She picked up Lucan’s tiny foot and kissed his toes. He giggled and flipped over, scrambling across her bed with the speed of a lightning bolt, his laughter filling the room.
Reva watched, a smile breaking through her sadness, as Lucan transformed her quiet bedroom into a playground of giggles and boundless energy.
Lucan’s reunification with his extended family was a fitting conclusion to his story of loss—a resolution his late parents would have wanted. It was the happy ending his story deserved.
Yet, as she’d told Charlie Grace, within this celebratory milestone, a contrasting emotion had taken root in Reva’s heart.
As the shadow of imminent departure loomed, this moment, with Lucan’s joyous abandon echoing around her, was a poignant snapshot of what she was about to lose.
In the few hours she’d cared for him, Lucan had etched an indelible mark on her heart.
She didn’t want to say goodbye.
14
The morning sun barely crept through the dust-coated windows of Thunder Mountain’s decades-old veterinary office. The sign above the door, faded by years of relentless sun and wind, declared, “Tillman Strode, DVM,” with the word ‘DVM’ nearly illegible.
The inside smelled of antiseptic, mingled with the musky odor of animals long treated and gone. The waiting room was a hodgepodge of mismatched chairs and outdated magazines, and a single, flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
Lila, her chestnut brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, moved with purpose through the cramped, cluttered space that served as the clinic’s treatment area. The room—a veritable museum of veterinary medicine—was filled with equipment and shelves lined with jars of unidentifiable specimens floating in formaldehyde.
At the center of it all was Doc Tillman, a man whose age seemed as indeterminate as the contents of those jars, yet whose presence was as commanding as ever.
“Make sure you’re not wasting those supplies,” Doc Tillman barked, his eyes squinting as he peered over a pair of spectacles precariously perched on the bridge of his nose. “Every penny counts in this place, Lila. Veterinary services are a unique combination of science and business. Neglect either, and the other side suffers.”
“Of course, Doc,” Lila responded, her voice betraying none of the frustration she felt. She was measuring out medication for a sheep with more precision than she thought necessary, but she had learned early on that arguing with Doc Tillman was a futile endeavor.
“And don’t forget to update the inventory,” he continued, not even looking up from the dog he was examining. “I don’t want to go to the cupboard only to learn we’re out of albendazole and can’t treat an animal for parasites.”
A small sigh escaped Lila’s lips as she nodded, scribbling a note to herself. “Will do, Doc. Anything else?”
Doc Tillman finally looked up, his gaze sharp. “Yes, actually. After you’re done here, the Henderson’s mare is due for a check-up. They called this morning worried sick about her. I think you should go out with me and pay attention. You can’t learn everything in those fancy schools, and I won’t always be around to hold your hand.” Then, for good measure, he added, “There’s nothing on that computer I can’t teach you with my hands tied behind my back.”
The words stung, though Lila had learned to anticipate them. Doc Tillman had given her a rare chance when offering her a job way back in high school—a job she’d moved on from when she married and was following her husband around the country as a military wife.
When Aaron was killed, and she had a sudden need for income, Doc created a position and brought her back on full-time, a move she strongly suspected was motivated more by the grouchy old veterinarian’s generosity than need.
Doc Tillman snorted,turning back to his work. He attached a plastic cone around the dog’s neck, picked up the animal, and put him in a nearby cage. “Just remember where you are. Thunder Mountain isn’t exactly the big city. We do things differently here.”
Lila forced a smile, though her heart sometimes grew heavy. She knew her worth, or at least she wanted to believe she did. Yet, in the shadow of Doc Tillman’s towering ego and the outmoded wooden-paneled walls of the vet office, it was hard to remember.
She silently vowed to prove herself, not just to Doc Tillman but to the entire town of Thunder Mountain. But deep down, she feared that no matter how much she learned or how hard she worked, it would never be enough for Doc Tillman.
That thought was a heavy chain around her spirit, one she wasn’t sure how to break.
The delicate chime of a small bell resonated through the room as the door swung open. Lila cast her gaze toward the modest waiting area, catching a glimpse of the new arrival through the doorway. “I’ll go see who it is,” she offered, moving towards the front.
Earl Dunlop, a large, gruff man who ran the county snow removal fleet, stepped inside, cradling a ginger-colored kitty in his arms—a sight so incongruous it could have softened even the hardest of hearts.
“I need some help here,” Earl announced in a voice that was filled with concern as he made his way to the front counter.
Doc Tillman followed Lila, his eyebrows knitting together in curiosity. "What seems to be the trouble?” he asked, his tone carrying the weight of years spent diagnosing and treating all manners of animal ailments.
Earl shifted uncomfortably, the kitty’s soft mewling barely audible. “Well, Doc. I think Fluffy’s got a bad case of urinary tract infection. Been noticing her straining to pee, and she’s been quite off lately.”
Doc Tillman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What bull dropped that on the floor?” he exclaimed, a mixture of amusement and skepticism in his voice. The phrase was one of his favorites.
Doc followed Earl’s gaze at Lila with suspicion. “Figures,” Doc Tillman muttered under his breath.
