Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

I chuckle before taking a sip of my coffee. Dottie watches me with a distinct fondness as she passes a mug with the words LOOKIN’ LIKE A QUACK, complete with a duck contorted into the letter k, back and forth between her hands. A long black braid that’s peppered with silvery strands is slung over one of her narrow shoulders.

“So what are we doing today?” I ask.

“Well, we have a few patients on the schedule. It’s the first of the month, so we’ll have lots of walk-ins too.” She glances down at a paper. “What do you want to go by? Dr. McKenzie? Your first name like your pap does? What are we calling you these days?”

“I’m kind of partial to ‘handsome,’ if you don’t mind.”

She snorts. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say your grandfather won’t take to everyone calling you that quite as well as you have.”

“Probably true. Let’s just go with Holden. Dr. Holden, if you want to match Pap and his ‘Dr. Fred’ thing. Whatever. I’m easy.”

“Great,” Dottie says, seemingly satisfied at my decision. “Now that’s settled, let me give you a quick rundown on some of the patients you’ll see today.”

I take another look around the waiting area. A double-decker, blue birdcage sits in the corner. It, too, is empty.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” I say. “Animals are animals no matter where you are. That’s the beauty of them.”

“Maybe they are. But people are not.” She smiles smugly and pulls a small white bottle out from beneath the counter. She sets it on top. The contents clatter around inside the plastic. “Grady will be in around a quarter till nine. He’ll be with Fancy, his Chihuahua. There will be a story about the dog, probably that he has allergies because Bob’s harvesting soybeans out by his house. Inspect the dog, ask Grady about his garden, and then give him these pills for the pooch. In that order.”

My brows furrow as I take in her animated features. Surely she knows that none of that makes any damn sense.

“But what if the dog doesn’t need the pills?” I ask.

“They’re just vitamins.”

“Okay.” My brain spins, trying to link all this information together in a coherent fashion. “So why do I have to ask him about his garden?”

“What? You don’t like gardens?”

She presses her lips together as if she’s enjoying watching me try to grasp the information she’s tossed my way.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Gardens are fine, I guess. I just don’t understand why I have to care about Grady’s garden.”

“You’re overcomplicating this. Just ask about the garden and then hand him these,” she says, shaking the bottle. “Then go on with your day.”

I set my cup down a little harder than necessary. “But why? What does growing carrots have to do with if his dog is sick or has allergies or . . . whatever?”

She laughs. “What will it hurt for you to ask him about his garden?”

“It won’t hurt anything. But what it will do, mark my words, is make him think I care. And I do not care about his garden. Or Bruce’s soybeans—”

“Bob’s.”

I narrow my eyes. “Whoever’s whatever. The point is that I don’t care. I don’t even like humans, Dottie. That’s why I’m a vet.”

Her braid falls off her shoulder as her entire body vibrates with laughter. “You do too. If ya didn’t, you wouldn’t be a vet, and you sure as heck wouldn’t be Fred Harrison’s grandson.”

My features stay smooth. The only movement is my eyelashes as I try to ward off whatever craziness Dottie is infected with in case it’s contagious.

She rolls her eyes and leans against the counter. “Grady’s wife died a couple of years ago. He gets lonely. Your grandpa plays along.”

“So, Pap’s a therapist now? This should be fun.”

“What are you talking about? He gives good advice.”

I look at her, stone-faced. “When I was seven or eight, I hated math. Couldn’t get it. Pap called and I was whining about a homework paper, and he told me to just multiply everything by zero and it would be zero. How could the teacher argue with me getting the right answer?”

Dottie snickers.

“Needless to say, I thought I was big shit. Ended up getting my first F and after-school detention for being, for a lack of a better word, a smart-ass. Then Dad grounded me for a week because I listened to his father-in-law and not to him.”

She raises her coffee mug in an attempt to hide her smile. It doesn’t work. The tips of her raised lips give her away.

I sigh. “So what else do I need to know? We’re clearly operating on a level I wasn’t aware of.”

“Let’s see.” She takes a quick sip of her coffee and then sets her mug down. “It’s Monday, so Birdie Jones will be in to pay her tab. She runs a small farm and kennel. Your grandpa goes by there and checks on the animals every week. Birdie will come in and pay today. If you’re up here when she comes in, just stick it in the fridge.”