“You think there’s a connection?” MJ asked.
“Well, it’s…a coincidence. But…” She made a face. “I just don’t believe Dad’s coming back to haunt you with music that would make you sad. Not only is it impossible, it’s not like him. He’d never hurt you.”
MJ nodded, then leaned into Gracie. “I’m really embarrassed at how this weird little thing has wrecked me. It’s kind of…ruining things with Matt.”
“Does he know?”
“No,” MJ said. “I don’t want him to think I’m off my rocker or…wallowing in guilt, which might make him back away. He’d probably think I’m scared or foolish.”
“Oh, Mom, no. I don’t see it that way at all. I mean, I get being a little scared of a new relationship—I’m petrified. But foolish? How?”
“I’m old to…have a crush,” she said.
“I don’t think crushes have an age range,” Gracie told her. “What, exactly, are you scared of?”
She bit her lip. “He wants to move here and buy a house. I don’t…know what to do about that.”
“You’ve never lived anywhere but Snowberry from the day you were born,” Gracie said. “Do you think if you got married and moved in with him, you’d be giving up…everything?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “I don’t know.”
“Well, as far as the wake-up call, Mom? I think you have an issue—real or in your heart—and if this man is going to be your partner, he’s the person you should talk to. How he reacts will tell you a lot.”
“I guess.” MJ stroked the music box again and set it back down, next to George’s picture. She ran her finger over the frame and looked into his eyes, waiting for that kick of guilt, but feeling nothing but a deep, abiding love.
“You want to take the music box?” Gracie asked.
“You keep it, honey.” She stood up and sighed. “I’m glad to know it’s here. And I’ll find the right time and talk to Matt.”
For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she was dreading that conversation.
Elise steadied her breath as the soft whir of the anesthesia machine hummed through the blindingly bright operating room. Shambles lay sedated on the padded surgical table, her coat clipped and her head positioned in a foam cradle. The surgery site smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm wool—a strangely comforting contrast.
Dr. Choi had stopped in earlier, and Millie, a surgical teaching nurse who Elise had befriended through one of her classes, had agreed to come in as back up. Wade was leading this operation, with Elise assisting and learning, mentally taking notes for the paper she’d write about this procedure.
Wade stood opposite Elise, with the surgery table at the perfect height for him to work and for her to see easily from her chair. His posture was relaxed but she could tell his focus was razor sharp, his expression calm, controlled, and confident.
“Ready?” he asked, voice low, steady.
She nodded. “Ready.”
“I’m here if you need me,” Millie added, coming closer to the table. “Just keep those eye retractors wide and still, Elise.”
She nodded and gripped the device with careful precision as Wade began the delicate cutting and removal of the affectedtissue around the sheep’s lower eyelid. With each pass of the scalpel, Wade carved millimeter by millimeter.
His hands were beautifully steady, taking breaks as Elise used sterile gauze to dab at fluid or flushed saline into the eye.
“How are you this calm?” she murmured as she watched.
“Practice. Plus, Shambles deserves our A-game.”
Her heart clenched at the quiet conviction in his voice. He approached Shambles—an old, dispensable sheep—with the same intensity he might give a prize racehorse.
“Oh!” She gasped at the sight of blood suddenly oozing from the tissue.
“I see it.” His tone didn’t change. Not one octave. Not even a sigh. “That’s…a soft bleeder,” Wade said, jutting his chin. “Sterile gauze.”
She snagged some in gloved fingers and held out the gauze to him.
