PEPPER
First impressions are lasting. Dr. Sanchez has pictures of her sons scattered on the bookcases in her office. Some old. Some new. They aren’t from cheesy staged portrait sessions. In all of the photographs, the family is bright-eyed, smiling, and having fun. The candids set the tone for my interview at the vet center, and Daveigh’s warm, welcoming demeanor set me at ease.
The Sanchez family is gorgeous. Cris and Daveigh’s three sons have dark hair like their mom and dad. The younger boys, Cruz and Alex, wander in and out of the clinic after school. I’ve noticed one has hazel eyes and the other the same green that tends to be on-trend at Kingsbrier. The only person who is a more frequent visitor during a workweek is the elder Mr. Cavanaugh, Daveigh’s father. He has those friendly green eyes, so the genes must be passed down from there, along with kindness since Mr. Cavanaugh is all about lending a helping hand whenever possible.
The veterinary center seems like a revolving door of Dr. Sanchez’s nieces and nephews as well. They come in for whatever reason, or no reason at all.
I especially like Gracyn. She graduated from college and came home to learn the ropes of the family wine-making business. Cris Sanchez is her boss, and Gracyn works beyond the clinic’s parking lot and past the field at Kingsbrier’s vineyard.
It didn’t take me long to catch on that Gracyn often uses bringing a message Mr. Sanchez was capable of texting his wife as an excuse to come hang out. We’re closing the clinic early today and her aunt is taking everyone to dinner as a thank you. I think Gracyn volunteered today to round up the barn cats at the winery and in the stable as a change from tackling her usual responsibilities. But don’t quote me on that. And also, I don’t necessarily see it as anything Gracyn is doing wrong.
A vet tech calls Gracyn back into one of the exam rooms with the last of the barn cats in tow. By Mateo’s forlorn expression when his cousin leaves, he’s ready to renege on our pity arrangement.
The town safety marshal condemned my apartment after my kitchen caught fire. Trying to find a new place for my water-logged belongings as fast as possible wasn’t going well. Daveigh offered to ask Mateo to rent me the empty other half of his duplex. I cautiously agreed. I hope she didn’t use her mom voice to strong-arm him into doing anything he hadn’t wanted to.
For as long as I’ve worked for Dr. Sanchez, I’ve never met Mateo in person. He’s significantly older than his brothers, and he doesn’t live across the street in the to-die-for Victorian his parents reside in.
What I do know about Mateo is from Gracyn, who talks about her cousins nonstop, and the few things I’ve gleaned managing the office and having access to Dr. Sanchez’s calendar.
My boss is a little more private about her oldest. I figure it has to do with the fact that he’s an adult. She’s not shuffling him to music lessons like Cruz or begging him to turn in his homework on time like Alex. When Daveigh does bring him up her face lights up the way it does when she’s venting to me that she’s scolded her youngest. Imagine that, being upset at your child, but not acting like you love them any less?
Although, I’m pretty sure I am an embarrassment. So my own experiences make perfect sense.
However, I did try to put my best foot forward with my new neighbor. Instead of tossing on scrubs this morning, I’ve dressed professionally. The chocolate-colored pants I’m wearing are now covered in cat hair. No wonder I’m a snotty mess from sneezing. To boot, the pink silky button-down layered over the cream-colored satin chemise isn’t as discreet as I bargained for. It didn’t hide a damn thing when the cat’s paw slipped over my boob and got caught in the lace of my bra. So now I’ve also flashed my boss’s son.
Great first impression.
And did I mention, like every other member of his family, Mateo is gorgeous?
His dark hair is clipped short. He has a square jawline. Broad shoulders stretch the limits of his t-shirt. Tattoos—though not as many as I’d thought he’d have—peek out from under his shirt sleeves. I can’t help wondering where they are on his chest. His dark jeans fit him like a glove.
I’ve seen my fair share of cowboys since moving to Texas, but damn. You can tell off the bat this man has hauled plenty of hay bales in his lifetime. He’s probably had plenty of rolls in the hay, too.
Mateo clears his throat and I realize I’m staring below his belt.
Way to make it awkward, Pepper.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, counting back from ten. The mental reset likely won’t do much for anyone else, but it’s what I’ve learned to do to regain my confidence.
Cat dander covers my sweaty hands and I achoo again.
“Uh, bless you?”
“Thanks.” The “th” sound comes out akin to a D. I grimace and reach for a tissue, turning my back on Mateo to blow my nose.
For all that’s good and holy, please do not make there be any snot on my cheek when I face this man again. I search out the nearest reflective surface in case. All good.
“Let me get this right; You work for a vet and you’re allergic to cats?” Mateo chuckles.
“Uh-huh.” I bobble-head. “Not dogs or ferrets, horses—which is really fortunate given your mom’s specialty—sheep, snakes…”
“You like snakes?”
“They’re nothing to sneeze at.”
My comment makes him laugh, and not at my expense, which is a huge relief.
“I’d think sneezing would startle them. You might get bitten.”
I agree. “Good thing it’s cat dander and not snake skins.”
“Venom?” he taunts.
“Everyone reacts to poisonous snake bites. Except possums. They have a protein in their blood since snakes are part of their diet.”
“My mom mention that? She’s rescued a few.”
I fidget with my top again, letting Mateo believe it’s true.
I love animals. I’ve always had a soft spot for them, especially the ones whose place in the ecosystem are misunderstood. People think opossums are ugly with their hairless rat-like tails, but they are mistaken. Their little pink noses are adorable and the way they care for their babies, carrying them around in pouches and then on their back, is endearing.
He holds out a shiny object with a tag. “Here’s your key.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. It won’t be for long. I’ll bring over what I owe you once my insurance finally pays the claim.”
Mateo hasn’t mentioned how much the rent will be each month. I’m a little behind. Not much, but boy does it help having someone willing to cut you a little slack.
I’m hoping a hefty security deposit will make this situation seem a lot less like he has a squatter. It would settle my mind too and invoke a sense of trustworthiness after I accidentally set fire to my last place.
“I’m in no hurry. Besides, I know where you work.”
It’s a joke, but for me it has an overbearing feeling. Though I was the sole resident facing eviction, a lot of my previous neighbors are still pissed because of the water damage to their apartments when the sprinkler system went off.
All I can do is shrug and answer with a breathless, “Yeah.”
My insides cringe. Did that sound suggestive? My hand slaps my forehead and a dust cloud of cat hair surrounds me.
“Whenever you have a check it is fine.” Mateo remarks after my second sneezing fit subsides.
“You don’t know how much this means. I’ve had a ton of bills—” I almost start rambling about the motel I’ve been living in, and storage fees, eating fast food—which makes dining out tonight and letting his mother pick up the tab seem irresponsible.
“I get it.” He cuts me off. “If you need anything, text. My number is on the key tag.”
“I will.” I grin like a goof.
I have his number. Totally normal since he’s my landlord/neighbor, but Mateo’s also hot. Attractive men aren’t exactly beating my door down to give me their contact information. Score one for Pepper, finally. I mean, I won’t use it in some creepy, stalker way. However, there are probably a lot of women who want Mateo’s number and I have it to give to someone who wants it. Not that I’d willy-nilly give out anyone’s private information. But yeah, there’s a point to my internal babbling.
Men make me stupid. And stupid’s easy to disregard.
I figure that out all over again when I realize I’m standing alone in the lobby and see Mateo’s truck pull out of the parking space. Between the clumsiness of starting a grease fire, staring at Mateo’s crotch like a perv, and getting just as wrapped up in my head, it doesn’t take much to recognize why I’m unattached.
“Did Mateo scoot?” Gracyn sidles up from behind.
“Yes.” I catch myself before my dreamy sigh is audible.
“Bummer. Aunt D wanted to see him. She’d probably have offered him dinner. But, oh well, his loss.” Gracyn links her arm through mine. “Come on. We’ll meet the rest of the staff at The Grille after they set the rest of the kitties free. Do you mind driving?”
“No, but I should…” I point to my office and the pile of paperwork.
“You can cut out already. Everyone knows we’re picking up Gran.”
“They do? We are?” My stomach flips.
In her eighties, Mrs. Cavanaugh is ridiculously beautiful. My mother would be jealous. Heck, I am. I’ve never met anyone so gracious and I’m always conscientious to not embarrass Dr. Sanchez whenever Mrs. Cavanaugh is present.
Gracyn gives me enough time to gather my purse and keys before we head up the county road to the expansive Tudor home her grandparents live in.
“Hello, Miss Corbin.” Mrs. Cavanaugh greets me when she gets into the passenger seat that Gracyn has given up for her grandmother. “You look lovely today. Pink is a very nice shade on you. It compliments your dark hair and your complexion.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
“Miss Rose or Gran will do fine.” She pats my knee.
I choose the former, since it’s more professional and what I hear my contemporaries use. Although I’ve come to recognize a lot of the younger ranch employees, the ones in my generation, refer to Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh the same way their grandchildren do. It must be the familiarity of being raised alongside them in this small town. It’s sweet and lightens my mood, making me curious if I could ever be as bold as switching to Gran.
“How’d Aunt D rope you into coming to dinner with us?” Gracyn asks from the backseat.
Miss Rose turns to admire her granddaughter, winking. “No, ropin’, Sugar. Colette and Devon are staying at Newgate with Rodger and Lily Anne. Grandaddy is off fishing with the men, so it provides me the ability to have all the ladies on my list in one spot at the same time. I simply added a few guests to the reservation.”
“So you commandeered Dr. Sanchez’s idea?” My cheeks widen and I blush at my forthrightness.
“Would I ever do that?” Miss Rose flips her gaze to the backseat again, asking Gracyn to answer for her.
“Never, Gran. You don’t have a mischievous bone in your body.” Gracyn hides her snort.
I roll my teeth between my lips. I’ve heard stories townsfolk tell about Miss Rose in her youth, and sometimes well beyond, but there’s no way those rumors could be correct.
She leans a shoulder toward mine. “Of course I do, Pepper. Do you really believe my children—and their children—could come up with such magnificent ideas if mischief wasn’t in their genes? Now all that strait-laced stuff? They get that from my husband. You have to find a good man, or a woman, capable of loving you when your schemes go awry. Remember that,” she instructs while Gracyn’s doubling over behind us.
“I will,” I reply to her advice at the same time Gracyn says, “Love you, Gran,” as if Miss Rose has spoken one of life’s most important truths.