Chapter 10 #2
"So when you show up talking about Texas and opportunities and how perfect it'll all be—" Maggie fixes me with a look that could strip paint. "She's scared, Flyboy. That girl's been let down before. You want her to trust you? Give her a reason not to be scared of you."
"I love her."
"I know you do." Maggie's expression softens just slightly. "But love isn't enough if you're asking her to give up who she is to fit into who you need her to be."
Maggie's words echo Top's. Different voice, same message.
I just assumed.
"How do I fix this?" I ask.
"Start by figuring out what you're actually asking for." Maggie stands, retrieves her apron, ties it back on with practiced efficiency. "Are you asking her to follow you? Or are you asking if you can build something together?"
The same question Top asked. The question I couldn't answer then and still can't answer now.
"Hell if I know," I admit.
"Well." Maggie picks up the coffee pot. "Figure it out. And when you do, make sure the answer includes her—not just the idea of her."
She walks away, leaving me alone with cold coffee and the growing realization that I need to start over—from the beginning, with the right questions this time.
I sit in that booth for another hour, nursing cold coffee and rehearsing what I need to say to Jake.
Watching the stragglers finish their meals, watching Maggie work the room with the ease of someone who's been doing this for decades.
She refills mugs without being asked, knows everyone's order before they say it, hands out advice with the coffee refills.
This is her place. Not because she inherited it or because it was convenient. Because she built it. Because she chose it.
Just like Callie chose Pine Valley. Chose her practice. Chose to stay when Tyler asked her to leave.
My phone is in my hand before I realize I'm pulling it out.
The re-enlistment forms are sitting in my email. Now I have until Thursday, eight a.m., thanks to Top calling in a favor. Sign and ship out. Don't sign and go home to Texas.
Either way, I leave Pine Valley.
Either way, I leave her.
Unless.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Jake's number. He answers on the third ring.
"Dean? What's up?"
"I need to ask you something." I lean back in the booth, staring at the ceiling tiles. "Iron Creek. The expansion. The new contracts."
"Yeah?" He sounds cautious. "You change your mind about coming home?"
"Maybe. I don't know yet." I scrub a hand over my face. "I need to know if there's room for two people to build something. Not just me slotting into what you've got. Actually building."
Silence on the other end.
"Jake?"
"You're serious," he says finally. "About the vet."
"Her name's Callie. And yeah. I'm serious."
"What happened? You sound like you already screwed this up."
"I kind of presented it as a done deal. Told her about Texas and the opportunity and how perfect it would be. Didn't really ask what she wanted."
Jake makes a sound that might be a laugh or a groan. "Dean."
"I know."
"Serious enough to redesign half our expansion plans?"
"If that's what it takes."
More silence. Then Jake laughs—surprised and genuine. "You really are gone for her."
"Completely."
"All right." I hear paper rustling, keyboard clicking. "Tell me what she needs. What kind of practice, what resources, what setup. And I'll tell you if we can make it work."
"I can't tell you what she needs," I say. "I'd have to ask her. That's kind of the whole problem."
"Then ask her."
I slump back in the booth. "She's not speaking to me."
"So?" Jake's voice sharpens with the particular brand of younger-brother impatience I've been hearing my whole life. "Make her speak to you. Apologize. Grovel. Do whatever it takes. And this time, actually ask her what she wants instead of presenting her with your plan."
"When did you get so smart about relationships?"
"I'm not. I just know you're an idiot when you assume things.
" He pauses. "But Dean? If you're doing this—if you're really asking her to build something with you—make sure you mean it.
Don't offer her a partnership and then expect her to follow your lead.
You know? Actual partnership, where you both get a say. "
"I know."
"Do you?" The question is gentle but pointed.
"Because Wade and I have been running Iron Creek our way for a while now.
If you come back, you're going to want to do things differently.
And if you bring Callie, she's going to want her own practice, her own way of doing things. Can you handle that? Can we?"
I think about Callie in the base kennel, questioning everything, pushing back on assumptions, making Dev rethink his entire approach to enrichment protocols.
I think about her in exam room one with Ranger, commanding and confident and completely in control.
I think about her telling me she built her practice herself, chose Pine Valley herself, made a life herself.
"Yeah," I say. "I can handle that. Can you?"
Jake laughs again. "Guess we'll find out. Talk to her, Dean. Figure out what she wants. Then call me back and we'll make it work."
He hangs up.
I sit in the booth for another few minutes, phone in hand, coffee long cold.
Maggie swings by with the pot. "Refill?"
"No thanks." I slide out of the booth, dropping cash on the table. "I need to go figure out how to grovel."
"Good." She pockets the cash. "And Flyboy? When you talk to her—actually listen. Don't just wait for your turn to talk."
"Yes, ma'am."
Outside, the sun is setting over Pine Valley, painting the Rockies in shades of orange and pink. Somewhere in this town, Callie is probably sitting on her porch with Biscuit, hating me.
I don't blame her.
But I'm not done fighting for this. For us.
Tomorrow, I'll talk to her. Figure out what we're actually building—together.
Tonight, I need to figure out what the hell I'm asking for.
And make sure the answer includes her, not just the idea of her.