Page 6 of Tough Love

I snip the stretched and bent wire and slide it out of the holes in the weathered, splintered posts. Reed has always liked to offer sage advice when it’s not wanted. I’ve gotten used to ignoring him. But something in my gut twists with that particular piece of advice. Because, deep down, I know he’s right.

He’s not the only one, either. Jemma knew it. I’m hard to love. Don’t open up easily and get invested even less easily. As much as I hate to admit it, I am a chip off the old block. Harry’s right hand, and on the hard days, his fall guy. His yes-man.

Kind of a rite of passage being the oldest, I reckon. But we are more alike than I care to admit. Even through my carpentry apprenticeship, I felt different to the other guys. Not the fun-loving, partying type that the rest of my class was.

Ma calls me an old soul. But I’m about ninety-five percent sure that’s her diplomatic way of saying I am a boring grump.

“Like I mean, seriously, Huddo. Look at you. Lean, mean, and all muscle. A Stetson, blue t-shirt, and Wranglers. Brown hair, blue eyes for years. And that jaw... Now, you gotthatfrom the old man, you lucky prick. You’re not bad on the eyes, big brother. Ma’s got a point. The ladies are missing out. Let someone in, Hudson, anyone. I’m begging you!”

I toss the pliers at his head, and he ducks. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face.

“Shut up, Reed. More posts, less words.”

“You know, women are always asking about you when I’m out. I know at least three that would die to climb you like a tree. You’re not gonna be short of choices.” He winks at me andshoulders another post. Cocky little upstart. Trust him to take Ma’s side.

Mama’s boy.

Chapter Two

ADDY

The machines attached to the horse’s muzzle hiss and whir. The green material draped over the gelding’s body rises and falls with the steady rhythm of its breathing. I clamp off the last of the small vessels and cauterize it. The dank tang of burning flesh creeps behind my mask, but I don’t even care.

I did it.

The final surgery of the day. One more patient fixed up and on the road to recovery.

“Excellent work, Addy. Stitch him up. I’ll meet you outside to talk to the owners,” Joe says. He’s my mentor of three years—during my last year of vet school and the two years I have interned under his wing in the New York Equine Veterinary Clinic. Of all the places to intern, this was a magnificent opportunity.

And I would stay here in a heartbeat, if I wanted a narrow field of focus. But I want to learn from others and garner experience from every horse industry I can. I plant the last stitch into the gelding and hand him over to the very capable nurses.

Pushing through the swinging theater doors, I pull off my face mask and untie the cord at the back of my gown and tossthem all into the linen cart. Now down to my scrubs, I wander through the next set of doors to where Joe and the owners wait in the well-lit hall.

“Here she is now. Addy, how is Bandit?”

“He’s doing great. Just closed up, and his vitals are stable. The recovery should be straightforward.”

The man and woman stand with polite smiles, their high-end clothes immaculate. Her blonde hair is styled and neat, his brown hair swept to the side, and they release a collective breath. “Thank goodness. That gelding is worth a fortune. Out of competition is not ideal. Thank you for your work, Doctor... ?”

“Dr. Howard. But you can call me Addy.” A smile blooms over my face. I will never tire of being called Dr. Howard, but Addy is much better.

“Thank you, Addy,” the woman says, gripping my hands with hers.

“You’re most welcome.”

“Right, well, I will show you to recovery. You can wait for Bandit to come to, if you like?” Joe says to the owners.

“Yes, absolutely.”

They follow him as he shows them down the hallway and through the next set of swinging double doors. I lean on the wall, blowing out a breath. It’s so surreal to be done. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I open my eyes. The instant I glance at the name, I smile. Dad.

I swipe the screen.

All done! Adds, we are so stinkin’ proud of you, my girl.

Thanks, Dad.

Your mom wants to know if you have time to come over for lunch tomorrow, to celebrate?

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