“Can I ask you something?” I start, my voice cracking slightly. “It might be inappropriate, I just… I just want to know.”
She looks up at me, her eyes wary, but she nods. “Sure.”
I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. The cowardice I’ve lived with for years rushes back in, choking me.
I can’t ask her that. I can’t open that wound.
So I chicken out. I ask something else. Something stupid.
“Do you still drink your coffee black?” I blurt out. “Or did the city make you fancy?”
She stares at me for a second, confused. Then, a real laugh escapes her lips, bright and surprising. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in years.
“Still black,” she says, shaking her head, a grin spreading across her face. “Some things never change.”
I let out a breath. “Right. Good.” I back away toward my truck, feeling like an idiot. “Okay. Well. Seven, then. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“See you then, Seth.” She smiles.
I get in my truck and drive away, my heart hammering a frantic, hopeful beat against my ribs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sedona
I needto make this call. I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over Dr. Alistair Finch’s contact picture—a stern, professional headshot that doesn’t quite capture the glint in his eye or the way he leans back in his expensive chair like he owns the world.
The line crackles with a thousand miles when he picks up.
“Sedona,” his voice is a familiar rumble, a mix of gravel and old money. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Don’t tell me you’re coming back early.”
“Hi, Alistair.” I walk to the window, looking out at the quiet street. “I’m calling in a favor. A big one.”
I can almost hear him sit up straighter, the creak of his leather chair a familiar sound. “A favor? From me? After you abandoned my prestigious cardiovascular study for… what was it again? Fresh air and cows?”
There’s a teasing edge to his voice, but I remember when it wasn’t so teasing. I remember his hand on my arm after a late-night surgery, the way he’d leaned in a little too close, his expensive cologne choking the air.
I remember peeling his fingers off one by one and telling him, in a voice as cold and sharp as a scalpel, that if he evertried that again, I’d use my instrument for something other than surgery.
He’d been shocked, then angry, then, finally, respectful. He’d never tried it again, and our relationship had settled into one of mutual professional admiration. He valued my skill, and I valued his resources.
“There’s a potential outbreak here,” I say, ignoring his jab. “Bovine. The local vet is good, but his resources are limited. The initial tox screens are inconclusive. I need your lab. I need answers fast.”
I explain the situation, the bloating, the rapid decline, the sheer number of animals affected. I keep my voice clinical, detached, laying out the facts as I would in any professional consultation.
He listens, interrupting only once to ask a pointed question about the water source. When I’m finished, there’s a pause.
“A mycotoxin, maybe,” he muses, his mind already working. “Or a novel bacterium. It’s interesting. Send me the samples. Courier them overnight. I’ll have my team drop everything. We’ll have a preliminary report for you in forty-eight hours.”
Relief washes over me, so potent it makes my knees feel weak. “Alistair… thank you. Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his tone shifting back to business. “This is a fascinating case. It’ll make a great paper. Now, about your return date. The canine study is progressing, but we need you. Your eye for the data is… unparalleled. When can I expect you back in New York?”
The question lands like a stone in my gut. New York. A world of steel and glass, of subways that never stop and sirens in the night.
A world where I am Dr. Archer, respected and capable, not the girl who left her father and broke her fiancé’s heart.
“I need until the end of the month,” I say, the words feeling heavy and final. “There’s… my father’s estate. The clinic. Things to sort out.”
