Beneath a Southern Sky by Deborah Raney Page A

toward his office. Daria noticed that he had a stubble of beard and heavy circles under his eyes. She wondered if he’d been called out for an emergency during the night. Maybe they’d had to euthanize a family pet. That always tended to sober this usually lively group.
    She looked at Carla for an explanation, but couldn’t catch the technician’s eye. Halfway down the hall, Cole’s footsteps halted, and he barked to no one in particular, “I’ve got to have that vaccine this morning! Has anyone called the supplier? Daria, what time is Avery Knudsen bringing those hogs in?”
    She scanned the columns in the appointment book that lay open in front of her. “I have him down for ten,” she told him.
    “Well, that’s not going to happen,” he growled. “Call him and reschedule.” The back door slammed behind him before she could ask him what time he wanted to reschedule for.
    Bewildered, Daria watched out the window as Cole trudged toward the barn, head down, shoulders hunched inside the upturned collar of his jacket. Without comment, Travis followed him out.
    Daria turned to Carla, incredulous. “What is wrong with him?” She’d never seen her boss so surly. If it hadn’t been so unlike Cole, she would have been angry at his rudeness.
    Carla came to stand beside Daria at the window that overlooked the barn and corral. “You’ve got me,” she shrugged, obviously as puzzled as Daria. “He’s been going at it since he walked in the door this morning. He doesn’t usually get that way unless he’s been up all night. But he didn’t mention getting called out. And the surgery room is just like I left it yesterday.”
    Daria shook her head. “Boy, that’s a side of him I haven’t seen before. I don’t think I like it very much.”
    “Me neither,” Carla agreed. “Maybe today is one of those anniversary dates or something.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know, maybe it’s Bridgette’s birthday, or it would have been their anniversary or something like that.”
    A small knot started in Daria’s stomach. “Bridgette? His wife?”
    Carla nodded.
    “Did you know her?”
    Carla shook her head. “She died before Cole came here. Back in Colorado, I think.”
    “He doesn’t talk about it much, does he?”
    “No. It must be tough for him. I would guess he probably still has some ghosts to deal with,” Carla said thoughtfully as she walked out to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.
    Daria tagged behind her. “What do you mean, ‘ghosts’?”
    “Well, I have a feeling he blames himself for her death,” Carla said over her shoulder.
    “Why?” Daria was taken aback by the comment. “Was he driving?”
    Carla stopped stirring her coffee and turned to look at Daria as though she’d gone mad. “Driving? What are you talking about?”
    Daria shook her head in confusion. “The accident.”
    “What accident?”
    “Cole…said she was killed in an accident. I-I guess I just assumed it was a car accident. It wasn’t?”
    “You seriously don’t know what happened?”
    Daria shook her head, wanting desperately to hear the story but feeling guilty that they were talking about Cole behind his back.
    Carla walked back to the office and set her stained, chipped coffee mug on the counter in front of them. She cocked her head and studied Daria as if deciding whether she should continue. Finally she shrugged. “It wasn’t that kind of car accident.”
    Daria waited, her brows knit together.
    “Cole found her in their car. Carbon monoxide poisoning. They ruled it accidental,” Carla said, emphasizing the word accidental . “It might just be rumors,” she added quickly, “but I’ve heard she was pretty messed up in the head. It’s hard for me to picture Cole with someone like that. But, like I said, this all happened before he came to Bristol.”
    Daria was stunned. Cole had mentioned his wife’s death that first day she’d come to work, but he’d never hinted that it was anything like this.