Jamie sank into the couch, forcing herself to stare at a hole in her sock instead of the pen. She couldn’t watch the delivery. The knot in her stomach tightened—maybe, for once, she and the country singer had something in common.
Nolan repeated the process of washing a cloth in the sink and wiped off the puppy.
“Another boy!” he said. “He looks identical to the first one, maybe a little more red.”
“Oh, shoot.” Ruth popped her gum. “Well, at least he’s healthy.”
Reluctantly, Jamie asked, “Is she going to eat the placenta again?”
“Most likely,” Nolan said.
“Gross,” Jamie and Clayton said together.
“Why don’t you two”—Nolan pointed at Jamie and Clayton—“go out on the balcony. Get some fresh air. You’re nothelping here.”
They took the vet’s suggestion. Clayton rose first, sliding the balcony door open as Jamie followed him outside.
He grabbed the railing, his knuckles turning white as he sank to his knees. “Sorry.” His breath came in short, even bursts. He inhaled sharply then exhaled, slower this time, like he was trying to steady himself. “Thought I could handle it.”
“I’m not handling it well myself.” The night air bit at her skin, and with only a T-shirt on she wrapped her arms around herself. “Why don’t I grab us some water?”
She slid open the door, closing it behind her, and walked to the fridge.
Ruth and Nolan sat on the couch, watching TV as if it were just another Tuesday.
Jamie grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. Derrick would have scolded her for not using a Brita. He was always on her case about plastic, convinced the recycling cops were watching. But he had no idea what went on in apartment buildings. People tossed their recycling in all the wrong bins—cans with plastics, egg cartons in the paper, glass bottles that could have been returned, and the unbroken-down cardboard boxes thrown right into the dumpster. She always thought you should watch how someone recycled before agreeing to go on a date with them.
“Are you guys watching a movie?” she asked, removing Clayton’s suede jacket from the back of the chair as she glanced at Ruth and Nolan.
“Virgin River,” Ruth replied, draping a blanket over them—a choice that felt perfectly suited to their relationship.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” Jamie asked, exasperated.
“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Nolan said, his voice reassuring. “Poppy’s doing great.”
Jamie felt powerless about not being able to help her, yet she trusted the vet completely. She draped Clayton’s jacket over her shoulders, his familiar scent offering a small, unexpected comfort.
She stepped onto the balcony and handed Clayton a bottle of water. “Here,” she said softly. Without remarking on the wasted plastic, he unscrewed the cap and took a gulp.
“Thanks,” he said, still kneeling against the railing as he looked up at her. “My jacket looks good on you.”
“It’s a little big.” She dropped her arms by her side and the cuffs went past her fingers. “Was your dad disappointed you didn’t become a vet?”
“Disappointed is an understatement.”
“You played professional baseball.”
“For one season before my elbow crapped out.” He stood and took another sip of water. “In the Langley family, being a vet ain’t a choice—it’s an expectation.”
She wondered whether AJ had ever seen her as more than just a prospect for a rich man. If he had, he’d never mentioned it.
“You’re a country star, doesn’t that count?”
“Did you just say I’m a country star?”
“I did—and I mean it as a compliment. People who don’t know any better love your music.”
He chuckled. “Daddy still insists it’s not a real job.”
