Page 8 of Lassoed Love

Theair in the clinic seems to crackle with unresolved tension as Isla and I face each other. My eyes bore into hers, the weight of years of animosity hanging heavily between us.

Fuck, she has changed so much. Twelve years have passed since I last saw her. The last time was when I graduated Year 12, and she was finishing grade 10. But there's no mistaking those eyes, that face. There’s no way I could forget the face that had been flooding my mind throughout my last few years of high school. And as of this weekend,now.

Trent’s texts from last night sink in, and realisation dawns on me.She’s a vet?Here? So, is she back for good?Fuck.He hadn’t specified this information, and honestly, I didn’t bother prying for more.

This is definitely not what I had expected to walk in to on Monday morning.

“What’s happened?” She breaks the silence, her tone clinical, attempting to mask the turbulent emotions beneath.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” I reply, a hint of snarkiness in my voice. The familiarity of old adversaries echoes inthe air.

“Still an asshole, I see.” She scoffs, looking behind me to where my car has been haphazardly parked. “Where is your horse?” There’s caution in her voice, a subtle hint of apprehension.

“Out in the trailer,” I respond without taking my eyes off her. Why does she have to be so intense?

She shifts awkwardly. “Okay, well, I’d like to take a closer look at him. Could you bring your truck over to the back?”

“Her” I correct her and head out the door, rounding my truck.

As I do, a pang of guilt hits me. I'm being a dick, but I can’t quite pinpoint these emotions spiralling in my head. It’s been a long time since I last saw her, and things are different. Yet, here I am, acting like an arse.

My truck sits there, the engine purring quietly as I approach. Duchess is in the back trailer, agitated and putting up a fuss. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling mix of emotions. Starting the engine, I guide the truck to the back as Isla requested.

As I step out, the door slamming behind me, I make my way to the back of the trailer. Isla stands there, prepared to dive into the task at hand. I observe her, wondering if she senses the awkwardness between us. I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the matter at hand—Duchess’s well-being.

Rounding the trailer to open the latch holding the door closed, I can sense the distress Duchess is in. The horse whinnies loudly, banging against the sides of the trailer. I drop the ramp down to theground, and Isla cautiously enters the trailer, making cooing sounds to settle Duchess. She places her hand softly on her mane.

“What symptoms have you observed so far?” she asks, while moving her stethoscope carefully around Duchess’s chest.

“Loss of appetite, restlessness, and she ain’t been herself lately,” I grumble, begrudgingly providing details.

Nodding, Isla asks, “How long has it been going on for?”

“It started a few days ago. She’s refusing to eat and acting all skittish. Thought maybe she’d just had a bad day or two, but it's been getting progressively worse,” I relay with a hint of concern in my voice.

“This must be a real inconvenience for you. Having a working horse out of commission,” Isla comments.

I nod. “You have no idea. Duchess is my best working horse, and with her sick, it’s a real pain.”

As Isla resumes her inspection, I can feel her eyes on me, her presence overwhelming. I decide to break the silence, “So, uh, how long have you been in town? When did you start working at this place?”

“Um, just a few weeks,” she replies shyly.Hm.

“I thought this place would have shut down by now. I drove past and was surprised to see it was open.”

“It was going to, but then I handed the previous owners an offer and they accepted.” She shrugs, annoyance creeping up.

Isla looks at me curiously. “So, uh, you work on a farm now or something?”

I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah, my family farm. I took over after I graduated high school.”

She pauses, and recognition forms in her eyes. She responds with a simple, “Oh. Okay.”

She’s working here, and I had no clue. Why didn’t she say something earlier? How would she have told you? That voice in my head snorts. Don’t be such a dumb cunt, Xavier. I should probably be more aware of the changes in my own damn town.

“So you own this joint now?”

“Yep,” she says matter-of-factly.

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