Long, Tall Texans_ Boone (Long, Tall Texans #35) - Diana Palmer Page 0,5

it to him gladly.

“This animal,” the vet began firmly, “has a severe case of bloat. I can show you on the X-rays where necrosis of tissue has already begun. If I don’t operate, he will be dead in an hour. The decision is yours, but I urge you to make it quickly.”

Boone hesitated. “Will he live?”

“I can’t promise you that,” Bentley said curtly. “He should have been brought in when the symptoms first presented. The delay has complicated the procedure. This conversation,” he added acidly, “is another delay.”

The curse was audible two feet from the cell phone. “Do it,” Boone said. “I’ll give you permission. My sister can be your witness. Do what you can. Please.”

“Certainly I will.” He handed the phone to Winnie. “Keely, we need to prep him for surgery.”

“Yes, sir.” Keely was smiling. Her boss was a great negotiator. Now, at least Bailey had a chance, no thanks to the heartless woman who’d have sacrificed his life for a concert ticket.

* * *

THE OPERATION TOOK two hours. Keely stood gowned beside the vet, administering anesthetic to the dog and checking his vital signs constantly. There was only a small amount of dead tissue, luckily, and she watched Bentley’s skillful hands cut it away efficiently.

“What was the delay?” he asked her.

She clenched her teeth. “Concert tickets for Desperado. Boone’s date didn’t want to miss it.”

“So she decided that Bailey should die.”

She grimaced. “I’m not sure she was being deliberately coldhearted.”

“You’d be surprised at how many people consider animals inanimate objects with no feelings. Old-timers come in sometimes and tell me in all seriousness that no animal feels pain.”

“Baloney,” she muttered.

He laughed shortly. “My opinion exactly.”

“How’s he doing?” she asked.

He nodded as he worked. “All right. There are no complications to worry about. I operated on Tom Walker’s Shiloh shepherd for this about two months ago, remember, and he had a tumor the size of my fist. We lost him despite the timely intervention.”

“We aren’t going to lose Bailey?” she asked worriedly.

“Not a chance. He’s old, but he’s a fighter.”

She smiled. Even if Boone gave her hell, it would be worth it. She was fond of the old dog, too, even if Boone felt she was using his pet. It made her furious that Boone believed that heartless brunette. Keely wasn’t stupid enough to think that such a play would work on a man with a head like a steel block. Boone wouldn’t care if she was Helen of Troy, he’d walk right by her without looking. She knew better than to try to chase him. She was amazed that he didn’t realize that.

“Done,” Bentley announced finally when the last suture was in place. Keely took away the anesthetic and waited while the vet examined the old dog. “I think he’ll do, but don’t quote me. We’ll know in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll carry him in for you,” he volunteered, because the dog was very heavy and Keely had problems carrying weight.

“You don’t have to,” she began self-consciously.

His pale blue eyes were kind as they met hers. “You’ve had some sort of injury to your left shoulder. I don’t have to see it to know it’s there. It won’t let you bear weight.”

She grimaced. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“I won’t give you away,” he said with a smile. “But I won’t make you carry loads too heavy, either.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said, smiling back.

He shrugged. “You’re the hardest worker I’ve got.” He seemed self-conscious after he said that, and he made a big production of lifting Bailey, very carefully, to one of the recovery cages where he’d be kept and monitored until he came out from under the anesthetic.

“I can stay and watch him,” she began.

He shook his head. “I had a call on my cell phone while we were prepping Bailey,” he reminded her. “There’s a heifer calving over at Cy Parks’s place. She’s having a hard time. It’s one of his purebred herd and he wants me there to make sure the calf is born alive.”

“So you have to go out there.”

He nodded. “I’ll check on Bailey when I get back. It’s Friday night,” he added with a faint smile. “Usually we get emergency cases all night, you know.”

“Want me to stay and answer the phone?” she asked.

He studied her quizzically. “It’s Friday night,” he repeated. “Why don’t you have a date?”

She shrugged. “Men hate me. If you don’t believe that, just ask Boone Sinclair.”

He looked over her shoulder and his eyebrows lifted as a door opened.