The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

I keep a steady arm around her, running a hand up and down her arm while we stand back to let Ronnie Winstead examine Hercules.

Flipping his stethoscope around his neck, the vet rises and walks over to us on tall, thin legs. “Have you changed his food recently?”

“No, sir,” I say.

“Well, first off,” Ronnie says, looking at Shelly. “Relax. He’s going to be fine.”

“He is? Thank God,” she whispers, falling against my chest before she faces him again. “What’s wrong with him, Doc?”

“He has what we humans would refer to as a nasty bellyache. He’s eaten something that doesn’t agree with him and it’s put him through the worst—vomiting, diarrhea, and probably one pig-sized headache. All you can do is make sure he has plenty of fresh water so he doesn’t get dehydrated. He’ll probably just lie around and recoup his strength without eating much till he feels better.”

“When will that be?” Shel asks again, her eyes big and pleading.

Now that I know Herc’s okay, it’s a little funny how much she’s babying him.

“Hmm, I’d say...twenty-four to forty-eight hours? Maybe less,” Ronnie says. “He should be right back to his old self.”

“This happened last week, too,” I say, remembering the day the pig seemed sluggish. “I almost called you then, but he was better by the next morning. Also, he wasn’t lying down like this...he just seemed off. Real lethargic and poor appetite for half the day.”

“Sure, he probably got into the same stuff. What kind of table scraps did you say you’re feeding him again? It could be fruit trees, or something. Seeds. Even apple seeds can do this to pigs.”

“No fruit trees around here I know of,” I say with a shrug. “And I’m pretty sure Thelma doesn’t have any either. Don’t think he’s eaten any seeds.”

“What about nuts? Almonds?” Shelly asks.

I tense as I remember the two bags we found, shredded by pig teeth.

“Yep, that would do it,” Rodney says. “Almonds aren’t technically nuts like most people think. They’re actually seeds off the almond tree, and they could definitely cause problems like this.” With a shrug, Rodney adds, “If you’re thinking that’s what’s got him down, be sure to keep them away from him.”

“Will do.” I gesture at the house. “Come inside so you can wash up before you leave.”

“Thanks, Weston, I appreciate that.”

Keeping an arm around Shelly’s shoulder, I guide her into the house so we can wash our hands, too.

Once inside, she goes to the bathroom on the second floor while Rodney washes in the sink next to the laundry room.

“I can pay you now or you can send me a bill,” I say later, walking him to the front door.

“No charge. It was nothing fancy and I was on my way to work,” he says. “Call me if he’s not doing better tomorrow, but I’m thinking he will be.”

“Thanks, Doc. You did me a solid.”

“Anytime.”

I close the door behind the vet, return to the kitchen, and pour two cups of coffee from the pot I started when I first heard Shelly screaming for me. I’d spent last night at the B&B. Ate supper with them and visited until well past eight o’clock before seeing Faulk.

It was the best evening I had in a long time, probably since the big bash Uncle Grady and Willow threw when they opened the cat sanctuary.

I was actually relaxed, happy, and woke up extra early just to make sure I’d catch her this morning. Before Herc gave us a scare, I planned on bringing fresh coffee out to her.

Even so, I let my doubts take over.

I was thinking about how I shouldn’t spend so much time with her when my heart hit the back of my throat with her screams.

Hearing that shit flung me back to a raw terror I haven’t felt for years.

The bathroom door creaks open and a moment later she walks into the kitchen, eyes still red-rimmed.