Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
And so I stand silent, like a fool.
“I want—no, I need—the best veterinarian in the area, the one who’s going to go the extra mile, who really cares about these dogs, who will tell me what I don’t want to hear. I know that’s you.” There’s a pleading quality to his tone that tugs at my heartstrings, and my ego appreciates the strokes. “I know you’re not about the money, but I’ll pay you extra if that’s what it’s going to take. I just want the best for them.”
Owning the role of the Iditarod champion’s kennel would be great for the clinic’s reputation, and twenty-one more dogs to care for would pad my revenue. After Sunday’s explosive dinner, turning Tyler away would be a stupid business move. It would prove that Liz is right, that I can’t make smart choices.
I take a deep breath. This is silly. I’m thirty-eight years old. I need to accept this relationship for what it is—strictly professional—and move on. I can stand to be around an attractive man and not fall hopelessly in love with him. “I’ll need to see your kennel before I commit to anything.”
Tyler’s mouth falls open, as if surprised that I bent so easily. “That’s fine.”
“And if I see something I don’t like, you’ll need to change it.”
“You won’t find anything. But okay.” He punctuates that with a nod.
“And I charge for travel time. To and from your place.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
It’s a good thing he’s not on civil terms with Harry, then.
“Perfect.”
I make a strangled sound. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
A curious look flickers across his face, but it vanishes just as quickly. “So, when can you make it out to my place?”
“I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.” Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I feel that buzz of anticipation that comes with knowing I have an excuse to see Tyler on the regular.
It’s the same feeling I got when I was flying out to the villages with Jonah.
“Here, I’ll give you my number.” He leans over the front desk to grab a pen and scrap of paper. The move stretches his T-shirt across his body, pulling my attention to the cut of muscle across his back.
Which drags out memories of him pressed against me.
And so it begins.
He pats the paper once and then leaves it there. “I’m off today and tomorrow, so I can make any time work. You call and let me know.”
“Cory does the scheduling. She’ll let you know.” She’ll be more than happy to dial that number.
“Okay, well …” His gaze flitters over my scrubs before shifting to the mug shot on the wall. “I’ll let you get back to your one-eyed snake.”
I shake my head. “Why are guys all the same?”
His chuckles follow him out the door.
I take a few calming breaths.
I’m now Tyler Brady’s veterinarian.
This is not how I saw today going.
I’m going to regret this.
Cory plows through the door from the back. “What happened in the tent?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The last time I was at Tyler’s, the air was bitterly cold, the property was blanketed in snow, and I was angry.
Today, a warm summer breeze blows through my truck’s open window and across my cheek, the grass is green and freshly cut, and while I’m not angry, I’m certainly not at ease.
“Quick tour, in and out,” I tell myself, pulling up behind the green truck parked by the woodshed. The doors to the barn sit wide open, and several dogs mill around freely.
I check my watch. I’m a few minutes early, but the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can move on to a schedule of castrations and lumpectomies.
I hop out and smooth a hand over the front of my shirt, reminding myself again that the blue jeans and plain black T-shirt I settled on after trying four different outfits is perfectly adequate for inspecting a kennel. What’s more, this look says that I’m not trying to appeal to anyone. Especially not Tyler. I even skipped the mascara on my otherwise invisible blonde lashes.
I’m as plain as I can be without showing up in sweatpants.
Three dogs trot toward me, their tongues lolling. Two I recognize from the race, but the third, I—
Wait. “Nymeria? Is that you?” I ask, as if she might answer.
Her heterochromia and fur coloring give her away, but everything else about her is unrecognizable. She’s put on ten pounds, the bite marks have healed, and her limp is gone.
I lean down to give her my hand, but she surprises me by jumping up, her front paws landing on my chest while she licks my cheek.
I laugh, even as I stumble back a step, the move unexpected.
Heavy boots dragging across gravel pulls my attention to the right, my breath hitching with excitement. But it’s only Reed, strolling from the house with a bottle of water in hand. He’s in head-to-toe navy, save for brown hiking boots that he doesn’t fully lift off the ground with his steps. His clothes are streaked in dusty paw prints, and the curly black mop on his head is in disarray, as if he just rolled out of bed.