Chapter 4 Hattie
HATTIE
Present Day
“It’s a killer deal. If we play our cards right, there’s no reason why we couldn’t get something in the works by the end of next week.”
The excitement in Marcus’s voice is easy to recognize. Almost nothing pumps him up more than business talk. He could yap for eons about it.
As I pass by the windows in the hall outside his office, a heavy box in my arms, his conversation with my dad filters out through the cracked door.
“You think someone else is going to jump on it first?” Dad asks. “Maybe we should hammer out some of the paperwork tonight instead of waiting until Monday.”
Marcus is shaking his head when I push the door to the office open with my foot. “Nah,” he answers. “It can wait. I have too much wedding stuff to take care of this weekend.”
When wedding plans are mentioned, every instinct tells me to run in the opposite direction. But this time, I’m glad he brought it up. Once my dad leaves, I have to address this whole mess with Marcus.
I gave myself a week to figure out where I stand.
In that span of time, work served as a good distraction, and I was committed to giving the engagement a chance to breathe.
Pretending everything was fine worked okay at first, but I’ve barely slept in days.
My dad’s reaction to the whole thing continues to confuse me, and my fear that I’m making a mistake has only grown.
Seeing Heston at the hardware store a week ago, the morning right after Dad’s birthday party, no less, was the nail in the coffin.
Lucky had grown so much, and even with the amount of time that had passed, she still recognized me and jumped into my arms. It formed a sickening knot in my stomach.
I felt pinned to the floor when I looked up and saw Heston.
A thousand emotions coursed through my body, and I could barely breathe.
I felt broken all over again when I ran away from him.
Even if some things could never be fixed, seeing him made me realize that I’d float through the rest of my days like a ghost in my own life if I didn’t at least work up the courage to go talk to him.
Preferably, without being engaged to someone else.
“Knock, knock,” I say before walking in.
Dad smiles while Marcus rushes toward me to lift the box from my hands. Instead of lifting my chin and pursing my lips, I tilt my head. He pauses for a second, but eventually kisses me on the cheek.
“Not on call today?” Dad asks, pulling me in for a warm hug.
If the traffic’s not bad, it’s a thirty-minute drive from where I live now to my dad’s ranch. If I’m working at the clinic or scheduled to be on call, I try to stick pretty close to my rental house in Westridge.
“I’m off today,” I answer. “There are some things that need to be taken care of at the clinic tomorrow afternoon, and then I’m on call for the next three days. Dr. Cates is on a cruise for his anniversary.”
Marcus sets the box on top of his desk. Its contents are a collection of small home decor items that he insisted on being delivered to my house. They don’t match a single thing in my simple home. I know they’re his way of making me reconsider living there.
He lives here in the apartment above the ranch office. I’m glad I never changed my mind and moved in with him because easing out of this engagement would be a lot more complicated if I had nowhere else to go but my dad’s house—less than a football field away.
“Babe,” Marcus says, leaning a hip against the edge of his desk and folding his arms. “Aren’t you coming off another eighty-hour week? You don’t feel like you need to work all of these hours, do you? If you’re stressed, then I’m not taking care of you like I should be.”
It’s sweet. I think he means well, and most people would froth at the mouth if their fiancé were lovingly trying to convince them to ease up on their career and let him handle whatever is on their plate.
I’m open to the idea of being taken care of, but suggesting that I cut back at my job isn’t the approach I want my partner to take.
I truly love my career and all the hard work that comes with it.
Dad chimes in right away, saying, “She’s a damn good vet,” at the exact moment that I say, “I love being a vet.”
I laugh, making eye contact with Dad. He never pushed me in this direction; in fact, no one did.
I’ve been drilling it into his head since I was young that this career is my dream, and he’s gone to extreme lengths, some even a little too extreme, to make sure it’s achieved.
At this point in my life, I’ve sacrificed entirely too much to give it all up now.
I think the little girl who used to play “cow doctor” with her dolls and toy animals would be proud of that.
It’s not surprising when Marcus holds his hands up in retreat. He’d never argue. “I’m totally on board. Just throwing it out there.”
“The more experience I get, the better I’ll be. That means more hours for now,” I explain with a shrug. “Down the road, I’ll have my own practice. The hours won’t seem so bad when I have employee support and the right facilities.”
“Of course,” Marcus smiles. “We’ll see how it goes. If you want your own clinic, we can discuss the risks and finances to decide if it’s a good idea in a few years.”
The last part seems like it slipped out. I’ve never questioned Marcus’s support, but I’ve sometimes wondered what having it might cost me.
I’ve grown used to being with someone who spends most of their work day at a computer and never learned the difference between a steer and a bull. Of course, I automatically see opening a vet clinic as a good idea, while he thinks about money and potential risks. It’s just how his brain works.
My conscience would compliment me on my mature display of grace and understanding.
My heart, on the other hand, isn’t pitter-pattering with love.
It’s annoyed that an independent investor who probably can’t throw a rope without getting tangled in it wants to analyze the future plan for my career to see if it’s a good idea.
Dad twists his face and opens his mouth to say something. I cut him off, anticipating him asking Marcus what the fuck he meant by that. The last thing I need is a pissing match.
“I dropped some blueberries at the house for your Cheerios,” I say with a bright smile.
Dad narrows his eyes at me. “The tiny, sweet ones?”
I nod while walking past him and patting him on the back.
Compared to its usual organized state, Marcus’s desk is currently scattered with papers. As I step up to it, he brings his hands to my shoulders and slowly massages the tension and stiffness that never seems to go away completely. I don’t shrug off his hand, hoping to keep him in a good mood.
“Thanks. I’ve been out for days,” Dad says. His palm makes a little scratching sound as he rubs it over the slightly graying stubble on his jaw. “By the way, Aunt Jana came over this morning and was looking for you.”
I’m eyeing a list of names and addresses on Marcus’s desk, but I quickly shift my focus back to Dad. “What for?”
He shrugs. “Just wanted to chat about the invites, I guess. I don’t know. Said she’d give you a call later tonight.”
“Invites,” I repeat, confused.
“Yeah, the invitations,” Marcus clarifies. “I knew you’d have a crazy work week, so I crossed them off the list while I had some extra time.”
I’m speechless and trying to detect a sliver of jest in his tone. He’s kidding. You can’t send invites without a wedding date. You can’t pick a wedding date without asking the fucking bride.
I should have come to talk to him sooner. Seven days of mulling it over was way too long.
“Why would you make invites and then show Aunt Jana? Or, anyone but me, for that matter?” The dots connect in my head. I turn to look at the list of names on his desk and point at it. “Is that what this is about? A guest list?”
My ears start ringing when Marcus nods happily. “Nothing big, though. I kept it small, just like we talked about.”
“I don’t recall talking about it.” I scoff but try to remain calm. “At least you didn’t send them.”
His lips part, and I wait for a reply that doesn’t come.
“You just showed Aunt Jana,” I continue, desperately making statements that I want to be true, hoping he agrees with them. “You didn’t send out wedding invitations a literal week after asking me to marry you.”
“You didn’t know about this, Hattie?” Dad asks in a low, concerned voice.
Nope. I sure as hell did not. I shake my head and then rub my temples in gentle, soothing circles.
I was really hoping for a rational, empathetic conversation with Marcus today. I never intended to get riled up or lash out at him, but this new development changes things.
After a deep breath, I lift the list from the table for a closer look. It’s only a page long, and I scan over the first few addresses. I only make it to number three before Dad loudly clears his throat.
“I should get back to the barn,” he says. “Call if you need me.”
He means call when I’m home to let him know whether I’m furious about this or if Marcus gets to live.
They get along well, and always have. But everyone knows Rafe Murdoch is a little psycho when it comes to protecting my best interests.
I nod, not bothering to look away from the list. Dad walks out quickly.
“Sweetheart . . .”
“Give me a minute,” I snap. My eyes close for a moment, realizing how harsh that came out. “I’m sorry, just—this is a lot.”
His hand lands on my shoulder again, rubbing softly. “You don’t have to worry. Everything is going to work out.”
“That’s actually what I came here to talk to you about,” I say. “Marcus. This is a little bit crazy, right?”
“What do you mean?”