Page 47 of The Way Back Home

“Because I have to stop by the clinic and check on Betty.”

“Right.” He steels his jaw and sets my bike back down on the ground.

My brow creases. I lean against the tailgate so he can’t put it up. “What is your problem with him?”

“Nothin’.” August’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “He don’t mean shit to me.”

“Right,” I say with half a grin. “That’s why you get so defensive when I bring him up.”

“I don’t get defensive,” he says. “What you do in your spare time has nothing to do with me.”

My smile falters. “Come on now, don’t be like that.”

“I ain’t being like anything. I just gotta get home and get Bett fed and into bed.”

“Okay, well, I guess it’s frozen pizza tonight?”

“Don’t worry about it. My kid sister isn’t your concern.”

“Oh, my Lord,” I say, exasperated. “You know, you really are a shit sometimes.”

“A shit?” he says, amused now. “Well, then, apologies princess. I didn’t realize I was such a pain in your ass. You have a nice night with the doc now, you hear?”

Asshole. I refrain from punching him in his pretty face and thank Dalton one last time for the day’s work, then I climb on my bike and ride away before August can start the engine on his piece-of-crap Chevy. It isn’t long before he zooms past me in a cloud of gravel and dust.Double asshole.

When I finally make it to the clinic, I knock on the door, even though it says they’re closed. I called earlier today, and Jude’s secretary told me plainly that the doc didn’t work after hours. I’d understood that, and I’d been all too willing to agree to come in first thing in the morning, but a beat later there was a clunk. I thought she’d hung up on me, but it turned out Jude had overheard and decided he wanted to talk to me himself. He politely told his secretary that he’d see to my phone call personally.

It takes a few minutes for Jude to answer the door, and when he does, I’m surprised to find him not in his scrubs, but in jeans and a dress shirt. I look down at my own clothing. I’m in jean cutoffs, and my T-shirt and arms are splattered with paint. Not exactly my finest outfit.

“Hi,” I say with a wave. “I hope I’m not late? I can come back tomorrow if you’d rather—”

“No, you’re right on time. I have someone who I think will be excited to see you, and supper’s nearly ready.”

“Supper?” I say, confused, and then it dawns on me that he thought I was asking for a date.Oh God. That is so not what I meant to imply. “Oh, I . . . um . . . I didn’t mean—”

“I know, but I thought you’d appreciate a meal after a long day, and I always make extra.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Everyone’s gotta eat, Olivia.” He pulls me inside, and I follow him through the clinic past the obscure paintings. The familiar scents of antiseptic and animal assault my nose. “Besides, you’d be doing me a favor. If you eat my portion of the Thai noodles, I won’t get fat.”

“You made Thai? What are you, Superman?”

“Well, you haven’t tasted it yet.” He shrugs. “Come on, we’ll go see your girl first. She’s doing well today.”

“She is?”

“Great, even. Her appetite has returned, and she’s moving around a fair bit—a little too much for my liking.”

I follow him through to the recovery rooms out back. It’s quiet, but there’s a little snuffling when the doc turns on the light.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I whisper at the piglet that’s now sitting upright in her crate, her sleepy eyes looking up at me and her tail wagging furiously. Before this, I never knew pigs could wag their tails, and it’s the sweetest damn thing I ever saw.

Doc gets her out of the cage, and I coo and coddle her for a long time there on the clinic floor. She has this wirey down that covers her body and tickles my arms as she nuzzles into my lap.

“She should be ready to go home in a day or two.”

“Home,” I sigh. “I don’t know where that is right now. I can’t keep a pig at a bed and breakfast.”

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