JD
By the time I feel her stirring in my arms, gentle sunlight is already starting to filter through the curtains.
I haven’t slept much. It’s almost like I’m afraid if I let down my guard, some other threat is going to materialize.
Yesterday was chaos.
My peaceful patch of land invaded, the woman I was supposed to be protecting attacked, and federal agents in my house and around my property. Quiet returned around the time the sun set, but my body remained restless and my mind wouldn’t stop churning out images of Janey, bloodied and broken, her vibrant blue eyes dull and unseeing.
My first instinct had been to pack Janey in my truck and hit the road. Take her somewhere where no one would think to look for us. Of course, not exactly a reasonable option.
Agent Kramer’s assurances both Jericho and Mackey would remain safely in FBI custody helped. As did my father’s calming presence. I’d called him to bring over boards so we could temporarily cover the broken sliding doors, and working side by side with him to make the trailer secure was a productive way to channel my lingering anxiety.
But the moment he left and it was just Janey and me, my muscles tensed up and my senses went on high alert. I had a hell of a time projecting calm confidence for Janey’s sake. After all, she’s the one who endured the trauma. Again.
So when we turned in for the night, I wrapped myself around her and watched over her while she slept.
I’m not stupid, I recognize it for what it is, I’m just not sure why I should experience a stress response to someone else’s trauma. I’ve fucking spent all night practicing deep breathing, trying to calm the erratic beating of my heart.
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
Janey’s soft voice and the gentle touch of her hand on my chest are soothing.
“Some.”
“Liar,” she returns, pushing herself up a little to look at me. “Your body is like a loaded spring. I can feel the tension in the muscles under your skin.
“I shouldn’t have left you.”
The long night has obviously given guilt a chance to settle at the forefront of my mind. But Janey doesn’t hesitate to set me straight.
“Stop,” she commands. “I’m responsible for myself. I’m responsible for my choices, and I’m the one who chose to sit outside on the deck after you left, making myself an easy target. Don’t take on shit that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Still, I was supposed to—”
“Nothing,” she cuts me off. “You weren’t supposed to do anything. Not that I don’t appreciate you looking out for me and taking care of me when I’m down, but don’t treat me like I’m a job—an assignment—because that feels like an insult to me.”
“An insult?” I echo, a bit taken aback. “I care about you.”
“And I care about you, but if this is anything other than a two-way street, where we are equal partners and look out for each other when the need arises, count me out.”
I’m not going to lie, that stings. Mainly because I can’t imagine turning my back on her for any reason, I’m already too far gone.
Needing a moment to get my head together and avoid saying something I might come to regret; I swing my legs out of bed and head for the bathroom. Hopping in the shower, I brace myself against the wall and let the water pound down on my neck and back, trying to relieve some of the tension in my muscles.
I told Pa last night I wouldn’t be in today, but maybe a solid day of physical labor will be good for me. I need to get out of my head before I risk fucking up what is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t just care about Janey, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her and have been for a while. After being so patient in waiting for the right time to approach her, it would be a tragedy if I messed things up now.
I lift my head at the swoosh of the shower curtain sliding aside, revealing Janey, naked as the day she was born. The bruising and the cut on her face have become an almost familiar sight, but the injury to her leg stands out in stark contrast to her pale skin.
“You’re not supposed to get your stitches wet,” I caution her as she steps into the shower behind me.
“It’s been forty-eight hours,” she reminds me of what the nurse mentioned when Janey was discharged.
Without hesitation, she wraps her arms around me from behind, her hand sliding down to grasp around my rapidly growing cock.
“Janey,” I caution her, grabbing onto her wrist. “You’re injured.”
“Hush,” she mumbles with her lips pressed against my shoulder blade. “Put your hand back up on the wall, honey. I’ve got you.”
She feels amazing, her full breasts plastered against my back, her lush hips rocking into mine, and her hands administering the most beautiful torture. With one strong hand stroking my length, she uses the other to cup and play with my balls while firmly rubbing my taint with the pad of a finger.
I rest my forehead against the tile, my mouth falling open as she plays me like a fine-tuned instrument. My soft pants are drowned out by the constant rush of the shower, until the tip of her finger slides precariously close to that tight sphincter muscle before pressing inside.
I erupt like fucking Vesuvius, coming in long strands that hit the wall and are washed down the drain with the water. She milks me dry, until my legs are shaking with the strain of staying upright. Then she wraps me firmly in her arms, keeping me standing until I can catch my breath.
My body is like gelatin, without real substance; every muscle completely relaxed.
“We take care of each other,” she softly reminds me before stepping out of the shower.
She doesn’t give me a chance to reciprocate.
I guess she’s made her point.
Janey
I’m surprised how normal everything looks when I walk over to the clinic.
I’d asked JD to drop me off at my place this morning when he was heading out to High Meadow. I think my point in the shower this morning was well-taken, since he didn’t launch an objection when I told him I needed to get back to the clinic.
Yesterday, Stephanie had mentioned her team would be packing up and moving out last night. They were transporting their prisoners back to Kalispell, but she indicated she’d be in touch.
“Feel good to be home, girl?” I mutter at Ginger, who walks beside me.
We make quite a pair, hobbling to the barn.
I feel much better today, the pain in my leg is more of an ache now, even without the meds I ditched yesterday, and my face just feels a little tight, even though it still looks pretty horrible. Evidence of that is the shocked look on Frankie’s face when I walk into the clinic.
“Oh my God! Dale told me you’d gotten hurt, but I thought it was your leg. Your poor face.”
Dale would be Deputy Bastian. I don’t recall seeing him here on Friday night or yesterday at JD’s place, but either way, I’m not surprised she heard. Libby is a small community, and there isn’t much that stays secret for long.
“Looks worse than it is,” I reassure her. “Once the bruising and swelling is down, you’ll barely be able to tell.”
At least I hope so. I’m not particularly vain, but I’d rather not have a gnarly zipper on my face.
“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” Frankie admits. “I was about to start calling a few appointments I shifted from last week to this week. Are you sure you’re able to work?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take it easy if I need to, but I can’t afford to let things go. Besides, Logan should be in to help with clinic hours this afternoon. I can let him do some of the work; if I need a break.
“What do I have going on this morning?” I ask, glancing at the appointment schedule she has up on her computer screen.
“Sandra Bowen is coming in with Gremlin for his teeth scaling, you have a follow-up appointment to see Daisy, and we rescheduled that surgery on Chet Weinstein’s donkey to ten this morning.”
Right, Gremlin, the snarling Chihuahua with serious periodontal issues, the sweet potbelly pig with pneumonia, and the miniature donkey with a large but benign tumor on his neck requiring removal since he keeps rubbing it open.
I’ll have my hands full this morning, but first I want to pop into the barn. Jackson assured me the horses were fine when I walked into the house this morning, but I want to check on them myself.
Red sticks his head over the stall door, curious to see who just walked in. I’m surprised he allows me to rub his nose without withdrawing. I’m guessing he’s becoming accustomed to his surroundings and starting to feel safe. I hope JD is still up for helping me rehabilitate this horse, because if this little nose rub is any indication, I think I’m going to love seeing Red’s personality in full bloom.
But first I’m going to need to get the fencing around that field in the back fixed. It’s not healthy for him to be cooped up in the barn all day. Half of the damn fence boards are either broken or hanging off the posts, and some of those are busted too. I’d get a start on it myself, but I’m not exactly in prime condition at the moment. Maybe Logan is interested in making some extra money, otherwise I’m going to have to call around to see who is available to help. I’m pretty sure JD would offer, but he already took days off last week for me, and in the evenings I’m selfish enough to want him spending time with me instead of out in the field.
When I move down the barn to the farthest stall, I’m hit with a flashback. The sound of the shot that hit me Friday night still echoes in my ears and, for a moment, the fear I felt is as real now as it was then. I force myself forward and into the present, taking those last few steps to look in on the barrel horse. She’s a bit more cautious, staying out of reach in the stall, but when I open the door to check on her stitches, curiosity wins, and she nudges the pockets on my jeans.
“Looking for treats, girl? I’ll remember that for next time.”
I realize I don’t even know her name, although I’m sure it would be in our notes somewhere. Between Logan and myself, we kept track of every animal we treated.
Her wound looks clean and those stitches can probably come out in the next day or so. I pat her neck and rub her nose before stepping out of the stall again. This time she follows, sticking her head over the door, so I give her some more attention.
I’m still not sure what’s supposed to happen with her. I’d like to think the girl had family who would want to collect her horse eventually, but I don’t really know. I haven’t heard anything from Sheriff Ewing yet, but he probably still has his hands full with the investigation. I may give him a call after this morning’s appointments.
Perhaps if she’s still here after I get that fence fixed, we can try to introduce her to Red and she can keep him company in the field. Who knows? Maybe no one will claim her and she can stay.
I give her a last scratch under her chin and dismiss my fantasies. I don’t really have time for those, I have a clinic to run.
By the time I report to the owner of Arthur, the large mass was successfully removed and he can pick up his pet donkey at the end of the day, after the animal sleeps off the anesthetic, I’m dead on my feet.
“I’ll be in my office,” I tell Frankie. “Oh, and can you check our pharmaceutical supplies and put in an order? We may be getting low on some stuff. I noticed there are only two vials of ketamine left.”
I ache and it feels good to drop down in my seat, propping my leg up on an open desk drawer. I’m tempted to tilt my chair back and close my eyes for a few winks, but I have too much to do.
It’s amazing how fast things pile up when you’re out of the office, even for only a few days. There’s a stack of mail I need to look at, bills that need paying, an inbox of emails requiring my attention, and a bunch of follow-up and return phone calls I need to make.
The first thing I do is put in a call to the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Ewing is out of the office, so I leave a message for him to get back to me, when Frankie walks in.
“Thought you might need this,” she says, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me.
“You are a saint,” I mumble, reaching for it as I inhale the scent.
She snorts. “Hardly, although I was going to offer to pick up something for lunch. Do you want a sandwich or something?”
“I wouldn’t mind a club sandwich. Thanks, Frankie.”
“Sure thing. I’ll head out now.”
As she’s heading out the door, I start working my way through the stack of pink messages she left on my desk. Next, I tackle emails, and I’m still working on those when I hear the front door of the clinic open.
“Logan?” I call out.
“Yep,” is the answer, as Logan pops his head in my door. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” he says, shooting me his boyish grin. “Pretty badass.”
I bark out a laugh and roll my eyes at him.
“Where is Frankie?” he asks.
“Gone to pick up some lunch. Hey, how did it go Saturday?”
He shrugs. “Fine.”
“How was Dr. Feltner to work with?”
He was the other veterinarian Jericho called in to cover for me on Saturday.
“Okay, I guess. A bit of an ass, if you ask me, he barely said a word and wouldn’t let me do anything other than hold the animals. I definitely like working with you better.”
I grin at him.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I joke, before turning to a different subject. “I have a question for you; how handy are you with a hammer and nails?”
His answer is in the way he scrunches up his face, looking pained.
“That good, huh?”
“I’m the only one in my class to fail shop in high school,” he shares, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers. “It’s a miracle I still have all my digits left. Why are you asking?”
“I need to find someone to fix the fence on that pasture in the back so we can put the horses out during the day.”
Logan looks surprised. “Horses? More than one?”
That’s right, I forgot he’d already gone home Friday afternoon when Sheriff Ewing asked me to look after the pinto. He wouldn’t have known she was here.
“Shoot. I guess you missed that part. The sheriff asked me to temporarily board Lacey Del Franco’s horse.”
A shadow passes over his face at the mention of her name. I feel bad even bringing her up, but there’s no way to avoid it with the animal boarded here.
“I noticed the horse was gone when I got to the grounds on Saturday, but I didn’t know you had her,” he admits.
“Yeah, she’s our guest for now. At least until I find out from the sheriff what is going to happen with her.”
As if summoned, my phone rings and Sheriff’s Office appears on my display.
“Speak of the devil.”
Logan slips out of my office as I answer the call.