Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Cora
By the time I step into the ranch clinic the next morning, the place is buzzing. The kind of controlled chaos that always manages to settle something inside me instead of rattling it.
And I certainly need settling after last night. It had started out so fun and innocent. Going through our “fake” relationship, coming up with a backstory, ribbing Theo a bit about sex questions. It had all been fun and games until … something shifted and suddenly, it wasn’t.
The only problem is I can’t quite tell what shifted everything. The sex questions? The idea of Theo actually proposing to me in the most idyllic and beautiful place on the ranch? Him telling me I deserve a man who’ll give me the wedding and honeymoon of my dreams?
Yeah … that had hit something.
I’m still trying to figure out what that something is, though.
Kylie, one of the vet techs, is bottle-feeding a wobbly calf on a blanket near the exam table.
Caleb, our intern, is cleaning up a pile of …
well, probably shit … from the floor. And Dr. Ramirez—the senior vet, one of the few people alive who can make barking orders sound like encouragement—is elbow-deep in a cabinet.
“Walker!” she calls without turning. “Your favorite patient is already sabotaging my morning.”
A bleat echoes from the back barn.
I grin. “Oh good, the demon goat lives another day.” Why this cattle ranch has a goat herd, God only knows. The Thatchers do run a small diary operation, but goat milk certainly can’t be in much demand, can it?
But what do I know? I’m only here to keep them all healthy.
A ripple of laughter moves through the room, and something warm settles in my chest.
Kylie waves me over. “You’re on bottle-baby duty. This guy won’t eat for anyone except you.”
I drop to my knees on the blanket. The calf lifts its head, ears flicking, and immediately nose-butts my thigh like it’s scolding me for taking too long.
“Fine, fine,” I murmur, guiding the bottle toward its mouth.
It’s one of the difficult births I’d managed a few weeks back, culminating with the heifer rejecting the calf—something that unfortunately happens from time to time.
And I guess being the only other being in the vicinity at the time of its birth, the calf has assigned me as “mommy.”
Kylie frees herself to log info into the old, weathered computer in the corner, talking over her shoulder at me. “When you’re done feeding that calf, Tate wants us to check on the pregnant mares by the west fence. Think you can handle not being distracted by your new husband?”
I nearly choke on my own spit. I guess that means Theo will be out there. “Can we not call him that at work?”
Kylie grins like the Cheshire cat. “Nope.”
Caleb is shaking his head while he disinfects the floor. “Still offended you never told us you guys were even dating.”
I clear my throat, cheeks burning. “It happened fast.”
Kylie snorts. “You’ve been making heart eyes at each other for, like, a year.”
I freeze, looking up. “We have not.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, patting my arm like I’m delusional. “It was so obvious we started a betting pool.”
“What?!”
Caleb nods enthusiastically. When I glance at Dr. Ramirez, she doesn’t say anything, but she does nod with a shrug.
“I won when you two broke the marriage news. Although, my bet was that you’d just be together at some point this summer, not necessarily marriage,” Kylie says. “And for the record, I’m glad you’re finally getting some.”
I nearly drop the bottle, and the calf struggles to keep it upright. “We—we aren’t—”
“You don’t have to be a prude here,” Kylie says, raising a hand. “We are all very happy that you and Theo Strickland are having hot, married sex.”
My face is burning. Burning.
“As your superior, I feel like I’m obligated to say that I have no real opinion on that,” Dr. Ramirez pipes up, still going through her files.
“Deep in her heart, she’s happy,” Kylie amends.
I feel the need to sputter some kind of response, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with anything.
Kylie’s expression shifts, her teasing melting into sincerity. “Seriously, Cora. We’re all happy for you. And thrilled that this marriage means you’re bound to the US for life.”
Caleb nods in agreement.
I bite my lip, Kylie having unintentionally just walked right into the point.
Suddenly an image from the other night flashes through my mind. Theo’s hand brushing that tear off my cheek. The quiet promise in his voice: “You will always have a home here, Cora.”
And the strangest thing happens.
For the first time in months, fear loosens its grip on me.
Just a little.
Because maybe this whole thing will work out. I’ll get that green card; I’ll get to stay here in the US, at Thatcher Ranch, with my friends—no, my family. Theo and I will divorce and be free to find people of our own. And it won’t be weird. Or sad. Or anything, really.
Everything will work out just fine.