Page 88 of Pretty Little Scars

Basically, being a vet means always being tired. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night. At this point, I don’t remember the last time I slept withmy man. And I feel horrible because I’ve been out on calls with Dr. Fisher so much that I haven’t been able to help on the Hendrix Ranch like I normally would.

I know it doesn’t bother Tucker, but I miss it. I miss the horses, the kittens, the cows. I need all the other animals in this valley to chill out a bit so I can enjoy a down day in the garden.

It’s eight in the morning when I walk into the house, and I can tell by the stillness that he’s already gone for the day. I tried to get back earlier, but I kept getting sidetracked.

Waiting on the counter is a note, and the anticipation is killing me. Sure, we text a bit through the day, but these handwritten notes have come to mean the world. I carry them around with me, and when I’m feeling particularly lonely for him, I pull them out to look at his bold, masculine handwriting.

Duchess-

Good morning. I fucking miss you. I need to catch this damn lion so I can go back to normal. I made you biscuits and gravy for breakfast, it’s in the oven. There’s also a couple turkey sandwiches premade in the fridge for you to have for lunch, whether that’s here, or if you get called out. Get some sleep, baby.

T

God, I love him. He has food waiting for me every time I come home, no matter the time of day. It’s more magic that he weaves for me, and it makes me feel so well loved and cared for. He’s right, I don’t eat well when I’m out in the field. It seems that there’s never time for it. Coming back here to home-cooked meals is a luxury because I know he doesn’t have much time on his hands right now, but he’smakingtime to prepare meals for me.

And damn it, that just makes me fall more in love with him. I need to see him. To curl up in his arms and feel his heartbeat under my cheek.

I hope with everything in me that they find the cat today. According to his call late last night, they finally caught it on the cams, so they know where on the ranch it’s hiding out. Now they just have to trap it.

Fish and Wildlife is helping too. They’re going to try to relocate the animal without having to put it down.

I pull the still-hot food out of the oven and grab a fork, and then sigh in happiness when the creamy gravy hits my tongue.

My man can freaking cook.

“Damn good,” I mutter around the bite and carry the plate upstairs so I can take a shower before going to sleep for a while. Unless something catastrophic happens, I’m not back on call until tomorrow night. I sincerely hope that I don’t get called. I like my job, but it’s been a hellish few weeks, and particularly the past week or so.

I need a break.

After I finish stuffing my face with the delicious breakfast, I take a hot shower to wash away all the filth, and then I face-plant into the bed, my face buried in Tucker’s pillow, and I breathe him in.

“Miss you,” I murmur as I feel myself drift toward sleep.

I tooka good three-hour nap and then made myself get up because I have my fingers crossed that I’ll be able to sleep here tonight. Plus, it’s a gorgeous late-spring day. The sun is out, it’s nice and warm, and I want to be outside getting dirty. So, I slip into some denim shorts and a black tank, along with one of Tucker’s old flannel shirts, toss my hair up in a messy bun, and after I eat one of the delicious sandwiches he made for me, I slip into my gardening shoes—something I never thought I’d have—grab my sunglasses and a hat, and head outside.

Sylvester’s sitting by the gate of the garden enclosure, as if he’s waiting for me.

“Hey, little man.” I bend over and scratch his ears, and the orange feline purrs. “I’ve missed you too. Are you keeping watch? Making sure no critters get to our veggies?”

I take a deep breath, enjoying the smell of it out here, like pine and clean air andearth. And then Sylvester and I get towork. There are already weeds that need pulling, and I check on the growth progress both in the beds and in the greenhouse.

“We’re doing good,” I inform Sylvester, who’s taking a bath under the workbench. “I even planted some catnip for you and Tom.”

It’s already heating up outside, so I slip out of the flannel and the hat, and when I’ve finished in the garden, I lay the shirt and hat on the porch on my way to the barn.

I want to look in on the horses that are out here, and I need to check on Tom and the kittens.

There’s a delicious light breeze that blows over me, and it feels good on the back of my neck, drying up the sweat from working in the garden.

I love it here.I don’t know how I’ll ever leave the ranch next year. This is more home to me than any other place has been in my whole life. I’d rather never step foot back on the property I grew up on. There are too many nightmares for me there. And since I moved out when I was eighteen, I’ve always had temporary places that I rented.

But this doesn’t feel temporary. This is somewhere that I could easily lay down roots and call home. The greenhouse and gardens and the animals are all so comforting. But it’s the man that I really want.

And God, I miss him.

I haven’t seen him in days, and I’m itching to get my hands on him.

Hopefully tonight.