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he was a little too happy about the prospect of getting to know Cheyenne Rhodes, so be it.

Chapter Four
    W ithin minutes, Cheyenne had shucked her leather jacket to follow Dr. Bowman around the clinic, observing and learning.
    â€œNo time for formal training,” Trace said. “If you see something that needs doing, ask someone or just do it.”
    He handed her a five-by-seven index card, listing info for Bennie, a fat beagle with skin allergies. “We make notes on these. Rabies inoculation updates, worming, anything pertinent that will go into the permanent chart later. I’ll tell you as we work.”
    She hadn’t expected to start immediately and she certainly hadn’t expected to assist the man himself. But she took the card and read the entries already on it.
    â€œHe’s been a patient since he was a pup,” she murmured, half to herself. “You must be a good doctor to inspire such loyalty.”
    â€œNot necessarily.” Trace flashed a sparkly grin. “I’m the only vet for fifty miles. It’s me or nothing.”
    Good-looking and self-effacing, too. Why couldn’t he be more of a jerk so she could dislike him for a reason other than his Y chromosome?
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œWhat?” With one hand resting on the dog’s back and the other rubbing the animal’s long ears, he glanced up. “A good vet?”
    She nodded, looking away from a gorgeous pair of light blue eyes. Yesterday, she’d been in such a state she’d barely noticed. Now she did, just as she noticed the slight indention in his left cheek and the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. She also noticed that his left hand was ringless. Hadn’t he mentioned a daughter? She’d feel a lot more comfortable if he was married with a dozen kids. Although a wife was no real indicator of what a man was or wasn’t capable of.
    â€œI do what I can.”
    â€œDon’t let his modesty fool you. He’s the best,” offered the beagle’s owner, a thirtysomething woman in a blue nurse’s smock and sensible white shoes.
    â€œI could return the compliment.” To Cheyenne he said, “You probably haven’t met Annie Markham. Annie, this is Cheyenne Rhodes. She’s new in town.”
    The women exchanged pleasantries before Trace went on, “Annie is a home health care nurse. The older folks of Redemption have nominated her for sainthood.”
    Annie laughed. “Oh, right. Tell that to Ted Sikes. He threatened to shoot me off the porch if I drew another vial of blood.”
    Despite the fatigue around her green eyes, Annie Markham was an attractive woman. Honey-blond bangs and hair pulled back in a ponytail framed a face with clear, translucent skin. As far as Cheyenne could tell, she wore no makeup and yet her eyes were rimmed with dark lashes. With a strange twinge, she wondered if Trace was interested in Annie Markham.
    â€œTed threatens everyone,” Trace said, eyes twinkling. “I heard he told the mailman not to deliver another piece of junk mail or he was toast.”
    â€œThat sounds like Ted, the silly old goose.”
    Trace looked at Cheyenne and pointed toward the corner. “Hand me the big white bottle on the second shelf.”
    Bottles and boxes, glass-fronted cabinets and interesting toolslined the walls and cluttered the countertops. Cheyenne went to the cabinet he indicated.
    â€œThis?” she asked, rattling pills as she lifted a bottle toward him.
    â€œThat’s the one.” He took the medication and counted out thirty tablets, then scribbled something on a small blue packet before sliding the pills inside.
    â€œIs this Ted guy dangerous?” Cheyenne asked, her cop instinct kicking in.
    Trace pried open the beagle’s mouth, popped a pill inside and then gently rubbed the animal’s throat. “Old Ted likes to bluster, but I don’t think he’d hurt anyone, do you,