“I told you!” Brenne yelled, rushing into action. “He’s literally climbing the dang walls!” She lunged for the cat, managing to grab ahold but not for long. The barn cat let out a howl and raked its claws down the length of Brenne’s arm. She let out a yelp and released it on reflex.
Alex dove for it as it scrambled under the table, managing to grab its hind quarters. The cat turned around lightning quick and bit him, causing him to let go and recoil. He felt like a fool, clutching his hand as the bite throbbed.
“Oh that’s it,” Brenne said, hiking up her jeans and sniffing loudly. “Ragtime, you’re going down.”
The cat was backed into a corner, spitting and yowling. “I wouldn’t approach it,” Alex said, pulling himself up on the table. “I’ve got some reinforced gloves somewhere around here. They’ll offer some protection.”
“Don’t need protection from an ornery old barn cat.” Brenne strode forward, then dropped to her knees a few feet away from the cat. It hissed and swiped in her direction, but she didn’t flinch. “Oh, I know,” she said softly in a calming voice. “I know you’re all kinds of mad. But that don’t mean you can’t be polite.”
Brenne sat there, watching the cat, who continued to hiss and spit. Alex had no idea what she was doing, until he caught her eye movements. Very slowly, Brenne would lower her eyelids and blink, then slowly open her eyes again. Over and over she did this while staying in position. It took a couple of minutes, but the hissing began to subside.
Alex caught on suddenly. He’d recently read a study on the “slow blink,” a way of cats showing their trust and affection. Humans could actually calm a cat and make it more likely to trust them through simple slow blinks and patience. I can’t believe I’m seeing it in action right in front of me.
Brenne managed to get the barn cat to slowly blink along with her, and when she reached forwarded carefully to grab the scruff of fur around its neck, it didn’t flinch. She was able to grab it and stand, and Alex came alongside her, helping to guide the cat back to the table.
Between the two of them, they managed to keep it still while Alex did his exam. He wasted no time feeling for an obstruction along its digestive track. He was relieved not to feel anything out of place. When the cat let out a low growl, he took it as a hint.
“Let’s not press our luck,” he said, guiding the cat back into the carrier. It didn’t back itself into the corner, just crouched low and panted. “I think I can get a blood draw from here. It’s likely got a parasite or else ate something it shouldn’t.” While Brenne kept a hold of it inside the carrier, he took a quick blood sample. “Some tests should tell us what’s wrong with Ragtime.”
He closed the cage again and let out a long breath. “Well, that didn’t go exactly to plan. I should have listened to you.”
Brenne chuckled and shook her head. “Those are the wisest words I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, Doc.”
Alex pursed his lips, realizing he’d opened the door on that one. “At least I now know you have some useful skills, since filing doesn’t seem to be one of your talents.”
Brenne let out a little gasp of anger that quickly turned into laughter. “And catching cats ain’t one of yours. At least I didn’t go to filing college. What’s your excuse?”
Alex couldn’t help himself. He laughed. One thing was becoming clear. Brenne MacAllen is going to keep me on my toes.
CHAPTER 6
BRENNE
Brenne was crouching beside the small plastic container, her eyes glued to the hairy creature inside. “How do you tell it’s sick?”
“Well, there aren’t many symptoms that tarantulas display, but they may have a shriveled abdomen from dehydration, they might suffer from parasites, and sometimes they exhibit uncoordinated movements,” Alex explained, making a note on his clipboard. “But this one is here for a bald spot.”
“Bald spot?” Her face was frozen into a grimace, her eyes refusing to leave the giant spider. “I thought male-pattern baldness was confined to human males.”
Alex’s eyes lifted from his clipboard to look at her. Although his expression was neutral, she could see a twinkle in his eyes. “Unfortunately, geriatric tarantulas can be similarly affected.”
“So how do you treat it? Do they make toupees in that size?”
This time the stoic veterinarian cracked a smile. “They’re usually caused by bacterial infections. I’m going to take a little sample, and I’ll likely prescribe an ointment to clear it up.”
He opened the lid of the container, and Brenne shot upward, putting some distance between herself and the spider. Alex noticed, and his smile widened.
“You know, this would be a good training exercise for you. Learning how to handle an arachnid.”
Brenne’s eyes widened. “Are you threatening me? I don’t remember my death warrant being among the paperwork I signed when you hired me.”
Alex laughed, shaking his head. “You’re being dramatic. Tarantulas aren’t poisonous.”
“It don’t take venom. If that thing touches me, I’m having a heart attack.”
“Come on, Brenne,” he said, grasping her wrist and pulling her toward the table. “Stop being a baby. You’re going to have to learn how to deal with situations like this.”
“I’ll show you how I deal with situations like this. Just let me get my boot off so I can squish it properly.”
Alex laughed again, and Brenne couldn’t help herself. She cracked, chuckling, but when she tried to pull away from his grip, he didn’t release her. Her eyes flashed to his, and what she found there caused a tendril of heat to uncoil in her belly.
He broke the eye contact first. “Just touch it. You don’t have to hold it.”
Her mind in the gutter, Brenne did a double take before she realized he was talking about the spider again. “Doctor Parsons, I respectfully decline.” She pulled against him again.
Alex pulled back. “Just one touch. It’s not going to hurt you.”
She’d rarely seen this playful side of him, at least not since he grew up into Doctor Parsons, the serious hero vet of Lubbock and parts south. Brenne almost gave in, until she looked at the tarantula again.
“Nope. Not a chance.” She gave another tug, a hard one, and she felt her hand slip in his grasp. Then he tightened it, pulling on her hard enough to cause her boots to slide across the floor.
“Brenne MacAllen, always a size too big for her britches, is going to touch this tarantula.” His tone was insistent, but his expression was full of mirth. One more tug, and she was in his arms. “Come on, cowgirl, show me you ain’t yellow.”
The sharp retort she had in mind died on her tongue when she met his eyes again. Liquid heat filled her body, and her gaze moved to his lips. Kiss me, Doc Parsons, she thought suddenly, filled with a hunger that almost bowled her over.
Then his face came closer, his lips inches from hers. She was just about to close the distance when the exam room door opened. “I just got a call from—”
Emma froze mid-sentence, coming to a full stop. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”