8. Josephine
CHAPTER EIGHT
Josephine
“Easy… easy, sweetheart…”
I crouch beside the examination table and half-whisper my words. The border collie in front of me trembles under my hands, ribs fluttering too fast beneath patchy fur, wide eyes darting between me and his owner like he’s trying to decide who to trust more.
“It’s alright,” I murmur, sliding my palm along his side in slow, even strokes. “I’ve got you.”
He doesn’t believe me.
That’s fine; most don’t at first.
“What did you say his name was again?” I ask, glancing up briefly.
“Ranger,” Mr. Collins replies, wringing his cap between his hands. “He’s never been like this before, doc. Not once.”
“I believe you.”
I do. The symptoms line up too cleanly for this to be normal behavior. Lethargy, loss of appetite, the shaking.
My fingers press gently along Ranger’s abdomen.
Focus on what’s in front of you.
That’s the rule. No distractions. No phone, or thinking about the way your sleep’s been off for the past week, and especially not the strange, restless energy sitting under your skin, waiting for what’s next.
Definitely not the memory of a man’s hands and the way your body still seems to remember them at inconvenient times.
“Has he eaten anything unusual?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. Same feed as always.”
I nod, filing that away, reaching for the stethoscope draped around my neck. I press the diaphragm to his chest…
It hits.
The nausea comes out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, like my body just tipped sideways without warning. My stomach twists violently, a cold, hollow drop that sends a wave of dizziness up the back of my neck.
I freeze.
No, not now.
I swallow, trying to calm myself, to breathe through it, but it only makes it worse. The room tilts slightly at the edges, the fluorescent lights overhead suddenly too bright, too harsh.
“Josephine?” Dr. Harris cuts in from somewhere behind me, distant but sharp with awareness.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
I press my lips together, forcing my focus back down to Ranger, to the rhythm of his heartbeat under the stethoscope. That’s what matters. Finish the exam. Keep moving.
You’re not the kind of person who falls apart mid-appointment.
Except my vision blurs.
I pull back too quickly, the movement making my head spin harder this time. My hand braces against the table without me meaning to, fingers gripping the edge.
“Josephine,” Dr. Harris says again, closer now. “Sit down.”
“I don’t need to—”
“You do.”
There’s no arguing with that tone.
I straighten, or try to, but the second I shift my weight, the nausea surges again, sharper this time, forcing a breath out of me that sounds far too close to a gag. “Alright,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “Fine.”
I step back, carefully, controlled, like I’m not one wrong move away from embarrassing myself in front of a client.
“I’m just going to…” I gesture vaguely toward the sink. “Excuse me for one second.”
I don’t wait for permission.
I barely make it.
The sink catches me just in time as I lean over it, gripping the porcelain edge while my stomach rolls again. Nothing comes up, but the sensation is violent enough that it might as well.
“Okay,” I whisper under my breath. “Okay.”
Breathe. In, out. You’re not dying. You’re not collapsing. You’re having… something.
“Food poisoning,” I murmur quietly. “Or low blood sugar. Or—”
“Or you’re pushing yourself too hard again,” Dr. Harris finishes calmly behind me.
I close my eyes.
Of course he’s here.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, weaker this time.
“Mm hm.”
I straighten slowly, rinsing my hands under cool water more for the calming effect than necessity. My reflection in the small mirror looks off. Paler than usual, eyes slightly unfocused. Unacceptable.
“I can finish the exam,” I say, turning back toward him.
He doesn’t move. “Josephine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said sit down.”
We stare at each other for a beat.
He wins.
I exhale sharply through my nose. “This is unnecessary.”
“So’s you passing out on my clinic floor.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“You nearly just did,” he says mildly. “Go home.”
I blink at him. “I have patients.”
“You have me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point,” he counters easily. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re about to keel over mid-procedure.”
I open my mouth to argue again, pause, and close it, because… he’s not wrong.
“I don’t keel,” I mutter.
“You were dangerously close to keeling.”
I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t get sick.”
He chuckles. “Everyone gets sick.”
“Not like this.”
He softens slightly at that, just enough to make it worse. “Then take the afternoon. Figure it out.”
I hesitate, because leaving feels like losing control, and I don’t do that, but the nausea twisting in my stomach makes the decision for me.
“Fine,” I say stiffly. “I’ll go home.”
“Good.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.”
“I will,” I insist.
He smiles faintly. “We’ll see.”
By the time I get outside, I’m sure the fresh air is going to fix everything, but it doesn’t. If anything, the brightness makes it worse.
I pause on the sidewalk, one hand braced lightly against the doorframe, breathing slowly, like I can force my body back into line if I just concentrate hard enough.
This is temporary; it has to be.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone. There’s only one person I can call without having to explain too much.
Penny answers on the second ring.
“Well, this is exciting,” she says immediately. “You never call me in the middle of the day. Are we eloping or committing a crime?”
“Are you busy?” I ask thinly.
“Uh oh, where are you?”
“Outside the clinic.”
“I’m coming.”
“Don’t leave work—”
“I’m already grabbing my keys,” she cuts in. “Sit down and don’t do anything heroic.”
“I’m not—”
“Sit. Down.”
The line clicks. I stare at my phone, then, reluctantly, I sit.
Penny arrives minutes later. She barely parks before she’s out of the car and heading toward me, eyes scanning my face like she’s conducting an assessment.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says.
“I feel like one.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I’m not trying to reassure you.”
She crouches in front of me, pressing the back of her hand lightly to my forehead. “You’re not hot.”
“Thank you for that groundbreaking diagnosis.”
“You’re welcome.” She narrows her eyes. “What happened?”
“I got nauseous.”
She furrows her brows. “Okay.”
“Very suddenly.”
“Okay…”
“And then I almost threw up in the sink.”
Her expression shifts. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
She studies me for a second, then stands. “Alright. We’re not diagnosing you on the sidewalk. Come on.”
“I can walk.”
“I wasn’t going to carry you, so that’s good.”
I glare at her, but I let her help me up anyway.
My cottage feels smaller than usual when I step inside. Penny moves around like she belongs here, kicking off her shoes, heading straight for the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times already.
“Sit,” she orders.
“I'm sitting.” I flop onto the couch. “Well, I am now.”
“Good.”
She fills a glass with water and presses it into my hands. “Drink.”
I do, because I know better than to argue when she’s in this mode.
She watches me closely. “Any other symptoms?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
I offer her a one-shouldered shrug. “Earlier.”
“Now?”
“Less.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
I set the glass down. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Probably,” she agrees.
“Stress.”
“Maybe.”
I nod along with her. “I’ve been working a lot.”
“You have.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well.”
She tilts her head. “That’s new.”
I ignore that. “It’s just my body catching up,” I continue. “That’s all.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Probably.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not agreeing with me.”
“I am,” she says lightly. “I’m just also thinking.”
She pushes off the counter and heads for the fridge. “Maybe you picked up a stomach bug. Or maybe Mrs. Sanderson’s cat finally cursed you.” She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. “Or maybe you’re pregnant.”
A laugh slips out of me automatically… then it dies.
Penny stills. The room goes strangely quiet, like everything has shifted shape around me.
“No,” I say, too quickly.
Her expression changes, the teasing draining out of it. “Josie.”
I shake my head once, already doing the math without wanting to. “No. I’m just tired.”
“When was your last period?”
I look away. “I don’t know.”
She gives me a look. “You know.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You alphabetized your supply cabinet last week because you were stressed.”
“That's not the same thing.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “It’s a little the same thing.”
I press my fingers hard against my temple. Think. Clinic. Feed store. Texts. Days blurring together. The night at the bar.
Clay.
My stomach drops so hard it almost makes me nauseous all over again.
No, absolutely not.
“We just…” I stop.
Penny’s voice is careful now. “You just what?”
I stare at the floorboards. My throat feels tight.
“It was one night,” I say, which isn't an answer and we both know it.
“Josie.”
I swallow. “We weren’t exactly planning things.”
Her brows pull together. “Meaning?”
Meaning he kissed me like he already knew what I’d sound like when I came apart. Meaning I let myself stop thinking for once in my life, and now my body is reminding me exactly how reckless that was.
Meaning…
“We didn’t…”
Penny doesn’t rush me. Which somehow makes it worse. I close my eyes briefly.
“I don’t think we used anything.”
Penny lowers herself carefully onto the armchair across from me. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, staring at her. “That’s your response?”
“It’s my calm response,” she says. “My panicked one is available upon request.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.” She softens. “But joking is keeping you from spiraling, so I’m working with what I’ve got.”
I let out a breath that doesn’t help.
“It could still be nothing,” she says gently. “Stress can mess with everything. So can being overworked. So can not eating enough, or eating too much diner pie, or Buckhorn itself.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches, but only for a moment, because the thought is there now, fully formed and impossible to shove back where it came from.
Pregnant.
The word moves through me like a shockwave.
“No,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “No. I can’t…” I shake my head. “I’m not doing this. I’m not thinking like this until I have a reason to.”
Penny watches me carefully. “Josie—”
“I’m serious.” I push to my feet too fast and have to steady myself against the side of the couch. “I’m tired. I'm stressed. I've been working nonstop, and I'm not about to let one bad afternoon turn into…” I gesture helplessly. “That.”
My chest's too tight. My skin feels wrong.
Penny stands too, slower this time. “Alright. Then don’t decide anything tonight.”
I look at her.
“We get you through the evening,” she says. “We make you eat something bland and boring. We let you rest. And tomorrow, if you still feel like this, we deal with it then.”
Deal with it then.
As if that’s possible. As if there's any version of tomorrow that feels normal now.
I fold my arms tightly across my stomach, as though I can hold myself together by force.
“It’s just stress,” I say again.
Penny doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t agree either, and somehow that’s worse.