Chapter Six
Rhett returned to the clinic and de-mited Alma DeWitt’s potbelly pig, treated the bulldog that had stumbled upon a neighbor’s rat trap, put an IV in a rabbit, and set the broken wing on a mourning dove that had hit Sweet Brew’s front window.
The best part about being a small-town vet was how no two days were ever the same. He’d worked with species ranging from dogs and cats to llamas and ostriches and once performed a cesarean on a cow tied to the back of a tractor during a Cat 2 hurricane. He laughed and grieved with clients almost every day. Each time he stepped through the clinic doors it was a privilege. A privilege to be trusted with the care of such precious family members.
Funny thing was, Dad used to say much the same thing about his own practice.
Their shared love of work should have served as a bond, not a wedge. The cords in his neck tightened as he locked the front door at the end of the day.
Pointless wishing for something that wasn’t meant to be. Besides, he didn’t regret his career. He didn’t do regrets.
Except one.
He blinked, his eyes tired and scratchy. “Not going there,” he muttered before whistling for Faulkner, Steinbeck, and Fitzgerald. They bounded after him with grins so wide that he couldn’t help but return the favor. How could his pretty new neighbor not love dogs? He’d had one or two his whole life.
He glared at the sky. Better not to ponder the whys, or Pepper’s stray-puppy eyes, or, damn, that body. Curvy in all the right places. Impossible to resist a second, third, hell, even fourth look.
Except he would. No other option. The town biddies had bloodhound-caliber noses for gossip. They’d sniff out details if he emitted so much as a waft of interest. Better to shove her out of his mind, too.
Done and done.
It wasn’t until after he picked up Beau from city hall and they idled at the town’s lone stoplight that there was a disturbance in the force.
“Who isthat?” Beau lowered the smartphone that seemed as connected to him as another appendage and whistled under his breath.
Rhett pressed his lips tighter. Pepper crossed the street, still dressed in that cute-as-hell skirt that hugged her in all the right ways. “Lawyer from up north,” he muttered.
“How the hell doyouknowher?” Beau gave him an expectant look.
“Dude. I know lots of women.”
“Yeah? Then how come you’re a monk?”
The light flicked to green. Rhett accelerated. He wouldn’t glance in the rearview mirror.
He glanced in the mirror. She yanked open the heavy door to Smuggler’s Cove.
“I talked to her,” he used a carefully casual tone, the same way he’d say “I’ve got to grab gas.” A statement of fact. Nothing important. Moving right along.
“Talked? You. Toher. Of your own free will?”
Shit. Typical Marino to poke the hornets’ nest with zero fucks.
Rhett scowled at the double yellow line, making a conscious effort to relax his jaw. The last thing he needed was to go and trigger another damn headache. “Got something to say, Mr. Mayor? Spit it out.”
“All right. I will. You need to get laid.”
The pothole came out of nowhere.
“Jesus, man.” Beau grabbed his smartphone as it flew from his hand.
“Sorry.” Rhett steered back into the lane. “Didn’t realize I was driving Miss Daisy.”
“You’re a funny guy, know that?”
He tipped an invisible hat.
“Funny looking,” Beau muttered, returning to his phone.
