Page 28 of Wishing Hearts

After scarfing down a granola bar, I grab my laptop and spread out atop my mattress. It only takes a single Google search to find the information I’m looking for. There’s exactly one Harrison Bailey, DVM who works near Houston. Jackpot.

With a smile on my face and the memory of heated skin under my fingertips, I fall asleep, dreams spinning webs inside my head.

Chapter 9

Harrison

“He’s at it again,” my coworker, Deborah, whispers.

“Oh, Christ,” I mutter, following her line of sight to where Abbott, the oldest veterinarian at our practice, is scolding the copy machine. “I’ll go help.”

Abbott scowls at me when he sees me coming. The man has been working here since the eighties, and although he’s by no means a bad veterinarian, he’s stuck in his ways, and his techniques and practices—as well as his understanding of modern technology—are out of date. But Doctor Abbott Fry owns a prominent majority of this practice, which means, until he decides to retire, the rest of us have to make do with his more-than-occasional bad tempers and propensity for yelling at the electronics.

“Can I lend a hand?” I ask Abbott.

He grunts, his white hair matching his lab coat. He’s one of the only vets here who wears one all the time. “Damn thing won’t print the copy.”

The vet techs, I notice, have made themselves scarce. I don’t blame them. Abbott isn’t easy to deal with on a good day.

“The original needs to go inside,” I say, lifting the top of the copy machine to show him where.

Abbott grumbles, grabbing his paper from the feed tray in back and slapping it over the scanner. “I got it,” he says, waving me off.

I nod and walk back over to Deborah, who’s shaking her head.

“That man is a dinosaur,” she says under her breath.

I huff a laugh, which I quickly dispel. “He’s trying.”

“He is not,” she responds. “You’re just too damn sweet to say a bad word ’bout anyone. You and I both know he doesn’t wanna learn. He doesn’t want help.”

I shrug because while that may be true, part of me feels bad for Abbott. He’s been here for decades, and everything has changed around him. Sure, I think he could have put in more effort to evolve over the years. To learn and grow. But he didn’t. He’s held onto what he knows, and there’s something sad about that. About watching a person fade into the background of their own world.

The sentiment hits a little too close to home.

“Deb, I’m going to take my break,” I tell my coworker.

She nods. “Headin’ to lunch?”

“Yeah, I…” My words die off as the front door opens and a familiar figure I’m not expecting in the least comes strutting through the lobby. His head swivels around, taking everything in with bright eyes, and when his gaze lands on me, a slow smile spreads across his face.

My heartbeat trips.

“Can I help you?” one of the vet techs asks, having headed back to the front desk.

Sam flicks his gaze to her for only a moment, but then he nods at me. “I’m here for him.”

Oh damn. Damn.

“Yum,” Deborah mutters too quietly for anyone but me to hear.

I swat her arm before stepping out from behind the big curved reception desk. “Sam?”

His grin doesn’t let up, but something in his gaze softens as I approach. He’s wearing a dark blue uniform with a shiny silver badge on his breast pocket, and the effect has my mouth drying up in an instant.

I didn’t think he could get hotter than when he was in his cowboy getup. Guess I was wrong.

“I see you already forgot my name,” Sam teases. Right, because I didn’t call him Sammy.

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