“Right,” he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “The estate. Of course. Well, don’t take too long. The world of veterinary medicine doesn’t stop turning because you’re playing country doctor.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, the phone feeling heavy in my hand. I take a deep breath, the scent of my father’s office filling my lungs again. I have a timeline now. The end of the month. A little over three weeks.
The thought is both a relief and a prison sentence.
I walk out of the office, and the sight of Clara makes me smile. She’s perched on the edge of one of the waiting room chairs, a splash of wildflower blue against the beige of the room.
She’s wearing a flowy sundress and a pair of simple leather sandals, her hair swept up into a messy bun. She looks so out of place, yet so perfectly herself.
She looks up as I approach, her head tilting. “Did you change clothes?”
I glance down at my outfit. I’d swapped my dusty, sweat-stained jeans for a slightly cleaner pair and a soft, dark green sweater.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious. “I thought this would be… better. For dinner.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Are you wearing makeup?”
I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over my face. “I’m a little nervous, okay? Is that a crime?”
Clara’s expression softens immediately. She stands up and takes my hand, her grip warm and firm.
“Not a crime at all. I get it.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “Whatever you need.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence comfortable between us.
“I thought it would just be the two of us,” she says. “And Seth. And that yummy Tex guy.”
“Billy won’t be there,” I say, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. “And this is technically a work dinner. We’re going to discuss the sample collection.”
Clara just nods, her eyes full of understanding. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. She just accepts my flimsy excuse for what it is: a shield.
“Thank you for being here,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“Always,” she says simply. Then she grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, let’s go. We have been functioning on huckleberry pie and stale coffee for two days. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
I laugh, a real, genuine laugh that feels like bubbles rising in my chest. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We climb into the sedan, the small car feeling cramped after the wide-open spaces of the ranch. I turn the key in the ignition.
“Maybe we need to rent a truck or something,” I say, thinking of the feed bags, the medical supplies, the sheer impracticality of this car in this world.
“Definitely a truck,” Clara agrees, nodding sagely as she turns on the radio. A country song, twangy and sweet, fills the car.
We don’t talk. We just hum along, our voices blending with the melody, a quiet harmony in the fading light.
As we drive, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the valley in shades of fire and smoke. The world is hard, and I’m tired to my very bones, a weariness that goes deeper than muscle and bone.
But the setting sun is beautiful, and my best friend is singing off-key beside me. I feel a fragile sense of peace.
I’m here. I’m alive. And for right now, that has to be enough.
The sedan crunches up the gravel drive of Copper Creek Ranch, the setting sun casting long, dancing shadows across the pastures. I park and climb out, my boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt—and that’s when I see him.
Jasper, looking even younger and more lanky in the golden light, is walking a string of horses from the main barn. One of them, a powerful black stallion with a proud, stubborn set to his head, catches my eye.
“Is that Diesel?” I ask, my voice carrying across the quiet yard.
Jasper jumps, nearly dropping the lead rope. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is Diesel. Joey’s horse. Just giving him some exercise.”
