Page 14 of A Stable Daddy

“You did the hard part,” I tell him, unable to keep from smiling. “I’ll be there in about twenty to give mum and baby a check over, though. Go get yourself washed up.”

He thanks me effusively, tells me that someone named ‘Ozzy’ will be waiting for me at the main gate, and then hangs up. Using my hands-free system, I call Sarah, my receptionist-slash-vet nurse, and ask her to reschedule my afternoon appointments to tomorrow, taking a moment to explain what’s happened and where I am.

“Bring me a pack of caramel Tim Tams when you get back to town?” she asks playfully. “Y’know, to make up for having to tell Mr. Ziggenfuse that you can’t see his baby today?”

Michael Ziggenfuse is extremely precious about his cat. I figure there’s a story of some sort there. Nevertheless, I chuckle at Sarah’s request. I can only imagine how well that conversation is going to go.

“I’ll bring you two packs,” I agree. “Thanks, Sez.”

“Make sure you get some caffeine in you if you’re planning on making the drive back to town tonight,” she says before I can end the call. Even though she’s barely twenty-five, Sarah gets very maternal and concerned if she thinks I’m not taking proper care of myself.

I have to admit, it is nice having someone look out for me that way. It fills some of the void since Maddy died.

“I will,” I assure her. “I’m sure the guys at the station will be happy to refill my thermos, too.”

“Hmm,” she replies, not sounding entirely convinced. I can hear her tapping away at her keyboard before she says, “I’m playing with your schedule for tomorrow so you can have a proper lie-in, seeing as you’re going to be driving for so long tonight. I don’t want to see you in the clinic until nine, do you hear me, Ryan Sharp?”

“Nine?!” I protest. “Sarah—”

“Nine,” she cuts me off firmly. “Not a minute earlier. Am I understood?”

Submissive to the core, I back off and make a sound of affirmation at the back of my throat. “Yes, ma’am. Nine a.m. No earlier.”

Sarah chuckles before we say our goodbyes and end the call. My GPS leads me to the big, wrought-iron gates of Wombat Run Station ten minutes later, supported on either side by thick brick posts, each one topped with a grey statue of a horse rearing back on its hind legs. Each of the gates also has what I assume is the station’s logo —the outline of a wombat bracketed by a drawing of a gumleaf and two gumnuts— set into the iron. The gates are shut, but just as I’m reaching for my phone to call Dusty back, another ute comes rambling down the long, red dirt driveway, kicking up a cloud of red dust on its way to me. It comes to a stop a couple of metres away from the gate.

I roll down my window as the driver climbs out before the dust has even settled, and thanks to the sun being injustthe wrong spot, all I can see through the glare and the dust is the silhouette of a wide-brimmed hat, broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, and thick thighs encased in denim.

God, but I do love living in the country.

“Doctor Sharp, I assume?” the stranger calls jovially as he saunters through the dust cloud he caused.

I don’t know if it’s my recent musings about my Daddy cowboy, but I swear this guy has a similar American accent. My heart gives a little tug and I almost forget to call back, “Sure am! And you’re Ozzy?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, voice still raised to account for the distance between him and my ute. “I’ll get the gate open; you drive on through and follow the driveway to the main house. I’ll close the gate behind us and meet y’all on up there.”

That’s definitely an American accent…

I squint into the glare of the sun, wishing I could make out more of the guy’s features. He sounds young, like my cowboy Daddy was, and I wonder if he’s just as attractive. Then I give myself a shake because this level of projecting isn’t healthy. “Sounds like a plan.”

The gates creak as he unlocks them and wrenches them wide open, and I drive through the gap he’s created when he waves me through. I glance through my rear-view mirror in an attempt to catch a better glimpse of him, but then I focus back on the bumpy driveway, following it until a large, sprawling homestead comes into view.

I pull up my ute next to a line of similar vehicles and climb out of the driver’s seat, going around to the tray to pull out my medical bag. I’m clipping the tonneau cover back over the edge of the tray when Ozzy parks his ute beside mine. Not long after, his doorclunksshut, and his boots crunch in the gravel and dirt as he approaches me.

“It’s nice to properly meet you, Doctor Shar—no freakin’ way.” Oscar’s pleasant, casual tone shifts to match the shock currently rocketing through my body as I turn to greet him. He’s just as handsome as I remember, if a little more tanned from constant exposure to the Western Australian sun. His eyes are wide right now, and the smile on his face is one of awed disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”

“Neither can I.” I blink back at him with my heart in my throat. I’d only been thinking about him a couple of hours ago and now he’s literally standing within arms’ reach. It’s like my daydreaming manifested him or something. I wonder if that works with lotto numbers, too, because these odds seem just as impossible. “Wow.”

I have no idea what to do in this situation. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever again see the man whorescued me when I was at my lowest point. The first man —theonlyman— I’ve ever called Daddy.

The only man I’d like to continue calling Daddy.

I’m torn between maintaining my professional façade and launching myself at Oscar, wanting to recapture some of the comfort I’d felt when he’d held me in his arms in his hotel room.

But then I have to acknowledge that it has been over two months since that night, and I don’t really know all that much about him. He could be in a relationship. He might not do repeats.

He might not be out.

As jagged a pill as that thought is to swallow, I can’t help thinking it. After all, he’s working on a station in outback Australia: I know I’m stereotyping, but it’s a rugged, hyper-masculine sort of environment, and I know from experience that most blokey-blokes out here don’t react well to open displays of homosexuality. Admittedly, attitudes have been changing over time, with younger generations much more open and welcoming, but country mindsets seem to take longer to change than those in urban settings.

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