“I don’t have one,” I admitted.
I turned off the light and stepped out onto the porch. The boards were damp under my boots; the air smelled of wet earth and lemon sugar. Somewhere down in the valley, a train whistle blew, long and mournful.
Reaper’s voice circled back through my mind:You’ve lost the line between job and home.
He was right. Somewhere between duty and love, I’d built a wall. And tonight, Milly had walked straight into it.
Chapter 17
Weathering Yes or No
Milly
The morning smelled like coffee, damp soil, and rain that never quite commits. Outside, the sky hung low and undecided, streaks of light breaking through thin clouds, testing what kind of day to be. The gravel was still dark from the night’s drizzle, the air sharp with that mineral scent.
After getting dressed, I spotted the necklace Austin had given me, glinting beside the lamp. It coiled on the table like a question mark. I touched the chain, then pulled back. Love shouldn’t feel like strategy.
Downstairs, the house was spotless, his kind of restless clean. Boots lined up straight at the door, counters wiped until the smell of lemon polish cut through the coffee. I’d heard him pacing after midnight, murmuring half-sentences to the dark.
Inspector sat in the window, tail twitching like a clock hand daring me to move. “Ignoring problems doesn’t fix them,” I told him, pouring kibble into his porcelain bowl. He ate without comment. Cats rarely take advice.
A knock hit the screen door, brisk and cheerful. Cassie’s grin filled the glass. “Morning, sunshine! Grab your kit. Doc Wilson’s off celebrating his anniversary, and you’re on call. Turner’s mare’s decided today’s the day to foal.”
“I’ll meet you at the truck.”
“Already running,” she said. “Muffins in the cup holder. Chocolate chip. Best defense against impromptu deliveries.”
Her engine hummed when I climbed in. The cab smelled of peppermint gum and coffee. Water still beaded on the windshield, tiny silver dots racing the wipers.
“You look like death. How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“I pretended to.”
“That’s the spirit. Denial. I love it.” She passed me a muffin. “You can’t invite me to a pity party unless you tell me what we’re pitying.”
I bit into chocolate and said nothing.
She gave me a look. “Trouble with Austin?”
I procrastinated by looking out the window and pointing out the obvious. “There’s Turner’s ranch.”
Before she could reply, the Turner ranch came into view, white fences, a slice of sky peeking between gray clouds, and Mr. Turner waving like we were the cavalry. Saved by grace.
He met us at the barn door, hat in one hand, worry in the other. “Morning, Doc. Morning, Cassie. Thanks for comin’. Sorry to drag you out so early. She’s been circling since four.”
“No apology needed,” I said, following him inside. The air was warm, full of hay and the hum of nervous breathing. The mare turned another circle, sides slick, eyes rolling white. I caught the rope gently and murmured until she focused.
“Let’s get some towels and water,” I said. Cassie fetched water, balanced a flashlight on her shoulder, and narrated her role like it was breaking news.
“Who knew you were a teacher by day and a vet tech by night?” I teased, then laughed when she almost fumbled the flashlight.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. No changing the subject. You and Austin fighting?” she asked as I repositioned the mare.
“I didn’t know we were the topic of conversation. Besides, I’m focusing,” I said, elbow-deep in the not-so-glorious parts of vet work.
“You can multitask. Look at me. I’m holding a flashlight and talking. It’s a two-for-one. I mean, that man looks at you like you hung the stars.”
“Cassie,” I sighed.
