Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BECKETT
One more day like this and I’ll be a shambling corpse.
Burned out, bone-tired, running on fumes and caffeine, all I want is five damn minutes to decompress.
Just five minutes of silence before the weight of dealing with the drama the assholes in the Riverbend Ridge Fire Department love to cook up comes crashing back down on my shoulders.
But the second my headlights light up the driveway, I know peace is no longer on the menu tonight.
There’s a low, blocky shadow at the door—Pork, my wiener dog, tail thumping against the glass.
Not even pretending to be subtle about how much effort he’s putting into his laziness.
This little shit has all the shame of a toddler in a sprinkler.
And looming right behind him, filling the entryway with enough energy to light up a second shift, is my mother with a Tupperware container clutched tightly in her hands.
I get the door open—and barely have a second to brace before she pounces. “Oh, there you are! Beckett, did you see? Pork heard your engine before I did. Isn’t he clever?” I know I’m not going to like the reason for her late evening visit.
I’m barely two steps inside my own damn house. Pork rolls over my shoe like a furry speed bump while Beans, my potbelly pig, comes barreling out of the living room, hooves drumming a punk rhythm on the tile, corkscrew tail going wild.
“Mom,” I grunt, shouldering past the chaos, “what are you doing here?”
“I brought these over for you.” She places the Tupperware container of brownies on the hall table.
My mother definitely believes in sweetening the deal.
And she won’t be dissuaded when she’s on a mission.
“The animals missed you! Pork’s been extra clingy, and Beans—well, honestly, I think he’s still getting over last week’s thunderstorm.
I made him scrambled eggs to calm his nerves.
” She’s got that glint in her eye. This isn’t about fucking scrambled eggs.
“I took the babies to the vet today for shots.” I vaguely remember her reminding me about their yearly appointment, but honestly, I’ve had too much on my mind to worry about it.
“More importantly, have you seen the new veterinarian? Dr. Elsie Berg moved in last month, and Beckett, she’s absolutely gorgeous. ”
There it is. The real reason for this ambush. My three younger brothers are all happily married, and my mother has decided to turn her matchmaking prowess toward me.
I drop my keys in the dish by the door and try to look as intimidating as possible, but I’m still in rumpled uniform pants with a spot of Beans’s snot right below my knee.
“Don’t start,” I warn. “I am not interested, and I don’t have time.
Work has been a disaster, my crew can’t go three days without a catastrophe, and Beans has been having nightmares again, so I’m running on zero fucking sleep. ”
“Don’t use that language.” My mother glares at me before rambling on.
“She’s single,” she says, like that’s supposed to sweeten the deal.
“And she loves animals. She told me Beans was the best-behaved pig she’s ever met.
You should’ve seen how he sparkled for her even though he was terrified of his shots. ”
I glance down at Beans, who’s standing on his back legs, reaching to sniff the container of brownies, and trying to decide if he can get into them with nothing but his snout and brute force. Yeah, the pig is clearly traumatized.
“Back off, Mom.” I grab the brownies and stash them on top of the fridge, where neither of my animal toddlers can reach them. “I have eight reports to finish and sleep to catch up on. No matchmaking. Understood?”
She sighs, putting on her best “woe is me” act. “I’m just saying, Beckett, you aren’t getting any younger.” Like I need that goddamn reminder.
“Go home, Mom.” I’m too tired to deal with this right now.
She blows me a kiss, collects her purse, and calls Beans a “handsome boy” on her way out the door. Pork whines in protest, but I scoop him up, cradle his sausage-shaped body like a baby, and tell him in a voice I absolutely would not use in public, “You’re my big, tough guard dog, aren’t you?”
Pork licks my chin and immediately falls asleep in my arms. The world’s most intimidating security system.
Seven hours later, I’m working the back of my eyelids for all I’m worth when the sound of retching drags me from my much-needed slumber.
I tear back the covers and find Beans, lying in a dark little curl at the foot of my bed, making the most pathetic snuffling noise I’ve ever heard.
“Hey, what the—” I hop up so fast I nearly knock Pork onto the floor. The dog gives me a sleep-glazed glare and immediately burrows under the blanket.
Beans doesn’t budge when I lightly stroke his back. He just makes a pathetic whimper.
Instant panic. This is bad. This is “call the vet and demand an ambulance” level bad. My swine baby is suffering. I hurry up and dress while calling the vet emergency line. Someone answers on the second ring. “Riverbend Ridge Veterinary, what’s your emergency?”
“My pig. Beans. He’s fucking miserable and not moving. Looks like hell.”
She goes into professional mode so fast it’s almost impressive. “Keep him warm and quiet,” she says, like she’s reading my mind from across town. “Dr. Berg will meet you at the office at seven. Can you be here?”
Hell yes, I can. I’m already sweating through my shirt as I sit next to my baby, lightly stroking his back. My lungs are in my throat. Pork is snoring like nothing is happening while I’m barely holding it together. Fuck. Seven a.m. can’t come fast enough.
Three hours later, I have both animals hooked into their car seats. Beans keeps making awful huffing sounds, and Pork looks personally offended at having his beauty sleep interrupted. My hands are sweat-slick on the steering wheel.
The veterinary clinic is fifteen minutes away, but I make it in nine and a half, parking across two lines and not even pretending to care.
I stumble through the doors, struggling to carry my overfed, ninety-pound baby while Pork ambles next to me, trying to sniff every goddamn inch of ground along the way. “I have an emergency. I called earlier.”
The receptionist’s eyebrows hike up to her hairline. “Someone will be right with you, Mr. Hot.”
Waiting is killing me. The squeaky-clean waiting room is painted in pastel colors, but that doesn’t stop my left eye from twitching every time Pork whimpers pathetically.
Finally, the door swings open, and a perky blonde smiles at me. “Mr. Hot, please follow me.”
I carry Beans while Pork follows me back.
The blonde leads the way down a short hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor.
We turn into the first exam room. The exam room is brighter than the waiting area.
There are posters on the wall about heartworm prevention and how to tell if your cat is plotting your death.
The vet tech gestures to the steel table in the middle. “Right here, please.”
I haul Beans up and lay him on the table, my arms already shaking from hauling ninety pounds of dead weight. Pork waddles in after us, nose twitching like he’s searching for stray crumbs.
The vet tech gives me a reassuring smile, but my heart is jackhammering in my chest. Beans looks like hell, and all I can do is stand uselessly by while the tech checks his vitals. I’d offer my own damn organs if it would help.
The door pops open, and I turn to get the shock of my goddamn life. The motherfucking universe has a sick sense of humor because the woman in the doorway isn’t just “pretty.” She’s the kind of beautiful that turns you inside out.
Fiery red hair, thick and glossy, curls around her shoulders like she’s just stepped off some shampoo commercial.
Wide blue eyes, the color of a fucking summer lake, sharp and clear, are focused right on me.
Her mouth is soft and full, and I want to see what it looks like when she’s smiling, or biting her lip, or saying my name.
Every inch of her is curvy and built for trouble, dressed in a white coat and turquoise scrubs, but there’s nothing clinical about the way she moves. She’s all confidence, hips swaying, striding into the room, and my brain short-circuits at the sight of her.
I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten my name. Fuck. I’m pretty sure I just met my match. Damnit. I hate when my mother is right.
The gorgeous woman moves like a fucking supermodel, all curves and confidence, and my cock turns rock-hard. I’m in so much trouble.
Before I can even open my mouth, she flashes her knockout smile, and my heart pounds away.
“Good morning, Mr. Hot. I’m Dr. Elsie Berg,” she purrs, and holy hell, even her voice is sexy. Smooth and low. My brain completely short-circuits as she holds out her hand to me.
I stare, trying not to look like a drooling idiot. Her hand is small and soft in mine when she shakes it, but her grip is firm, professional. Why does that turn me on so much? I ignore my painfully hard cock. Right now, my pig’s health is all that matters. “Call me Beckett,” I manage to mutter.
The stunning vet glances up at me, all business. “How long has he been lethargic?”
I run through the night in my head, my brain an absolute mess. “He was fine yesterday. Ate normally, my dog walker took him on two walks, and he terrorized the recycling bin before bed. Then I woke up around four a.m. to him puking.”
She moves fast, professional—stethoscope, thermometer, gentle prodding around Beans’ middle while talking to him in a soft, soothing voice. Her hair keeps falling in her face, and the way she tucks it behind her ear makes my fingers tingle to feel for myself if it’s as silky as it appears.
Get your shit together, Hot. I push my thoughts about the gorgeous vet to the back of my mind. First, I need to make sure my baby is okay, and then I can decide how to handle my crazy feelings for Elsie Berg.