Page 8 of Lucky in Love

“I love that idea! It would be a nice personal touch.” The cheese is fully melted, so I add my secret ingredient, evaporated milk, and give it a stir.

“Ginger’s beagle Betty would be perfect for that!” Fiona says. “And he could take some pictures of Dolly too.”

“Who’s Dolly?” Mariah asks.

“She’s my poodle. She’s blond, just like my idol Dolly Parton.” I drag a chip through the cheese dip to test it out. “This is ready.”

Fiona begins to fill her plate with nachos and toppings and we all follow suit. Then we carry our plates out to the patio table in the courtyard.

“So Branson is your boyfriend, fiance, whatever, huh?” I say, raising a brow once we’re settled at the table.

“Well, he hasn’t officially proposed yet, but he frequently mentions spending the rest of our lives together, so…”

“We all know it’s only a matter of time before you become Mrs. Branson Ross,” Fiona says, with a grin.

“Ross? Is he related to Baylor Ross?” I try to look nonchalant as I plop a dollop of sour cream on my plate.

“They’re twin brothers. Why do you ask?” Ginger says.

“Oh, it’s just that he’s a client. And he helped me out with something today.”

“Baylor helped you out with something?” Ginger freezes with a chip in mid-air and I feel the gaze of the other women lock on me.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Baylor doesn’t speak to people. Like, ever.” Ginger’s wide eyes are fixed on me.

“Well, I know he’s kind of grumpy and quiet,” I say slowly. “But you should see how he is with horses. He seems like a good guy.” My face flushes and Ginger and Fiona are staring at me with their mouths hanging open.

“You like him,” Fiona accuses, finger pointed at me.

“He is a good guy,” Ginger says. “He just never lets anyone get close enough to see it.”

“But he let you get close enough,” Fiona says, gesturing toward me with her glass. “Maybe he likes you too.”

“I’m his vet. It’s unprofessional to fraternize with your patient’s owners.”

Fiona snorts. “If everyone in Evergreen Mountain followed the rules of professionalism, no one here would ever find love. In a town this small, we are all connected in one way or another. As long as he’s not your cousin, you’re good.”

We all roar with laughter and I'm relieved when the conversation turns to other things. But it’s got me thinking about my feelings for this man I just met. Is there something there? When I picture him grinning at me in the car, my stomach does a flip flop and I guess I have my answer.

???

The next day is Sunday, my first free day since I moved to Evergreen Mountain. Back in Nashville, I lived in an apartment and had to walk Dolly first thing in the morning. She’s a real go-getter, just like her namesake, and she’s usually up bright and early, ready to go out and face the day.

When I bought my little cottage, I had a doggy door installed so she could go out to the fenced backyard by herself, and on Sunday morning, I enjoy the blissful pleasure of sleeping in.

After so many years of city life, the little cottage just outside of town feels like a luxury. The backyard needs some work, but I’m looking forward to putting in flower beds and getting some hanging plants for the back porch after the threat of frost has passed.

I spend a couple of hours reading a book and snuggling with Dolly on the couch, but my thoughts keep turning to the rescue horses. And to Baylor. Should I call to check on them? Should I go out and see how they’re doing? I left medication for Baylor to put on their cuts, but I could do that myself if I just popped out to the ranch today. What else have I got to do?

SIX

Baylor

On Sunday, when my phone starts vibrating and Paige O’Brien appears on the screen, I handle it better than the last time. I take a deep breath and answer after a few seconds. Pressing the green icon seems easier than summoning the courage to call her back. I’m surprised when she offers to come out and check on the horses again, but a surge of anticipation flows through me at the thought of seeing her again. One glance in the mirror reminds me that I need to shower and put on something that isn’t covered in mud and hay.

My hair is still damp when she arrives at the gate, but I certainly smell better and I have on a fresh work shirt. She slides across the bench of the cab to the passenger seat and I steer the truck through the gate and up the drive.

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