Page 15 of Wishing Hearts

Me: Thanks. Keep me updated.

When I look up, Sam is watching me. He doesn’t ask what was on my phone.

“Ready to go?” he says instead.

“Bathroom,” I mutter, grabbing my own jeans and passing Sam as I head into the hallway. I stare at myself for a good long minute in the mirror, seeing the bags under my eyes and the lines in my face that weren’t there even five years ago. I run a hand through my dark blonde hair but don’t bother styling it, seeing as I’ll throw my hat on anyhow.

I look tired. Older than I used to. More worn down than a guy like Sam deserves.

Heading back into the bedroom, I change out my shirt for a clean one. Sam is waiting in the living room, thumbing through his phone. He looks up when I enter, a smile leaping to his face. He has that belt on again—the one with the bull-shaped buckle. Or maybe it’s a Longhorn. Lord knows there are plenty of them around here. I don’t know why, but the sight of that buckle makes my throat dry up in an instant.

Yes, you do know why, my brain scolds. I’ve always loved a cowboy. And while Sam isn’t one in actuality, he looks the damn part.

“Ready,” I say, grabbing my keys and hoping there’s coffee waiting at Mr. Calhoun’s.

Sam follows me out the door and heads to his own truck. He gives me a salute before saying, “See you soon.” And then he’s driving away, and I’m following him down the dirt roads of Plum Valley.

Sam pulls into an empty spot among the vehicles already parked along Mr. Calhoun’s long drive, and I follow suit. Tilda is standing near what looks to be a breakfast buffet, and I thank my lucky stars when I see a big metal coffee carafe. After grabbing my gear bag and putting on my hat, I head that way, trying not to focus on the fact that I can see Sam in my periphery, heading the same direction as me.

“Mornin’, Doctor Bailey,” Tilda says cheerfully as I approach. A moment later, she adds, “Sammy.”

“Good mornin’, Tilly,” Sam returns with equal cheer. He grabs two waxy paper cups at the coffee carafe, handing one to me without even looking my way. “Any news to report?”

While Tilda briefs Sam on the progress with the animals here, I fill up my cup with steaming black coffee and then discreetly look around the property. All I see are strangers.

It’s odd to think about how that might not be the case had I stayed. If I still lived here, I might recognize some of these people. So much would be different.

I push the thought away, focusing on the conversation as Sam sets his gaze on me.

“Ready to get back to work?” he asks. “I’m on sheep with you again.”

Sam’s warm brown eyes sparkle in the early morning light, and I can’t help but huff a laugh.

“Oh, you are, are you?” I shoot back. “Wonder how that happened.”

“I ain’t got a clue,” Sam says, refilling his coffee as Tilda shakes her head.

“All right,” I mumble, topping off my own cup. “Let’s get out there.”

Sam and I are quiet as we trek the short distance to the faded red structure. There are a few other barns on the property, too, as well as a myriad of other buildings. Sheds, lean-tos, even a pavilion that could have once been beautiful. Now, the wood is splintering apart, and the white paint is almost completely peeled away.

It’s a pretty good representation of this place, actually.

“You know what I don’t get?” I say as Sam throws the barn doors wide.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“If he had all these animals here, how didn’t anyone know? I get that he’s set far back from the road, so if he didn’t have visitors and if his neighbors were too far away to hear them or distinguish them from others nearby, I can understand how it slipped unnoticed in that regard. But didn’t he have to buy enough feed and straw to draw someone’s attention in town?”

Sam gives me a sad little look. “I actually have an answer for that,” he says, checking in on the sheep we left quarantined inside the barn last night while I set my tools on the exam table. “He visited his daughter every week. That’s why she checked in on him in the first place. He missed their usual get-together, so she came lookin’. Found ’im and these animals. Anyways, she said he’d always come with his trailer in tow. He claimed he liked to haul his trash to a dump in her town ’cause it was cheaper, and he was already in the area, so why not?”

“But he was buying supplies before he left?” I guess.

Sam nods, dumping some pellets into a big rubber bowl for the sheep. They converge right away to mow down the food. All of the animals here will have to be steadily introduced to a more nutrient-rich diet. They’re far too skinny as is.

“Why go through all the trouble?” I wonder aloud. “Why keep these animals if he wasn’t going to take care of them?”

“’Cause sometimes,” Sam says slowly, “folks don’t care as much about what’s best for the animals. Only for themselves. Mr. Calhoun liked havin’ these creatures around, for whatever reason, and he didn’t care that he was hurtin’ them in the process.”

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