One Perfect Year

by Melinda Curtis

  Bea’s white milk goat bleated behind him, oddly reminiscent of Leo’s laughter at the equine hospital.

  Gage proceeded to the enclosed paddock where Bea was waiting patiently with her goat. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Sissy has a cough.” Like the Jameros, Bea’s family had always worked the land. Her skin was brown and age spotted. Her hands gnarled and calloused.

  The goat’s calm demeanor and clear eyes contradicted her wheezy cough, immediately providing clues to a preliminary diagnosis.

  “Do you put her feed in a metal drum?” He ran his hands over Sissy, head to hoof, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

  Bea nodded.

  “A rack is healthier.” He pulled the goat’s lips back, checking her teeth warily. Goats weren’t particular about what or who they nibbled. “Racks allow the dust on hay to dissipate. Sissy might have developed bronchitis. Can you leave her with me? I want to take her vitals and run some tests.” The tall, wild grass in the paddock would get a nice mowing from Sissy and wouldn’t hurt her.

  Bea shuffled her booted feet. “She’s been fed in a drum for years and this just came on.”

  Getting a vote of no confidence when it came to veterinary medicine was unusual for him. Gage was momentarily speechless.

  “Do you have experience with goats?” Bea asked.

  He suspected goats weren’t the issue. “I have more experience with horses.”

  Bea chewed on her lip before responding. “Maybe I’m just used to old War. He’s been treating my farm animals for decades. I take his word, no questions asked.”

  In the past year, Gage had become used to his word being law—Far Turn Farms didn’t question his methods with mares, and no client asked for a second opinion.

  “Soooo.” She squinted at the position of the sun as if calculating the time. “I’d like to get his opinion about Sissy.”

  Gage opened his mouth to say No. He was certain of his diagnosis, calling in Doc was a slam to his ego. So when he said, “Yes,” he paused and ran a hand along his spine. Yep, backbone still present and accounted for. It was his pride that lay on the floor at his feet. “If it would make you feel better, of course, you can talk to Doc.”

  “Thank you.” Bea leaned over to scratch Sissy behind the ears, switching her tone to baby talk. “You like War, don’t you, Sis? Just don’t nibble on his clothes and make him mad.”

  Gage sent the older vet to the paddock and called the next patient into the exam room.

  Mr. Mionetti stepped forward with his guinea pig. The brown long haired little beast had an ulcerated front paw. “Been like that since Friday,” the old man said. “She can hardly hobble about her cage, and she’s not eating. My wife is worried sick.”

  Gage could tell Mr. Mionetti was, as well. Everything about the bean-pole thin man was wound tight, from his laced arms to his worry-stitched frown. Gage probed the guinea pig’s swelling gingerly. The bottom of her foot was crusty. “You keep her in a metal cage?” He’d seen something similar in domesticated fowl housed in cages.

  “Yes.”

  “She needs a change of environment. No cage. You can keep her in a plastic storage tub or a plastic cage, but no metal wires.” Gage rummaged through his memory for the term to describe the rodent’s ailment. He couldn’t recall the scientific term. “I suspect she has bumblefoot. She’ll need foot soaks, equal parts warm water and Epsom salts. If you give her foot soaks two to three times a day, you should see improvement in forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

  The elderly man’s chin jutted out. “No antibiotic? I was expecting antibiotic.”

  “Well, Mr. Mionetti, antibiotic in an animal this small can be deadly. I’d prefer to try a more natural approach first. Call me in a few days if she’s not better.”

  Doc stuck his head in the exam room door. “You don’t need a second opinion, Dr. Jamero.” The door slammed shut.

  And on it went. Baying dogs, a few reptiles, a demented cat. Further suspicion regarding the copper thefts. Doubt regarding Gage’s diagnoses and methods of treatment. Doc annoyed with his neighbors. The longer the day dragged on, the more humbled Gage became. He wasn’t the pregnant-horse whisperer. No one cared that he’d just delivered a potential Kentucky Derby winner. There were no hushed audiences admiring his every move. He was plainly a small hometown vet, whom the residents of Harmony Valley peered at with a jaundiced eye.

  It was like living in Nick’s shadow all over again.

  * * *

  THE MEAT LOAF Shelby made that night for dinner was black around the edges. While entering the day’s wine analysis readings into her laptop, she’d overbaked and shriveled the sweet-potato fries. She’d steamed the life out of the green beans while on the phone with Christine. Garlic bread? Burned as she fed Mushu.

  All the while, Mae’s prediction for her clung to her spirits like cheap perfume.

  The town eccentric. The crazy cat lady. Lonely days and lonely nights.

  Wanting to adopt a stray dog didn’t mean Mae was right. Being averse to another relationship had to do with her being scared to open up her heart and lose again so completely. New relationships fell apart after a few dates. A lot of marriages crumbled after a few years. She’d fallen in love with Nick looking at the stars and dreaming. Could she really find that again?

  Even with Gage? Her gaze was now firmly on the ground. Her heart safely tucked away.

  Not that Gage wanted it.

  Not that any of her pitying thoughts would fix her botched dinner.

  The kitchen door swung open and Gage and her grandfather funneled through.

  She was drawn to Gage, admiring of how he’d stuck it out here so far. Their gazes connected briefly. It was enough to draw her in completely. She erased the image of a houseful of cats from her mind.

  “What’s that smell?” Grandpa covered his nose.

  “Hardy-har.” Shelby poured herself a glass of milk, making a mental note to call her parents in the morning.

  “Somebody’s in a bad mood.” Grandpa gave her a curt nod and went to wash his hands.

  “I just need to eat.” Shelby dropped into a chair, feeling as sullen as a disgruntled teenager.

  “I meant him.” Grandpa gestured toward Gage with his elbow.

  “I just need to eat.” Gage grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  “Where’s Captain?” Shelby asked, glancing past them.

  Both men stared at her in confusion.

  “My dog. The Saint Bernard? I’m calling him Captain.” So what if she’d just come up with the name? So what if she hadn’t expected them to bring him home? She was feeling sorry for herself and a bit prickly, ready for a fight. “I assumed you’d bring Captain home with you today. Isn’t he due to start exercising soon? Maybe as soon as tomorrow.”

  “Whether he’s up to it or not, he’s not your dog. We agreed on a week.” Gage cut away a charred corner of the meat loaf.

  “Nobody wants him but me.” Shelby speared a bite of meat loaf. It was dry, and stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “His owners will show up.” Gage worked a square of burned meat loaf off his fork with his teeth.

  Shelby said nothing. It was hard to talk back when she was close to choking on overcooked meat loaf.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AFTER DINNER, GAGE sprawled in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the backyard, one hand on a cold beer, the other resting on Mushu’s silky black head. It was one of those late September nights where the air turned chilly uncomfortably quickly, before the sun had disappeared below the horizon. His good intentions for being at the clinic temporarily had turned uncomfortable just as quickly.

  Two months. It seemed like purgatory, in spite of Shelby’s company.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, Shelby joined him, claim
ing the creaky porch swing. In endearingly familiar fashion, she very nearly tumbled onto the grass while trying to arrange her limbs on the cushions. “Feel better after eating?”

  Gage made a non-committal noise and held back a smile. She’d never be graceful. Or a good cook.

  Finally, the swing settled. She studied the purple sky that preceded sunset, a breeze ruffling her short blond hair. “Rough day? I’ll vent my gripes if you vent yours.”

  Once he would’ve told her how he was feeling, without hesitation. But their relationship felt duct-taped together, with the minimum amount of duct tape. And his bad mood? It came from a place he wasn’t proud of.

  “I know we’ll never be friends like we were before.” Her words were tinged with regret. “But we are friends. And maybe telling me will help.” She pushed the glider in motion with a booted toe.

  So much for drinking the day’s frustrations away in peace. “Today was a humbling experience. Don’t get me wrong. I love helping animals. But—”

  “They weren’t racehorses.” She laughed at what must have been the dumbfounded expression on his face. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how you used to complain about veterinarians who thought they were gods? You’ve turned into the one thing you once despised, haven’t you? I mean, what’s higher in the vet career ladder than racehorses? Zoo animals?”

  “It’s bad enough I don’t like myself much right now.” He set his beer on a white plastic side table. “You have to rub it in?”

  Shelby grinned and stole his beer, sending the swing careening higher. She managed to stay on. “Hmm. Let’s see. Delivering at-risk, thoroughbred horses while risking life and limb, versus treating a cat with fleas... I can see where your ego could get involved, despite the danger.” She froze for a moment, as if struck with worry for him and his work.

  An owl hooted in the distance.

  “You make me sound shallow. It’s not just the status that appeals to me.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” She picked at the corner of the beer label.

  He rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands. He’d returned to Harmony Valley with several secrets he’d never considered sharing with Shelby—his role in Nick’s death, his resentment toward being second fiddle to Nick and his love for her. She’d come to terms with his first secret. What would happen if he told her the second? Would it be the last straw? A clean break would make leaving for Kentucky that much easier for both of them. He had no choice but to tell her.

  Glancing at his beer in her hand, he cleared his throat. “You’re going to take this wrong, but today at the clinic—”

  “You realized my grandfather is off the deep end? I knew it.” She pressed the beer bottle to her cheek. “You’ve seen his research library. He’s not the man he once was.”

  “This isn’t about your grandfather. Or the clinic, at least, not really.” His growing frustration caused him to raise his voice. He quickly took a breath to compose himself. “This is about Nick.”

  “Nick?” The beer bottle lowered slowly to her lap.

  “I shouldn’t be saying this to you.” But he couldn’t stop now.

  “It can’t be any worse than the reason you left two years ago.” She added softly, “Can it?”

  Now Gage was the one who was worrying. Every secret he’d withheld from her made him look like a louse.

  “Wow, this is serious. And it has nothing to do with the clinic?” Shelby’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can say it. You can tell me anything.”

  How he wished that was true.

  “I’m the worst of friends, Shelby.” In more ways than one.

  “Gage.”

  “I was always a step behind Nick in whatever we did.” He stared down at his shoes, realizing he needed new ones soon. “Nick was better than I was at sports. He had more confidence with people...with women...with you.” Gage’s voice echoed across the yard. “He just was...better.” He snagged his beer from her and took a long pull. “Except with horses. It was the one area of expertise, of life, where I could do things he couldn’t, where people looked up to me instead of him.” Another heavy sigh. Another slug of beer. “And now, I’m cleaning wax from a dog’s ears and cutting away mats of hair so they can see. I’m just another vet, second in preference to your grandfather—who hasn’t lost his edge, by the way, just his balance.”

  “Oh.” Shelby anchored the swing with her toe.

  “Yeah, oh. I’ve been a horrible friend and I have questionable motives for my choice of career.” Now she’d feel justified in ending their friendship, which would allow him to move on.

  The owl hooted, taunting Gage.

  “Life isn’t a competition.” Shelby spoke without recriminations, accusations, or anger.

  Gage fell back in the chair. “Don’t sugarcoat it. You can tell me what a crap friend I am. Or I was.”

  She shrugged. “I think Nick knew.”

  Gage made a derogatory sound.

  “Oh, come on.” She held out her hand for the beer. “It’s not as if you and I weren’t competing against each other in school and we were friends.”

  He passed her the bottle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously?” She drained what little beer was left. “Highest science grade in high school earned the Weinstein Scholarship. Best essay about your future earned a Lion’s Club merit award. And don’t get me started about vying for valedictorian.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You didn’t care about any of those things. What did you need a scholarship for? Your parents paid for college.” He darted inside for two more beers, opening one for her before sitting back down.

  “You don’t know everything about me.” She held her beer bottle up to clink his. “Remember when I got a better calculus grade than you in college?”

  “You said you were lucky and that you hadn’t even studied.”

  “I lied.” She reached over and smoothed his hair. “I hired a tutor because I was tired of coming in second to you. I felt so guilty afterward, I bought you a steak dinner.” She sagged into the glider cushion. “I can’t believe I told you that. It’s been eating away at me for years. Okay, so maybe not dining on me like a buffet, but definitely nibbling at my conscience.”

  While she drank and gazed into the darkening sky, Gage scratched his head. Could it be that he didn’t know Shelby as well as he thought? He’d certainly been successful at keeping things hidden from her for years.

  “You’re having an epiphany.” She licked her lips. “I can hear the cogs spinning in that big brain of yours.”

  He couldn’t seem to look away from her lips. His mouth went dry. “I’m realizing that friends don’t necessarily know everything about each other.”

  “That doesn’t mean our friendship had less significance or that our relationship was shallow. Sometimes I feel like I know what you’re thinking before you put it into words.”

  If that were true, she’d know he was thinking about kissing her. He forced himself to look away.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she blurted.

  His gaze flew to hers.

  Shelby’s grin spread from here to Kentucky. “You’re thinking your good friend deserves to visit her dog.”

  And if that wasn’t proof Gage and Shelby weren’t on the same wavelength and weren’t meant to be, Gage didn’t know what was.

  He sighed. “Visiting hours at the clinic are over.”

  “It was worth a try.”

  Nothing about his return to Harmony Valley was turning out as he expected. “So what upset you today?”

  “Ugh. I let Mae get to me.” Shelby sounded so maudlin, Gage laughed. “I know. Silly, right? In the past few days, she’s practically accused me of giving widows a bad rep.”

  “What?”

 
“I wear too much black.” She spread her coat to reveal her black shirt.

  “It hides the stains.” Anyone who’d spent time in a lab knew that.

  “I know, right?” Shelby sipped her beer. “She says black means I’m lonely.”

  He hesitated before asking, “Aren’t you?”

  The owl taunted Shelby this time.

  “Maybe I am, a little,” she allowed. “But I’ll take lonely over heartbroken any day.”

  “That might explain the limp green beans, but it doesn’t sound bad enough to make you burn the meat loaf.” Or the fries. Or the garlic bread.

  Instead of arguing the point, she shrugged.

  Interesting. “She really got under your skin.” Gage leaned forward. “Cough it up. What else did she say?”

  Shelby’s foot sent the glider swinging again. “She might have hypothesized that I’d get fat and be the town’s eccentric cat lady someday.”

  Gage stopped the swing. “What did she really say?”

  She bit her lip, refusing to look at Gage.

  Bribery was in order. There was no chocolate in the house, so... “If you tell me, I’ll take you to see the dog.”

  Shelby hesitated.

  “You know you want to see him.”

  “She said...” Shelby closed her eyes and started over. “She said in ten years I’d be lonely, probably regretting my life choices... Oh, and childless.”

  A close enough prediction of the truth. Gage sent the glider swinging. “Weren’t you just insisting you’d take loneliness over the chance at a family?”

  “I didn’t say it like that.”

  “Yeah, but I do know you, even if I didn’t know about the calculus tutor.” What else had she hidden from him all these years? “And it sounds as if Mae knows you, too.”

  If Nick was looking down on them, he’d have given Gage a high five. Shelby had erected too many walls to ever be happy again. Before Gage left town, he was going to make sure some of those walls came down.