Page 8 of Growing Into Love

Mrs. Pritz brightens. “Would you like me to set up a date with her?”

Clive looks eager to accept this offer and my stomach lurches unpleasantly. Only because I’m protective of Cass, nearly as much as Declan. She should be making her own decisions about who she dates.

I don’t want to talk about dating anyway. I should resign myself to a life of celibacy.

“Mrs. Pritz,” I say firmly. “This isn’t the time for matchmaking. Clive will stay with you while you look after Godiva. You can take her home soon, once the pups get their feeding done.”

“Where are you going?” she asks, as if shocked I don’t live in the exam room.

“Home,” I say emphatically. I’ve been up since half six, when Stephen O’Donnell called—a couple of his sheep came up lame and I had to head to his farm to treat them. Then it was checking on the new calves in Lorna and Roger Banneker’s Highland herd. Then it was paperwork, and immunizations, and iodine treatments, and more unexpected calls… I hired Clive at the right moment. I could really use a break.

I throw on my coat and head out. I live in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, but it’s a pleasant walk from the office and the drizzle from earlier has stopped. I get home and grab a beer from the fridge, wondering what I can throw together for dinner. Looks like frozen pizza again. Somehow, I never get around to doing a proper shop.

I preheat the oven and, with a heavy sigh, decide to look at the most recent text from Theresa. Best see what she’s got to say and get this over with.

Except it wasn’t Theresa who texted me.

It was Cass.

And it wasn’t the usual sort of text I get from Cass, with updates on the farm or funny anecdotes about Declan.

No, this text is about something else entirely.

My eyes pop from their sockets so hard I’m surprised they don’t land on the floor and roll beneath the stove. I read it three times, wondering if I’m dreaming. I scroll up and no, there’s our exchange from earlier about Daphne. I read the text one more time and my cock starts to throb.

I want to make you come so hard that you forget your own name.

I didn’t know Cass texted like this. Bloody hell, I didn’t know Cassthoughtlike this.

I fall into my kitchen chair with a hard thud. My heart races and I feel disoriented, like someone gave me a dose of xylazine. I have a sudden flash of doing things to her, the way she asked. My mouth on her. Her body pressed against mine.

Suddenly, it hits me like a splash of icy water. This text wasn’t meant forme. She clearly meant to send it to someone else—I hadn’t known she was dating anyone, but Cass and I don’t talk much about dating. Though it does seem like something Declan might have mentioned.

Then again, I can see Cass keeping her dating life a secret from Declan too. Overprotective would be putting it mildly. He’s always been like a second father to Cass, ever since their dad died when he was seventeen and she was only twelve. But she’s all grown up now, as this text makes painfully clear.

It feels like something dark and slimy crawls its way up my chest. Who was this text for? I’d like to meet this bloke, size him up. Make sure he’s right for her. I wouldn’t want Cass to be treated the way Theresa treats me—like I’m disposable.

And at the same time, I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea that Cass is someone who sexts. I mean, this isCass. She was the annoying kid following me and Dec around when we were teens. Of course, she’s not a kid anymore. But sexting? Saying things likecomeandwetter?

Oh Christ, am I meant to respond? Surely she wouldn’t want me to. This is private. She must have realized her mistake by now. Maybe she’ll text me and apologize. She might even be embarrassed—though she needn’t be. She’s an adult. She can sext all she wants. It’s not like I would ever tell anyone about this. I hope she knows that. I hope she knows she can trust me.

I can’t help reading the text one more time, though. I really should delete it.

Just then, my phone rings. I jump like I’ve been hit with a cattle prod.

“Hello?” I say, my heart in my throat.

“Dr. Taylor-Wexhall, it’s Virginia Cotsworth.”

My heart plunks back into my chest. Virginia runs a small farm out by the Middles.

“Yes, Virginia, how can I help you?”

Five minutes later, I’m in my car on my way to the Cotsworth farm. There’s a donkey with pneumonia that needs tending to.

I hope whoever Cass sent that text to knows what a lucky guy he is. I hope he appreciates her in more ways than just one.

THREE

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