Page 1 of Lucky in Love

ONE

Paige

The mountain view from the waiting room of the animal clinic is breathtaking. The mist-covered peaks of the Smoky Mountains loom just beyond the picturesque shops that line the main drag of Evergreen Mountain, Tennessee. I grew up on the other side of the state, near Memphis, but I spent summers in Evergreen Mountain visiting my grandfather, the retiring veterinarian who I’m meant to replace.

Why would anyone keep the windows covered with these mauve monstrosities? The curtains look like they haven’t been washed since the mid-eighties and a cloud of dust invades my throat as I rip them down. I’ve got a couple of days before I start seeing patients at the office and I plan to use them to give the lobby a fresh makeover. Out with the old and in with the new.

“Knock, knock,” a voice calls out from the door.

“Hey, Fi!” My favorite cousin gives me a tight hug. Fiona is an amazing chef who owns the bar and grill in town. During the darkest moments of my life, she was the only one who couldmake me laugh and I am so excited to get to see her more often, now that we live in the same town.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Paige.” She coughs, looking around the room at the dusty mess. “Are you going to wash those curtains?”

“I’m going to burn those curtains,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “This place needs a makeover. I’ve got an equine appointment this afternoon, but I’m not officially seeing patients in the office until Monday. I’ll do a deep cleaning today and give the walls a fresh coat of paint tomorrow. I picked out a cheerful yellow called Butter Up.”

“Cheerful yellow. Yeah, that sounds like you,” she laughs. It’s always been the family joke that Fiona is “glass half empty” and I’m “glass half full” and together we make a full glass. I’m chronically optimistic, while Fiona is a bit jaded. We balance each other out.

“I’m going into Knoxville today to pick up food coloring for green beer, but I can help you paint tomorrow.”

“Green beer?”

“For the St. Patty’s Day celebration at the bar and grill next week. Gotta have the traditional green beer, just like the Irish do it, ya know.” She rolls her eyes. Our Grandad is first generation Irish-American and he never lets us forget that the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in America have little similarity to anything that goes on in Ireland.

“Ahh, gotcha.”

“Hey, you should come to the celebration. I can introduce you to some of my friends in town.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Well, I’ve got to run. Let’s meet for coffee at Delaney’s in the morning and then we’ll give this ugly wood paneling a new look.” She gives me another hug before she goes out the door. “I’m so glad you’re here.

???

After a few hours spent with a vacuum and a mop, the place is starting to look cleaner. Some outdated illustrations of puppies and kittens sit on top of the curtains in the corner, ready for Goodwill or the trash. Next time I go to Knoxville, I’ll have to pick up some new wall decor. I wash my hands in the tiny bathroom and run them through my blond bob. I add ‘deep clean the bathroom’ to my ever growing to-do list.

I’m still looking pretty dusty, but I’m hoping the owner of the horse ranch that I’m visiting today won’t mind. Tote bag in hand, I lock up and head out to my new-to-me truck with the hunter green “Evergreen Mountain Animal Clinic” logo on the door.

When Grandpa decided to retire and invited me to take over his practice, it was a no-brainer for me to take advantage of the opportunity. I’d been working at a vet office in Nashville for five years since I finished school, mainly caring for the pampered pets of rich people. After doing some research about the veterinary services in rural Evergreen County, I saw the need for a mobile vet clinic. In these mountains, it’s often difficult for people to bring their pets to town. I wanted the ability to host spay and neuter clinics in some of the nearby communities that didn’t have a vet, and to provide specialized on-site care tolarge animals like horses and cattle, so I invested in a custom-designed horse trailer that would serve as a mobile vet clinic.

Climbing into the truck is a challenge and I use the step rail and grab handle to propel my petite 5’2 frame into the massive vehicle. The big dual rear-wheel truck I bought was necessary to pull the horse trailer, but the couple of times I have driven it have been terrifying.

I turn on my Dolly Parton playlist because Dolly always makes me feel better, but as I pull onto the road that leads up the mountain, I question why I thought buying a standard was a good idea. The little coupe I drove in college was a standard, so I didn’t think it would be that much different to drive a standard truck. Boy, was I wrong. Shifting gears on these steep mountain roads and pulling the trailer behind me is like being on a rollercoaster.Practice makes perfect, I tell myself.You’ll get the hang of it.

Positive affirmations don’t seem to be doing the trick as I shove in the clutch and shift gears while trying to turn a corner and my bag flies across the cab, whacking me on the shoulder. My GPS tells me that my turn is coming up, so I shift into a lower gear, but I don’t see the large wooden gate with Ross Ranch across the top until it's too late to swing wide.

I pull over to the side of the road and put it in Park, trying to think this through. Could I back up and try again? My backing up skills are worse than my going forward skills, so that’s a no. I wonder how far up the road the ranch is. Would I be able to park here and walk? How unprofessional would that look? I can just hear the gossip in town: that newwomanvet doesn’t even know how to drive a truck.

Maybe I can be overly optimistic about my ability to overcome obstacles. But I learned at a young age that life is too precious to give up when things get tough. I cross my arms on the steering wheel and lay my head down, taking deep cleansing breaths.

“You can make this work. You can figure this out, Paige,” I say out loud. “You just have to be positive. Try backing up. What’s the worst that can happen?” I tap my head rhythmically on the steering wheel. “The trailer jackknifes and goes over the side of the mountain. That’s the worst that can happen.” Also, someone could hear me talking to myself and think I’m crazy.

BANG. I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a knock on the truck window. A rugged and gorgeous man is peering at me through the glass and for a moment, I think I’m hallucinating. I sit there, slack-jawed and staring. My eyes trail from his warm, brown eyes to his tanned skin, covered in stubble to his longish brown hair. Is this Brad Pitt from Thelma & Louise? I sigh in pleasure and then remember that character was a robber and I’m shaken out of my fantasy. Is this guy trying to rob me?

He knocks again and I realize he’s trying to speak to me through the glass, so I roll down the window.

“Get out,” he says, scowling.

“What?”

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