Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JOSH
“Hang on,” I called out to Timothy. I trudged slowly to answer the door to give Erika time to flee out the back, not that I liked it. I would have preferred she stay all night. Okay, maybe a few hours since she had to get home to Vinny.
I opened the door and leaned against the frame. The cold wind burned my skin. For a moment I felt terrible sending Erika out in this.
“Why did you ignore my messages?” Timothy yelled. He wore green farm coveralls and black boots covered in orange mud. His red baseball cap was slightly askew.
“You’re yelling.” I pointed at his shoes. “You’re also getting mud all over my porch.”
Timothy scowled and stared at my naked chest. “Didn’t you just break it off with Milly? Now you’re getting it on with someone new?”
“I have a busy social life, unlike you. How long has it been since you got laid?”
Timothy sucked in his cheeks.
“Might help you be less angry.” I threw an arm across the door frame to keep him outside.
In my peripheral vision I watched Erika get into the white work truck I’d parked on the street a few doors down.
Fortuitous that the street had been full when I pulled in earlier.
She started it up and maneuvered out of the space.
“I got laid last week, not that it’s your business,” Timothy said.
“Didn’t help,” I muttered. “Who are you seeing?”
“None of your business.” Timothy glared. “I need you to come out and stitch up a cow. The stupid beast somehow managed to slice her neck open. The skin is hanging off. There’s blood everywhere. The girl is due to deliver any day.”
“I’m not on call.” I couldn’t hide the smugness in my tone.
Timothy’s phone rang. He answered. “What?”
I could hear Erika on the other end. “Sorry for the delay. I was on another call. I can be at your place in about twenty minutes.”
“I don’t want you,” Timothy snarled. “I’ve got a cow with a laceration. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. I want Josh out there.”
“You either accept my help, or you call another mobile service. Josh is not on call this weekend. He needs rest.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s getting much rest,” Timothy quipped.
“Are you at his house?” Her voice came through loud on the other end. “Timothy Hurst, you will leave that poor man alone. What he does on his personal time is his business. Not yours.”
I bit back a smile when Timothy’s face darkened in frustration.
Erika asked, “Am I going to see you out at the farm in twenty minutes or would you prefer to call a different vet?”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.” He jabbed a finger into the phone to end the call. He pointed at me. “If she screws this up, I’ll sue her.” He stormed off the front porch.
“Be nice to her or I’ll screw you up,” I called after him.
He threw me the middle finger as he got into his truck.
I phoned Erika as soon as he drove off. “Timothy is in a bad mood. I’ll text you what I’d use to sedate if the cow needs it.”
“That’s helpful. Thanks. I can handle a laceration. If your brother behaves like a jerk, I won’t help him.”
* * *
Hours later, I was wedged on Erika’s sofa beside Vinny, who’d passed out during an F1 race replay. Tracker was curled into the boy’s side, clearly loyal to whoever generated the most body heat.
My phone had lit up a dozen times with Timothy’s grievances. He’d called twice—both of which I generously allowed to roll into voicemail. He wasn’t specific, but I could tell the silence was doing exactly what it always did: making him madder.
The front door opened. The dog raced off the sofa. I cringed, ready for him to bark and wake up Vinny. But the heeler made no noise. He ran circles around Erika as she peeked into the room. She leaned down and gave the dog a good pet.
She whispered, “Oh good, he’s asleep. Can you hang out a few extra minutes? I need to take a shower real quick, but I want to talk about your brother.”
“Sure. Did he do something inappropriate?”
“Guess it depends on your definition of inappropriate. Give me a few minutes. I can’t stand smelling like this. Do you mind carrying him up to his room?” She pointed at Vinny.
I heard the water turn on in the master bathroom as I picked up Vinny. After settling Vinny into his bed upstairs, I texted Timothy: What happened tonight?
Timothy: Now you reply? It’s 12:30 AM.
Josh: I fell asleep.
Better I lied than admit I was at Erika’s house.
Timothy: I don’t want her treating my cows again.
Josh: Did the cow die or lose her calf?
Timothy: No.
Josh: Did Erika fix the problem?
Timothy: Yes.
Josh: Then what’s the problem?
My phone rang. I answered.
Timothy lit into me, “She insisted on giving the cow a local block. Said they feel pain. We argued. I said I didn’t want it. She didn’t listen. They’re my fucking cows. The vet does what I say gets done.”
“So what? She helped the procedure go smoother by doing—”
“Giving a local is pet medicine bullshit,” he interrupted. “These aren’t pets.”
“It didn’t hurt you or the cow. Did she need to sedate it?”
“No.”
“Perhaps she was trying to avoid hurting the calf by not sedating its mother,” I said carefully. “Did you think of that?”
“Well, no.” His voice lost some of its edge. I heard a clatter, like he’d dropped the phone, then scooped it back up. “She fixed it, but afterward we argued—about the pain-relief injection, and then again about antibiotics. She lectured me. Me!”
“On what?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Things.”
I softened my voice to the one I used when explaining to people who were upset about ridiculousness.
“I’m going to need you to be more specific.
From what you’ve told me, my associate showed up in the middle of the night and fixed the problem.
She did it without putting your cow—or her unborn calf—at risk.
That’s the literal definition of a successful emergency treatment. ”
“She’s a bitch. I don’t want to see her again.” Timothy hung up.
I stared at my phone, waiting for it to light up with the inevitable follow-up rage texts. It stayed dark.
Erika walked in drying her hair with a towel. “Who was that?”
I set my phone carefully on the arm of the sofa, like it might explode. “My brother had a lot to say after your visit. What happened?”
She slumped into the chair next to the sofa.
“The laceration was at least a foot wide and filthy. Looked like the cow tried to decapitate herself. I clipped it, flushed the bejesus out of it, did a local block—Timothy argued about that—and then I closed it. It went great. Not that he helped much. To him, everything I did was wrong. He picked and picked until—”
“Until what?” My voice sharpened. “Did he put a hand on you?”
If he had, I’d already be halfway to his place. Tonight. With intent.
She snorted softly. “I’m sure he wanted to when I was done with him, but no. He’s not stupid.” She let her head fall back against the chair. “I’m not a fan of Timothy. Not after everything he did to you in middle school.”
My chest tightened.
“Like when he accidentally gouged your leg with that knife.”
“Technically, I dropped it and gouged myself,” I clarified.
She continued. “He left you bleeding and hurting. What kind of big brother does that? He should’ve bucked up and driven you to the hospital. Instead, we had to ride bikes. Remember?”
“Yes.”
I realized then that I wasn’t breathing right. Bringing up that story meant she’d been watching him tonight. Closely.
“I didn’t bring up the past. I stayed professional until he wouldn’t stop picking.
Then I told him—” She raised her hand, ticking off numbers.
“One, he needs to respect you because you’re a damn fine vet, or he loses your help.
Two, he needs to pay his bill, or we’re done with his animals.
Three, I told him he was wound too tight and needed counseling or a vacation.
Probably both. He’s got unresolved anxiety over your brother’s death, plus his divorce, and it’s eating him alive. ”
“You said that?” I covered my eyes. Holy shit.
“I demonstrated some good breathing exercises. They help me when I feel stressed. I also suggested he make better use of the words please and thank you.”
My laughter started in small bursts. “You told my brother to say please and thank you?” I doubled over laughing. “Hang on, I have to text my mom this.”
Josh: Erika just ticked off Tim by trying to explain how to say please and thank you. And suggested he get counselling for his issues.
I added a few laughing emojis.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I swiped the moisture from my eyes. “Timothy said he didn’t want to see you again as his vet. I think he should only see you.”
“No, thank you.” She compressed her lips against a smile. “See, I can use my pleases and thank-yous, unlike him.”
I took her hand and pulled her into my lap. She burst into laughter. “Makes you hard to see me be tough on your brother, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
A text lit up my phone. I expected it to be my mom.
Erika leaned over and looked. “Who’s Reno? And what’s he doing up at midnight?”
I grabbed the phone, read the text about baseball practice, and turned it off. “Nothing. Forget it. Where were we?” I leaned in to kiss her, but she craned away.
“Give me that.” She hit the screen to make it light up. “He’s asking you to come out for practice this week. They need a catcher. What’s this about?”
“It’s nothing.” I grabbed for the phone which she kept out of reach.
She slid off my lap, my phone still in her palm. “What is this about?” She shook the phone. “Who wants you to play ball?”
“I’m not good enough for that team.” Reno coached an adult league team that played at a semi-pro level.
“What. Team?” she persisted, waving the phone in the air. “Joshua Hurst, who’s asking you to play baseball? Baseball!” Her tone reminded me of my mom. I didn’t like it.
I grabbed the phone and my jacket, heading to the front door. I didn’t want to be reminded of Reno’s nagging me to come out for his team. It was out of my league.
“You will not run away from me.” She ran around me, blocking my exit. “Someone wants you to play and you’re saying no?”
“It’s a tryout. No promise to play for real.”
“A tryout for a team? For you to play ball, not coach some kids?”
“Just forget about it. I don’t have time for it. I can’t do it. Move so I can go.” I did a shooing motion with my hand.
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not moving. When is the tryout?”
“Wednesday night out toward Greensboro.”
“You’re going. And you’ll take Vinny to show him what real ball can be like. Text Reno that you’re going.”
“It’s a waste of time. I’m not good enough.” I couldn’t go. I’d freeze up or fuck up.
She poked me in the chest. “Bull-fucking-shit. You will not say no because you’re afraid. Text Reno that you’ll be there. You’re not leaving this house until I see you do it.”
“Fine.” I sent the text and held up the phone to prove it. Her forcing me to send the message took the pressure off. If I crapped out, it’d be because she forced me to do it. Damn if I didn’t feel kind of excited about playing.
She blinked up at me.
I wanted her so badly it hurt. All I had to do to put myself out of this misery was get out of my head and lean forward just a little bit, press my body against hers.
But I didn’t.
Her hand tangled with mine in a way that was more a coax than a demand. Then she stepped closer, her glittering brown eyes gazing up at me. The corner of her mouth lifted into a half grin I felt all the way to my balls.
“You can handle the tryout,” she whispered. “I’ll be there too.”
I needed this woman who always believed in me, who always dragged me out of my self-doubt when no one else could reach me. I hung on the edge, frozen and waiting for what came next.
She pulled me down to her and crashed her mouth into mine. Nothing ever felt so right. This rightness had scared me earlier, but I couldn’t stop kissing her now. What if I did something stupid again? If she left me this time, I wouldn’t survive.
Another kiss, I promised myself. Just one more. Then I’d leave.
“I want you,” she moaned against me. “Right here.” The words burned around us like wildfire—instant, unpredictable, undeniable.
“I need you too, but what about Vinny?”
“He sleeps like the dead. We can be quiet, right?”
“Maybe. We can try.” I reached down to pull off her pajama bottoms, hooking her underwear at the same time. Seconds later, I was on my knees, my mouth on her core.
“Josh!” Her head dropped back against the wall.
“Shh,” I admonished.
She put a hand over her mouth to muffle her moans. I continued until she came against me. She pulled at my hair and shoulders as if trying to get me up and where she wanted me. I wanted to be there too.
I laughed. “Tell me again how much you want me.”
“Too much.” She gasped when I lifted and pinned her against the wall, balanced on my thigh. Her mouth reached mine again.
I was born for this woman. Maybe it was because everything she touched in my life became better.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I whispered with my mouth close to hers. “Tell me we’re in this together.”
“I’m right here. Stop making me wait for it.” She clutched at my shoulders with one hand and as close to my ass as she could reach with her other.
“And I’m yours,” I whispered right before I entered her. I was close. “Wait, condom.”
“I’m on birth control. It’s okay.”
“No…I’ve never—not without…” I cringed. “Not sure if I’ve got one on me, though.”
“Me either,” she whispered. “Your call. We can stop.”
The concept of pregnancy in the past terrified me, ensuring I always said no if I couldn’t cover up, but right now I didn’t care.
Not when it came to Erika. The idea of getting pregnant with her didn’t scare me.
If we had to walk across that bridge, she’d handle it like she did everything—a hell of a lot better than I would.
“No stopping,” I pulsated into her. So deep. So right.
I continued until we both spun off into pleasure, intense and overwhelming. My mind blanked out. As the high drifted away, I caught her. I righted her on her feet so neither of us fell over.
She leaned into me with her head buried in my chest, panting. Eventually she whispered, “Okay, that was better than pretty good.”
I chuckled. “I have to go. Both of us need sleep.” I scooped her up and deposited her on the sofa. I kissed on her forehead. “At least I’m improving. I’m happy to keep working on it until I achieve excellence.”