Page 1 of A Cowboy's Claim
1
The knock came sharp and fast, loud enough to rattle the glass on the clinic’s front door.
Sydney rolled her eyes. The sign on the outside of the Heart Falls Health Clinic door clearly readClosed. Typical Monday chaos. Probably someone wanting stitches or a refill without an appointment?—
When the second knock came—harder, more impatient—she huffed and marched to the door, yanking it open with all the grace of a sleep-deprived ER nurse.
“What—?” She froze.
“Lovely to see you, too.” Her grandfather strode inside as if he owned the place.
Which, in a manner of speaking, he kind of did.
“Grandpa. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Last-minute decision,” he said, already sweeping his gaze around the lobby. “Had a layover in Calgary and figured I’d stop in to check on things.”
Sydney stepped back and folded her arms, watching him with wary affection.
He was taller than her—though that wasn’t hard, considering she barely reached five foot four. His auburn hair had faded to silver at the temples, but his eyes, like hers, were a striking silvery blue, sharp as ever. The way he held himself—straight spine, chin lifted slightly—was a familiar echo of her own posture.
Nathaniel Jones had always been the family force of nature. The brains. The legacy. The financier of her clinic and the author of the invisible rulebook Sydney had lived under for the past thirteen years—whether she’d wanted to or not.
Grandpa Nate’s brows winged skyward. “Did you forget what I look like?”
“I video chat with Grandma nearly every week,” she said, dry as toast. “But you’re never in the frame, so forgive me for checking to see if you’re still as handsome as ever.”
He frowned. “Please. You’re usually the only one of my five grandchildren who I can count on not being a bootlicker.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you, sir. I was calculating what percentage of your genes I inherited. Because damn, I’m going to begorgeouswhen I’m old.”
That earned her a rare guffaw, and when he stepped forward to pull her into a hug, his grip was tight and real.
“You truly are the best of the bunch.”
“The most like you, you mean.”
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” he agreed.
They stood in the quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and scanned the space again.
“I remember this place is small. Won’t take long for you to show me around.”
“You reviewed the blueprints and financed the reno three years ago, and you’ve visited twice a year since. I’d think you remember more than the square footage.”
Still, she led him through the clinic. Two exam rooms. A staff area. Lab, receiving, waiting room. The only recent updates were a couple of new chairs and a narrow sterilization enclave Petra had helped her design last winter.
In the second exam room, Grandpa Nate lingered long enough for her to wonder if he was trying to make her squirm. Not that she had a thing to worry about—she kept her nose clean when it came to anything involving the clinic.
Sydney kept her expression bland and her spine straight. It was just his annoying way.
Finally, he looped back to the front and settled into the comfiest chair in the waiting area as if he planned to stay.
“Your clinic’s only open three and a half days a week,” he said, gaze level. “Even so, your salary is meager.”
“This is a financial check, then?” Sydney asked. She kept her tone level, knowing full well she owed her ability to run the clinic at all to his backing.
“Call it curiosity,” he said. “My assistant, Jeremy—you remember him—tells me that with less than full-time hours, your expenditures remain high. Explain.”
