Chapter Three Ashley
Chapter Three
Ashley
“Gerald, if you moo that loud again today, you are going to end up as prime rib steak.”
Those first two tequila shots seemed like such a good idea after Mr. Opinionated pissed me off, but then I made the big mistake of following them up with more. I can’t even tell how many shots we had.
I’m sitting on my porch steps in the warm sun, sipping on a strong coffee and nursing a head that feels like Satan himself is inside with a hammer, banging my dehydrated brain over and over again.
I suppose I should be grateful because I slept the longest I have in years, missing the entire morning and surfacing after lunch.
And that was only because Tiffany called to check that I was still alive.
I told her again for the umpteenth time how much I hate her.
She just laughed and offered to drive out a batch of her hangover cure tea, but I refused.
I told her if she put one foot on my property, I would shoot her at first sight.
Instead, she had her brother, Douglas, leave the package on my doorstep, with him yelling out, “Don’t shoot the messenger,” as he knocked before howling all the way back to his car.
There is a reason I don’t drink often, and that’s the morning-after regret, which makes me question every time if it was even worth it.
And the worst of it is that when I messaged Wade after I woke, he told me he slept through the night with not one callout.
Seriously! Why is the universe so cruel? I’ve almost been begging on my hands and knees for time off, where I can sleep through a whole ten hours without a phone call. And the moment I take a night off, Wade gets the golden ticket of the perfect evening.
Wade, being the gentleman that he is, has offered to work for me again tonight because he feels like he didn’t earn the money that I paid him. And I can’t say I was in any shape to argue. It will take the rest of today to recover and probably tonight too. One day I will return the favor to him.
The warmth of the late-April sun is seeping into my bones and helping soothe my tense muscles as I try to piece together the night.
Tiff tells me we danced the night away, joining the band on the stage at one point to sing, which apparently sounded like the worst karaoke anyone has ever heard.
I’m sure it was not my finest moment. It’s normally only the poor animals at home that have to suffer through my singing.
It’s part of the deal. I give them a place to live the rest of their days, feed them, and keep them happy, but in return, they have to listen to my ridiculously bad singing.
Thank goodness the longer I sit here, with my back now resting against the wood post and my legs stretched out, the Tylenol I took with the coffee is starting to kick in.
I look toward the broken fence and know I should be doing that today, but I just can’t manage to summon the energy to get up. Instead, I’m just scrolling through my phone. As I open my email app, my eyes widen at an email with the subject line Veterinary job application.
“Holy shit, finally someone applied.”
I sit up straighter and open the email, almost expecting it to be a prank or just some spam reply from a scammer in a faraway country.
Tiff doesn’t know it, but the job has been advertised for at least two months, with not even the slightest bit of interest. I’m sure it’s because small-town vet clinics are not everyone’s cup of tea.
There are usually two types of people who work in the country: people who were born and bred here and come home after they gain their qualifications, or people who are running from a life that they no longer want to be in.
That could be as simple as wanting out of the rat race, or fleeing from a relationship gone bad, or maybe something bigger, but at this stage, I don’t care what the motivation is.
I’m desperate enough to take anyone, within reason.
Applicant: Beau Robinson
Age: 38
Qualifications: Bachelor of Veterinary Biology and Doctor of Veterinary Medicine – University of Sydney, Australia
“Oh, he’s Australian, hmmm, interesting. What in the world is he doing applying for a job up here in an out-of-the-way small town in the hills of Oregon?”
I continue to skim through the application, and it all sounds too good to be true.
He has had all kinds of experience working in different parts of the US.
The only strike against him is that he’s male.
I know I shouldn’t be picky. I mean, it’s the first application I’ve had, and if last night showed me anything, it’s reinforcing how truly exhausted I am.
I’m not one to ask for help. Ever since Jeremy left me running the clinic on my own, I wanted nothing more than to prove to him, and the rest of the world, that I could do this without the help of a man.
But it took a gargantuan hangover to realize the only one that I’m hurting in this process is myself.
I put my phone face down on the porch next to me and run my hands up and down my jean-covered thighs. I’m not in shape to make any big decisions today. However, the nervous energy coursing through my body tells me that it’s the first shimmer of hope I have felt in a very long time.
“Sleep on it, Ash, don’t rush this.” Taking a deep breath, I finally push up from my place in the sun and slip my feet into my old farm boots.
The barn and the yards full of animals are calling me. There are no days off from being a farmer and the constant feeding and cleaning up after them. Especially on this farm where there are so many different species living together that I should hang a Noah’s Ark sign on the front gate.
I can’t help it. I come across animals that are in need of love, and I give them a home.
Sometimes it’s because they have a health issue that their owner can’t take care of, or just won’t.
Or sometimes they are abandoned and if I can’t find them a new home, they end up living on the farm with me.
That’s why in the barn there are nine different breeds of chicken, five ducks, two sheep, a miniature horse, two pigs (who happen to be mom and daughter), three full-grown horses, and of course, Gerald the cow and Daisy the goat.
But the most demanding animal here, that is also the cutest, is Herb, my donkey.
He makes the most noise on a regular basis, but as soon as you pay him the slightest bit of attention, he’s like putty in your hands. Kind of like a man, really.
My heart wants to add Rosie, but I know it just can’t happen. Not with me working such long hours. An energetic German shepherd could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back in this delicate ecosystem.
Another fun discovery today is that cleaning up manure is not great with a hangover.
While the smell doesn’t normally worry me, right now I am dry retching, and it’s the worst. Because of my new annoying neighbor, Gerald and Daisy are now contained in the yards that are attached to the barn with wooden rails held together with rope.
This makes the job of cleaning up after these animals that much bigger.
Normally they are out roaming so where they shit wasn’t my problem.
Until now. Another reason to hate Mr. Perfectionist.
Next time Tiffany decides we need a night out, it better be drinking tea, munching on some of her delicious treats while sitting around the fire. No alcohol involved.
As I started traveling into town early this morning, my hangover is now a distant memory. Thank goodness. I’m approaching the outskirts of town and looking around at the cuteness of it, which always puts a smile on my face.
I’m sure when they planned out towns in the early days, it was almost compulsory to have the main street with a town square in the middle of it.
A park with the old bandstand at one end and beautiful trees with wooden benches underneath them, where the older generation sit and talk most days.
Or more to the point, where they gossip about every single small thing that is happening in Abbey Falls.
It’s too early in the day for them to be there yet, but I’m still picturing the seats full later today.
Driving past the bakery now, I can see it’s full of customers getting their coffee and breakfast. The florist next door is just opening up, moving the potted plants out onto the footpath for the day.
The lawyer and accountant’s shared office is still shut up tight, blinds down and the closed sign in the window, because it’s too early for them.
Oh, how nice it must be to work office hours five days a week and then have a life after the door is closed each night.
Next is the post office and then the doctors’ clinic, and right on the corner is Tiffany’s teahouse. It also doubles as a gift shop, and if you ask her, she will tell you it’s also a spiritual hub, but I’m not even sure what that means. So, I just play along.
I pull into the perfect parking spot out the front of her shop and jump out of my car. Mr. James comes to a stop next to me in his truck, winding down his passenger window.
“Morning, Doc.” He’s already chewing on his gum for the morning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without a piece in his mouth.
“Morning, Mr. James. Shaping up to be another day of great weather.” I smile, leaning my elbow on his door in the open window. “How’s the stitches holding up on that horse’s ankle? She learned that trying to jump barbed wire fences is not much fun yet?”
“Well, I hope so, silly old thing. I think she’s forgotten she’s getting on in years and can’t do what she used to when she was a young filly.
But thanks to you, I checked the bandages yesterday and she’s just about all healed up.
So, I just wanted to let you know and say thanks.
” He reaches his hand out to pat the top of mine.
And that’s what I love about being a small-town vet.