“Yep.” I sit, leaving at least three feet between us on the wide wooden seat. The smell of disinfect fills the air. “They couldn’t reach you.”
“Walker James was recording.”
Of course he was. Walker-fucking-James is a twenty-something country singer who’s had two number-one hits back-to-back, with a third on the rise. The ladies love him, especially since his underwear shot in Times Square. Nash signed him early, which is something my buddy’s proud of.
And I was, too, until I realized that Bree and Walker know each other.
“How’s that going?” I do my best to act like I don’t care who the young hit maker is.
“Great. I think we’re going to fast-track the song. It’s going to be a hit. None of us can quit singing it.”
I nod my head and turn my face casually forward. It’s good to see my buddy Nash being successful with his record label.
He and I met on the basketball court when I moved to Indigo Hills in middle school. If it weren’t for him and his cousin, Ryder, I would have been a bigger mess than I was. Losing your parents at that age is rough enough. Moving across the country to a place where it rarely snows and ‘hot’ takes on a whole new meaning? Next level. Those two welcomed me into the fold, making the transition easier.
After high school, Nash moved to Tennessee to write songs while the rest of us entered the workforce or went to college. Ichose to work at my uncle’s mill, but after two years, I started taking some night classes, eventually earning a business degree at Cobalt Ridge.
Never saw that coming, but my uncle saw potential in me I didn’t know existed. He said I had a knack for running the mill. Turns out he was right. It’s in my blood now.
“Ms. Winthrop, Mr. Wilder, come on back.”
A second technician leads us to exam room three, a large room in the corner. Two chairs sit against the window adjacent to the exam table. “Dr. Valentine will be with you shortly.”
Lady luck is not on my side this week. Before I have a chance to process, Lacey Valentine walks through the door, taking both Bree and me in with one long sweep of her deep blue eyes. I used to get into a lot of trouble with those eyes.
“Dec.” Lacey walks toward me, where we hug like the old friends we are. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Lace.”
Ever the professional, Lacey extends her hand to Bree. “I’m Lacey Valentine, but please call me Lacey.”
“Bree Winthrop. Call me Bree.”
Lacey takes out a chart and looks it over. “Labs are good. She did get some IV fluids last night and this morning, plus a dewormer. She’s a little underweight, but not by much. I’ll leave a list of recommended foods at the front. Other than that, she’s all set. Any questions for me?”
As Bree asks about crate training and a feeding schedule, a tech brings Ladybug to us.
I take her, nuzzling her soft fur. “Hi, Ladybug. Did you enjoy your bath?” Bree and Lacey look at each other with mock eyerolls. “Hey. It could happen.”
“It was nice to see you again, Dec. Bree, nice to meet you.” Then Lacey steps into the back while the tech repeats what Lacey already told us.
I grab a leash and harness, plus a couple of toys from the wall display, then pay half the bill.
Bree insisted on splitting it.
We head outside, the sky angry and threatening, while Bree carries Ladybug. Bree heads straight for her SUV, a brand new Lexus LX, then opens the hatch. “I’ll take her.”
“Nobody’s decided that yet, Austin.”
She looks at me, eyebrow quirked, her body full of sass. “Not true. I did.” She places Ladybug inside what appears to be a new kennel, then closes the hatch.
“So you’re kidnapping her.” The first drops of rain dot her windows.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I named her. She should come home with me.”
“Do you have a kennel in your truck?” Bree points to my vehicle, completely devoid of anything puppy-related. Damn. She has a point, though I won’t admit that out loud.
