The Doctor's Choice

The Doctor’s Choice

~Badlands: Book One~

By J.D. Faver

Copyright © 2011 by J.D. Faver

www.jdfaver.com

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Badlands

Copy
right © 2011 by J.D. Faver

License Notes

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights reserved under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of
J.D. Faver
, the copyright owner and publisher of this book, with the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for honoring the copyright laws and respecting the author’s work and her livelihood.

Cover art copyright © 2013 by Adina Mayo (AdinaMayo dot com)

*****

Dedication:

I would like to thank my dear friend, Bob Hayes, for his friendship and support. I especially appreciate his broad knowledge and willingness to offer advice on technical aspects of my novels. His expertise has been invaluable.

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The Reluctant Rancher~BADLANDS: Book Two

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5341WX2

CHAPTER ONE

It snowed the day of Aunt Silky's funeral. The bone-chilling
February cold suited Camryn Carmichael just fine. Her mood was as dark as the slate-colored, north Texas sky.

Her gaze flicked over the tall man
observing her from the opposite side of the coffin.

T
he lawyer. Stud in a Stetson. Please!
She could feel his attitude from where she stood.

Cami pulled
up the collar of her coat to block the biting wind. She couldn’t feel her toes any more. The group of mourners who stood by Silky Carmichael's grave shivered and shuffled their icy feet, but the pastor droned on, oblivious to their discomfort.

Breckenridge T. Ryan, Aunt Silky's lawyer,
had made the call to inform her of Silky’s death. Now, he seemed to be assessing her, his dark eyes taking in every detail. He might be considered handsome if he ever smiled. He probably thought her an idiot for wearing her all-weather rain coat and suede pumps in a blizzard, but it rarely snowed in Houston. She certainly couldn't afford a new wardrobe on a resident's meager wages, even for her last living relative’s funeral.

She hadn't visited Moonshadows, her great aunt’s ranch, since high school graduation. Her parents had been killed in a car crash the summer she turned fifteen. Aunt Silky stepped in
to keep her in the prestigious Dallas girl's school. She lived at the ranch during summer vacations and holidays. Silky called her every week when she was away, relating stories about her testy old foreman, "T-Bone" or the younger hand, Frank.

The two men stood huddled together against the
piercing wind, their faces set in grim tribute to their former employer.

Now Aunt Silky was gone and her obnoxious lawyer was staring hard.
Damn him anyway!

Cami’s pumps were ruined
. Snowflakes feathered her hair. By the time the pastor intoned his final prayer, her eyes were teary and her nose red both from grief and the bitter

cold.

People filed past, expressing condolences and pumping her hand. She willed them to hurry so she could escape from the slashing wind
and mourn in private.

“Miss Carmichael?”

She turned to find the lawyer extending his hand. The cordial smile didn’t quite reach his dark, unreadable eyes.

“Y-Yes
. I’m Cami Carmichael.” As he wrapped her hand in his, she shivered and it wasn’t entirely from the cold. “Actually” She struggled to recover some of her dignity. “I’m Doctor Camryn Carmichael.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I see.
Well, I’m Breckenridge T. Ryan, Esquire, but Silky called me Breck.” Her hand remained firmly entrapped in his.

The other mourners scurried to their vehicles. Doors slammed and motors growled in protest as they were awakened from their sleep. Billows of white smoke rose from exhausts as they bid a chilly farewell. The grim parade retraced
its route to exit the small cemetery, leaving Cami and Breck alone with employees of the funeral home who were anxious to cover Silky’s casket with earth and return to their homes.

“Can I give you a lift back to Silky’
s place?”

“No,
thank you. I brought Aunt Silky’s Lincoln.” She nodded to where the candy-apple red vehicle was parked and took a step in that direction to give him the hint.

“Fine,” He gave her hand a squeeze
before releasing it and donning his black Stetson. “Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll get together.”

She felt a
constricting sensation where her heart should have been. “Excuse me?”

“The will.
Except for some minor bequests, you were Silky’s sole beneficiary.”

“Oh.” Cami swallowed hard.

The reality of the death of her only kin had been difficult to bear. This pronouncement only reinforced her isolation.

She longed to return to
Houston and the comfort afforded by her fiancé, Clayton Tremont, IV, and by her upcoming fellowship in immunology. She wanted the familiar muggy Houston weather and not this dry north Texas blizzard that was freezing her toes off, among other things.

She accepted the card
Breck offered. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tucking it into her pocket, she headed for the Lincoln.

#

Breck watched her walk away. He shook his head before climbing into his extra-cab pick-up truck.

S
illy woman doesn’t have a clue.

Silky’s great
-niece was a major disappointment. Camryn Carmichael was a beauty, but she had no common sense. She didn’t know how to dress for the weather and she didn’t seem to appreciate the significance of the events that were about to unfold in her life. Perhaps she was just some private school debutante and all this wealth was nothing extraordinary to her.

He
started the diesel engine and listened to its deep rumble.

T
his girl…this woman looked too delicate to withstand the harsh extremes of the local environment. ‘Doctor Camryn Carmichael’ she’d said, like she was real proud of it.

He
sighed and turned on the heater, immediately fogging up the windows, then switched on the defroster.

He tried to recall everything Silky had
ever told him about her beloved niece.

Mostly school honors and some equestrian events, but
clearly, she’d been the apple of Silky’s eye. He couldn’t imagine how she’d have the gumption to take over the ranch and make intelligent day-to-day decisions that would have such a broad-reaching affect.

No matter. He’d promised Silky he’d stand by her niece when the time came. He just hadn’t thought it would come so soon.
Nor had he thought the girl would be such an airhead.

He put the truck in gear and pulled slowly into the slushy ruts carved by others, heading toward
the Ryan ranch. He drove through the small town of Langston, where he’d grown up, and past the high school where he’d been an athletic and academic star. He passed the church where he’d been baptized and where he added his baritone to the hymns sung most every Sunday.

A short time later he drove through Silky’s ranch, bisected by the long, flat stretch of highway dividing both their properties. Thousands of acres of grasslands and fertile fields lay under a blanket of melting snow. The Ryan and Carmichael ranches were two of the largest in the area. He snorted in disgust. If you didn’t count the Kincaid mega-ranch; the dozens of small properties consumed by Eldon Kinc
aid’s ravenous hunger for land.

Tomorrow,
he would deal with Silky’s lovely little great-niece and drop the bombshell.

#

Cami entered through the back door of Aunt Silky’s big, Victorian house and spread her sodden coat across a kitchen chair. She abandoned her ruined pumps and sprinted up the stairs barefoot.

Shadow, Silky’s big German shepherd lifted his head and followed her as
cent with large, mournful eyes.

Cami had
put her things in the room she’d always occupied when she had come out for summer vacations as a teen. Rummaging in her bag, she located jeans, a pullover and thick socks to wear with her sneakers.

Passing by
Aunt Silky’s room,
she noticed that
the door was ajar. She steeled herself,

hesitating a moment before opening
it all the way. The room was done in a monochromatic palette of pale yellow with a satin bedspread and draperies to match the paint.

A
Silver-Point Persian cat looked at her expectantly from its throne atop the king-size bed.

“Oh, I forgot about you. You must be hungry.” She
carried the haughty cat downstairs and searched the pantry for food for the animals. Shadow followed her movements with his eyes. The cat jumped up on the countertop and meowed plaintively.

“Well, Miss Priss, is that where you belong?” Cami confronted the self-possessed feline,
fisting her hands on her hips.

Disrespectfully reclining atop her roost, the silvery cat stretched out a hind foot and attacked it industriously with her prickly pink ton
gue.

“Ignoring me? That’s what I can expect from you, you stuck-up hairball.” She scratched the ruff of fur around the cat’s neck affectionately.

Poor thing
.
She hoped the lawyer would help find homes for Silky’s pets. Her own small apartment complex didn’t allow animals. Of course, her busy schedule wouldn’t give her time to take care of them anyway. Much better to find a nice local family who would take the magnificent pair. The German shepherd whined softly, his expression a portrait of exquisite grief.

“
No boy, she’s not coming back.”

She fed them both in the kitchen, using
one of Silky’s porcelain soup bowls to serve the cat.

“Sorry, Aunt Silky,” she
murmured, placing the bowl on the counter.

Stroking the cat, whose name she couldn’t recall, Cami considered her present situation. In
just over two weeks she was going to start her fellowship. She would have to

pay for her
small apartment near the Medical Center, the huge enclave of hospitals in Houston.

Aunt Silky
had faithfully sent a monthly check to help with living expenses. She wondered how she would make it on the small stipend offered by her fellowship.

Perhaps Aunt Silky had provided for her continued upkeep, at least until she completed her specialization
area. The lawyer had said she was Silky’s sole beneficiary. Did that mean the rambling Victorian house and the ranch that seemed to run on forever? There were barns and grain bins, equipment and livestock. What would she do with all these things?

Her
musings were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.

The dog raced to the front door, his toenails
making a skittering sound on the polished hardwood.

Peering out through the lace curtains,
she saw three elderly women standing on the front porch. She opened the door, but before she could speak they marched inside, wafting a trail of powdery, old lady perfume in their wake.

“Hello dear,” the smallest of the three said in a tiny bird-like voice. “I’m Mrs. Peabody, the Librarian. Perhaps your aunt spoke of me? We were best friends.” She thrust a
warm casserole dish covered in aluminum foil into Cami’s hands and began to unbutton her heavy coat.