Page 26 of Wishing Hearts

“That’s all right.”

Harrison shakes his head, his blue eyes sad. “I just… I need to think about it, okay?”

I nod, even though every fiber of my being wants to press. Wants him to acquiesce before he leaves.

Tucking my fingers into his belt loops, I say, “Okay. You think about it. But Harrison?”

“Yeah, Sam,” he breathes.

“Just keep in mind that if you say yes… If you’re mine”—I bring my lips to his stubbled cheek—“I will fuckin’ worship you. I will make you feel good.”

His hands land on my abs, trembling.

“Every inch of you,” I promise. “Your lips, your cock, your pinkie toes, even, if that’s what you want.” Mouth at his ear, I nip gently. “There won’t be a single day where you don’t know what you mean to me.”

Harrison lets out a shaky breath. “You’ve got a mouth on you, Sam.”

“Mm,” I answer, leaning back. “So lemme make good use of it.”

Harrison holds my gaze for two beats before stepping back somewhat reluctantly. I let go, watching as he snags his gear bag off the exam table. He rubs his hand over his mouth before eyeing me.

“I have to go,” he says.

“All right,” I answer, knowing I’ve said my piece.

Harrison grabs his hat off the ground, holding it in his hand as he simply stares at me for a moment. It feels like a lifetime, those brief few seconds. And then he plops his hat back on his head and strides away.

I turn, watching him go, eyes running all over the back of his neck where his blonde hair curls gently, his broad back, and his ass in those jeans. When he turns the corner out of the barn, I let out a sigh, shoulders slumping.

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either.

It’s not until a good three minutes later that something clicks in my brain, and I take off running after him. Harrison is nowhere in sight—not him or his truck—and the dust in the driveway has already settled.

“Shit,” I yell, hands landing on my knees as I try to catch my breath after the brief sprint.

“Everythin’ all right?” Carl asks from about ten feet away.

I push upright. “No. No, it ain’t all right, Carl. I didn’t get the man’s number.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Carl hiccups a laugh. He covers his mouth, doing his best to hide his amusement, but he fails spectacularly.

Pointing his way, I warn, “Not a word.” He holds up his hands, still laughing, and I groan, looking up at the dusky evening sky. “Unbelievable. Of all the goddamn stupid things.”

I forgot to get his phone number.

“What are you gonna do?” Carl asks.

I sigh, meeting my coworker’s gaze. “He’s a vet who lives within twenty minutes of Houston. I’ll find the damn man.”

And I will. I didn’t get nearly long enough with him. I’m not ready to let go. Not until Harrison tells me to.

“C’mon,” I tell Carl, heading toward Tilda, stationed not far off. “The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can go home.”

And the sooner I can find one Doctor Harrison Bailey.

It’s midweek when Carl, Tilda, and I get back to Houston. We spent several days hauling animals across the state, relocating them to new homes in singles, doubles, or larger groups. Luckily, our Animal Control unit approved the allocation of resources, so it’s not like any of us got in trouble for being away so long.

As soon as we’re back, though, Carl and I get inundated with a stack of animal cruelty reports that built up in our absence. We spend an entire day driving around, looking into the claims. Unsurprisingly, no one wants to admit to neglecting their animals. It’s often slow going, making progress in these cases. But we get the ball rolling, and then we head back to fill out all the necessary paperwork.

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