Page 101 of Lassoed Love

The weekend sun crawls into the room, illuminating the silence that’s been suffocating me for days. Sunday morning, and I haven’t heard a damn thing from Isla. Not a text, not a call. Nothing. It’s like I’ve been erased from her world.

Bradley, the bearer of unwelcome news, had ambushed me on Friday. He said he’d had a ‘civilised conversation’ with her. The words hit me like a sledgehammer. My chest tightens, the air sucked out of my lungs. She’s talking about me with Bradley, and I’m left grappling with the aftermath. That’s how it’s been since Thursday—a vicious cycle. Wake up, immerse myself in the grind, forget to eat, endure my mother’s nagging, sleep, and repeat. Anything to avoid dwelling on the fuckery that’s become my life.

I’m fucking angry. Fuming. Seething. How the hell could she be so blind? I get the whole ‘needing space’ thing with her father in a coma, but to dismiss what we have as ‘whatever’—that’s a kick deep in the gut. The kind that makes you hunch over in pain.

I’m not some soft pushover, but I can’t shake these damn feelings. Can’t stop thinking about it. I need a distractionbefore I do something I’ll regret. So, I bury myself in work around the farm, ploughing through the fields, letting the physical exertion be a pathetic substitute for the emotional turmoil I’m drowning in.

She’s pushed me away, and we never even got the chance to begin. I’m fucking lost, angry, and confused. I need to find a way to dull the sharp edges of this pain, even if it’s just for a moment. Anything to silence the thoughts of her that won’t stop echoing in my mind.

I need to drown out the noise in my head, and the rhythmic routine of herding the cows might just be the distraction I need. Old Buddy, loyal but showing his age, lumbers beside me as we head to the paddocks. His steps aren’t as spry as they used to be, and I’ve been contemplating getting another dog.

We reach the paddock, and the cows graze lazily, oblivious to the turmoil in my mind. Buddy and I work in tandem, a dance we’ve perfected over the years. The herding process is a well-choreographed routine—a mix of whistles, commands, and the occasional nudge—to keep the cows in line. The dust swirls around us as we guide them to the fresh pasture.

As we wrap up, Buddy panting by my side, the thought of a new dog lingers. But where the hell do I find one? Then it hits me—Isla mentioned an Australian Kelpie they look after at the clinic. A surge of hope courses through me.

I pull my phone from my pocket, dialling the clinic’s number. It rings for an eternity before being unceremoniously dumped into voicemail. I brace for whatever bureaucratic message awaits, and sure enough, Katy’s voice spills through the speaker.

“Hello, this is Katy from Wattle Creek Veterinary Clinic. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we regret to inform you that the clinic will be temporarily closed. For any inquiries or urgent matters, please contact me directly at—” and she rattles off a mobile number, “We appreciate your understanding during this challenging time.”

I wince at the formality and the inevitable chaos these circumstances have unleashed. Regardless, I mentally jot down the number Katy rattles off and dial it, the tone chiming as I wait for her to pick up.

The phone rings, each tone intensifying my impatience until, finally, Katy answers. Her voice is rushed,

“Hello, this is Katy. Wattle Creek Veterinary Clinic,” she answers, the undertone of stress evident in her voice.

I clear my throat, “Uh, hi, it’s Xavier… Mitchell,” I reply, my tone gruff but laced with a thin veil of politeness.

“Oh, Xavier, dear. I’m so sorry to hear what happened with my dear Isla. How is she going? I tried to call her, but she must be busy with... you know—” Katy interjects.

I sigh, my frustration momentarily giving way to a sense of understanding. “Not sure. I haven’t been with her since Thursday—” I trail off, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I was calling about that Kelpie you guys have. Is she still up for adoption?”

There’s a pause on the other end before Katy responds, concern evident in her tone. “Thursday? Oh my, why? What’s happened?”

“It’s a long story,” I dismiss, not in the mood for details.

“Oh my, okay, dear. You mentioned Luna?” There’s a pause on theother end before Katy responds, "Yes! She still is,” she exclaims. “Are you sure about this, Xavier?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve been needing another farm dog, and I remembered Isla mentioning her, so I thought—” His words are cut off.

“Oh my goodness, this is amazing news! Why don’t you come by the clinic when you’re ready, and I’ll meet you there with our Luna, so you can meet her,” Katy concedes, her tone softening. “We can sort everything out there.”

I hang up, pocketing the phone as I whistle for Buddy. He pads over, loyal eyes meeting mine, and we head back to the truck. The engine roars to life as I steer the wheel, the rhythmic hum offering a brief respite from the whirlwind inside my head.

As we drive, the familiar landscape blurs by, each tree and field a backdrop to the internal turbulence. The idea of a new canine companion grounds me, and I can’t help but feel a sense of purpose in providing a home for the Kelpie waiting at the clinic.

Buddy settles into the back of the truck, his grizzled coat catching the wind. I glance at him, contemplating the imminent change in our routine. The road stretches ahead, winding its way to the clinic where a new chapter might begin.

I pull up at the clinic, the engine’s growl fading into the quiet hum of idling. As I step out of the car, Katy emerges from the front doors, wearing a soft smile.

She walks up to me, her eyes reflecting both sympathy and genuine concern. Unexpectedly, she pulls me into a hug, a gesture thatcatches me off guard. My body tenses, not accustomed to this level of physical comfort from anyone other than a specific someone. The mere thought of her sends tingles down my spine, and a shudder ripples through me. Katy releases the embrace, her gaze holding an unspoken understanding.

“Xavier, thanks for coming. I can’t even imagine what a rough time it has been for both you and Isla,” she mutters softly.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my usual gruffness returning as I clear my throat. “So, about that Kelpie.”

She nods, guiding me towards the entrance. “Let’s head inside, and I’ll fill you in on everything.”

We step inside the clinic, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and the distant murmur of animals in the background. The soft whir of the air conditioning adds a gentle hum to the atmosphere as Katy leads me through the familiar reception area.

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