1
“Here you go, Mrs. Smith.” My arms stretch out to hand over the patient to her eager owners, who then closes Fluffy into a carrying crate. “Everything looks good,” I assure them while ushering the happy trio to the front counter.
“Umm hmm, sure does,” Mrs. Smith mumbles behind me, and I make a sudden turn to see her eyes flash from my lower half up to my chest. Was she just checking out my ass?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. Did you need something else?”
She leans in a little closer to me, winks and whispers, “Oh, I need something alright.”
“I mean for Fluffy.”
Mr. Smith cuts in, “Come on, Bula, leave the poor doctor alone. Sorry, Doc, ever since she’s discovered horny goat weed, I can’t seem to tame her.”
I hear a snickering sound from the front counter. “Hanna, can you schedule Fluffy for a follow up appointment in four weeks.”
The receptionist takes Fluffy’s chart and checks the calendar on the computer. “Sure thing, boss. Would you also like me to schedule a code three appointment for the Smiths?” she answers, with an efficient tap of a few keyboard buttons.
“No,” I ground out with my teeth clenched. “That will not be necessary, just a follow up, please.”
My sister, Hanna, can be a handful at times, but she’s one helluva help to me right now. She offered to step in as my office manager and receptionist because I don’t have a life and never see my family. It’s busy in the clinic every single day of the week, from cute kittens to fat guinea pigs, never mind all the appointments around the county and emergency calls to tend to hefty livestock. So Hanna is helping out on a temporary bases and proving to be an asset.
While she talks over dates with Fluffy’s owners, I head into the back and clean off the galvanized tabletop for the next appointment. Fridays are the one day of the week when I dedicate my time to the county pets, which causes a log jam of patients and little next to no time for even a five-minute break. The rest of the week I’m traveling all over the place in my second office - my truck. It’s a normal day to visit farms, trample through fields, be knee deep in cow shit, have hands full of bulls’ testicles or to swing newborn foals upside down to get them breathing.
Just a few more patients to work through this afternoon, and then, fingers crossed, I’ll have an evening off. I try not to hope for a simple afternoon of worming and de-fleaing because the second I make plans, something is sure to come up.
I’m the only veterinarian in this county, with my nearest competitor in Dallas County, over an hour away. So all the town folk flock to my door and keep my business thriving. Lady Luck needs to sit on my shoulder today because I seriously need time off with a cold beer. A game of pool with the guys also sounds like a good plan. I owe my buddy, Ryder, an ass whooping after he won the last game.
Friday nights at Jackson’s Bar are dedicated to shooting the shit with my friends, and they cry like babies if I don’t show. Our friend, Jace, owns the bar and decided to keep the name Jackson’s when he bought the place. He just wanted to have a joint where friends gather for a good time. Changing the name was going to be a pain in the ass and a hassle. In Jackson’s, the beer is always chilled and well stocked, there’s even extra crates in the cellar, just in case we drink too much. The atmosphere is laid back with live music most nights. It’s the one place where I can relax, kick back and pretend I have a life outside of the clinic.
I’ve missed the last two weeks. Shane spread the word around that he’ll tie up my balls with twine and drag me out tonight if I even hint at missing another night. He’s not joking either.
Ms. Luck handed me a four-leaf clover this evening. I’m free. Once I pat the last patient on its furry head, I wave goodbye and shut the door so fast I hear the swoosh as it passes by my ear. I wipe down the surfaces, flick off the lights and lock up before anyone else comes knocking.
“Hey, Clay, I just saw the Wheelers leave. Go ahead and go, I’ll lock up on my way out. I know you’ve got to get to your girlfriends before they start bitchin’.”
“Girlfriends? Yeah, I might pick up a lady tonight, but girlfriend is a far fetch, don’t you think?”
“Well, what else would you call that pack of hyenas you hang out with all the time?”
“Ha-ha, very funny. Not. Be careful going home. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
“Later, bro, have a good one.”
My house is close by, in downtown Heartville. I arrive home in time to grab a cool shower, throw on some jeans, my boots and a button-down shirt, grab the Stetson hanging on the coat rack by the door and bolt out. One clear mission, to have cold beer and plenty of it.
A bright neon sign blinks above Jackson’s, calling me inside like a beacon, welcoming me home after a turbulent trip at sea.
I swear Jace has a sixth sense because the minute I walk through the door, a song by Big and Rich, “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy,” blares through the speakers, and he hands me the first frosty beer of the night. All I can do is shake my head and laugh as I accept it and tip it up to my lips to welcome the cool, smooth taste.
“It’s great to see ya, man,” Jace greets me with a wide smile. “The guys are back there; you haven’t missed much tonight. It’s been a quiet one.”
“Thanks, I’ve been thinking about this beauty all day,” I reply and wave the bottle towards him. “How have you been?”
Jace pulls down a beer tap, filling lager in a pint glass. “I’m good. That new singer, Harley, has brought in some additional customers. They all love her voice. How’s life treating you?”
I shrug. “Oh, you know, same shit, different day. If it ain’t over fed dogs with back problems, then it’s a herd of cattle needing the once over. There’s always one poor critter that’s got an issue for fixin’. I’m here now, so no more work chat and plenty of arm action.”
Jace chuckles. “You keep that shit in your trunks, buddy. Don’t go scaring off my customers with your arm action.”
“Fuck, get your head out of the gutter. I was talking about bringing the beer to my lips arm action.” I laugh with him. “I ain’t seen that other kind of action in ages.”
“You and me both.” Jace sets a pint down on a coaster and accepts a twenty-dollar bill from the lady beside me.
“Hey, Mr. Cowboy, I can help you with that little issue, plus we’ll be saving that horse while I’m ridin’ a cowboy.”
“Will you now, darlin’? How about you give me your number, and we’ll rain check that ride?”
“Sure thing, but you better promise to call.” She pouts her bottom lip out a little and flutters her eyelashes.
“Absolutely, I’m all about saving horses,” I respond with a wink.
I’m just not feeling a random hook up tonight. Seems like it would be more trouble than it’s worth. It’s been a long week; I just want to relax and hang out.
The beer slides down my throat like icy water on a warm day, the perfect temperature and with the right amount of sparkle to quench my thirst. The rat race has been my constant for so long. Everyday rolls into the next. This is the height of my fun, one evening in the bar with my buddies. Jace presents another beer and winks. I move onto the second and prop my elbow on the bar. Tonight’s weariness comes after the manic rush of fluff and claws. My neck cracks when I roll it to the side, feeling my shoulders tight and tense. Maybe I need a break, or a sweet woman to work out the knots. I inwardly shake my head at the idiotic thought. There ain’t no time to devote to myself let alone a pretty lady. At thirty-four I’m beginning to get a little concerned, I don’t want to be an old bachelor who dies with a house full of cats and they don’t find my body for weeks. Gross, the thought sends a shiver down my back with a creepy feeling.