Page 12 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

“He wants you to call or text before you drop by,” Vern said, lifting a brow. He studied me for a second or two, then said, “I didn’t know you were friendly like with the Carlyle boys.”

“I, uh,” I stammered out, brain grinding on half-baked excuses. “My car flatted.”

“Oh,” Vern said, eyes widening.

I nodded. “The day after I got here. I’d just left Bobby’s place. Lucky for me, I didn’t get too far.”

Vern snorted. “Surprised any of the Carlyle boys know how to change a tire,” he said.

“Ah,” I started.

Vern waved a hand. “What you do is your business, all right? So long as the animals are tended, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Er, thanks?”

Vern nodded, then turned himself about. “Breakfast’s ready in ten,” he said, then loped downstairs, floorboards creaking every step of the way.

I inhaled deeply, then slowly released my breath. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he think I was … fucking Cal or something?

I swallowed tightly. I could easily go set the record straight—I might have swung that way, but Cal was not my type.

Cam, on the other hand …

I shook my head furiously, clearing the thought of the younger Carlyle brother and his tawny hair, his amber eyes, his tan skin, his muscular arms …

I didn’t need to pop a boner before breakfast. I forced myself to my feet. I could tell Vern the truth—that I was looking after the wounded coyote Bobby had shot. But part of me didn’t want to. I figured Vern would be more upset about that than he’d been about the idea of me potentially fucking Cal Carlyle.

Which was, honestly, kind of refreshing. I’d expected everyone in this place to be a close-minded bigot. Vern’s attitude maybewasn’t welcoming, but he’d made it pretty clear he figured my sex life wasn’t any of his business, and he wasn’t going to give me any trouble about it.

For half a second, I wished he was my father, because his reaction was certainly preferable to the fit my own dad had pitched when he’d found out I was gay. We hadn’t spoken since I’d moved out and gone to college.

I sighed. It was sad that Vern’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy made me like him that much. I closed my laptop and trotted downstairs to the kitchen. “Anything I can help with?”

Vern pointed. “Set the table,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

I nearly chuckled. Vern was a bit gruff, maybe rough around the edges, but he seemed like a good guy. He’d cooked breakfast and dinner the last few days, although I supposed he had to do it for himself anyway. He was a bachelor, after all.

I went to the cupboards and pulled down some plates. “Want me to get the coffee on?” I asked.

“Hm, if you don’t mind.”

We’d very quickly figured out that I was better at making coffee, but we were both better off if I left the cooking to Vern.

I eyed the older man. In college, my cooking skills had been limited to boiling water and cooking instant ramen. Granted, that was a lot of what my budget had allowed. But if I figured I was eventually going to get my own place, then I should probably learn to cook.

Maybe Vern could teach me.

He laid out scrambled eggs, whole grain toast, and bacon. Lest I was worried that I’d be clogging my arteries, yesterday, we’d had porridge, and the day before that, fruit parfaits, which seemed super feminine, but Vern assured me there was nothing “masculine” about getting scurvy or having a heart attack. Eating healthy, he insisted, meant a balanced diet—which also meanthaving bacon and eggs every now and then.

I set the table and brewed the coffee while Vern put the dishes in the sink to soak. Then we sat down and tucked in.

Plucking up my courage and clearing my mouth of toast, I said, “So, what do you know about the Carlyle brothers?”

Vern’s blue gaze flicked up to meet mine. He considered for a second or two, then said, slowly, “That depends on what you want to know.”

I thought about that. “Is it just the two of them, Cal and Cam?”

Vern snorted. “If only,” he muttered, then took a huge gulp of his coffee. He closed his eyes in delight. He set the mug aside. “No, there’s a whole pack of them boys—seven of ’em, I think. Cal’s the eldest, and he inherited the ranch after their parents passed.”