I didn’t bother to correct him that I was, in fact, Dr. Mrs. Spencer. “Waylond, good to see you.” I knew my tone and face did not support that message. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my green scrubs, waiting for whatever unpleasant thing he was going to say. Waylond rarely said anything pleasant, in my experience.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, brandishing a letter. It had an official letterhead on top, so I had to assume it was from my lawyer.
“I’m not sure,” I replied mildly, channeling my brother’s chilly tone. “I haven’t read whatever it is.”
“This is from your lawyer,” he spat. The man looked like an angry badger personified, and although we were nearly the same height, I found a touch of nervousness creeping into my brain. “Asks if we might be stealing your water.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t what my lawyer had written, but I held out a hand. “May I?”
“You may not,” he snapped. “You tell your fancy prick lawyer that we take water that belongs to us, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can drown themselves.”
I kept my calm mask in place. “I’m sure no one is accusing you of stealing. It’s just that my ranch has been dry for several months, and we are doing everything we can to get to the bottom of why.”
He threw the letter on the floor with a sneer. “Hasn’t got anything to do with me.”
“Well, we all share the same water sources—”
Waylond stepped closer, jabbing a finger in my face. I flinched, steeling my resolve and willing myself not to back up as my heart thundered in my chest. He gritted his teeth. “Leave me out of it.”
I held his gaze steadily. “Answering the questions listed will be the most straightforward way to absolve you of any association with my water issues, Mr. Scott.” He stared at me for two long seconds, and I realized he might not have completely picked up on what I’d said. I tried again. “The questions are for your benefit. So you can deny involvement.”
“I’m denying it now.” He wrenched the door open, letting in an icy blast from the dark winter night beyond. “Mind your own business. City bitches have no place messing with our way of life.Just keep your fingers in your own damn pot. Things have a way of working themselves out the right way around here if you can’t learn your place.”
My heart stuttered. “Mr. Scott, did you just threaten me?”
He glared from the doorway. “Keep your nose where it belongs.” Then he slammed the door, and I jumped. My fingers shook from inside my scrub pockets, and I released an unsteady breath.
Wendy came out of the room with her eyes wide. “Everything okay?”
“Probably,” I breathed out. I stooped down to pick up the letter. “Just some grouchy neighbors.”
“Anything I can do?”
I shook my head, skimming the letter. “No, thank you.” The letter seemed pretty professional to me. Eli had written some simple questions about the neighbors and where they got their water, what they understood their water rights to be, and asked for any help or information they might have that would contribute to solving my issue. The fact that Waylond had taken this as an attack only added to my suspicions about where my ranch’s water was going. He hadn’t exactly helped his case.
And meanwhile, we were paying through the nose for delivered water once a week. By my estimations, I’d be out of money by March if I didn’t raise more funds or find a solution. It was one crisis after another, it seemed. Spencer had saved the ranch from my mother, but even that hadn’t been enough to ensure its success.
I crumpled the letter, tossing it into the small trash bin by the desk and lifting my new coat off the hook by the door. “Are you okay closing up here? Sorry you had to stay late,” I said to Wendy.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she reassured me. Wendy had that youthful, sweet demeanor that made her perfect for healing and helping. “You go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nodding, I zipped up my coat, luxuriating in its warmth and sparing Spencer a thought of thanks for it. Then I charged out into the cold. Fortunately, my practice was also my home, so it was only a quarter of a mile away. I walked down the snowy road, my head tilted to the sweeping galaxy above, and I breathed out a white breath.
I could do this. I could fix this. If it was Waylond, and he didn’t answer the questions, then we had to move forward with the next steps. It felt a little terrifying to be entering a legal battle of any kind, but this was what the animals needed. It was what my home needed.
Christmas has been like an opened pressure valve, releasing my pent-up stress and allowing me to just feel for a bit. The day with Spencer yesterday had been wildly euphoric. Dreamlike. We’d bantered and eaten together, watching a football game Spencer liked but I had no idea how to follow, and when my attention had strayed too far, Spencer had stripped me naked and showed me the exact benefits of riding reverse cowgirl, especially with the hat on my head. We’d ordered takeout from the only restaurant open and willing to deliver to our remote location, tipping them heavily, and then I’d popped open a bottle of wine that had been hiding in the back of my pantry. It had tasted awful, and we’d gotten tipsy, and it had been perfect.
Now, the lid was back on, and the pressure was climbing again. I focused on the crunch of my new boots in the snow, the sting of cold on my cheeks, and the dazzling expanse of starry sky above me. I could handle this. Yes, it was a lot of pressure, but I could do it. I’d fix the water issues, use the extra money to hire another ranch hand, and focus on my veterinary practice to bring in extra funds. It was doable. I just had to hang in there.
And… Spencer was here. That helped. I didn’t know how long he would be staying before he moved into his apartment, and I wasn’t going to ask. Because if I asked, then I’d have a countdown, and I didn’t want him to leave, so I definitely didn’t want a countdown to it. Realistically, I knew he couldn’t stay with me indefinitely, and more to the point, I shouldn’t want him to. My mother would love nothing else. She’d delight in learning that my actual husband was living with me. She’d crow over it. I’d never live it down.
But…
I reached up and fiddled with the horseshoe necklace around my throat. “Agh,” I growled, dropping my hand. “No, Arabella. You cannot get attached to him. Fucking and gift-giving is not… a something. And Mom would love a something. You don’t get a something.”
The quiet night answered with icy stillness. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket, and still on edge from my encounter with Waylond, I glanced at the caller ID warily. It was my brother. “Hello?”
“Ara,” he answered smoothly. Knox had a soothing, baritone voice that probably comforted laboring mothers all across Eugene. That said, he basically never called me.
