Linger (24 page)

“Come here.” Pulling her into his arms, he laid them both down on the bed. Scarlett twined her legs with his, wrapped her arms around him before moving his arm so that it rested across her hip, where they could both see the bracelet.

Later, he felt the mattress dip when Scarlett again climbed out of bed, presumably to do whatever she'd been heading for before he'd stopped her. But this time, the physical reminder of her promise to care for him kept his demons at bay.

“I
t's a mild case of wool block, I think.” A week later, Scarlett squatted in the cool, humid air inside the main building of the angora farm that had placed a call to Logan that morning. Returning the animal that looked like a giant cotton ball with a nose back to its cage, she blew an errant wisp of the angora hair off her shirt, turning to the rabbit breeder who watched her nervously.

“That's what I thought, but I wanted to make sure. Shit.” Axel Webber was not at all what Scarlett had expected when Logan had sent her on this call—though what she'd expected from an angora breeder, she wasn't sure. But though the delicate way that the massive lumberjack of a man handled the rabbits that lined the spacious crates of what he called their “habitat” might have been incongruous with his appearance, she saw that he was very skilled at what he did. “All the rabbits have a salt lick and I check their water several times a day. And I groom them regularly, all just to prevent wool block. What am I doing wrong?”

“Well, you probably know more about angoras specifically than I do, but it sounds—and looks—like you're taking good care of them.” She brushed more angora hair, which was softer than any wool Scarlett had ever felt, off her clothes. “I'll want to do some reading up on it, but from what I can tell, it's not a massive block yet. A papaya or pineapple vitamin supplement dissolved in the rabbit's water will help break down the fur that's been swallowed. Apart from that, just keep doing what
you're doing—encourage regular drinking with the salt and the water, make sure that their pellets have plenty of fiber, and give me a call if you notice something off, just like you did.”
Give Logan a call,
is what she'd meant.
He was wearing her bracelet, yes, but she still couldn't get him to talk about anything too far in the future . . . or in his past.

Reaching down into the open-topped crate into which she'd just placed the rabbit, Scarlett stroked her hand through the amazingly soft hair that made a pale blue cloud around the surprisingly small body.

“That's Deidre.” Axel grinned at Scarlett's surprised look. “I name them all. You might have noticed, but it can get lonely on your farm, between visits into town.”

Scarlett hadn't noticed—mostly because she and Logan were so wrapped up in each other, and in work, that she hadn't had much time to be alone. But she could see how Axel, who was big and warm and gregarious, might feel that way.

“I kind of like the quiet out here,” Scarlett admitted as she packed up her things. This was the first call that Logan had sent her on alone, because he'd had someone coming to the house with their sick cat. Scarlett felt a calm pride that she'd been able to figure out the problem on an unfamiliar animal. “I didn't think I would—I'm from Vegas, and I thought I'd miss the city more. But it kind of feels like home out here.”

The admission jolted her down to her toes, as it was something she hadn't fully accepted even in her own head yet. She'd never imagined setting up her hospital anywhere but the outskirts of Vegas. She'd never lived anywhere else. But now . . .

Why
couldn't
she?

With the new thought buzzing through her mind, Scarlett dragged her attention back to Axel, who was watching her absentmindedness patiently.

Great, Scar. Really professional.

“Sorry.” She smiled sheepishly, picking up her bag. “Log—Dr. Brody will mail you the invoice in a few days. You can pick up those papaya or pineapple supplements at the health food store in town. Was there anything else you needed me to look at while I'm out here?”

Axel stepped back, waiting for her to walk ahead of him out of the barn, which had specially installed double doors to keep the weather outside from making its way into where the rabbits were housed.

There was deference in his gesture, a way of movement that had recognition going off in Scarlett's head.

“Nothing else I need, no.” Axel kept his eyes down as he spoke, though there was a smile on his lips. “But would I be overly forward in asking if Mistress would be interested in staying for a beer and some dinner?”

Scarlett thought she might have squeaked as her mouth fell open. Her lips worked silently as she tried to form a response.

Axel looked up—how had she missed his tendency to keep his eyes lowered, how he urged her to walk first, both signs of a well-trained submissive?

She hadn't been looking for it. Not out here.

“How did you know?” she finally asked. Once she recognized him for what he was, obvious now, she knew there was no use denying it.

“Some people are submissive or Dominant, right down to their core.” He nodded, smiling—a gentle giant. “Sometimes you just know.”

Yes, sometimes you just knew—like when Scarlett had looked at Logan, felt that spark between them.

No other submissive—no other man—was ever going to be able to make her feel the same way.

“So have I scared you off of that drink now?” Axel teased gently, and Scarlett couldn't help but smile. Here was a man she also had an instinctive feeling about—she sensed he could be a good friend.

But while she was flattered, she was also very much not interested, because her heart was bound elsewhere.

“Maybe some other time.” She smiled ruefully, feeling bad for letting him down. But when she thought of Logan's face when she had placed that bracelet on his wrist, her blood sizzled, and she suddenly couldn't wait to get back to Folsom Farms.

“I shouldn't be surprised that you're already taken.” Axel didn't ask by whom, and Scarlett certainly wasn't about to tell, even if the answer was obvious, at least to her.

One of the rules of kink—you kept the secrets of other members of the lifestyle.

“I would love to have a beer together some other time.” If Scarlett did stay out here—and that thought had her stomach doing a slow roll of anticipation—it would be nice to have a friend with the same inclinations nearby.

“Anything for the Mistress.” Axel smiled, and if there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, Scarlett tried not to feel guilty about it.

Maybe sometime she could invite another Domme from Veritas out to the ranch to play . . . and invite Axel, too.

Waving as she pulled out of Axel's long drive, Scarlett's thoughts turned toward home. And she realized then that was how she had started to think of Folsom Farms—as home.

When was too soon to tell someone that you were serious about them? She'd warned Logan right at the beginning that she wasn't looking for something casual, but those were just words until the reality of true, strong feelings set in.

Preoccupied as she pulled up the drive to the farm,
Scarlett noted absently that there was a dark green Volvo parked in front of the house. Mrs. Donovan and Voodoo were still here, then.

Scarlett smiled as she imagined cornering Logan later today in the back room that he used as his exam room. He rarely wore a lab coat, but he had one . . . and she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to wear it for her.

It happened in slow motion, or so it seemed to her mind. She was halfway to the house when the front door opened and Mrs. Donovan stepped out, cat carrier in hand. Logan was right behind her.

Mrs. Donovan smiled and waved, and Scarlett returned the gesture, which pulled her attention away from the tiny scrap of a dog that, seeing Scarlett's car, sprinted straight in her direction.

Scarlett saw the bundle of gray fur jumping a millisecond before the thud reverberated through the vehicle. She screamed, was halfway out of the car before she'd even managed to jolt the vehicle into park.

“Six!” From across the yard, she heard Logan's shout, Mrs. Donovan's cry of distress, the yowl of the cat in its carrier. And over it all, the pitiful, high-pitched whine of the beloved animal she'd just hit with her car.

Scarlett threw herself down on her knees in the grass. Her instinct was to pick Six up, to hold him close, to make it all go away. Luckily, her training kicked in before she could harm him further. The veterinarian in her knew that moving him could exacerbate his injuries. Though her whole body began to shake when she saw the blood, she tried to wrestle the racking guilt inside of her, to find a professional calm, to do what she had to do.

Six wasn't trapped under the wheel. That was good. But the way two of his tiny little legs were bent awkwardly told her they were likely broken.

When the big brown puppy eyes looked up at her, blurred with confusion and pain, his pitiful whine turned into a howl. Scarlett tried to keep it together—she had always been the strong one. She'd dealt with veterinary emergencies before during the clinic hours needed to get one's degree . . . but she'd never been the one to cause the animal distress.

Her arms were shaking, but still she tried to think of the best way to pick Six up without injuring him further.

“I've got it.” Logan landed beside her on the lawn, one of his large arms gesturing Mrs. Donovan and the caterwauling cat back. Running his hands over Six's tiny body, he finally gathered the little dog into his hands, standing at the same time.

I can do this
, Scarlett thought as she stood with them. She needed to help, needed to be part of fixing what she had done.

But then she saw the splintered white bone sticking out of Six's tiny little chicken leg and had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming with hysteria.

“P
ull yourself together.” Logan made his tone deliberately harsh as he laid Six on the table in his exam room. Blood had matted the fur of his leg, staining the pristine paper sheet beneath his body crimson.

Scarlett was standing just inside the door to the room, looking as though she'd been the one hit by a car. He knew from her references that she'd handled worse than this and with apparent ease.

But she'd never had to perform surgery to fix something that she'd caused, though she couldn't have done anything to prevent it. And she'd never had to do surgery on
her
dog.

And because it was her dog, Logan would do whatever it took to fix him back up. And for that he needed a second set of hands.

“It looks worse than it is, Scarlett.” His hands covered with blood, he gestured toward his bag with his head. “Two fractures, bone went through the skin, one other gash. He'll be fine. But we need to give him morphine to knock him out. I need you to draw it up for me.”

Scarlett looked back at him, eyes wide and unfocused. She was so pale that he was pretty sure she was going into shock herself.

He knew she was stronger than that. And he needed her.

“Dr. Malone!” His tone came close to shouting, which caused Six to whimper again but caught Scarlett's attention. “Go into my bag. Determine a morphine dose for a seven-pound canine and draw it up.”

Scarlett blanched, presumably at the idea that hitting Six with her car had caused him to need morphine.

“So help me God, Scarlett, if you don't snap out of it, I'll whip your ass myself.” The statement sounded so strange coming out of his mouth that Scarlett finally seemed to jolt out of her stupor, a flush of pink coming into her cheeks.

“Shit.” Hurrying across the room, she opened Logan's medical bag and pulled out the drug and a fresh syringe. Six whined when she approached with the needle.

“I'm so sorry, buddy.” Shaving away a patch of hair on the animal's rump, Scarlett slid the needle into his skin and depressed the plunger. A minute later, Six visibly relaxed, the tension in his tiny muscles starting to droop until he looked like he was asleep.

“I'm so sorry,” Scarlett whispered as Logan washed up at the sink in the room. But as she spoke, she was getting out the supplies they would need to reset and stabilize two fractured bones and to sew up the gashes.

His strong woman was still with him. So even though he wanted to take care of her first, he gave her instructions, and
together they mended and set and stitched, and in one case cleaned up a puddle of doggy vomit.

“All done.” Scarlett looked at Logan with eyes that were more than a little wild when he snipped the thread to the last suture. Six was still out, with several bald patches where they'd had to shave his fur, but his breathing was deep and even, aided by the narcotic, and Logan's professional opinion was that he was going to be just fine.

“Come on.” Logan set fencing around the table so that Six couldn't fall off if he woke up. “Staying here to stare at him won't do him any good and will only make you more upset.”

He watched as two shiny trails of tears spilled over from her eyes. He'd never seen her cry, and it just about sent him to his knees.

“I
t was my fault,” Scarlett said, the guilt stabbing through her like a knife. “I was going too fast.”

“Scarlett, you were driving down the road like you've done a hundred times before. Like I've done a thousand times. It was an unfortunate accident. It's not your fault.” Logan looked at her, hesitated for a moment, then scooped Scarlett into his arms. She tensed, then let herself melt against him as he carried her into the kitchen and deposited her on a chair.

“His vitals are good. He's young and he'll heal fast. It could have been far worse.” Scarlett blanched as Logan turned to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, though she knew he hadn't intended to add to her guilt.

But it
could
have been worse. She could have killed the poor little dog that she thought she'd saved.

“I'm making you some soup and some tea.” Logan pulled a pot from one of the cupboards.

“No.” Scarlett's stomach rolled at the thought of ingesting anything.

“Remember what I said about the whip?” Logan's voice was mild but underlaid with steel as he found a can of soup and opened it. “You need something so you don't go into shock. You'll eat.”