"All right," I say, pulling out my phone. "I'm going to give you my cell number. If anything changes, and I mean anything, you text or call me immediately. Don't wait, don't try to handle it yourself, just contact me. Understood?"
"Understood."
I recite my number and watch as he programs it into his phone, his fingers moving over the screen with surprising dexterity for someone with hands that look like they spend most of their time wrapped around fence posts and rope.
"Got it," he says, showing me the screen. "Dr. Marley Williams."
"Just Marley is fine." The words are out before I can stop them, which is stupid, because I maintain professional boundaries with my clients and that means Dr. Williams, not Marley, not ever.
But he's already smiling, a real smile this time, not just that quirk at the corner of his mouth. It makes him look younger, less tired, like the weight he's carrying just got a little lighter.
"Marley," he says, testing the name out. "Thanks for coming so quickly. And for... all of this." He gestures at Butterscotch, at the IV setup, at the tube and supplies scattered around the stall.
"It's my job."
"Still. Emma's going to be relieved when I tell her."
"You can tell her he's going to be okay, but make sure she understands he needs rest for the next few days. No visiting, no treats, no excursions to the pasture. Just quiet recovery time."
Tucker's face falls slightly. "That's going to be tough for her. She's not great at staying away when something she loves is hurting."
I know the feeling. Which is exactly why I shouldn't be standing here noticing how Tucker Hayes looks when he talks about his daughter, or how his voice gets all soft and protective, or how he hasn't once questioned my competence or second-guessed my decisions.
"Kids are resilient," I say, more sharply than I intended. "She'll manage."
I start packing up my supplies. Shoving things into my bag because I need to get out of this stall, out of this stable, away from Tucker Hayes and his worried eyes and his gentle voice and the way he's looking at me like I just saved the world instead of treating a fairly routine case of colic.
"I'll be back tomorrow morning around nine to recheck him," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Make sure you walk him every few hours, and remember—no food, minimal water, and call me if anything changes."
"Got it." Tucker shifts his weight, like he's not sure whether to follow me out or stay with Butterscotch. "What do I owe you for today?"
"I'll send you a bill." I'm already moving toward the stall door, needing space, needing air, needing to not be in close proximity to a man who's making me feel things I have absolutely no business feeling. "Standard farm call fee plus treatment costs."
"Marley."
I stop, my hand on the latch, and turn back reluctantly.
"Thank you. Really. I know you probably hear that a lot, but... Emma loves this horse. You just saved me from having to see my daughter's heart break, and that's worth more than any bill you could send me."
And there it is. The crack in my professional walls that I've been trying to prevent. Because he's not just another rancher treating his animals like investments. He's a father who loves his daughter so much that a horse's health matters because she matters, and that kind of devotion is exactly the sort of thing that makes me want to believe in people again.
Which is dangerous.
Which is why I need to leave.
"Just follow my instructions and he'll be fine," I say, my voice coming out cooler than I intended. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I'm out of the stall and halfway down the stable aisle before he can respond, my bag bouncing against my hip, my heart doing something erratic and unhelpful in my chest.
*Professional boundaries, Marley. Remember professional boundaries.*
I'm almost at my truck when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Hey, wait up!"
I turn to see another man jogging toward me. He’s shorter than Tucker, darker hair, and an intensity in his expression that suggests he's the type who sees more than he says.
"Boone Sullivan," he says when he reaches me, offering his hand. "I'm the one you talked to on the phone this morning."
