She was a good employer—fair, respectful, appreciated my work. A few months back, she'd pulled me aside after a long surgery on a hit-by-car case we'd managed to save.
"When you finish your Associate's degree in Veterinary Technology and get licensed, there'll be a permanent position here for you. Better pay, more responsibilities. You're good at this, Lacey. You should pursue it."
The promise had meant everything.
Right now, as a veterinary assistant with just my certificate, I could assist during exams, take vitals, handle basic care—butthere was so much more I wanted to do for these animals. I wished I had the ability to interpret lab results, perform dental cleanings, assist in complex surgeries, administer medications beyond the basics. I wanted to actually help them, not hold them while someone else did the real work. My certificate wasn't enough. I needed that degree, needed to be licensed, needed to do more than just assist.
And the pay reflected those limitations. Veterinary assistants in Texas made maybe twenty-five, thirty thousand a year. Licensed vet techs could make forty, fifty—sometimes more. That difference meant never having to choose between groceries and gas again. It meant building a life that was truly mine, without ever depending on anyone else.
It meant proving I was capable.
Two years of stretching every paycheck, watching my checking account hover above empty, lying awake doing mental math about which bills could wait another week. I knew exactly how little these wages could stretch.
That's why I needed my pole fitness business to work.
Around one-thirty, I was restocking exam room supplies when the front door chimed. My pulse kicked up before I even turned around.
I knew that walk. Those footsteps.
"Afternoon, ma'am." That deep Texas voice rolled through the hallway, and the box of gauze slipped from my hands.
Get it together, Lacey.
A breath, then I stepped into the hallway. Sheriff Gage Coulter stood at the reception desk, one hand resting on the counter, the other holding Judge's leash. The Belgian Malinois K9 sat at perfect attention beside him, brown eyes already tracking my movement.
Gage had been bringing Judge in personally for months now—four or five months of routine vet visits he handled himself. I'dstarted to notice the pattern. Their appointments often stretched longer than scheduled, conversations about Judge's care turning twenty minutes into forty-five. I didn't mind.
Three weeks ago, Judge had gotten legitimately hurt during a drug bust. Some tweaker had kicked him, leaving a nasty laceration on his shoulder and some bruising. Real injuries requiring real rehab.
Monday, Wednesday, Friday appointments. Doctor's orders.
The flutter in my chest when those appointments rolled around? That was just professional dedication to my patient's care. Nothing more.
Gage tipped his Stetson, and warmth flooded through me despite my best efforts.
"Hey, Gage. Judge." My voice stayed professional despite my racing heart. My gaze tracked over the sheriff's uniform—tan shirt stretched across broad shoulders, duty belt riding low on his hips. "Y'all are right on time."
"Wouldn't want to keep you waiting, Lacey." His hazel eyes held mine for a beat too long, and I was the first to look away, dropping my attention to the patient animal at his side.
Safer territory.
"Come on back, big guy." I led them to exam room two, conscious of every inch of space between us in the narrow hallway. He filled it completely.
"How's he been doing with the exercises?" I asked, kneeling beside Judge. The dog immediately leaned into me, and I ran my hands over his shoulders, checking the healing wound.
"Pretty well. The toughest part has been getting him to slow down. Guess you can say 'like owner, like K9.'" He chuckled, reaching to give Judge a scratch under the chin.
I focused hard on Judge's shoulder to avoid glancing up. If I did, I'd be at exactly the wrong height.
No. Not going there.
"The swelling's down," I said, gently probing the tissue around the laceration. "That's a good sign."
"He hasn't been favoring it as much."
"Can you hold him still while I check the range of motion?" The words were barely out before I made the mistake of meeting his gaze.
Gage had moved closer, close enough that I could see the five o'clock shadow along his jaw, close enough to catch the scent of soap and leather. More green than brown today, those eyes.
