Chapter 9
Callie
I'm humming.
Linda notices first. She stops mid-filing, one hand frozen over the cabinet drawer, and stares at me like I've grown a second head.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asks.
"Fine." Elbow-deep in a golden retriever's mouth, scaling tartar, completely professional. "Why?"
"You're humming."
"People hum."
"You don't. I've worked here three years and I've never heard you hum." She leans against the counter, arms crossed. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"You had sex."
The dental scaler slips. Not enough to hurt anyone, but enough that Daisy the golden gives me a look that says careful, lady.
"I did not—I'm not discussing this while I'm cleaning teeth."
"So you did have sex."
"Linda."
"With the pilot."
"I'm hanging up now."
"We're standing in the same room. You can't hang up on me."
Daisy's cleaning finishes in pointed silence while Linda watches with the smug satisfaction of someone who's absolutely right and knows it. When I'm done and Daisy's owner has taken her home with instructions about dental chews, Linda reappears in the exam room doorway.
"You look happy," she says, softer this time. "It's nice."
The words catch me off guard. Happy. Am I happy?
I think about last weekend—the lake, Dean getting yanked into the water by Ranger, both of us laughing until we couldn't breathe.
Then this past week. Coffee he brought to the clinic.
Dinners at Maggie's where we sat in the same booth and he stole fries off my plate.
Thursday when he showed up at closing with Thai takeout just because he was thinking about me.
Saturday night at the bar, seeing him across the room and realizing I didn't want to pretend I wasn't completely gone for him.
Going home together. Yesterday morning waking up tangled in my sheets before reality interrupted—him heading to base, me racing to Sunday appointments.
The texts we traded all day. The way he called last night just to say goodnight.
"Maybe," I admit.
Linda grins. "Good. You deserve it."
The rest of the afternoon is routine. A cat with an ear infection.
A puppy so nervous its owner has to hold it through the exam.
A ferret named Sir Reginald who steals my pen, shoves it under his owner's purse, and then proceeds to steal my stethoscope while maintaining unblinking eye contact like a tiny, furry criminal mastermind.
The dark markings around his eyes make him look like he's wearing a burglar mask, which feels appropriate given his behavior.
"Sir Reginald, no," his owner says without conviction.
Sir Reginald does not care about his owner's opinions. Sir Reginald has committed to chaos.
I retrieve my stethoscope. He immediately grabs the ear thermometer.
"He's very social," the owner offers weakly.
"He's a kleptomaniac," I counter, wrestling the thermometer back.
Sir Reginald chirps what I can only describe as a tiny war cry—which I'm pretty sure is ferret for "you'll never stop me"—and makes a break for the supply cabinet.
Mondays, apparently, are ferret days now.
My daily notes are almost done when the bell over the front door chimes.
Dean.
Still in uniform, flight suit unzipped at the collar, hair slightly rumpled. When his eyes meet mine, he immediately looks away—at the diploma frames, at Linda's desk, anywhere but at me. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.
My stomach drops.
"Hey," he says. His voice is missing the usual easy warmth.
"Hey yourself. Ranger okay?"
"He's fine. I just—" He glances at Linda, who's absolutely not pretending to work at the reception desk. His jaw works like he's chewing on words. "Can we talk?"
"Sure," I say, because what else am I supposed to say? "Let me just finish up here."
"Take your time." He settles into the waiting room chair, but immediately stands again, pacing three steps to the window, then back. His hand goes to his hair, dragging through it before dropping back to his side. He sits. Stands. Sits again.
I finish my notes with hands that are suddenly less steady. Linda shoots me a concerned look. I shake my head—not now.
When I finally emerge from the back, Dean's on his feet before I fully round the corner. His shoulders are tight, hands flexing at his sides.
"Your place?" he asks.
"That bad?"
"It's not—" He stops. His throat works. "It's just better if we talk somewhere private.”
Great. Definitely dying. Or moving to Alaska. Or about to tell me Saturday was a mistake and he's actually married with six kids.
The drive to my house takes eight minutes. It feels like eight hours.
Biscuit greets us at the door with his usual enthusiasm, which means he sniffs Dean's boots and then retreats to his bed with a snort. Even my dog knows this isn't a normal visit.
"You want some coffee?" I ask, stalling.
"No. Thanks." Dean's pacing my kitchen, three steps one way, pivot, three steps back. "I should just—I need to tell you something."
I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. The position feels familiar.
Defensive. I've stood like this before—three years ago in my old Denver apartment, watching Tyler avoid eye contact while he explained why long distance wouldn't work, why I was being unreasonable, why this was really my fault for not being willing to follow him.
Here we go again.
"Okay," I say, keeping my voice level.
"My re-enlistment papers are due tomorrow morning."
"I know."
"Right. Of course you know." More pacing. "If I sign, they'll send me overseas. A new base. Possibly deployment. Minimum two to three years, maybe longer depending on where they station me."
My chest tightens. Two to three years. I knew this was coming—knew the military meant deployments, separations, the constant uncertainty—but hearing it out loud makes it real.
"And if you don't sign?" My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
"I go home. To Texas. To Iron Creek." He stops pacing, turns to face me. "Wade needs help with the business. They're expanding. Two new huge contracts, training programs, security details. It's good work. Important work."
"That sounds great, Dean. Really."
"It is. It's everything I've been trying to figure out." He crosses the kitchen in three strides, taking my hands. "Either way, I won't be in Pine Valley."
There it is. The inevitable ending I should have seen coming.
"I understand," I say, and I'm already pulling my hands back, already building walls. "It was fun while it lasted."
"No." His grip tightens. "That's not—Callie, I want you to come with me."
I don't understand at first. Like he's speaking a language I almost recognize but can't quite translate.
"Come with you," I repeat slowly.
"To Iron Creek." He's talking faster now, words tumbling over each other. "I talked to Jake yesterday. He said they need a vet. A good one. Someone who understands working dogs, who can handle behavioral consultation, training protocols, the whole operation. You'd be perfect."
My brain short-circuits somewhere around "I talked to Jake."
"You talked to your brother."
"Yeah, he called yesterday morning and I mentioned—"
"You mentioned me. To your brother. About moving to Texas. About changing my entire career."
"I wanted to know if it would work. Logistically. Before I—"
"Before you asked me?" My voice is too calm. Dangerously calm. "You made plans. With your family. About my life. Without talking to me first."
He blinks. "I wasn't making plans, I was just—"
"What were you doing, Dean?" I step back, needing space. "What exactly did you tell Jake?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "That I met someone. That you're a vet. That you might be interested in—"
"Might be interested in abandoning my practice, my home, my entire life to follow a man I've known for less than two weeks to Texas?"
"It's been longer than two weeks."
"Thirteen days." The number comes out sharp. "I've known you for thirteen days."
"Time doesn't matter when—"
"Time absolutely matters."
We're both breathing hard now, facing each other across my kitchen like we're on opposite sides of something unfixable.
"I thought you'd be excited," he says, and he sounds genuinely confused. "This is perfect. We'd be together. You'd have challenging work, resources you don't have here, a whole operation to build from the ground up. It's everything you love."
"What I love," I say carefully, "is my practice. The one I built. Here. In Pine Valley. My friends. My community. The life I chose."
"You could build another one."
"In Texas," I say flatly.
"Yes."
"Where your family is."
"Yes." He's nodding like this is all perfectly reasonable.
"Where I know no one except you and your brothers."
"You'd get to know people." He spreads his hands. "It's a great community."
"I have a community. Here." I gesture around my kitchen.
His frustration is starting to show. "Callie, I'm offering you an opportunity. A real partnership, not just—"
"Not just what? Playing small-town vet?" The anger flares hot and sudden. "This isn't some stepping stone, Dean. This is my life. I chose Pine Valley. I chose this practice. I built something here."
"And I'm asking you to build something with me."
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. "You're asking me to give up everything I've built to fit into plans you've already made."
His jaw tightens. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I watch him piece it together. "You've been avoiding your re-enlistment papers for weeks. Made this huge decision in one day because of a phone call with your brother. Showed up at my door with a plan already in motion. How is that different?"
"Because I love you."
The words stop me cold.
"What?"