to the old vet had made it even harder.
Lori’s challenge to him in the truck had weighed heavily on his mind, saying he could slowly return to the clinic with the small animals. It would have been easy to say yes, but a part of him, the part that was quickly losing hope that he would ever fully recover from his accident, had refused to budge.
He’d finished out the day of farm calls with her, actually looking forward to the next day. It hadn’t been because of the cases. He’d wanted to see her again.
When she’d called early in the morning to tell him that the one farm call had cancelled, but offered to pick him up to spend the day at the clinic, he’d declined. He’d spent the rest of the morning picking his guitar. Luckily, Raine hadn’t been home to pester him.
Lori hadn’t called since that day. Two weeks had gone by. She’d probably realized he was right, and until there was a change in his condition, he couldn’t effectively do his job.
Mason stuck his phone in his pocket and wheeled to the kitchen. On the way, he glanced out the large living room windows overlooking the barns and fields. Horses grazed in the distance, adding to the tranquil scene.
The house was eerily quiet. Shane was either at the barns or in town. Raine was at work, and Alley had gone to visit her grandfather. Mom was probably taking a nap.
He inhaled a deep breath. Life went on as usual for everyone around him, yet he was stuck in the house, wasting his hours away with his meaningless existence. As he opened the refrigerator and reached for a can of soda, the doorbell chimed.
Mason frowned. He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. Setting the soda can on the counter, he wheeled through the kitchen and down the hall. His eyes widened as he opened the door.
“Hi, Mason.”
“Lori. What are you doing here?”
Mason moved aside to let her enter. His eyes pored over her and his heart sped up at the sight of her. She wore her hair loose rather than how she’d worn it the previous times he’d seen her, in a bun or in a ponytail. Her skirt swooshed around her legs, but she wore sandals instead of high heels.
“I should have called, but I thought it was best to stop by and talk to you in person.”
Mason frowned. Judging by the smug look on her face, he wasn’t going to like what she’d come to talk to him about. Even so, having her here, seeing her rather than simply hearing her voice on the phone, his day had already brightened up. Not that he was going to let her know that.
“I was just grabbing something to drink,” he said lamely.
Lori’s brows shot up. “I hope you’re not drinking again, but it worked pretty well the last time when I had something to ask you, so maybe this could work in my favor again.” She smiled.
Mason grinned. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t make it a habit of getting drunk. The thought sounds mighty appealing sometimes, but I haven’t gone that route just yet.”
He wheeled toward the kitchen to get his soda, and Lori fell in step beside him.
“Well, that’s good to know, because I think I have something much better for you than self-medicating with alcohol.”
Mason’s frown deepened. “Something tells me I’m not going to like it.”
Lori laughed. “I think two weeks is plenty of time for you to think things over, Mason Taggart. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She pulled up a chair and sat, then tossed the large bag that hung from her shoulder onto the kitchen table. She stuck her hand inside it and began rooting around. For a second, it looked like one of those magical, bottomless bags out of the movies that were capable of producing entire sets of furniture and other large objects.
Mason wheeled up beside her, pushing one of the other chairs out of the way.
“Enough time to think what over?” He glared at her.
“Don’t tell me you forgot our talk already? Just because I didn’t bring it up again that day, or haven’t called you to bug you about it, doesn’t mean I’ve given up. I was really hoping you’d call me, or maybe Dr. Johnson.” She sat straighter in her chair and looked him in the eye. “You need to come back to work.”
Mason stared at her. She was back to being the self-confident Lori she portrayed when she wasn’t dealing with potbellied pigs or large thoroughbreds, or thinking about how she’d screwed up during a complicated surgery. She was the girl he’d immediately said yes to when she’d asked him to go with her on farm calls.
He mentally shook his head. He hadn’t said yes. The alcohol had made him do it. Mason braced himself for what she had up her sleeve this time. At least he was prepared to say no. His mind was completely clear.
“No.”
Lori paused. Her gaze went from whatever it was she was digging for in her bag to his face.
“No?” She sighed. “I knew you’d say that, but I have something else that might interest you.”
She pulled out several printed pieces of paper and slid them toward him on the table. Mason frowned at her, then glanced down when she tapped her finger on the papers.
“Have you thought about doing equine therapy, or has anyone brought it up before?”
Mason ran his hand over his face. “Lori, I already told you. I can’t go back to work in a wheelchair, and definitely not to see horses.”
She shook her head. “I’m not talking about horses as patients. You would be the patient.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Equine therapy. Take a look.” She smiled with the kind of enthusiasm that made his head spin just looking at her. If circumstances were different, he’d have asked her out two weeks ago, after he’d held her in his arms.
Mason cursed his stupid predicament again. He’d never shied away from asking a girl he found attractive out on a date. Along with his career, dating was something he couldn’t even think about now. Lori seemed helpful enough as a colleague, but if he asked her out, she’d probably laugh in his face. No. That wasn’t her style. She’d find a polite way to turn him down.
“I was on a farm call with Dr. Johnson a couple days ago.” She glanced up and smiled. “My first one since the day you came with me. I’ve been sticking to the small animals, and some of the clients are actually warming up to me.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Anyway, we went to a farm where they provide horseback riding to disabled children. The more I watched, the more I thought about you.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Mason lifted his soda to his lips and drained the can. Too bad it wasn’t a beer.
“I talked to one of the instructors, who told me riding helps the children with muscle coordination and it speeds up healing, and is great for their mental well-being.”
Mason wheeled away from the table and stared out the window. He gritted his teeth.
“There is nothing wrong with my mental state, Lori,” he growled. “And in case you need to read up on spinal cord injuries, I’m paralyzed. I have zero muscle coordination because I can’t feel a damn thing below my waist.”
Mason pounded his fist against his chair. His voice had risen to near shouting, and his pulse throbbed against his temple as his frustration and anger grew.
Lori came up beside him. She held one of the papers under his nose, and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t claim to know how completely frustrated you must be, Mason, but I’m trying to help.” While he’d yelled at her, she’d remained calm, and her soothing voice tempered the rage inside him.
He raised his head to look up at her. Lori smiled. Her look of concern and caring, combined with the soft hand on his shoulder, did more to muddle his mind than alcohol ever could. There was something far deeper in her gaze than simple caring. Mason blinked and shook his head. He must have misread that look of attraction in her eyes.
“What is this?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from her and looking at the paper. It was a printout from a website, with a picture at the top of a woman dressed in fancy dressage clothes complete with tails and a top hat, doing a half-pass on a gray Warmblood.
“This is Susan Miller, who is paralyzed from the waist down. She was a top-level dressage rider. She thought she would have to give up riding after she had an accident, but her love for the sport and for horses wouldn’t let her quit. That picture was taken only a few weeks ago. If you want to go on the internet, there are videos of her, too.”
Mason stared at the image. Nothing about the rider’s pose indicated she was in any way handicapped. Upon closer inspection, the only difference was the dressage saddle, which had knee flaps that looked to be specially designed to keep her thighs in place.
“Your sister told me that you’re an accomplished rider. Therapeutic riding might be something to look into. It certainly couldn’t hurt, and maybe it might even help your nerves and muscles.”
Mason shook his head. Nothing had helped so far.
“I have to get back to Burnt River. Dr. Johnson gave me an extended lunch, but I have patients to check on. There’s a dog at the clinic with GDV. Dr. Johnson did surgery on him yesterday.”
Mason glanced up at her. “A bloat is serious. I’m glad he made it through surgery.”
Lori nodded. “Me, too,” she whispered. “Dr. Johnson offered it to me, but I told him I’d never done any kind of gastric surgery, and I’d be happy to assist, but not perform the operation. It went well, but I still need to keep a close eye on him for a few days. On top of that, I have to be back in time to draw blood on a pug that I’m testing for Cushings Disease.”
Mason’s brows rose. Clearly, he was missing out on a lot of interesting cases. “Cushings? Haven’t seen one of those in a while. What are his symptoms?”
“Acute drinking and peeing, to put it in layman’s terms. He might have some underlying kidney disease as well.”
“Have you done a glucose test on him?”
“What for?”
Mason rolled his eyes. Not even a first-year undergrad would ask such a silly question. “To check and see if the dog has an elevated blood sugar level,” he said slowly.
Lori’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re thinking the dog has diabetes?” She shook her head. “He has a distended belly and looks like a classic Cushings dog, Mason.”
Mason grinned. “I’m putting my bets on diabetes.”
She laughed. “You haven’t even seen the patient.”
Mason shrugged. “What do I get if I’m right?” He stopped himself in time from blurting that if he was right about the diagnosis, she’d have to go out with him. He gnashed his teeth. Why would any woman want to go out with a cripple?
Lori shook her head, smiling in disbelief. Mason stared at her. Something fluttered in his gut. She was even prettier when she smiled. Discussing cases with her was refreshing and definitely more fun than sitting around his room all day with his guitar. She was right, of course. He shouldn’t simply make a diagnosis based on symptoms without seeing the animal, but it was enjoyable to disagree with her.
“What do I get if I’m right?” Lori challenged.
“If the dog’s glucose is normal, I’ll look into your equine therapy idea.”
“And what if it’s high?”
Mason tilted his head and stared at her. Here was his chance to ask her out without making it seem like he was asking her out.
“If his glucose is over 600, you have to stop pestering me like my sister.”
Lori laughed. “600? You’re on.”
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “Sally, could you ask Vanessa to do a quick in-house glucose check on Fred the Pug? . . . I’ll hold and wait.”
Lori smiled at Mason while she held the phone to her ear. “My patient is not diabetic,” she whispered to him while she waited.
Mason shrugged. He’d blown his chance to ask her out, but it was better this way. It wasn’t fair to put her on the spot like that, even if it turned out he was completely wrong, and the dog did have Cushings rather than diabetes.
Lori’s eyes widened suddenly, holding the phone to her ear, and she stared at Mason. She’d been on hold for several minutes already. “Okay. Thank you, Vanessa. I’ll be back at the clinic within half an hour.” She disconnected the call and shook her head.
“The dog is diabetic,” she murmured.
Mason laughed. He’d made a guess based on symptoms, nothing else.
“He could still have Cushings, too,” he offered. “What was his blood glucose number?”
“578.” Lori still stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns or something. “Why didn’t I think to run a basic test like this in the first place?”
“I’m sure you ordered a full blood panel on top of the Cushings test. At least now it won’t be a surprise when you get the results back in a few days.” He offered a good-natured grin. “Besides, it looks like neither one of us won the bet.” He glanced at the paper he still held in his hand, then back to Lori. “You’d better go see about your patients.”
She smiled quietly and pointed at the paper. “Even though I lost the bet, think about what I said. Maybe this is worth a shot and you can ask your PT about it.”
Mason nodded simply to end the discussion. He led the way to the front door to see her out.
“Thanks for stopping by.”
He closed the door, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His fist tightened around the paper in his hand, making it crumble into a ball.