Page 15 of The History Between Us

“Ha ha. Whit’s got jokes today. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you old man.”

“I’m serious,” he goes on. “A month has got to be some sort of record fortheColt Bishop.”

“I’m not that bad,” I groan. “You make me sound like some sort of sex addict.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“There is nothing wrong with getting a little love while I’m on the road,” I reply. “People practically throw themselves at me after the rodeos.” Gesturing a hand down my body, I add, “Who am I to deny them all of this?”

Whit pretends to gag, which makes me laugh. “Please, you’re just as bad as Shooter. Does it ever get heavy carrying that huge-ass ego around all the time?”

“Fuck off,” I choke out between laughter.

Pulling into the parking lot of the home store, Whit murmurs, “Let’s go, you sex-deprived sad sack.”

I huff as I climb out. “What, did you bring me here to help you pick out new couch pillows?”

“Yeah, right.” Whit snorts. “Because out of everybody we know, I would go toyouabout home décor style.”

“You’re kind of mean today,” I grumble.

Glancing over at me as we walk through the automatic doors, he grins almost mischievously. “I think you’ll live.” Inside the store, Whit leads us toward the back. “I’m picking up an order.”

As we’re walking past one of the aisles, I spot somebody that makes my lips tip up into a grin as I do a double take. “Morning, Doc,” I drawl, coming to a stop. “Fancy running into you here.”

William’s jaw clenches as he glances over at me. “Hello, Colt.”

My eyes flit to the man beside him. “Howdy, Dr. Andino,” I say with a grin. “How’ve you been, sir?”

“Good morning, Colt,” Dr. Andino says in the warm, familiar way he always does. “Please, call me Roger. I’m retired now,” he goes on. “No need for the honorifics anymore.”

“Can do, Roger.”

“I heard you were back in town,” Whit says to William. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” he replies, voice deep and gruff. “Can’t complain. How are you? I heard you took over your dad’s clinic.”

Whit nods. “I did, yeah. I’ve been good. Business is doing great.”

“We’ll be seeing you at the office soon,” Roger chimes in.

“Is that right?” Whit asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

Roger nods, looking pleased with himself. “I adopted a dog from the shelter yesterday, a two-year-old wiener dog. Show ’em the pictures,” he urges, nudging William with his elbow.

Brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, William reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After a fewmoments, he turns the screen around for us to see the cutest little blonde, long-haired dog.

“I love that breed,” I murmur. “Such sweet dogs. Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” William grunts, pocketing his phone.

“What’s her name?”

“Winnie,” Roger offers. “That’s the name she came with, and I don’t see a reason to change it now.”

“Winnie’s cute,” Whit chimes in. “The name and the dog. I can’t wait to meet her.”

“How’re you holding up?” Roger asks, directing the question at me. “I’m so sorry to hear about the accident.”

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