She unlocked the cabinet door and peered inside, her eyes traveling over the neatly arranged boxes and bottles. Something looked off, and she moved a few boxes around. Her heart sank. What she’d spied through the glass—and hoped was wrong—turned out to be right on closer inspection: There was less tramadol than there should have been, and the ketamine seemed light too. Or she’d miscounted previously. Or her tech had forgotten to replace them before she’d leftfor the day.
One of those explanations had to be the reason the supplies were short. Except both she and her tech were meticulous with the logs.
She prowled through her tiny vet clinic, flooding the dim rooms with harsh fluorescent lights as she went. The world outside the clinic windows was cloaked in inky blue velvet, even though it was barely six thirty in the evening. But that was typical of her hometown in November. Ringed by soaring snow-encrusted peaks, the mountain village of Fall River was plunged into midnight from early evening to the following morning at this time of year.
The surgery area was clean as a whistle, and so was recovery. So were the two exam rooms, her office, and the reception area. No missing medication. She paused and tapped her chin, her mind scrolling through a list of explanations. When had she last noticed the supply? Lauren, her tech-slash-receptionist, usually managed those details so Neve could tend to the countless animals needing her help—like the pathetic cat staring at her with one glassy eye from the cage where she’d secured him for the night.
“What am I missing, Mr. Whiskers?” she asked the doped-up gray tabby cat. The name was a misnomer because he didn’t have any whiskers; they had been burned down to stubs. She had no idea what the cat’s name truly was—or if he had one at all—but even without the telltale bristles, the moniker seemed to fit the stray a local high school boy had found and brought in.
Crouching down to give the cat a chin scratch through the metal grid, she continued flipping through events in her mind.
For the second time in two weeks, she couldn’t account for all the tramadol. The first time, she’d been sure she’d simply miscalculated. Lauren had as much as confirmed it. But twice now? When she’d never had any meds go missing before during her entire five years of practice? And what about the ketamine? Neve was a pragmatist with a healthy level of suspicion when it came to coincidences. Well, she was a pragmatist in her professional life. Her personal life? There, she was an unrealistic romantic. In short, an unmitigated disaster.
With a sigh, she flicked off the lights, leaving a blue glow to illuminate the space.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Okay, Mr. Whiskers?”
In her office, her eight-year-old pit bull, Pearl, lifted her head and watched with vague curiosity as Neve pulled on her coat, knit scarf, hat, and gloves. Neve had rescued the dog from a life spent languishing in a crate day in, day out, in a home where no one wanted her. She marveled at how love and attention had transformed the dog. Pearl had entered Neve’s world scared and timid, with no muscle tone and a plethora of skin ailments. One year later, Pearl had become her best diva self, boasting a firm body and a glossy coat the color of buck suede. If only Neve could save them all. If only so many didn’t need saving …
“You’re in charge while I’m out, girlfriend. You have my permission to scare the pants off anyone who tries to break in and steal stuff.” Pearl gave a little snort, flopped her head back on her cushy fleece bed, and closed her eyes.
“Such a toughie,” Neve chuckled before stepping into the chilly evening. The air felt as though it were laced in ice crystals, and it nearly stole her breath. She yanked her collar tight around her scarf to keep frosty slivers from sliding down her neck and fought the hurricane-force wind as she walked the few blocks to the Miners Tavern. Though she’d lived in Fall River her entire life, she had never acclimated to the buffeting streams of air that nights like this one brought. Huffing and puffing, she expended twice the effort she would have needed on a calm summer day. But the town’s local watering hole beckoned with its golden light and gave her a surge of energy. Everyone she knew would be gathered there, including her tech. More importantly, Reece Hunnicutt would be there, and she was ashamed to admit seeing him meant more to her in this moment than talking to Lauren about the missing meds.
What kind of vet did that make her?
One who carried a lifelong unrequited love like an unyielding vise around her heart. But she was about to break its grip and bring it to its final—and long overdue—end.
She darted inside the tavern, letting the door slam behind her. She blinked, adjusting from the indigos outside to the high-ceilinged space awash in warm hues. The burble of people talking and laughing enveloped her like a cozy blanket.
“Come on in, Doc,” greeted the plump tavern fixture whose shiny fuchsia-and-burnt orange caftan billowed around her like a tent.
“Thanks, Dixie.” Neve scanned the dining room and bar. “I was hoping to find Lauren here. Have you seen her?”
“She’s come and gone already. Seemed to be in an awful hurry. Maybe she’s got herself a new man.” Dixie’s painted eyebrows disappeared beneath her brassy blond bangs.
Neve dialed her assistant’s number but only got her voicemail, so she sent her a text asking her to call.
“You in or out, Doc? Your bar stool’s calling.” Dixie prodded.
Neve glanced toward the bar and the people working behind it. “I’ll stay for a bit.” Dixie probably saw right through Neve’s fake nonchalance.
“That’s a girl. Your face is as blue as your scarf. Let’s get you warmed up, hon.” Dixie ushered Neve away from the entrance, tugging at her hat and coat as she steered her toward her favorite bar stool. Dixie was the bar’s manager, bartender, waitress, hostess, and the town’s mother hen, who knew every detail of every resident’s life—even ones the residents didn’t know themselves.
People called out greetings as Neve approached, but all her attention lasered in on the tall, broody bartender with soft brown hair flopping over his forehead and eyes the color of moss on an ancient tree stump. He flicked those eyes her way for a nanosecond—the barely there acknowledgment he typically gave her—before returning his gaze to the woman chatting him up across the bar top. Veiled impatience was etched in the creases around his full mouth. Neve recognized that look because she’d stared at him virtually her entire life. Every little scar on his face was inventoried in her permanent memory banks—she’d even caused one right above his left eyebrow—and unfortunately for her, they only emphasized his gorgeous ruggedness.
He was working behind the bar, helping his brother Noah—who also happened to be the owner—and Neve knew from years of reading Reece’s every expression that he simply wanted the woman to give him her order. He didn’t warm to her dazzling smiles, her flirty gestures, or her ridiculously obvious come-on. Beyond the exchange that would tell him what she wanted to drink, Reece had no interest in talking to her—or sleeping with her, which gave Neve a perverted lift.
At least the man who’d made Neve’s pulse race for more years than she could count wasn’t in the habit of sleeping around … which meant he didn’t find those potential partners any more attractive than he found her.
So there was that.
She shrugged out of her bulky winter gear, spread her coat across the stool, and lifted her butt onto it.
Noah was also working this evening, and he gave her a chin lift and a grin from the other end of the bar, which she returned. Apparently, Neve was in Reece’s section tonight. Of course she was, because that’s how the universe liked to remind her of what she couldn’t have. But after tonight, Reece would be off her menu of choices. Then again, he’d neverbeena choice. A bitter fact she had finally come to terms with.
And now she was moving on, giving up the ghost, taking back her heart. End of story.
Why now? Because she was a week away from turning thirty-two, and damn it, she wanted to get on with sharing a home, a family, and a white picket fence with someone who would make her toes curl in bed too. A tall order in this town, she reminded herself as she looked around at the familiar faces she’d grown up with.
