The Preacher's Daughter by Cheryl St.john Page A

afghan to have a look at his patient. The animal was a long slender Siamese with sleek silver fur, black ears and facial tinting and narrow blue eyes. “She’s a beauty.”
    “She was a gift from my husband.” Mrs. Evans followed him into the house and to the area he used for his office and examining rooms.
    Ben spoke to the animal in a low comforting tone to gain its trust, petted her and fed her a tiny piece of jerky.
    Mrs. Evans was now making him self-conscious with her stare.
    He looked her in the eye. “Is there a problem?”
    She shook her head without a word and glanced away. Her attention fastened on the glass jars where he kept treats for his patients.
    “It looks like the candy counter at the mercantile, but with bits of jerky and—what’s that?”
    “Dried apple. When did this happen?”
    “This morning. She got out when the children left for school and I found her in the shed where my husband keeps his fishing poles. I had to cut the poor thing loose from the line. Why the man left a hook on the line is more than I can figure out.”
    “She’s gonna be just fine,” Ben assured her. “Why don’t you help me hold her.”
    Once he had the cat’s trust, he hooked a short leash to her collar and secured her to the examining table.
    “Look away and don’t breathe this,” he instructed Mrs. Evans.
    Talking in a soft tone, he doused a cloth with ether and held it to the feline’s nose. The cat tried to pull away for a panicky moment, but succumbed to the fumes and fell limp on the table.
    The cat’s owner released the pet and sat in a nearby chair to watch.
    Ben quickly poured disinfectant over the paw, then cut the hook in two with a small pair of wire cutters. Once the prongs were disposed of, he pulled the hook out and firmly pressed a wad of cotton to the wound to stop the minimal blood flow, all the while aware of the woman’s scrutiny.
    Within minutes Minnie’s paw was dabbed with ointment and bandaged. He washed his hands and placed his instruments in a pan of disinfectant.
    “How much do I owe you?” Mrs. Evans asked.
    “Two bits should do it,” he answered, drying his hands.
    She took a coin from her purse and handed it to him. “You have a gentle touch. Confident and capable.”
    “She’s gonna wake up groggy and disoriented. Maybe mad as a hornet.” Ben wrapped the cat in the afghan and handed her over like a sleeping baby. “I suggest you put her in the box and keep her there for a time so she doesn’t hurt herself when she wakes up.”
    Mrs. Evans nodded and lowered the animal into the crate. “We’re fortunate you chose to practice in Newton.”
    “Never thought about anywhere else,” he said, picking it up for her and leading the way out of doors. “Family’s here.”
    “Your parents, too?” she asked, following.
    “No. My sister and her family and my brother.”
    He set the crate in the back floor of the buggy.
    The woman’s questions continued. “Have you lived in Newton your whole life?”
    The way she kept looking at him made him uncomfortable. “No, ma’am. We grew up nearby though.”
    “Forgive me, but I’ve met Dr. Chaney—the other Dr. Chaney, I mean—and if you’re not his brother, how can your name be Chaney, too?”
    It was a logical thing to wonder. Sometimes Ben questioned taking the Chaney name and the respect and history that went along with it, like borrowing the name as though it was a pair of shoes that didn’t fit.
    “My brother-in-law adopted me and my brother,” he answered simply.
    “So…your mother…is she…?”
    “She’s dead. You wouldn’t have known her.”
    That look of curiosity and suspicion that he hated to see in people’s eyes made him angry. He found a lap blanket and tucked it around the crate, so the cat wouldn’t wake up and escape.
    “You must think I’m awfully rude,” Mrs. Evans said.
    Without comment, Ben straightened and assisted her up to the seat.
    “It’s just…”
    He waited.
    “I’d like you