Chapter 1
Chloe
I’d never seen Sam leave paperwork scattered across his desk before.
Sam was the complete opposite of me, meticulously organized with his business paperwork – receipts filed, invoices organized, everything in its proper place – and that’s precisely why I was in his office looking for the vaccination records he’d filed away for me a few days ago. But today, his desk looked like a tornado had swept through it.
“Sam?” I called toward the kitchen, where I could hear him rattling around, probably making his third cup of coffee of the day. “Do you know where I can find vaccination records for the Morrison farm?”
“Check the filing cabinet,” he called back. “Second drawer down, under ‘M’ for Morrison.”
I gave myself a gentle mental headslap. Of course, it would be filed under M for Morrison. I moved toward the cabinet, but a white receipt caught my eye. It was sitting on his desk, partially hidden under a stack of invoices, but with enough visible to make my heart skip.
Hartwell & Sons Fine Jewelry
My breath caught in my throat. I glanced toward the kitchen, heard Sam still moving around, and carefully lifted the invoices to see the full receipt.
Hartwell & Sons Fine Jewelry - $6,500.00 - Diamond Engagement Ring
The paper trembled slightly in my hands as I read the date. Two weeks ago. While I’d been dealing with a difficult foaling, Sam had been at the jewelry store in the city, picking out an engagement ring.
I placed the receipt back exactly where I’d found it, my heart hammering against my ribs like an excited puppy. Six thousand five hundred dollars. Sam had spent more on my ring than most people in Willowbrook made in several months. The practical part of my brain - the veterinarian who calculated medication costs and surgical fees - wanted to tell him it was too much. But the woman who’d been dreaming of this moment for months could only think one thing:
He’s going to propose.
My internal cheerleader was already doing backflips. I pressed my lips together to stifle a yelp, briefly bounced on the balls of my feet, and executed a triumphant fist pump at eye level.
“Find what you’re looking for?” Sam appeared in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, that crooked smile I loved spreading across his face.
“Found the Morrison records,” I said, grateful my voice sounded steady. I pulled the file from the cabinet and held it up. “Mrs. Morrison’s been calling every day about Princess’s vaccinations.”
“That woman treats that cow better than most people treat their children.” Sam moved into the office, and I held my breath as he approached his desk. But he didn’t seem to notice I’d beennear it, just gathered up some loose papers and stuffed them into a folder.
“Princess is a prize-winning Holstein,” I said, focusing on the familiar topic to keep from grinning like an idiot. “She’s worth more than my truck.”
“Your truck isn’t worth much.” Sam leaned against the desk, his dark brown eyes warm with affection. “Maybe I should buy you a new one for your birthday.”
My birthday. Three weeks away. Maybe that’s when Sam would get down on one knee - probably at Rosewood Inn, where we’d had our first official date - and ask me to marry him.
Three weeks.
“My truck is perfectly fine,” I said, stepping closer to him. “It gets me where I need to go.”
“Which is usually to some farm at three in the morning for a cow emergency.” He reached out and tucked a strand of my dark blonde hair behind my ear. “You work too hard, Dr. Parker.”
“Says the man who owns a bar and works seven days a week.”
“Six days,” he corrected. “I promoted Kate to manage Sundays, remember? More time to spend with my favorite vet.”
His favorite vet. His future fiancée.
I stood on my toes and kissed him, tasting coffee. When we broke apart, I could see something in his expression I hadn’t noticed before. A hint of nervousness, maybe? Planning nerves?
I loved this man. Loved how he’d taken a struggling bar and turned it into the heart of Willowbrook. Loved how he remembered everyone’s name and their usual order, how he’d send meals to families going through hard times and pretend it was a “kitchen mistake.” Loved how he’d shown up at 2 AM when I was dealing with a difficult calving, brought me coffee, and just sat there keeping me company even though he had to open the bar in a few hours.
I loved how he’d learned to cook my favorite meals because he wanted to make me dinner after long days at the clinic. How he researched every veterinary journal article I mentioned so he could ask intelligent questions. How he’d built a little meditation corner in his office at the bar because I’d mentioned wanting a quiet space when I visited him there on days work got overwhelming.
Sam wasn’t perfect. He had a tendency to do everything himself rather than delegating. He got stressed during inventory weeks and would snap before apologizing profusely. He had terrible taste in action movies and would defend them passionately despite my mockery.
