"Also true."
Apollo finally deigns to trot over to Dean, who rewards him with a treat and what looks like a muttered threat about who's really in charge here. Spoiler: it's the dog.
I turn back to the puppy I'm examining—a ten-week-old Belgian Malinois who's already showing the kind of drive that'll make him either an excellent working dog or a household menace. Possibly both.
"Looking good, Rebel," I say, finishing my notes. "You're cleared for basic training."
His handler, a quiet guy named Brock who Dean recruited from his old unit, grins. "Thanks, Doc."
Doc. Six months in Texas, and I'm still getting used to hearing that here. Not Dr. O'Connor from the base clinic or Callie from the townspeople I've known my whole life. Just Doc, from people who respect what I do without needing my entire résumé first.
The Iron Creek Veterinary facility is huge and all mine. Well, mine and Dean's, technically. But the veterinary program? The training protocols for working dog health? The partnership with the local emergency services? That's all me.
I'm not just Dean's girlfriend who followed him to Texas. I'm the reason half these dogs are certified and healthy and ready to work.
It feels good.
"Callie!" Jake's voice carries across the yard. "Stop making googly eyes at my brother and come look at this!"
I glance over to where Jake's leaning against the barn, looking far too amused for whatever he's about to say next.
"I'm working," I call back.
"You're staring."
"Professionally observing," I correct.
"Uh-huh." He pushes off the barn and strolls over, all swagger and knowing smirks. The Mercer brothers share the same build, the same easy confidence, but where Dean's charm comes with a side of golden retriever energy, Jake's is pure cattledog—loyal, protective, and a little bit of an asshole when the mood strikes.
"You two are disgustingly happy," he says when he reaches me. "It's unsettling."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," I reply.
"It's weird. Dean used to be fun. Reckless. Now he's talking about quarterly budgets and asking if we need to update our liability insurance."
"That's called being a responsible adult."
"It's called being boring." But he's grinning. "Though I'll admit, having an actual vet on staff is pretty convenient. Saves me from Dean's amateur hour diagnostics."
"He's not that bad."
"He once thought a dog had a fever because his nose was warm."
I laugh. "Okay, he's that bad."
Dean finishes with Apollo and heads our way, pulling off his ball cap to run a hand through his sweat-damp hair. My stomach does a stupid little flip that hasn't gotten old in six months.
"Talking about me?" he asks.
"Always," Jake says. "Callie was just telling me how she can't believe she's stuck with you."
"She loves being stuck with me."
"Debatable," I say, but I'm smiling.
Dean stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He smells like sun and exertion and the cologne I bought him last month that he claims is "too fancy" but wears anyway.
"Got something for you," he says.
