Page 8 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

She was a single mom and he didn’t do single moms. Ever. He had a personal rulebook for dating and number one was: do not get attached to someone with a small human who deserves more stability than a guy who sometimes ate beef jerky for dinner because dishes felt emotional.

Rule number two: do not fantasize about your new employee.

Rule number three: definitely do not fantasize about your new employee in teal.

Rule number four (added roughly eight seconds ago): stop making rules, because clearly they weren't sticking.

Not only was she his new vet tech, she was also his apprentice. And young—too young for a guy in his thirties. A guy whose future babies would all be a four-legged and covered in fur.

“Names, Colter.”

“I know.”

He leaned against the counter because his legs needed something solid. His voice scraped lower than intended, and he fought the urge to ran a hand through his hair like a schoolboy caught staring at the prettiest girl in class.

“Right. The Market. If I’d known you were my new intern, I wouldn’t have⁠—”

“Commented on my melons?”

Christ. He felt his face heat like she had opened an oven door in front of him. “Or asked for your number.”

“That’s okay. We both know you weren’t going to use it.”

One point, Dream Girl. If they kept score, and apparently, they were keeping score now, she was up one to nothing before nine a.m.

If his face had been hot before, now it was surface-of-the-sun with embarrassment because she was right—he had no intentions of calling. Well, he had—then he’d reminded himself of the two-foot-tall fairy with a mustache.

“Let’s just start over. I’m Sutton, your new intern. You must be Dr. Callahan. I’m excited to work under you. I mean, for you.”

Her voice cracked on the correction, and a flicker of satisfaction slid through him because she was not as unshakable as she pretended—meaning he was not the only one tongue-tied. Point to Colter.

“Welcome.” He cleared his throat and jabbed a thumb toward the direction of the exam room three. “If you don’t mind handling the phone until Irma gets back?”

“Not at all. I might as well jump in.”

Her confidence was ridiculous—ridiculously sexy.

“Thanks. I’ve got a goat waiting for a horn sharpening. If I don’t go, it might pass out again, and then I’ll be responsible for the mess.”

She laughed softly, and his chest tightened at the sound. It was warm honey and a dare all at once. “Good luck with that. I’ll let you get to it.”

He nodded and turned just as the front door banged open. A frantic woman burst inside, pushing a dolly large enough to haul lumber. Except instead of lumber, a miniature horse stood trembling on the platform, legs locked, eyes rolling white. Tears streamed down the woman’s face.

“Martha,” Colter said, addressing one of his most loyal customers, rushing over. His body kicked into instinct, everything else falling away. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, she started having contractions, but the baby hasn’t come out.”

The mini horse bleated a distressed neigh, stamping in fear.

He crouched beside the mare, stroking her neck to settle her. Tiny Dancer’s flanks quivered, breath kicking hard. This was bad. This was incredibly bad.

Colter felt Sutton come up beside him and for one split breath he was grateful she was there.

He had animals in crisis, a brand-new intern, and no Irma. Suddenly, he was not thinking about dating rules, or melons, or single mothers. He was thinking about saving a life.

Neigh. Neigh.

The poor thing was clearly in pain.