Page 21 of Falling for the Veterinarian

“Relax?!” I scoff. “You really don’t know anything about women, do you?!”

“Here.” The barista hands me the freshly brewed honey-nut macchiato. I grab the cup and remind myself that it’s not her fault. Zach is the one who stole my coffee yet again. I take a sip and say thanks.

“Sarah, wait,” Zach tries to call me.

“Save it. I’ll see you at the carving competition. Prepare to lose." Fury and hurt stab at me. I really shouldn’t be this upset over coffee, but this is just too often to be an accident. After I confronted him the last time, I stupidly thought it would stop. Seriously, dude. Stop messing with my routine and attitude pacifier. That’s ok. I’ll wipe that smirk off his face at the pumpkin competition.

Fifteen

Sarah

GPSleadsmetoa property about twenty minutes outside of Moonridge. It’s a quiet house with beautiful landscaping.

You have arrived at your destination.

“Wow,” I say to the empty truck. The area looks like a Thomas Kinkade painting. The striking maroon and yellow leaves on the trees surrounding the place magnify the charm. It is one hundred acres of pure beauty. The grassland features three large ponds, a master home, and two on-property, stand-alone homes. The main house is farmhouse style with a wraparound porch and light blue paint.

According to Lisa’s text, this is a vacant home with a key lockbox. I walk to the main home. It should be empty, but I knock on the door and try the bell just in case. No response. Using the code Lisa sent, I open the lockbox. The key pops out and it works in the door with ease. I glance around the home, notebook in hand, ready to jot down my observations.

The hardwood floors are exquisitely refinished. There are exposed wood beams in the vaulted ceiling and a loft area that currently serves as a library. The living room area has a magnificent stacked grey brick fireplace and mahogany wood mantle. It is an open-concept home with artisan craftsmanship. Ornate light fixtures and stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen make it a modern dream home. All five of the bedrooms are spacious, the bathrooms are sizeable, and the master bath even has a garden tub.My favorite.If I needed this much room and it was in the budget, this would be my new home.

I get back in the truck and inspect the other building on the land. The stand-alone homes on the property are in excellent condition and look like two-bedroom, one-bath miniature versions of the main house. They even have the same exposed beam vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors.

I move on to the last building. It’s about half a mile away from the main home. I drive on the dirt road that leads to it. I get out of the truck and realize it is a barn with eight stalls for farm animals and an attached suite. It kind of looks like a surgical suite. That instantly reminds me of Zach and the Maple Days Festival. I grab my phone. It’s already half past nine a.m. I finish my last note and get back in the truck. I have to book it back to Lisa’s office to hand in my observations and my estimate for the listing price based on my research of the comparable properties in the area.

I drive down the deserted highway when a siren comes from behind me. My heart sinks as I look at the speedometer. I’m going at least ten over the speed limit.Shoot.I pull over onto the shoulder of the road, roll down my window, and brace myself for a ticket.

The sheriff stops right behind me. He turns off the siren but leaves the lights on. He opens the car door. I spy brown boots, a cowboy hat, and the distinct camel color of a sheriff’s uniform in my side mirror. He ambles over after, adjusting his belt. He touches the back of the truck and then walks over to my open window.

“License and registration, ma’am.” I want to giggle from both nerves and the fact that he sounds like he’s right out of a cliché television show. I resist the urge and grab my wallet. I pull out the requested documents and hand them over.

“Do you know how fast you were going back there?” the young twenty-something sheriff asks.

“Um, not exactly. I think I was doing sixty miles an hour,” I respond innocently.

He grunts, trying to sound tough. He looks at my license first. “New York, huh? City girl. Are you just passing through?”

“No, I’m actually going to be moving here. I’m staying with my aunt at the Starry Night Inn right now.”

That clearly piqued his interest. “Who’s your aunt?”

“Michelle Reynolds.”

He instantly drops the tough cop image and now I am not sure he’s even old enough to legally drink alcohol. “I know Michelle Reynolds. I just love your aunt. She took a chance on me back in high school.” He pauses briefly, expecting me to ask about it but continues before I have the opportunity. “I used to be a busboy at the restaurant. Man, that Cookie is something else.” He reminisces and hands me back the license and registration.

“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time, but next time I’m going to have to give you a ticket.” He nods and tips his cowboy hat toward me. He strolls back to his patrol car and drives off with a wave.

I take a deep breath.Note to self: thank Aunt Michelle for saving me yet again.There are more than four thousand people in the town, and somehow everyone I meet knows her. It’s a true testament to the kind and generous woman she is.

It takes a little longer to get to Lisa’s office now that I am a law-abiding citizen. I park in the side lot and meander in. Trixie is sitting at the desk with purple glasses today against a messy mop of hair that she keeps fluffing. She reminds me of a young, frizzy Sally Jesse Raphael.

“Hey, Sarah! Guess what? Trixie's eyes are bright.

“What?”

“I figured out who Doc is…” She winks and points at the succulent plant arrangement in a seasonal ceramic pumpkin pot.

I curiously walk to the plants and grab the note.

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