Caught in a Loop (The Skaters of Sequoia Valley #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“This is it. The last box,” Dylan says as he stacks it in his truck and closes it. “Thanks for all your help, Ava. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

This is it. He’s leaving. I rub the back of my neck, trying to disguise my trembling hands. “It wasn’t any trouble. Are you still set on leaving for Colorado tonight?”

“That was the plan.” He checks his watch, then glances back at me. “Since I’m all packed up and I’ve turned in my apartment keys, there isn’t any point in sticking around. I might as well get a couple hours of driving in before it gets dark.”

He leans closer to me. My heart flutters. I’m running out of time to tell him the truth.

“This is the hardest goodbye of all.” He wraps his arms around me and envelops me in a tight hug.

I soak in the scent of his cologne, committing it to memory.

It smells of pine needles and the woods.

“It’s the first time we’ll be apart for more than a couple weeks since we met in vet school.

When was it? Eight years ago? You know me better than anybody else, and I couldn’t ask for a better best friend. ”

“I feel the same way.” I’ve been dropping hints about my true feelings to him for weeks. I thought by now he would’ve picked up on something, but apparently not.

“I only wish you were coming with me.” He sighs and releases me.

“It could be just like old times.” His eyes gloss over, lost in the past. “Do you think the bar on Second Street still serves the best ribs? Or that the Asian market near the edge of Colorado State still sells five-dollar sushi on Tuesdays?”

“I don’t know. We moved to California four years ago. Odds are some things have changed.” I swallow hard. Here goes nothing. “There’s, uh . . . something important I wanted to tell you.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” He glances at me with those wide baby-blue eyes, leaning against the driver’s side door of his SUV.

All the muscles in my body tense. And suddenly, it’s like my tongue has been glued to the roof of my mouth. All I can manage is, “Have a safe drive.”

“Thanks. I will!”

Ugh. It’s happened again! Crap. Crap. Crap. What do I do?

He climbs into the vehicle, a wide, brimming smile on his face. “Once I get settled, feel free to visit anytime you want. There’s always space in the guest room for you.”

Come on, Ava, put on your big-girl scrubs and tell him. The words should be easy. I. Love. You.

He starts the engine and buckles his seat belt. “I’ll text you when I get to my stop for the night.”

I open and close my mouth, still unable to find the words.

As he shifts the car from reverse to drive, he offers me one last wave, then exits the parking lot. I stand on the sidewalk in front of our practice, hands glued by my side, watching as the truck makes its way down State Route Three until it completely disappears from sight.

I clench my fists as anger floods my system. “I love you, Dylan,” I say a moment too late. I throw my head back with a groan. “Why couldn’t I say that two minutes ago?”

Dylan and I have been friends for the past eight years and business partners for the last four. Two short of a decade. Every single day since I realized I had feelings for him, I told myself I’d pull him aside for a heart-to-heart chat and tell him exactly how I felt.

But no matter how many times I tried, I’ve never been able to get my brain to connect with my mouth when he’s in the same room as me. It’s like watching the Titanic hit an iceberg and slowly sink into the murky depths of the Atlantic.

When Dylan told me he was moving back to Colorado, I thought, perfect, here’s my big opportunity. But my tongue-tied disease grew even worse. And now, I’ve lost my chance completely—he’s gone.

“Dr. Brown?” Vicki, the receptionist, calls out from inside the practice’s front door. “Are you available? We have a call from a guy on line three who sounds panicky. He’s one of Dr. Conti’s patients.”

“And you’re not sending it to him because. . .?”

“It’s, uh, just you,” Vicki says.

Her words send an ice-cold shiver through my body.

I’m alone. The transition is officially complete.

I’m the sole owner of the Grizzly Springs Animal Hospital.

With Dylan out of the picture and on his way to join the research staff at our alma mater, Colorado State University, there’s no other vets.

“I’ll be right there. Give me two minutes, then send the call to the back.” I take a deep breath and spin around. This is exactly what I need right now.

“Sounds good.” She shuffles back inside.

I enter the room we use as an office. My brain jump-starts into doctor mode, running through all the possible scenarios I might be about to encounter: a dog that ate something it shouldn’t have; a cat that won’t come out of its hiding spot; a bird that’s plucking out its feathers.

You name it, and I’ve given advice about it.

One thing about working with animals is there’s never a dull moment.

I clear my throat and pick up the phone, “Thank you for holding, Dr. Brown speaking.”

“Doctor . . .” the accented male voice on the other end says with a rolled R. “I’m sorry to bother you. My friend’s left your contact information. It’s their cat. I’m worried about it.”

“What’s going on with it?”

“My friends are out of town, and it’s been hiding since I arrived to watch it. I don’t know what’s going on. He’s supposed to be friendly. I thought he’d want to come out and play with me.”

Cats are masters at hiding signs of an illness or injury, but since this guy mentioned pet sitting, I have a hunch it’s something far simpler. I just need a little more information to confirm it. “Has it eaten? Or used its litter box?”

“I think so? There was a hole in its food bowl this morning. Unless the dog ate the cat’s food. Or the turtle. And I think it used the litter box. Do you mind if I go and check?”

“Sure.”

I hear the man place the phone down and then footsteps echoing against a wooden floor.

As I sit, my eyes search the room. My stomach clenches when they settle on Dylan’s empty desk. There’s a giant gaping hole where his collection of things he’s removed from dogs and cats used to be. It’s yet another reminder he won’t be coming back.

A moment later, the man returns to the call, sounding slightly out of breath. “Yes, it looks like it did. There’s a big dark spot in the corner.”

“That’s all great news.” I sigh. At least this case is an easy one.

“Based on what you’re telling me, I’m confident your cat is going to be just fine.

It’s a case of what I call stranger danger.

He’s hiding from you because he’s shy. Cats are creatures of habit.

They have rituals and routines they don’t like interrupted.

When something is off or different, their instinct is to hide. ”

“OK. But shouldn’t he have come out by now?”

“Not necessarily. Cats are like people. They do what they want, when they want, on their own schedules. Until he gets used to you, he’ll probably only come out when he thinks you aren’t around. Which means when you’re out and about. Or at night, when you’re asleep.”

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m positive. It happens all the time. There’s no need to bring the cat in.” I give the guy a few tips on cat care and remind him if he’s worried, he can always call me back.

“Gracias, Doctor. I know you’re busy. I’ll let you go.”

I disconnect the call and replace the phone in the cradle.

“Dr. B?” Vicki pokes her head in the doorway. She’s dressed in teal-blue scrubs with dogs in sunglasses today. Her curly brown hair has been tied back into a low ponytail. “I saw the line click off. Was everything okay? He was talking so quickly that I forgot to ask his name.”

That’s Vicki for you. She tends to struggle with getting people to get to the point of their stories. She’s too indulgent. While it bothered Dylan to no end, I don’t mind it. It makes the owners who come and see us feel like we’re more than just a business.

“It’s fine. And it was just a guy who was cat sitting for the first time.”

She laughs. “Phew. That’s a relief.”

“How does our morning look today?”

“Empty. We had another cancellation come in a couple minutes ago.” Vicki shoots me a sympathetic look.

“Another one of Dylan’s clients?” I guess.

She nods. “They didn’t specifically say they were leaving us, but I could hear the Lake Wakahanra Animal Clinic’s receptionist in the background. She’s got that distinct gravelly voice.”

“We knew this was gonna happen.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just didn’t think it would be three-quarters of his patients.”

When Dylan and I first opened the Grizzly Springs Animal Hospital, we thought we’d have no problems attracting new patients. It’s a small town, and the closest vet practice was two cities over. But as the last four years have proven, I was naive.

Our first year, like most new businesses, we struggled and weren’t profitable.

But that didn’t stop us. We worked our butts off doing low-cost vaccination clinics, performing free spays and neuters, and sending out coupons for fifty percent off first-time visits.

And in year three, it started to pay off.

We began to break even and pay off a good chunk of our debt.

But we had one problem: Our clients were mostly female and flocked to Dylan. Not me. They wanted the “handsome” and “attractive” vet. Which I can’t say I blame them for. Dylan is handsome. He’s five-ten, and has a year-round tan and the smile of a toothpaste model.

But unfortunately, it meant I became relegated to playing the role of vet tech most days.

At first, I didn’t mind. We weren’t in a position to be able to hire a tech.

But as time marched on, I did grow to resent it.

I wanted to see patients. Not stand in the background and be the one taking the pet’s weight and history to pass on to Dylan.