Not sure that will happen because Dr. Monroe doesn’t pay much attention to anything with less than three legs. I say three because there is the cutest three-legged cat that came in last week, and it was noticed.
She holds out a piece of paper. “Ms. Bluebonnet, Mitch wanted you to go out on this call.” That’s the other thing she does: calls him by his first name when he’s not around, and the way she does it feels like she’s giving me not-so-subtle hints about how close they are.
She can have him. I’m pushing thirty. Mitch is retirement age. He’s a little outside of my preferred dating range.
“Thanks, Marilyn.” I hurry past the coffee pot and drop my purse in the file drawer.
Dr. Monroe has been sending me on more and more house calls. Today, I’ll be handling bovine vaccinations at a ranch near the county line. He’s staying at the clinic more and has even cut back on his hours. Maybe he will retire.
I’m glad I haven’t mentioned moving after the wedding.
When John made the decision—without consulting me—to accept a job in Boston, I decided to wait to tell Dr. Monroe. I love working here and hoped John and I could figure something out.
And we have. Going our separate ways. The heartache I expected to last for days is now just a knot in my stomach, and that might be morning sickness. This little surprise has helped me see reality and probably saved me from years of unhappiness.
Once upon a time, John seemed sweet and caring. I’m not sure when things changed. Or maybe I’m blind to red flags.
As I collect what I need, my happiness about the idea of staying here is challenged by the worry that clients won’t approve of an unmarried woman having a baby. This is a small town in a conservative area. Grace isn’t always extended very far.
A vet clinic needs clients to stay in business. Would they drive to a different county to do business elsewhere?
Trying to shove my concerns aside, I drive out to the ranch.
When I climb out of my truck, the smell of barn whaps me in the face, and I clench my jaw. Getting sick out here is not an option.
At least I’m not trying to right a breeched calf today. Having my arm elbow deep in a cow might be too much for my rumbly tummy to handle.
Forcing a smile and making a mental note to buy a jar of Vicks VapoRub, I walk into the barn. A little Vicks under the nose, and that’s all I’ll be able to smell.
I’ll need to do something because if I start puking when out on calls, my secret will be the latest news in town. And I’m not ready for that.
* * *
After driving backand forth across the county all day, I’m back at the vet clinic, ready to head home. I need a shower and dinner, however I may not have enough energy left to accomplish both.
But even through the menthol—I picked up a jar of Vicks after my first stop—I can smell barn stink.
After filling out the necessary paperwork for Marilyn to handle billing, I slide it into her little inbox, then trudge out to the truck.
Parker is standing near my door. “Hey. I was hoping to catch you.”
“Oh no. Is something wrong? Is Paisley okay?” My mind races, trying to find a reason for Parker to show up here. “Did someone say something?”
He shakes his head and scratches his beard. “Paisley’s fine. The move seems to be—oops. Forget I said anything about a move. Anyway, no one said anything. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay?”
“First, I got these.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag of ginger candies. “I googled up remedies for morning sickness, and one site recommended these.” He shoves his other hand into a different pocket and retrieves a handful of peppermint puffs. “Another place swore by these.”
And now I’m crying. “This is so sweet.” I open my purse so he can drop in the candy. “Thank you.”
“And I have three boxes of Earl Grey tea in my truck.”
This gem of a guy is making a difficult situation so much better. “Oh, Dumplin’. I don’t even know what to say.”
Rubbing his beard again, he stares at my boots. “Will you let me take you to dinner? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“I stink.”
