I already miss the hustle and bustle of the clinic. It’s all I’ve known for the past several years—the rhythm of the work caring for animals day in and day out. Even after Beau cheated and made seeing him every day a nightmare, it was easy enough to bury myself in the work and ignore the rest… until it wasn’t.
I stillhaven’t told Mom I’m staying at the ranch longer than a few days. I don’t want to think about what her reaction will be. Maybe I’ll just send her an email. It might be simpler that way.
Janine Dawson could be an exacting woman. I don’t doubt she loves me, but she also has her own ideas and opinions about my life. And she’s never been shy about sharing them—especially with how I’ve still never managed to get a man to commit (at thirty-two, no less).
She’d say, “With how beautiful you are, it really shouldn’t be an issue. Men would jump at the chance to have you, and yet you chase them away within a few months every time.”
I have always been her pristine little trophy—more show pony than daughter. Someone she could parade around at holiday parties, brag about to her friends, list off my accomplishments like bullet points: top of my class, graduated summa cum laude, promotion before 30. I looked good on paper.
And maybe it’s not fair to complain. My mom loves me, in her way. She’s never been cruel—just singularly focused. She wanted the glossy Christmas card version of family. The Pinterest board. Grandbabies in matching onesies. A smiling daughter who gave her no cause for concern.
For a long time, I bought into that vision too. I thought life was about checking the boxes: straight-A student, vet school, competitive residency, becoming one of the best in my field.
Relationships? They always came second. I’m sure it comes as a surprise to almost no one that men don’t like playing second fiddle to a woman’s ambition. Almost every breakup I’ve had has come down to that.
But I wouldn’t let a man’s insecurity slow me down or hold me back. I worked hard. Whether it was school, showing horses, or my career—I wanted to be the best.
It hadn’t always felt so smothering. But recently? I’ve begun to wonder what I’m missing. Staring at the freshly turned earth, dirt under my nails, I can’t help but hope that whateveritis, I’ll find it here in Cottonwood Creek.
No Goats... Probably
Quinn
It felt good to soak up some sunshine, breathe in the fresh air, and justbe. It was a relief—like a cool breeze on a sweltering summer day, despite missing the chaos of the clinic.
The sun sits high in the sky by the time I finish in the garden and trim the hedges—two more things I can check off my to-do list for the day. I make myself a quick lunch, shower, and change into a sundress before making my rounds in town. I want to visit Pops, stop by the café to see Mrs. Mackey, and make a trip to the grocery store.
It’s been years since I’ve stayed in Cottonwood Creek for more than a day, but this place still holds a piece of me—a bit of my childhood. It’s always been my home away from home.
Spring hangs in the air as I roll down my car windows, letting the scent of damp earth and green things drift in. I try to find peace in the quietmoment—a brief departure from the mayhem of life working at the vet clinic.
When I walk into Pops’ room, I’m relieved to see him sitting up in the recliner watchingLaw & Order. His face has a bit more color than last time I saw him.
His room is simple: a recliner, an adjustable bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a small table with a puzzle he’s been working on. A blood pressure cuff and portable EKG monitor sit tucked in the corner.
“Hey, Pops. You look cozy,” I say, noting the quilt he’s covered up with.
His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Hi, Quinnie girl. Did you bring me any of the good stuff?”
I cock my head to the side. “Good stuff?”
“You know, food that actually has flavor. Chips? Cookies? A pretzel?”
I narrow my gaze. “Pops, I’m not sneaking you junk food. Do you remember the conversation we had with Dr. Berk?”
His brows pull together as his mustache twitches in irritation. “I’m kidding. But the food here tastes like paste. I’m partial to the Jell-O, though.”
I snort. “Don’t think for a second that you’re going to fool me. I’m watching you like a hawk. I have nothing better to do with my time right now.”
He quickly changes the subject. “You holding down the ranch while I’m stuck here?”
I know he’s itching to know how everything is back at home, desperate for any crumb of information I can give him.
“Wes and Tripp have the ranch in hand. They’ve been busy with calving.”
He grunts and folds his hands behind his head, leaning back in the chair. “Tell me what’s new.”
“I cleared out the weeds from Grams’ garden,” I say, sitting on the edge of his bed.
