Page 16 of Wishing Hearts

I shake my head. “That’s fucked up,” I mutter.

“Totally fudged?” Sam says.

I look at him in surprise, and there’s a smirk resting on his lips. It takes me a moment to remember he heard me say the same phrase yesterday, and for a good couple seconds, my heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe.

“Yeah,” I finally manage. “Totally fudged.”

Sam grabs a lead rope. “Ready to get started?”

“You see a lot of this, don’t you?” I ask, instead of answering his question. “Neglect.”

It’s not the same for me. Yes, I see animals in poor condition, but I’m involved because their owners called or brought their pets in. It’s not because they don’t care.

But Sam works in Animal Control. It’s different.

“Yeah, I do,” he says simply.

“I’m sorry.”

His lips twitch into the slightest smile as his eyes drift along my face, down and then up again. “Thanks, Harrison,” he says, and it’s so simple and so pure that I can’t find a single retort.

Sam turns without another word and heads out of the barn. I see him vault the worn fence around the sheep pasture and can’t help but chuckle. The man has boundless energy.

Sam comes back a few minutes later with an ewe in tow. She looks healthy enough, but I won’t know for sure until I examine her. As I check her over, Sam leaves to grab another sheep, and for the next few hours, that’s what we do. Sam brings me animals to examine; I clean up minor wounds and separate those with foot scald away from the rest. And for a solid hour before lunch arrives, we work together to shear the overgrown, matted fleece off the animals he brought in during the morning.

We’re washing up in the big double sink inside the barn when Doc Hanson shows up, looking as if he hasn’t slept a wink in the past forty-eight hours. I wouldn’t put it past the man. He always did work himself to the bone.

“Heya, Harrison,” he says before giving Sam a greeting and a nod. “How’s it goin’ over here?”

“Not bad, all things considered,” I answer. “We’re through—what? About half the sheep?”

“That’s right,” Sam says.

Doc Hanson nods. “Good, good. I’ll send Cooper your way once he’s done with surgeries.”

“Cooper?” I ask.

“My new employee,” the doc says. His lips twist into a smile. “The new you.”

I huff an acknowledgement, and Sam looks over at me in clear curiosity.

“Havin’ an extra hand should help speed things along,” Doc Hanson says just as a shout rings out.

“Jake.”

“Oh, Lord,” the doc mutters before flashing a wide smile. “What is it, Nash?”

Nash, the restaurant and bar owner in town—and the doc’s best friend as of the last time I was here—strides into view at the opening to the barn. “You needa eat somethin’.”

Doc Hanson rolls his eyes, but Nash simply steps closer, bracketing his hand along the doc’s neck.

Well, that’s new.

“I mean it, Jake,” Nash says, softening his tone. “You haven’t taken a proper break since this started, and I don’t want you fallin’ on your face.”

Doc Hanson’s lips twitch, and he notches his head our way. “Nash, you remember Harrison.” Nash looks over at me in surprise as the doc adds, “And that’s Sammy.”

“Oh,” Nash says, dropping his hand. It doesn’t go far, however, finding a home on the doc’s lower back. “O’course. Hey, Harrison. It’s good to see you.”

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