“Get out of my office.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Out.”
“Folks at the diner said she looked like money. Which is interesting, because that’s how people used to describe?—”
“Don’t.” Dillon’s voice went flat.
Hank held up both hands. “Fair enough. But for the record, the fact that she looks like money doesn’t mean she’s Lexi.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you met an attractive woman and immediately picked a fight so she’d dislike you before you had a chance to like her.”
Dillon opened his mouth, closed it, and took another gulp of coffee instead. The annoying thing about Hank was that he was usually, inconveniently right.
“She’s a widow,” Dillon said finally. “She’s got a kid. She’s probably going to inherit Fern’s place and hire someone to sell off the animals. I’ll never even talk to her again.”
“Uh huh.” Hank didn’t look convinced. “And if she does need a vet? You’re the only game in town, buddy. She’s going to have to call you eventually.”
“She made it very clear she’d rather not.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Hank stood up and headed for the door. “But in my experience, the women who swear they don’t need you are usually the ones who need you most.”
He left before Dillon could come up with a response, which was probably for the best because he didn’t have one.
He turned back to his paperwork. The Beecham file needed updating. There were lab results to review for the dairy herd. And he needed to schedule a visit to Fern’s property. Regardless of who ended up in charge of it, those animals couldn’t go much longer without proper veterinary oversight. Arlo had stepped in to feed them, bless the old codger, but he wasn’t up to managing complex medical care for a dozen different animals.
He thought about Tessa standing in that fellowship hall, polished and composed and smelling lightly of expensive perfume, telling him with perfect poise that she’d rather learn veterinary medicine than call him.
He almost smiled again.
Almost.
Then he thought about the little girl—Makayla—who’d stood outside watching the farrier work with a look on her face he recognized. It was the look of a kid who’d just discovered horses and was never going to be the same. He’d worn that look himself, about thirty years ago.
She’d been dressed like she was going to a fancy tea party, her shoes shiny as mirrors. Not a speck of dirt on her. She’d stood at a careful distance from the horse, clearly wanting desperately to touch it but not quite daring.
What kind of kid didn’t dare touch a horse?
The answer settled in his gut with an uncomfortable weight. The kind of kid who’d been taught that getting dirty wasn’t allowed. Which was no surprise given who her mother was.
It wasn’t his business. None of it was his business. Not the mother, not the daughter, not a farm full of critters that needed someone who knew what they were doing.
His phone rang. Bonnie Watson. Probably about the dog’s ear. He picked up, grateful for the distraction. “Morning, Bonnie. How’s Jasper doing?”
And just like that, the day moved on. Another call, another animal, another person who needed him. This was his life. He was good at it, and it was enough.
It had to be.
3
The law office of Lincoln Sutter, Esq. occupied one of the oldest brick buildings on Main Street in Apple Pie Creek. Makayla was excited at getting to skip school and come on this outing. She loved the hustle and bustle of Apple Pie Creek’s busy Main Street shopping district. Which, Tessa noted wryly, stretched for all of ten blocks or so.
She winced at the notion that Makayla was impressed by this postage stamp of a town. Granted, Apple Pie Creek was a very nice small, western town. But compared to the Big Apple? Well, there was no comparison. Maybe one day she’d take her daughter to her hometown. Show her what hustle, bustle, bright lights, and shopping districts really looked like.
Maybe.
