Page 3 of The Dire Reaction

“Thank you, Becky, I’ll see you tomorrow.” My teeth ache from clenching them. “Come on, Misty,” I grunt out. I nearly trip over her because she’s so damned fast heading for the door.

Becky squeezes into her little Nissan and waves through the window before leaving.

Closing the door, I lean against it until my head thumps against the paned glass.

Every single time. They always ask about her. I guess it’s what I should expect, keeping her dad here in the house.

Shit, I don’t even know the guy. He was like this when I met her. When I married her. Even when I buried her from cancer only three years later.

He’s just, there.

But, I promised.

My phone dings with missed calls and messages. Being out of range all day, then coming back into the wifi at the house, the pocket of my denim jacket feels like it’s going into some kind of seizure, beeping and vibrating.

Fishing it out of my pocket, I hang up my coat and hit the pre-heat on the oven.

Frozen pizza for the win. I should buy stock in them during roundup season.

Scrolling through the messages, I grab a cold beer from the fridge.

One name catches my eye as I pop the top on my Coors.

Dr. Dani Michelson.

Oh. What do we have here?

She certainly gets the fires going. That cute little veterinarian who took over the clinic my family has used for forty years. She’s feisty, with blond hair, blue eyes, and the way she fills out those tight little scrubs leaves my throat parched.

The groan that escapes my lips is from the beer. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Flipping to my voicemail, I hear her light voice tickling my ear.

Why yes, I will come down to the office to talk to you.

Thor, my boy, you get to go for a ride tomorrow.

Chapter three

DANI

Ishouldn’tbethisnervous. Every time I see Sam I can feel my stomach flip flopping, my heart racing. He’s not even here yet and I feel it.

Maybe it’s the tight jeans. Maybe it’s his dark blue eyes, or the lopsided smile he always seems to wear.

“Yes, Mrs. Forester, your kitten is adorable. But, these shots will help to keep her healthy. She will forget about them almost instantly.”

Please just let me give the shots and stop crying.

“Are you sure they won’t hurt my little Fluffy-pants?” Her gnarled hands cling to the kitten that is struggling to free herself from the arthritic clutch.

“I’m sure. Would it be easier if my helper and I take her into the other room?” My patience is wearing thin.

But, I’ve also been borderline haywire waiting until eleven when Sam is supposed to be here.

“Yes, I think that would be easier. I don’t want her to think I just stood here while she was being hurt!” Her long gray braid drapes over her shoulder, and the kitten tries to bat at the small fabric tie she has on the end.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

---