Her response comes faster than I expected: *Very good news. Means his system is processing fluids properly. Any manure yet?*
*Not since yesterday afternoon.*
*That's okay. The mineral oil needs time to work. Keep monitoring.*
I should leave it at that. Should put my phone away and focus on Butterscotch and the hundred other things I need to do today.
Instead I type: *Emma saw him this morning before school. I know you said no visiting, but she needed to see that he was okay. She only stayed five minutes.*
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. I watch them and wonder what she's thinking, whether she's annoyed that I didn't follow her instructions exactly.
Finally: *How did she seem after seeing him?*
*Relieved. Happy. Cried a little but the good kind of crying.*
*Then you made the right call. Sometimes the emotional well-being of the owner is just as important as the physical well-being of the patient.*
*Thank you for understanding.*
*Of course. See you at nine.*
I put my phone away and lead Butterscotch back to his stall.
At 8:45, I'm standing outside the stable waiting for Marley's truck to appear down the long driveway. I showered and shaved. I told myself it was because I looked like hell and not because she's coming back, and I'm wearing clean jeans and a flannel shirt that doesn't have any holes in it.
Boone walks past on his way to the equipment barn and stops when he sees me.
"You're looking presentable this morning," he says, and there's something knowing in his voice that makes me want to punch him.
"I had time to shower. That's all."
"Uh-huh." He grins at me, actually grins, which Boone almost never does, and crosses his arms. "The good vet is coming back at nine, right?"
"Marley. Yes."
"Already on first name basis?" He taunts me.
"Shut up"
"I talked to her yesterday after she left. Seemed like a nice woman. Smart. Competent. Pretty, too, if you're into the whole curvy-with-glasses thing."
I stare at him. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing." But he's still grinning, and now Colt is walking over from the barn, probably drawn by the scent of someone giving me shit.
"What's going on?" Colt asks.
"Tucker showered and shaved for the vet," Boone says.
"It's not for the vet—"
"She's pretty," Colt interrupts, like I haven't spoken. "Saw her yesterday when she was leaving. Nice ass."
"Jesus Christ." I run my hand through my hair. My clean, freshly washed hair that I definitely didn't style for Marley Williams. "Can you two find something productive to do?"
"We could," Boone says. "But this is more entertaining."
"Tucker hasn't been interested in a woman since Jenna left," Colt adds, like I'm not standing right here. "This is big."
