It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(2)

“Dr. Rushford, this is Tracy Emerson. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time, but I need your help. This stray cat showed up on my back porch last night. I brought her inside and gave her some milk. She drank it like she was starved. But something about her doesn’t seem right. I’m afraid she might be sick. I need to be in court at one thirty today, but if you can get here before then, I’ll be home. Sorry, I’ve never had a cat, and I don’t know what to do for her. Here’s my phone number.”

By now Rush was sitting up. He grabbed the notepad he kept on the nightstand and scribbled down the number. Conner’s grin was almost splitting his face.

“Man, you’ve hit the jackpot! You’ve had a thing for that hot lady judge since last Christmas. And she finally gave you her phone number.”

“Yeah.” Rush swung his feet to the floor and forced his aching body to stand. “All it took was a sick cat.”

Conner shook his head. “You look like hell and you smell like a stable. If you want to impress her, you’re going to need a shower.”

“Butt out, Conner,” Rush said. “I’m not going on a date. This is just a professional call.”

“Sure it is,” Conner said with a knowing wink.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Travis’s rangy frame filled the doorway. A former highway patrolman, Travis had inherited a rundown ranch almost two years ago. Last year the three friends had begun selling the pine trees they’d discovered on the property, which they’d renamed Christmas Tree Ranch.

“Our boy here just got a voicemail from his dream woman.” Conner was enjoying himself.

“You mean the judge?” Travis’s expression brightened. “Wait till I tell Maggie!”

“Take it easy,” Rush growled. “The woman’s got a sick cat, that’s all. Now get the blazes out of here and give me some peace while I call her back.”

After shooing his partners out of the room, Rush closed the door, sat down on the bed, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He’d met Municipal Court Judge Tracy Emerson last winter, when he’d gone to the city court to clear up a baseless littering charge against the ranch. When the bailiff had called the court to order and the judge had walked in to take her seat on the bench, Rush had sat up and taken notice.

Tracy Emerson was a tall, cool Grace Kelly blonde. Even in somber black robes, with her hair pulled into a no-nonsense twist and black-framed glasses perched on her elegant nose, the judge was a knockout.

Rush had known better than to look for a rebound so soon after his divorce, but by the time the trial was over, ending in reduced charges for the ranch, he’d been intrigued enough to do some checking. He’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean she was available.

Maggie Delaney, Branding Iron’s mayor and Travis’s steady girlfriend, knew everybody in town. When Rush had asked her, Maggie had given him the bad news. Tracy Emerson was recently widowed. Her husband, a successful lawyer, had died of a brain tumor eight months earlier. She was still dealing with her grief.

Rush had put his fantasies aside. Her Honor wasn’t ready to date, and neither was he. But his partners had gotten wind of his interest in the lady. Travis and Conner had teased him unmercifully.

Now, ten months after that day in court, she’d given him an excuse to see her again. And if Rush’s reaction to her phone call was any indication, he was, at least, open to possibilities.

Dared he hope she’d moved on past her mourning? Was there a chance this might turn out to be more than a professional call?

Don’t be an idiot, Rush told himself. The woman had taken in a stray cat. She needed a vet to check the animal. And he was the only vet in Branding Iron.

He glanced at the number he’d written down, then realized that all he needed to do was return her voicemail. He waited while the phone rang once, then again on the other end. What should he call her? Ms. Emerson? Mrs. Emerson? Tracy? Your Honor? Hell, maybe he should just hang up and call her back when he didn’t feel like a high school sophomore asking for his first date.

“Hello. Thanks for calling me back, Dr. Rushford.” Her voice had a breathless quality, as if she’d hurried to answer the phone.

“You say you’ve got a sick cat?” he asked.

“Yes.” She hesitated a moment. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with her. She looks . . . sort of swollen. And she keeps trying to hide. How soon could you come and look at her?”

“I can be there in about forty-five minutes. But I’ll need your address.”

“Oh—of course.” She gave it to him. “Thanks. I’ll be watching for you.”

Rush took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and put on fresh jeans, a plaid shirt, and the good boots that he avoided wearing in stables and corrals. When he walked out into the kitchen, Conner was frying eggs and Travis was mixing pancake batter.

“How about some breakfast? I know you’re anxious to get to that good-looking judge’s place,” Conner teased, “but you don’t want to go off hungry, do you?”

“Just keep a plate warm for me.” Rush headed for the front door.

“Only if you promise to tell us everything when you get back,” Travis said.

“I’m guessing there won’t be much to tell.”