White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul by Jianne Carlo

winter.”
    “That’s fer sure. At least it’s not raining today.” When it rained heavy, if no one else was on the bus, he always drove Melanie right to the driveway to her house. “Jim Balden’s mare drop that foal yet?”
    One of the great Seattle Slew’s stallions had serviced the mare, Whisper, and the whole county had Triple Crown hopes for the foal. After all, Whisper had won both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, and if it hadn’t been for that stumble in the Belmont, the horse could’ve been the first filly to claim the crown.
    “Not yet. But Doc G. thinks it’ll be any day now. I’m sure you’ll hear the minute Whisper drops her foal. Doc G.’s going to broadcast that to every citizen. You have a good day now, Mac. And remember to take your medicine.” Melanie grabbed the rail and marched down the steps.
    She worried about Mac. He and Bernie lived in a ramshackle hut at the far edge of town. Bernie and Mac had served together in the army, and both had worked at the Dorland’s mill. After Bernie’s debilitating injury in the mill fire, Mac had moved his buddy in and helped him through his rehab. Though Bernie walked with a limp afterward, he had been able to hold down a greeter job at the town’s supercenter. But Bernie had contracted pneumonia last winter and damaged his lungs and had to stop working. Since spring Mac had steadily lost weight, and she didn’t think the two men were making ends meet.
    An icy breeze whisked dried leaves every which way on the short walk to the clinic. Maybe she could talk Virgil into a contest for a weekly free meal for two and they could fix the results. Somehow she had to find a way to help the two men.
    * * * *
    “Evenin’.” Her boss didn’t glance up but kept rummaging in an open desk drawer. “I can’t find Jim Balden’s file.”
    Shrugging off her coat, Melanie rolled her eyes and said, “Doc G., the filing cabinets are in your office.”
    He frowned, and his bushy sand-colored brows met. “I checked. There’s nothing under Whisper, and I remembered you were working on her file the other day. Thought you might have it still.”
    Lord save her from the workings of the male mind. “I worked on it two weeks ago. Everything’s under B for Balden. It doesn’t go by animal, but by client last name.”
    How many times had she explained the filing system to him?
    Doc G. stuck his elbows on the desk and grimaced. “You know, when my daddy ran this practice, we didn’t have to fill out a million forms and keep a zillion files…”
    Melanie had heard the same complaint a caboodle of times, so she tuned out and went to find the file Doc G. wanted. “Mac was asking about Whisper. Did you speak with Jim?”
    “Couldn’t get ahold of him. So I talked to young Fitzwilliam. He thinks I’m early by a fortnight.” Doc G. snorted. “Young whippersnapper. He’s what? Three years on the job. And what’s his specialty? Small animals. Fudging idiot. We’ll see that foal before next weekend.”
    Melanie pulled out the Balden folder and handed it to Doc G., who’d followed her into the office. “Here you go.”
    “Thanks. Jim called—couldn’t remember if he’d dropped off a copy of the insurance stuff.” Doc G. opened the manila folder and flipped through pages. “It’s here.”
    Doc G. never worried about files and forms, but then again, Whisper and her foal were both worth a small fortune. The word anal couldn’t begin to describe Jim Balden. But the poor man had pinned all his hopes on Whisper’s foal. It might be the only way to save the Balden ranch, the Ranch B, from bankruptcy.
    “You’ll be holding the fort from eight. I’m having dinner with Mike Dorland at the Caboose.”
    Just the mention of Mike’s name had her hot and bothered. Why were the two men having dinner? She had no recollection of them ever being friendly or even of their families socializing. Doc G. had to be forty-five, and Mike was nearly twenty-seven. She frowned.