Page 21 of Talk About… Trouble

I was strong. I just happened to be so out of my element lately that I didn’t know what was up or down anymore.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking how much I miss my old job. I was a vet tech before everything happened, and before that, I worked with an animal rescue. I think I really miss that part of my life.”

Her eyes lit up as I finished speaking, practically vibrating with the need to tell me whatever she thought of.

“Wait, that’s perfect! Hailey was just telling me that the local rescue farm was looking for a trained tech to work with the animals. Since it’s a rescue, they need a little more help than just a caretaker. I can get you the details if you want.”

“Actually, yes,” I said, not wanting to pass up the opportunity. My therapist told me to settle in and take time off or I would go crazy.

Working on a farm would mean fresh air and working with animals again. It sounded perfect.

Maybe this was a sign that things were turning around.

It had to be.

Shepherd

“Come on, Mabel, please move,” I grunted as I tried to push the giant potbelly pig out of my way so I could get into the barn. She simply snorted at me and, I swear, gave me the sassiest side eye. “Look, I’ll give you a treat after, you brat.”

She slowly tottered away but I knew she’d be waiting right by that door to hold me to my word. I swear these animals were smarter than half the humans I’d met and twice as snarky.

My little rescue farm had turned into a whole sanctuary for the feistiest animals in the country. If it wasn’t Mabel trying to bully me, it was the emu Tank, or the cranky alpaca, Astrid, who spit at everyone… including me.

Aside from them, I had about a dozen chickens, a handful of goats, several dogs, cats, and even a slew of rabbits.

It was exhausting and I was desperate for help. Unfortunately the only workers I could find were ranch handsand they weren’t exactly able to keep up with a potbelly pig with diabetes or a dog with wheels.

I needed a vet tech so I could take a fucking breath once in a while.

A horn blared from outside and I tossed the last of the fresh hay down in the stalls before heading out to see what was going on. I wasn’t expecting any supply deliveries today and my last farmhand quit after getting spit on one too many times courtesy of Astrid.

When I walked out to see Braxton climbing out of his car I bit back a groan. Don’t get me wrong, the beta was the closest person I had to a real friend, but he always had some new charge for me to take on.

“No. I’m full,” I grumbled as I approached. He had the decency to blush and give me an apologetic smile.

“You know I can’t just let them suffer or be killed,” he pleaded. “I’d say ‘last one’ but we both know it would be a lie.”

“Your white knight complex is making me poor,” I countered. It was only a half-truth. He made sure the vet clinic he ran had enough funding to sponsor Harding Animal Rescue and Rehabilitation Farm. Which meant I saved an insane amount on vet visits and medication for my ragtag group of animals.

“Just wait,” he said, giving me a strained grin. I watched with more than a little suspicion as he rounded the transport truck to the back, opening up the back to reveal a small highland cow calf. She was watching us with big cautious eyes, her red fur falling into her eyes a bit and she was a bit unruly at the moment.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. He knew I didn’t like to tiptoe around reality. “Hit me with it so we can figure it out and move on.”

“She was the runt of the litter and had failure to thrive. Medically, she checks out just fine and I suspect they just didn’t treat her right because she was timid.”

The dark look in his eyes spoke volumes. It took a lot to rile up Brax and right now he looked like he could punch her previous owners. I’d seen him like this a time or two and it was part of the reason I couldn’t say no. He had a big heart and had, apparently, decided that we should be friends. It was more that I was adopted as a friend than that we’d mutually decided.

“Come on, girl,” I said gently, holding out a hand. The way she flinched told me that he was right. She’d have to go into the smaller barn until she adjusted. The sassy crew wouldn’t be good for her nature just yet.

“The bastards never gave her a name so the girls called her Poppy. It fits her,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he watched me stroke her fur.

It wasn’t just the beta who gave into these animals, I was really a big softy for them, too. Which was exactly how I’d ended up building a second barn out here.

Thanks to the petting zoo we ran on weekends and my inheritance from my grandfather, I’d been able to keep this place going. Though, sometimes the funds were a little too tight for comfort. Without this arrangement with Braxton I’d have a whole lot less animals around here.

“Where’s my boy?” he asked as I climbed out of the back of the truck, letting out a long whistle and laughing as Pretzel, our old basset hound, came ambling around the corner on his too small legs. He had a skin condition that meant medicated baths and fancy lotions, but otherwise he was a healthy boy.

A laugh escaped me as Braxton flopped right down on the ground and Pretzel half ran, half tripped on his ears, to hop right into the beta’s lap like he belonged there.

---