Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sedona
I need to make this call. I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over Dr. Alistair Finch’s contact picture—a stern, professional headshot that doesn’t quite capture the glint in his eye or the way he leans back in his expensive chair like he owns the world.
The line crackles with a thousand miles when he picks up.
“Sedona,” his voice is a familiar rumble, a mix of gravel and old money. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Don’t tell me you’re coming back early.”
“Hi, Alistair.” I walk to the window, looking out at the quiet street. “I’m calling in a favor. A big one.”
I can almost hear him sit up straighter, the creak of his leather chair a familiar sound. “A favor? From me? After you abandoned my prestigious cardiovascular study for… what was it again? Fresh air and cows?”
There’s a teasing edge to his voice, but I remember when it wasn’t so teasing. I remember his hand on my arm after a late-night surgery, the way he’d leaned in a little too close, his expensive cologne choking the air.
I remember peeling his fingers off one by one and telling him, in a voice as cold and sharp as a scalpel, that if he ever tried that again, I’d use my instrument for something other than surgery.
He’d been shocked, then angry, then, finally, respectful. He’d never tried it again, and our relationship had settled into one of mutual professional admiration. He valued my skill, and I valued his resources.
“There’s a potential outbreak here,” I say, ignoring his jab. “Bovine. The local vet is good, but his resources are limited. The initial tox screens are inconclusive. I need your lab. I need answers fast.”
I explain the situation, the bloating, the rapid decline, the sheer number of animals affected. I keep my voice clinical, detached, laying out the facts as I would in any professional consultation.
He listens, interrupting only once to ask a pointed question about the water source. When I’m finished, there’s a pause.
“A mycotoxin, maybe,” he muses, his mind already working. “Or a novel bacterium. It’s interesting. Send me the samples. Courier them overnight. I’ll have my team drop everything. We’ll have a preliminary report for you in forty-eight hours.”
Relief washes over me, so potent it makes my knees feel weak. “Alistair… thank you. Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his tone shifting back to business. “This is a fascinating case. It’ll make a great paper. Now, about your return date. The canine study is progressing, but we need you. Your eye for the data is… unparalleled. When can I expect you back in New York?”
The question lands like a stone in my gut. New York. A world of steel and glass, of subways that never stop and sirens in the night.
A world where I am Dr. Archer, respected and capable, not the girl who left her father and broke her fiancé’s heart.
“I need until the end of the month,” I say, the words feeling heavy and final. “There’s… my father’s estate. The clinic. Things to sort out.”
“Right,” he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “The estate. Of course. Well, don’t take too long. The world of veterinary medicine doesn’t stop turning because you’re playing country doctor.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, the phone feeling heavy in my hand. I take a deep breath, the scent of my father’s office filling my lungs again. I have a timeline now. The end of the month. A little over three weeks.
The thought is both a relief and a prison sentence.
I walk out of the office, and the sight of Clara makes me smile. She’s perched on the edge of one of the waiting room chairs, a splash of wildflower blue against the beige of the room.
She’s wearing a flowy sundress and a pair of simple leather sandals, her hair swept up into a messy bun. She looks so out of place, yet so perfectly herself.
She looks up as I approach, her head tilting. “Did you change clothes?”
I glance down at my outfit. I’d swapped my dusty, sweat-stained jeans for a slightly cleaner pair and a soft, dark green sweater.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious. “I thought this would be… better. For dinner.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Are you wearing makeup?”
I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over my face. “I’m a little nervous, okay? Is that a crime?”
Clara’s expression softens immediately. She stands up and takes my hand, her grip warm and firm.
“Not a crime at all. I get it.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “Whatever you need.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence comfortable between us.
“I thought it would just be the two of us,” she says. “And Seth. And that yummy Tex guy.”
“Billy won’t be there,” I say, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. “And this is technically a work dinner. We’re going to discuss the sample collection.”
Clara just nods, her eyes full of understanding. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. She just accepts my flimsy excuse for what it is: a shield.
“Thank you for being here,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“Always,” she says simply. Then she grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, let’s go. We have been functioning on huckleberry pie and stale coffee for two days. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
I laugh, a real, genuine laugh that feels like bubbles rising in my chest. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We climb into the sedan, the small car feeling cramped after the wide-open spaces of the ranch. I turn the key in the ignition.
“Maybe we need to rent a truck or something,” I say, thinking of the feed bags, the medical supplies, the sheer impracticality of this car in this world.
“Definitely a truck,” Clara agrees, nodding sagely as she turns on the radio. A country song, twangy and sweet, fills the car.
We don’t talk. We just hum along, our voices blending with the melody, a quiet harmony in the fading light.
As we drive, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the valley in shades of fire and smoke. The world is hard, and I’m tired to my very bones, a weariness that goes deeper than muscle and bone.
But the setting sun is beautiful, and my best friend is singing off-key beside me. I feel a fragile sense of peace.
I’m here. I’m alive. And for right now, that has to be enough.
The sedan crunches up the gravel drive of Copper Creek Ranch, the setting sun casting long, dancing shadows across the pastures. I park and climb out, my boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt—and that’s when I see him.
Jasper, looking even younger and more lanky in the golden light, is walking a string of horses from the main barn. One of them, a powerful black stallion with a proud, stubborn set to his head, catches my eye.
“Is that Diesel?” I ask, my voice carrying across the quiet yard.
Jasper jumps, nearly dropping the lead rope. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is Diesel. Joey’s horse. Just giving him some exercise.”
I walk closer, running a hand down Diesel’s sleek neck. He’s a magnificent creature, all muscle and fire, just like his owner.
“He looks good. You’re doing a great job with him.”
Jasper’s face flushes a bright red. “Thanks, Dr. Archer.”
“Uh, this is my friend, Clara,” I say, gesturing to where Clara is now standing by the car, taking in the scene with wide eyes.
“Hi,” Clara says, her smile warm and friendly.
“Hey,” Jasper mumbles, looking at his boots. “The, uh, the guys have a grill set up out back. By the bunkhouse. They told me to tell you to just head on back when you got here.”
“Thanks, Jasper,” I say, giving Diesel one last pat before turning to follow Clara.
As we walk around the side of the main house, Clara leans in close.
“You weren’t kidding,” she whispers. “Is there something in the water here? Why is everyone so ridiculously hot?”
I let out a small, surprised laugh. “Maybe you should apply for that local schoolteacher position. I hear it’s open.”
She just smiles, a sly, knowing curve of her lips.
Before I can respond, a blue and gray blur launches itself from the porch of the bunkhouse, barking a frantic, joyful welcome. Boone.
I crouch down, my hands outstretched, and he barrels into me, his whole body wiggling with excitement, his tail thumping a frantic beat against my legs.
I scratch behind his ear, his familiar, happy whines filling me with a warmth that almost hurts.
“Hey, boy,” I murmur, burying my face in his fur. “I missed you, too.”
I look up, and my breath catches. Billy. He’s standing on the porch, a dark silhouette against the light spilling from the bunkhouse window.
He’s dressed in all black—a simple T-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and worn jeans that hug his long legs. A beer dangles from his fingers, the bottle dark and slick. He’s watching me intently.
I stand up, brushing the dust from my jeans. “Hey.”
“Hi,” he says, a low, neutral rumble. His gaze turns to Clara, and he gives her a short, curt nod. “Seth is out back.”
Then he turns and walks away, toward the main house, without another word. The dismissal is a physical thing, a door slamming shut in my face.
I hate the lump that forms in my throat, the hot sting behind my eyes. But I know I deserve it. Every cold, cutting word.
Clara’s hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. “Are you okay?”
I force a smile, my throat tight. “Of course. I’m fine.”
I pull her toward the back, where the smell of grilling meat and wood smoke hangs thick and delicious in the air.
Tex is standing by a massive grill, huge tongs in his hand, his back to us. The moment he hears our footsteps, he turns, and a grin breaks across his face, bright and blinding.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in! The superhero herself!”
He strides over, pulling me into a hug that lifts me off my feet. He smells like sweet tobacco and sun-warmed hay, a scent that’s both comforting and dangerous.
He sets me down and turns to Clara, his charm dialed up to maximum. “I’m a hugger, Clara. I hope you don’t mind. Any friend of Sedona’s is a friend of ours.”
He hugs her too, and she laughs, looking a little dazed.