Outside. He’d said the magic word. The shepherd mutt bounced up and trotted around him, whining excitedly in spite of his foot, and rolled his ball against his boots again as Travis pushed upright and pulled down a bag of dog food from the cabinet over the fridge. Yoda, beside himself with excitement, nearly burst, probably making whatever was wrong with his foot worse.
“But no fetch, boy.”
He tried to ruffle Yoda’s ears, but petting him when he was excited was an exercise in futility, like trying to catch a horsefly on a caffeine high.
“No, we ain’t playin’ on a bum foot. Sit.” Yoda’s rear hit the floor with alacrity for his meal, his tail swishing back and forth on the cheap linoleum. “I should tie a mop to that tail so you can help me with the cleanin’,” he teased and dumped a scoop into Yoda’s bowl. “Have at it.”
Also, he was one of those types who talked to his dog like they were human. He snorted.
He opened the freezer and took out a frozen dinner. Looked at it blandly. Quinoa and chicken in lemon sauce.
He held it out to Yoda. “How appetizing is that? I’d almost rather have your dog food…”
He slipped it from the cardboard sleeve and popped it into the microwave, tapping the time and hitting Start, then perched his rear against the counter, crossed his prosthetic over his ankle, and pulled up the internet browser on his phone as the microwave droned on and Yoda chased his metal dish across the floor with his muzzle.
Began typing.
All Creatures Great and Small Veterinary El Paso Count—A search result popped up.
All Creatures Great and Small Animal Sanctuary, Equine Oncology, and Veterinary Medicine.Huh. Located in Hudspeth County, not El Paso, the next county over. No wonder he hadn’t come across her name sooner. Already his interest was piqued as awareness tingled over his skin.
A veterinary clinic and equine sanctuary had once been his dream with Skylar. They’d done an entire research project on it their junior year and presented it at their school’s annual career fair. The local paper had even written a piece on them. He’d always wanted her to go on and become successful, but untimely jealousy nipped at him, too, that he hadn’t been there to build the dream with her. That he’d chickened out. You gonna chicken out or go for her?
He tapped on the search result and scrolled down the page. A photo of her in her lab coat smiled back at him, hair glossy and draped over a shoulder with her stethoscope around her neck, lab coat starched, against a studio backdrop. God, she was stunning. He groaned. It looked like a graduation photo from veterinary school, a piece of her past that wasn’t his. Her confident smile curved her lips upward in a tantalizing treat he’d forgotten existed—she hadn’t smiled at him in the ED like that. Did any woman have as radiant a smile? Yet her typical sunshine aura was dimmed in this one. Professional, calculated, her smile warmed her eyes but didn’t disarm them.
Still, he’d missed the way those lips curved upward, igniting his hardest fantasies. He’d missed that tiny dimple in her lower cheek, just south of her mouth, an imperfection in her smooth complexion that actually added unmatchable character and always quirked when she laughed. The light smattering of freckles, no doubt due to hours in the sun, were so damn kissable. After all this time, he’d forgotten what those lips tasted like.
And those baby blues… He’d once lost himself within them like a drunk guy swimming in cerulean seas, hoping to drown there, like they were the elixir he couldn’t drink enough of. Her photo gazed back at him without any of the animosity she’d harbored in the ER.
He scrolled through her bio and came upon another photo. Jeezus.
He tugged the collar of his T-shirt a little. Had the AC in here stopped working? Just looking at her had his pulse galloping. Stetson. Long, flowing blond tresses in a haphazard, weather-tossed braid; rounded bare shoulders and biceps with a tight, dark green tank top that may as well have been painted on over her perfect slim rack; waist twisted, posture tall and patient; jeans snug and firm around a beautiful heart-shaped ass that he could bounce a quarter off of, as she trained a paint horse on a longeing lead, dust hazy around her feet and legs.
So confident. So expert. He’d taught her to ride at age fourteen, and she’d apparently taken flight. And traded out Nirvana for some Luke Bryan, it seemed.
The hot link to an article sat below this picture straight out of his wildest fantasies.
Learning to trust again. Local veterinarian dubbed ‘Dr. Doolittle’ gives new life to SPCA rescue horses.
He wanted to know all about her, now that he was looking. And shit if she didn’t have a string of accolades, like charms on a bracelet:
Research at the University of Oklahoma, Norman. Huh. She hadn’t finished at A&M? Equine medical grant, another medical grant, another… He continued perusing. His brows quirked. The prestigious Connary Ingram Fellowship for advanced veterinary oncology?
Damn… No longer the soft-spoken, artsy beauty he’d happily draped his arm around, the quiet trophy to accompany his flirty charisma that never shut up, he’d seen fire in her eyes when she’d wrangled herself free of that hospital bed, heard steel in her words when she’d rejected him.
And then there was the vulnerability she’d worn so openly, the glistening in those soft blue depths when her eyes had misted. All he’d wanted to do was drag her into his arms and tell her that whatever the problem, she would be okay. How did a woman seem so hard-assed and yet so fragile?
He tapped the link to the clinic page, noticed the services: general medicine, preventative care, therapeutic care, oncology services, and a link for her compassionate rainbow bridge house call services. And the TRDM Scholarship fund for patients with financial need. What did that acronym stand for? The scholarship also covered the expense of treating homeless and stray pets.
And damn, her annex! She’d converted a massive cattle shed into a boarding and rescue facility. Was this internet stalking? Because if it was, he was totally internet stalking.
They’d dreamed this dream! They’d fathomed every inch of it, and yet she’d exceeded any expectation he might have been able to conceive as a teenager with no experience off the ranch.
The timer beeped. He opened the microwave, his stomach warring with appetite and urgency to track Skylar Rivers down. The plastic tray was boiling around the edges and cold in the middle, but he churned up the meager serving and forked it down anyway. She wouldn’t be at her clinic now. It was nearly eight o’clock on a Friday night, and she’d just been in the ED with her foster kid. What was he gonna do about Yoda’s foot? Wait until Monday?
He scrolled down to the bottom, going straight to the address. There were too many questions swirling to life in his mind. He and Skylar were neighbors in the same community. He’d left her in the past to forge a future where she’d be safe from him, but just knowing she’d changed lanes and merged with his future now, too, was nagging at him to sort out how he felt about her.
He tapped the phone number. It rang to voicemail. Of course it did.