Page 83 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

Freya continues, “Regina the pig is your last appointment of the day; that way you can just go home afterward.” Then she murmurs with a smirk, “Or to the ranch.”

She winks and heads toward the little office she shares with Daniella.

Oliver approaches and stands beside me as we watch Britt get our first few patients registered.

“Aislinn, I haven’t had a chance to speak with you since your accident. I’m really glad you're okay. We were all worried. You look like you're healing well. I look forward to working with you.” I reach up and pat his shoulder. He continues, “I was wondering if I could follow you out to Toker’s Farm. I’ve never had the chance to work with a pig before, and I had a little potbellied pig growing up.”

My face softens. “Of course. I would love the company at the farm.”

The day passes in a blur. We are so busy with all kinds of wonderful dogs, cats, and even a few bunnies. Over the course of the day, I meet many members of the community. They make me feel welcomed and cherished for taking on this business endeavor. Everyone's appreciative of the clinic opening, and no one is bitter that I’m not Doc MacAllen.

The next time I glance at my watch, I’m shocked to see it is already 3:30 p.m. Time passed in the blink of an eye, and Oliver and I rush to our cars for our 4:00 p.m. appointment at Toker’s Farm.

The entrance to the farm is a large chainsaw statue of Bigfoot carrying a tree. I chuckle, thinking how everywhere I seem to go, Bigfoot is an icon. Oregon, Washington, and Montana all show their love of Bigfoot.

We pull down a long drive, and off to the right is a gigantic field of evergreens, evenly spaced. I park and hop out of my Jeep.

“Oliver, this is a Christmas tree farm! Did you see the Bigfoot statue?” I exclaim.

He chuckles as we grab supplies and kits out of our trunks. “Hard to miss a gigantic wooden Bigfoot, Aislinn.”

As we walk toward the building with an ‘Office’ sign hanging askew, a mountain of a man comes out of the barn. His shoulders are monstrous, and he has a full head of shaggy black hair. The flannel is pulling against his broad chest, and his jeans hug his thick thighs. I bet chopping wood would be no problem for this lumberjack.

He stomps straight toward us, and I glance over to see Oliver with wide eyes behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he takes a hard swallow. The man walking toward us looks vaguely familiar. It’s hard to tell, but I would guess he is about five to ten years older than me.

As he approaches, I see his eyes have slight creases on the outside. His face is tan from all the outdoor work. A thick but trimmed beard covers the bottom half of his face, and I can see a sprinkling of gray at the temples.

He opens his mouth as his hands cross over his body, and a gruff voice says, “I’m Wyatt Toker. What can I do for you?”

Then it hits me why he looks so familiar. A very similar-looking man helped save my life. His gray eyes burrow into me as the answer dawns across my face.

Arching a brow at me, I blurt out, “You’re Edwin’s brother!”

It isn’t a question. It’s an observational fact. He has the exact same gray eyes. Oliver looks at me like I have lost my mind, then turns to look at Wyatt and cocks his head.

Wyatt grunts in response, “Yeah, he is the clean-shaven, upstanding citizen of our family unit. You here to see Regina?”

I nod, and without another word, he turns and walks back toward the barn.

“Friendly guy,” whispers Oliver. “Maybe that wasn’t Bigfoot, but actually a self-portrait. I don’t know what is in thewater here, but I feel so small for being an average-sized man. All the men here seem ginormous.”

I try not to laugh, but after meeting Edwin, who is incredibly sweet and outgoing, it’s hard to believe these two came from the same upbringing. He is gruff, and with that beard, he looks like he should be living the life of a recluse in the mountains.

I hiss back, “I can only imagine how big of babies they were, and I feel pain for their mothers. He could just be shy?” Then softening my words with a smirk, “But, yeah, he kind of seems like the ying to Edwin’s yang.”

Oliver nods as we jog to catch up with Wyatt’s long strides. When we get to the barn entrance, we can hear the sound of a pig snorting and horses whinnying.

“Over here,” Wyatt mutters, and we follow him to a nice-sized enclosure.

Inside is a massive red Duroc pig. She is standing there eating her slop and snuffling food around. She seems to be in decent health.

“What can we do for Regina today, Wyatt?” I ask in his direction without taking my eyes off the pig.

“She needs her yearly vaccines and her hooves checked,” he grumbles.

I nod. “We can do that. I brought the standard yearly vaccines just in case. Oliver, do you want to check the hooves while I administer the shots?”

“Definitely, Doc,” he replies.

---