He ought to get down in the dirt beside her. That would be the right thing to do. But the fun thing was to watch the good doctor try to wrestle the brindle calf into submission.

Yeah, the right thing would be to help her out because she was definitely going down for the count. But she had told him to stay back, he reasoned. And the view of Alison Samuels's tidy little backside looked mighty fine from where he stood. Mighty fine.

John Tyler thumbed back his Resistol and hitched a dusty boot on the bottom rail of his dry lot fence. Crossing his arms over the top board, he settled in to watch the show… and a fine one it was proving to be, he thought with a grin.

Damn, the doc was a tiny little thing. Cute as a button, too,with her honey-blond hair pulled back in a long animated ponytail. Like her, it had looked sleek and professional when she'd answered his call this morning. It didn't look that way now. Nothing about her did. Now, she was a pretty, dirty mess. Despite the dust smearing cheeks pinkened with heat and exertion and flyaway strands of spun gold hair standing every which direction around her face, she was the kind of mess that made a man think of sweaty sheets, sultry sighs and a whole lot of pleasure between midnight and morning.

He straightened, cleared his throat and tugged his hat lower on his brow to cut the glare of the July sun. Then he told himself to think about something besides Ali- son Samuels's slim, bare limbs tangled with his. Something like why a city woman would want to pick up and move from Kansas City to Sundown, Montana, and take over old Doc Sebring's vet practice. And why this par- ticular woman — who looked more predisposed to cocktail parties and little black dresses than wrestling with livestock — would make the choice to set up shop in what most folks referred to as north of nowhere, was as intriguing as hell.

It was almost as intriguing as her skintight Wranglers that strained at the seams while she hunkered down, dug her boot heels into the packed dirt, and tried to muscle the calf into her way of thinking. It wasn't gonna hap- pen. Not with that technique. In fact, it was pretty apparent that up until this point in her vet career the biggest thing she'd ever wrestled was most likely a fat tabby with a hairball.

The brindle — a good one hundred fifty pounds of ornery on the hoof — let out a P.O.'d bellow, swung his head around and butted her under the chin. John winced then shook his head. Oh, man. That had to hurt like blazes. He'd been on the receiving end of one of those head butts. It was a pretty good bet that Doctor Dish was riding a rising tide of nausea and counting a sea of stars — but she gritted her teeth and hung on like a bull- dogger bent on winning a championship rodeo buckle.

Grit. She had it in spades. She couldn't hide the pain in her eyes, though, and when he saw it, he swore under his breath and decided this was as far as he was willing to let this fiasco go.

He swung himself up and over the fence, finessed the calf into a headlock and threw him on his side.

"Didn't ask for your help." The doc grunted, a little breathless, as she tugged the plastic cap off a syringe with her teeth and quickly jabbed the antibiotic into the wriggling animal's neck.

"And you obviously didn't need it." John tossed her a congenial grin as he released the calf. "But I just couldn't stand the idea of you having all that fun by yourself."

He rose to his feet then brushed corral grime off his jeans. Silver-blue eyes set in a face that made him think of porcelain and princesses met his through the heat and the dust as the calf ran, bawling, toward his anxious mother.

Judging by the look in her eyes, the doc was considering getting huffy. In the end, she just shook her head and gave up a weary grin.

"Well…far be it from me to spoil a boy's fun." She capped the needle, tossed it into her utility bucket and offered, if not an exuberant, an appreciative but weary,

"Thanks."

Maybe it was the boy comment. Maybe it was her valiant defiance even after the calf had gained the upper hand. Or it could be it was just the pleasure of finally seeing her smile — even if it was a feeble effort. He was a sucker for a beautiful woman's smile, and this woman's had him asking a question he'd pretty much decided he wasn't going to ask her again.

"How about you thank me by having dinner with me tonight?"

She didn't even blink as she gathered up her supplies and headed for her truck, rinsed her hands in a bucket of soapy water then hastily dried them on a towel. After digging around in a refrigerated compartment in the vet unit topping the pickup box, she found what she wanted then filled two syringes with antibiotic.

"He'll need another dose tomorrow and one the day after," she said, handing him the medication. "If you don't see any improvement by midweek next week, give me a call."

John slipped the syringes into his shirt pocket. "Can do. Now…about dinner?"

Pointedly ignoring his question, she stowed her medical supplies, shut the compartment and skirted around him toward the truck's cab. "Have a good day, John," she said, climbing behind the wheel.

He caught the door before she could shut it, then stood in the opening, grinning up at her.