Chapter 6
CAITLIN
I stopped by the clinic to drop off some samples before heading home.
Doc was at his desk, buried in paperwork as usual. He looked up when I came in, studying me over his reading glasses.
"How's the new owner at Sierra Sol doing?"
"Better than expected, actually. He's learning fast."
"Good. That place needs someone willing to fight for it."
Something in his tone made me pause. "Fight for it? Against what?"
Doc was quiet for a moment. "There are people in this valley who've been waiting a long time for Sierra Sol to fail.
Who'd love to see that land carved up and sold off.
" He finally looked at me, his expression serious.
"Earl Callahan held them off for thirty years.
I hope his grandson has the same backbone. "
"Who are you talking about, Doc?"
He shook his head. "Just be careful, Caitlin. And keep an eye on that boy. He's going to need friends."
Before I could ask more, his phone rang and he waved me off. But his words stayed with me all the way home.
I made it halfway home before I pulled over to call Jess.
She answered on the first ring. "Tell me everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
"You're calling me at nine-thirty on a Monday night. There's definitely something to tell."
I leaned my head back against the seat and stared at the dark ceiling of my truck. "I had dinner at his place."
"Dinner! At his place! And you're just now telling me?"
"It wasn't like that. His friends were there. The ones who came to help him run the ranch. It was a group thing. A thank-you for the vaccinations."
"Uh huh. And how was this totally innocent group dinner?"
I closed my eyes. "It was... nice."
"Nice."
"Really nice." I hesitated. “But Doc Peterson said something strange today, though. Right before I left tonight."
"Strange how?"
"He asked how Blaine was doing. And then he said Sierra Sol 'needs someone willing to fight for it.' Like there's something going on I don't know about."
"Fight for it against what?"
"That's what I asked. He just said there are people who've been waiting for that place to fail. Told me to keep an eye on Blaine. That he's going to need friends."
"That's ominous."
"Right? But then his phone rang and he wouldn't say more." I shook my head even though she couldn't see me.
“Anyway. His friends are funny. Jake—he's the serious one—he made this incredible lasagna. And Tre kept teasing Blaine about how clueless he was when he first got here. Apparently he asked what hay was for."
Jess laughed. "Oh no. That’s adorable…at least he asked!”
"It's not—" I stopped myself. "It was funny. Everyone was laughing. And Blaine was laughing at himself, which is... I don't know. Refreshing. Most guys I know can't handle being the butt of the joke."
"Most guys you know meaning Preston?"
I didn't answer. Which was an answer in itself.
"What else?" Jess pressed. "You didn't call me this late just to tell me about lasagna."
She knew me too well.
"After dinner, he walked me to my truck. And then he asked if he could show me something." I paused. "He took me to meet his horse."
"His horse."
"Cisco. He's the teaser—it's a breeding thing. But Blaine's completely bonded with him. He carries carrots in his pocket everywhere he goes." I smiled despite myself. "He introduced me. Like, formally. 'Cisco, meet Caitlin. Caitlin, meet Cisco.'"
"Oh, honey."
"Don't."
"You're falling for him."
"I am not falling for him. I've known him for two weeks. I have a boyfriend."
"Do you, though?"
The question landed like a slap. "Jess."
"I'm serious. When's the last time Preston made you smile like you're smiling right now?"
I wasn't smiling. Was I?
I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. Damn it.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "Blaine is a client. Even if I didn't have Preston, it would be completely unprofessional."
"Would it? He's not a patient. He's a horse owner. Vets date clients all the time."
"Not this vet."
"Why not?"
Because he's going to leave , I thought. Because he's a Silicon Valley billionaire playing rancher and eventually he'll get bored and go back to his real life and I'll still be here, alone, having torpedoed my relationship for nothing.
But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I said, "Because I made a commitment to Preston. Three years, Jess. That means something."
Jess was quiet for a moment. "It does mean something. But it shouldn't mean staying in a relationship that makes you unhappy."
"I'm not unhappy."
"Cait."
"I'm not. I'm just... adjusting. Long distance is hard. We'll figure it out."
Even I could hear how hollow that sounded.
"Okay," Jess said, in that tone that meant she was letting it go but not agreeing. "Just promise me you'll think about what you actually want. Not what you think you should want. What you actually want."
"I promise."
"And call me after the next time you see Horse Boy."
"His name is Blaine."
"Horse Boy is funnier."
I laughed despite myself. "Goodnight, Jess."
"Night, Cait. Love you."
"Love you too."
Preston texted the next morning.
Hey babe. Crazy week coming up. Partner meeting Thursday. Might be hard to talk.
I stared at the message while I ate my cereal. Might be hard to talk. Not "I'll make time" or "Let's schedule a call." Just... might be hard.
I typed back: Good luck with the meeting. Call me when you can.
His response came an hour later, while I was driving to my first appointment.
Thanks babe. Will do.
An emoji. He'd sent me a heart emoji instead of actual words. Three years together and we'd been reduced to emojis and "talk later."
I thought about Blaine, texting me on Saturday night about whether his horse was happy.
About the way he'd looked at me when he introduced me to Cisco—nervous and hopeful, like my opinion mattered.
About the way he'd shoved his hands in his pockets after dinner, like he was stopping himself from reaching for me.
Had Preston ever looked at me like that? Maybe in the beginning. Maybe back at Cornell, when we'd stay up until 2 AM studying together, when he'd bring me coffee and quiz me on anatomy and tell me I was going to be the best vet in our class.
But that was years ago. That Preston felt like a different person.
Or maybe he'd always been this person, and I just hadn't wanted to see it.
Thursday came and went with no call from Preston.
Friday morning, I texted him: How did the partner meeting go?
No response.
Friday afternoon: Everything okay?
Nothing.
By Friday evening, I was oscillating between worried and furious. What if something had happened to him? What if he was hurt, or sick, or?—
My phone rang. I grabbed it, expecting Preston.
It was my mom.
"Hi, sweetheart." Her voice was warm, familiar, instantly comforting. "Your father and I were just talking about you. How are you doing out there?"
I sank onto my couch, some of the tension draining out of me. My parents called every week without fail—Sunday evenings, like clockwork. A Friday call meant they were worried.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just busy."
"You always say that." I could hear her moving around the kitchen—probably making dinner, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder like she'd done my whole life. "We miss you, you know. It's strange not having you close by."
"I miss you too."
And I did. More than I usually let myself admit. When I'd moved to California, it had felt like an adventure. A fresh start. But there were moments—like right now, sitting alone in my little rental house while my boyfriend didn't call—when three thousand miles felt like a million.
"How's Preston?" Mom asked. "Is he coming to visit soon?"
The question hit a bruise I hadn't realized was there. "He's busy. Big meeting at work this week. Partner stuff."
"Hmm." That single syllable carried a world of maternal skepticism. "And he's treating you well? Making time for you?"
"Mom."
"I'm just asking. A mother worries." She paused, and I heard my dad say something in the background. "Your father says to tell you he's proud of you. And that if Preston doesn't visit soon, he's going to have questions."
I laughed, but it came out a little watery. "Tell Dad I love him."
"He knows. We both do." Another pause. "Caitlin, honey, you'd tell us if something was wrong, right? You're so far away. We want to be there for you, even from a distance."
My throat tightened. "I know, Mom. Everything's fine. Really."
We talked for another fifteen minutes—Dad's golf game, Mom's book club, the neighbor's new puppy that kept digging up the garden. Normal, everyday things. The fabric of a life three thousand miles away that I wasn't part of anymore.
After we hung up, I sat there staring at my phone. My parents called every week. My boyfriend couldn't be bothered to text.
What did that say about the choices I'd made?
My phone buzzed. Finally. Preston.
Sorry, crazy day. Meeting went great. Markham basically said I'm a lock for partner. Celebrating with the team tonight. Talk tomorrow?
Celebrating with the team. Not "wish you were here" or "I'll call you later" or any acknowledgment that I'd been waiting for two days to hear from him.
That's great news , I typed back. Congratulations. Have fun tonight.
I stared at the message before sending it. It was the right response. The supportive girlfriend response. The response that didn't make me seem needy or demanding or crazy.
I hated it.
But I sent it anyway.
Thanks babe! Talk soon.
Another heart emoji. Another "talk soon" that might or might not happen.
I set the phone down on my kitchen counter and stared out the window at the darkening sky. I should be happy for him. This was his dream—making partner, building his career, being successful. I'd always known work came first for Preston. I'd accepted it. Hadn't I?
My phone buzzed again. Not Preston this time.
Emergency at Sierra Sol. Mare with colic. Can you come?
Blaine.
I was already grabbing my keys before I finished reading.