Page 1 of Wishing Hearts

Chapter 1

Harrison

As the cow-shaped road sign for Plum Valley, Texas comes into view, I breathe a silent curse. This sounded like a much better idea last night when I was still four hours away and the idea of returning was this vague hypothetical. But now that my wheels are rolling past that big ol’ cow denoting the border of town, the reality of the situation is smacking me in the face. I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake, coming back here.

It’s been ten years since I left Plum Valley. I never thought I’d return.

But how could I refuse? Doc Hanson called me directly and said he needed help. I wasn’t about to tell him no.

It’s still early morning—the ass-crack of dawn to be precise—but that doesn’t mean much here. Plenty of folk are already up and about, working the ranch land or heading that way now, their trucks passing mine on the dusty dirt roads. A few wave out their windows.

Small towns.

I follow the directions on my GPS to the location Doc Hanson gave me—the address of the house where over 500 animals were discovered in a hoarding situation after their owner ended up ill. The man’s daughter came into town to check up on him after he missed a visit, but what she found was more than her sick, bedridden father. Neither she, nor anyone else around here, had any idea that Amos Calhoun had been collecting—and neglecting—animals of all kinds.

And as I pull down the long driveway into Mr. Calhoun’s property and get my first glimpse of the absolute mayhem onsite, the reason for my return to Plum Valley is clear. There’s no way I could have turned my back on this many abused animals.

“Shit,” I mutter, parking my truck behind another in a long line of vehicles at the side of the drive.

I grab my gear bag full of medical supplies from the passenger seat but stall before exiting my truck. My heart is pounding a little too heavily, and it doesn’t require any guessing on my part to understand why.

My eyes dart around the clearing where countless men and women are moving about, tending to the organized chaos on Mr. Calhoun’s grounds. There are cowboy hats everywhere, which makes it hard to get a good look at faces, but I wouldn’t need to see his face. I’d recognize him from body language alone, the man who was responsible for my leaving town. And right now, he’s not here.

Blowing out a breath, I push open the door and step out of my truck. Dust kicks up when my boots hit the dirt—must’ve been a while since it’s rained in this part of the Texas Hill Country—and I twist to grab my hat from the backseat. I’ve barely placed it on my head when a voice calls out my name.

“Harrison.”

Turning, I set eyes on my boss from so many years ago. “Doc.”

Doctor Jake Hanson shakes his head as he approaches. His brown hair whips around his face, and his smile is the same as I remember. “Just Jake,” he says for what must be the thousandth time. He grabs my hand in a hearty shake. “It’s good to see you, Harrison.”

“Mm,” I reply, knowing my own thoughts on the matter are best left unsaid. It is good to see Doc Hanson again—the man was always kind to me—but everything else about being back here has my mind spun tight like a thick ball of wool. “How bad is it?”

The question is mostly rhetorical. I can see exactly how bad it is, and Doc Hanson’s grimace confirms as much.

“We’re still sussin’ through it all, but there are a lotta animals here in need of medical attention. That’s what I’d like you to help out with. Patchin’ up minor injuries and whatnot. See Tilda in the blue shirt over there?” He points, and I give a nod. “She’s runnin’ point. Check in with her to see where you’re needed, all right?”

“I can do that,” I agree easily.

Doc Hanson nods, hands on his hips as he looks around the premises. The man looks older than my recollections, but it has been a decade since I saw him last. I’m sure I look older, too.

After shaking his head one more time, he claps me on the shoulder. “All right, then. Lunch’ll be served around noon, so make sure you stop to take a break. And lemme know if you need anythin’. I’ll be back at the clinic dealin’ with surgeries, but you can always call. We’ve got a long couple days ahead of us.”

I have no doubt. Even from a distanced glance, I can see the conditions of not only some of the animals here, but the squalor they’ve been living in. This won’t be an easy job.

“And hey,” Doc Hanson goes on, mouth tightening some. “Thanks again for comin’. I can’t imagine it was an easy decision for you.”

“It was, actually,” I tell the man. Not a welcome decision, but an easy one. “And thanks, Jake. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

He gives me a nod and heads off, and after one more brief visual sweep of the folks gathered around, I head toward Tilda in the blue shirt.

“Hey, hun,” the woman says, eyeing the bag in my hand as I approach. “You here to help?”

“Yeah. I’m Doctor Bailey. DVM,” I clarify, hefting up my bag, as if it’s necessary.

“Great,” she says with an abundance of cheer considering what we’re here for. “I’m Tilda, your taskmaster for the day.”

I huff a laugh, and Tilda smiles.

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