Chapter 6 - Marley
I've changed my outfit three times, and I'm starting to think I should just cancel.
The first outfit was too formal. Slacks and a blouse like I'm going to a job interview instead of a ranch. The second was too casual, yoga pants that made me look like I'd just rolled out of bed.
Now I'm wearing jeans and a green sweater that brings out my eyes (according to my best friend Rachel, who I called at seven this morning in a panic), with my hair down instead of in its usual ponytail because Tucker's only ever seen it up and maybe it's time to mix things up.
Except now I'm second-guessing the hair decision because what if it gets in my way during the exam? What if I look like I'm trying too hard?
I adjust my glasses in the mirror. They're the black-framed ones I usually reserve for dates, not the wire-rimmed ones I wear for work and take a deep breath.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm going to the ranch to do a final check on Butterscotch, which is a completely normal professional activity.
The fact that his owner asked me to dinner last night and I said yes and now I can't stop thinking about it is irrelevant to the medical care I'm about to provide.
Except I already crossed all my boundaries the moment I said yes to Tucker Hayes standing in my clinic looking nervous and adorable and saying things like "Wade said love is worth trying" like that wasn't the most romantic thing I'd heard in years.
My phone buzzes on the dresser. A text from Rachel: *Stop overthinking it. You look hot. He's going to lose his mind. Now GO.*
I grab my bag. The professional one with all my equipment, not the cute purse I was considering bringing, and head out to my truck before I can change my outfit a fourth time.
The drive to Promise Ranch takes twenty minutes, and I spend the entire time alternating between excitement and terror.
I haven't been on a date in over a year, not since I moved to Blackwater Falls and decided to focus on building my practice instead of my nonexistent love life.
And before that, there was Richard, which ended so badly I swore off men entirely for six months.
But Tucker isn't Richard. Tucker doesn't wear expensive suits and lie about having a wife. Tucker showers before the vet arrives and texts about horse urination and talks about his daughter like she's the center of his universe.
Tucker is different.
I pull up to the ranch at 8:58 AM. Two minutes early, which is better than being late but also means I'm going to have to sit in my truck for two minutes trying to compose myself.
Except Tucker's already outside waiting for me, leaning against the stable door with his arms crossed, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that makes his shoulders look even broader.
So much for composing myself.
I climb out of the truck, my bag in one hand, trying to look professional and competent and not at all like I spent the last hour having a wardrobe crisis.
"Morning," Tucker calls, walking toward me.
"Morning." My voice comes out slightly breathless, which is ridiculous because I literally just walked ten feet from my truck. "How's Butterscotch?"
"Good. Really good, actually. He's been eating and drinking normally, no signs of distress. I removed the catheter last night like you instructed. Took me three tries, but I got it."
"Three tries isn't bad for your first time." I fall into step beside him as we walk toward the stable. "Most people panic and call me back."
"I considered it. But Emma was watching and I didn't want to look incompetent in front of my seven-year-old."
I laugh despite my nerves. "Understandable. Nothing worse than losing credibility with a seven-year-old."
"Exactly." He glances at me, and there's something warm in his expression. "You look nice. Different. Good different."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Thanks. I, uh, figured I'd skip the ponytail today."
"I like it." He says it simply like it's just an observation and not something that makes my heart race. "Emma's excited to meet you, by the way. She's been up since six preparing her presentation."
"Presentation?"
"Of the unicorn picture. She takes her art very seriously." He opens the stable door and gestures for me to go first. "She's probably going to ask you a million questions. She's... enthusiastic."
"I like enthusiastic."
We step inside the stable, and immediately I hear a small voice call out, "Is that her? Is that Dr. Marley?"
A little girl appears from one of the stalls. Pigtails, pink boots, gap-toothed smile, and I recognize her immediately from Tucker's descriptions.
"Hi!" Emma runs up to me, clutching a piece of paper in both hands. "I'm Emma. I drew you a picture to say thank you for helping Butterscotch."
"Emma, let Dr. Marley put down her bag first," Tucker says gently.
"It's okay." I set my bag down and crouch to Emma's eye level. "I've been looking forward to seeing this picture."
Emma's face lights up, and she unfolds the paper, revealing a crayon drawing of a horse with a horn on its head, a little girl with pigtails standing next to it, and a woman with glasses holding what I assume is a stethoscope.
"That's you," Emma says, pointing to the woman with glasses. "And that's me. And that's Butterscotch as a unicorn because he told me he always wanted to be one."
"It's beautiful," I say, and I mean it.
The drawing is exactly what you'd expect from a seven-year-old. Slightly disproportionate, enthusiastically colored, but there's something about the way Emma drew me with a smile, standing close to her and Butterscotch, that makes my chest tight. "Can I keep it?"
"Really?" Emma's eyes go wide. "You want to keep it?"
"Absolutely. I'm going to hang it in my clinic so all my patients can see it."
Emma throws her arms around my neck in a hug that's so sudden and fierce it nearly knocks me over. "Thank you for saving Butterscotch. Daddy said you're the best vet in the whole world."
I glance up at Tucker, who's turned slightly red. "I said you were very good at your job," he clarifies. "Emma added the 'whole world' part."
"But you are the best," Emma insists, pulling back to look at me seriously. "Butterscotch is all better because of you. And Daddy's really happy, which means you're definitely the best."
"Emma—" Tucker starts, but she's already running back toward Butterscotch's stall, calling for the horse to come see Dr. Marley.
I stand up, folding the picture and tucking it into my bag. "She's wonderful."
"She's a lot," Tucker says, but there's so much love in his voice it makes my heart ache. "Come on. Let's check on the patient before she decides to give you a full tour of every horse in the stable."
Butterscotch is standing in his stall looking healthy and alert, and when he sees me he actually nickers, a sound I definitely didn't hear during my first visit when he was too uncomfortable to care about anything.
"Hey, sweet boy," I murmur, approaching slowly. "You're looking much better."
Emma's already in the stall, one hand on Butterscotch's neck. "He ate all his breakfast this morning. And he drank a whole bucket of water. And he pooped three times, which Daddy said I should tell you about because it's important."
I bite back a smile. "That is important. Thank you for the report, Emma."
I do a thorough examination while Tucker holds Butterscotch steady and Emma provides running commentary on everything I'm doing.
Temperature normal. Gut sounds active and healthy.
No signs of tenderness or discomfort. When I do the rectal exam, which Emma watches with fascinated horror, I find that the impaction has completely resolved.
"He's perfect," I say, stripping off my glove. "Completely recovered. You can return him to his normal routine. Full feeding, turnout, riding if you want."
"Really?" Emma bounces on her toes. "He can go back to the pasture with the other horses?"
"Really."
Emma throws her arms around Butterscotch's neck. "Did you hear that? You're all better! You can go play with your friends!"
Tucker's watching his daughter and there’s so much love there, so much relief, so much gratitude that I was able to give him this moment.
"Thank you," he whispers, meeting my eyes over Butterscotch's back. "For everything."
"It's my job."
"It's more than that." He doesn't look away, "You gave Emma her horse back. You gave me peace of mind. That's worth more than—"
"Daddy, can I take Butterscotch to the pasture now?" Emma interrupts, already unlatching the stall door.
"Let me help you with the halter first, Bug." Tucker moves to assist Emma, and I step back to give them space, watching as father and daughter work together to lead Butterscotch out of the stall.
They're halfway down the stable aisle when another man appears in the doorway. Dark hair, intense, the same one who talked to me after my first visit.
"Boone," Tucker says. "What's up?"
Boone glances at me, then at Tucker, then back at me with a slight smile. "I can take Emma and Butterscotch to the pasture. Give you two some time to... discuss treatment plans."
Tucker's ears turn red. "Boone—"
"Actually," Boone continues, ignoring Tucker's warning tone, "why don't you two go to lunch instead of waiting until tonight? It's almost ten, Emma's taken care of, and Maria's does a great lunch special on Saturdays."
"I thought we were doing dinner," I say, my mind immediately spiraling. Lunch means casual, means right now, means I'm wearing jeans and a sweater instead of the nice dress I bought specifically for tonight—
"Unless you'd prefer dinner," Boone adds quickly, reading my expression. "I just thought—"
"Lunch is great," Tucker interrupts, looking at me. "If that works for you? I know this is sudden, and if you need time to—"
"I'm not really dressed for—" I gesture at my jeans, my casual sweater, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Tucker's expression softens. "You look gorgeous, Marley. But if you'd rather wait until tonight so you can wear whatever you were planning—"
"She looks perfect," Boone says firmly. "And Tucker, you've been nervous about this all morning anyway. Might as well get it over with."
Emma's watching this entire exchange with wide eyes. "You should go! Boone can take care of me. We're going to teach Butterscotch a new trick."
"What kind of trick?" Tucker asks suspiciously.
"A secret one," Emma says, grinning at Boone.
Tucker looks torn between wanting to know what his daughter is planning and wanting to spend time with me. I make the decision for him.
"Actually," I say, an idea forming, "what if instead of going to Maria's, we did a picnic here at the ranch? You could show me more of the property, we could eat somewhere with a view. Save the Italian restaurant for another time when I'm actually dressed for it."
Tucker's face lights up, and I realize I've said exactly the right thing.
"That's perfect. There's this spot on the hill overlooking the valley that Frank used to say was the best view in Montana."
"Then let's do that."
"Yeah?" He's smiling now, that warm, genuine smile that makes him look younger, less tired. "Okay. Let me just… I need to grab some food from the house. Give me twenty minutes?"
"I'll help."
"You don't have to—"
"Tucker, I just invited myself to a picnic on your ranch. The least I can do is help prepare it."
He grins. "All right. Come on."
Boone takes Butterscotch's lead rope from Emma. "Come on, kiddo. Let's give your dad a chance not to be nervous for five minutes."
"Daddy's always nervous," Emma announces cheerfully. "He changed his shirt three times this morning."
"Emma," Tucker says, his face now fully red.
"But you did! And you kept asking me if—"
"Okay, that's enough." Tucker gently steers Emma toward Boone. "Have fun with your secret trick. Don't teach him anything that's going to get us sued."
Emma giggles and follows Boone out of the stable, and suddenly Tucker and I are alone in the dim, hay-scented space.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Emma has no filter, and Boone thinks he's being helpful—"
"Tucker, I also changed outfits three times this morning. Called my best friend at seven AM in a panic. So, if you changed your shirt three times, we're even."
His expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised. "Really?"
"Really." I adjust my glasses. "Now come on. Show me this kitchen and let's make a picnic."
We walk to the main house together. A large log structure that looks like it's been here for decades, and Tucker holds the door open for me. Inside, the kitchen is spacious and lived-in, with mismatched chairs around a large wooden table and children's drawings covering the refrigerator.
"Sorry about the mess," Tucker says, immediately moving to clear dishes from the counter. "Emma and I had breakfast before you arrived and I didn't have time to—"
"Tucker, it's fine. My place looks worse." I set my bag down by the door. "What do you have for a picnic?"
He opens the refrigerator and stares at its contents like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. "Uh... sandwich stuff? Some fruit? There's leftover pasta salad from yesterday that's actually pretty good—"
"That sounds perfect. Why don't you handle the sandwiches and I'll pack everything else?"
When everything's packed, Tucker loads it all into a backpack, and we head outside. The morning has warmed up, the sun bright and clear, and Tucker leads me toward a hill that rises behind the main ranch buildings.
"This was Frank's favorite spot," Tucker says as we climb. "He proposed to his wife here. Said you could see the whole world from up here, or at least the parts that mattered."
The climb takes about ten minutes, and when we reach the top, I understand exactly what Frank meant. The valley spreads out below us—rolling hills dotted with cattle, the ranch buildings looking small and perfect, the mountains rising in the distance like sentinels.
"Wow," I breathe.
"Yeah." Tucker sets down the backpack and pulls out a blanket, spreading it on the grass. "Frank used to come up here when he needed to think. Or when he needed to remember why all the hard work was worth it."