She laughs, “And you can always go back to Houston to visit if that’s what you want...” her voice trails off as she begins rambling about babies, and a home that’s for rent in town where I can stay until I find a job and a place to live.
It sounds like she’s planned this whole thing out already meanwhile I’m off reminiscing about the summer five years ago when I thought that I’d fallen in love with a cowboy with green eyes, a quiet soul and a broken past. My eyes catch on the doorway where I see my intern signaling to me that the results are back from Penny’s blood work.
“Sure, I’ll think about it, sis,” I say though I have no idea what she just said to me. She squeals and I tell her goodbye before turning to Benson who’s hanging in the doorway holding up a clipboard with her blood work.
“What’s the verdict on Penny?” I ask, standing to follow him down the hallway back towards where our python friend is currently waiting.
“Roundworms in the gut.”
“Good work. Pull the antiparasitic medicine immediately and administer it to her as instructed. I’ll give her owner an update shortly.” We head our separate ways and after another four very busy hours of work, my shift at the clinic is finally ending. I strip out of my scrubs and into a pair of jeans and a tank top, prepared to head back to the apartment that I share with Anna a few blocks down the road but first, I reach for my phone to check it for the first time in hours and notice a text message from Shawna sent shortly after we hung up.
Shawna: Look! Lonestar Junction’s oldest veterinarian is looking to sell his practice just five miles away from my house. It’s a SIGN for you to move down here, sis! Imagine owning your own practice!
I click on the link embedded in the message, my curiosityoutweighing my hesitation. It takes me to a page about Dr. Louis Montgomery’s clinic. At sixty-five-years-old and nearing retirement, he’s the city’s longest-standing veterinarian specializing in food animals and equine care and he’s ready to retire.
I know the field well—I’d done my fair share of internships with vets who focused on livestock and horses. Ultimately, though, I’d veered into exotic animals. The higher pay helped chip away at my mountain of student loan debt I’ve accumulated, and at the time, it felt like the right move.
Still, owning my own practice had always been the dream—something I figured wouldn’t happen for years down the road. But here it is, staring me in the face like some golden opportunity wrapped in cowboy boots, small town feels, dust, and hay.
I skim through the stipulations he’s listed in the ad:If you’re interested in purchasing my practice, come work with me at the clinic for 30 days. I’ll evaluate if you’re the right fit to take over my business for the city. After that, we can discuss a price that works for the both of us.
Who the hell sells a business like this? No listed price, justwork for me for a month and I’ll decide if I like you enough to sell it to you.
On one hand, it annoys the hell out of me. Uproot my life? Gamble on his approval? Walk away from a steady income here in Houston? Hard pass.
On the other hand, I respect it. The guy’s got guts, and I like gutsy. I’m a damn good vet—hardworking, passionate about animals, and I know how to connect with new people whose trust I need to earn. I could win him over.
But the bigger question isn’t about the clinic—it’s about Lonestar Junction. Could I see myself back there? Permanently? I haven’t set foot in that town in over five years. Not since… Wilder.
And just like that, his face floods my mind, uninvited but alltoo familiar. I wonder what he’s doing these days. How Willow is doing. Are they still in town? Of course they would be. His family’s ranch is there, and he was all set to take it over someday. Plus, Willow must be around seven years old now, likely in school with a whole life built around her the way it should be. I wonder if he’s married, had any more kids, and if he’s happy.
I sigh and lean back, letting the questions hang in the air. I came to Houston almost ten years ago, chasing a dream—or maybe running from one, I’m no longer sure. A decade later, nothing’s changed except I’ve become the vet I always dreamed I’d be. Yet, I don’t feel any different inside.
Maybe it’s time to stop chasing. Maybe it’s time to move on—literally, to a new place.
Chapter 18 – Teagan
Two weeks later…
“Hello? Dr. Montgomery?” I call out, stepping into the small veterinary clinic in the heart of Lonestar Junction’s so-called town square. I’m thinking "town square" might be a generous term for this part of the city. The area feels like it’s stuck in time, even as the city around it grows with all those shiny new housing developments that have sprung up since I left five years ago. Here, though, nothing’s changed. The old used bookstore still leans slightly to the left, the rustic-style bank looks like it hasn’t been dusted since the 1800s, and this clinic, tucked beside the bronze statue of Felix Clever, the towns founder, stands just as it did the last time I passed through.
I clear my throat and call out again. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
This time, I hear the faint shuffle of movement from a back room.
“Oh, hi!” A man appears, wiping his hands on his jeans as he walks toward me. He’s older, with a kind face, glasses and wearing a button-down shirt, a striped tie, and jeans that haveseen better days. He extends a hand toward me, his smile warm and genuine.
“Dr. Louis Montgomery,” he says.
“Hi, Dr. Montgomery. I’m Teagan Keating. We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago about me coming to work with you.”
“Yes, yes! Teagan. It’s good to meet you in person.” He chuckles and waves off my formality. “But please, call me Louis. Titles are for people trying to impress others, and I’ve been in this business far too long to bother with that anymore.”
I smile. “Alright, Louis. It’s nice to meet you too.”
“I’m glad you made the trip down from Houston safely,” he says, his tone light but sincere. “And that you’re interested in living and working here in the great town of Lonestar Junction. I’ve lived here my whole life, and while I’m sure there are plenty of fine places to call home, nowhere but here has ever felt quite right to me.”
I nod, but the word "home" sticks in my throat. I’m not sure anywhere I’ve lived has ever felt like home—not even my dad’s farm back in Pennsylvania. Home is supposed to feel safe, secure, like you belong there. I’ve never had that. It feels like a piece of me went missing years ago and I’ve been searching for that other half to settle down somewhere ever since.
