Page 29 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Routine snapped into place. My shoulders lowered. My breathing evened out.
I could handle this.
I could handle animals.
I could handle problems that had clear diagnoses and treatment plans.
What I couldn’t handle was Delaney Hart looking at me like I was going to be the reason she’d never find acceptance in Ruby River.
Thirty minutes later, I’d finished the exam, prescribed anti-inflammatories, gave the owner the reassurance she needed, and moved on to the next patient.
The goat screamed in protest every time I walked past his crate.
He hated being ignored.
I understood that feeling more than people realized.
By noon, I’d caught up with my schedule and was miraculously running on time—the only thing keeping my nervous system from staging a mutiny. Jane brought me a turkey sandwich and a bag of chips, then waved her hand dismissively when I tried to hand her money.
“Don’t worry about it. You buy my lunch more often than not.”
I nodded and took a bite. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d missed breakfast.
“You need to call Theo,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Before you end up naming him and buying him a tiny sweater.”
I groaned at her obvious joy with the situation. “I’m not buying him a sweater.”
“Yet,” she replied, chuckling softly as she went back to her desk.
I frowned at the crate and the tiny terror inside. He stared back, chewing hay like he was plotting my demise once I let him out.
I picked up my phone and dialed.
Theo answered on the second ring. “Ruby River Animal Rescue.”
“Theo. It’s Marc.”
“Hey,” he replied warmly. “Let me guess. You’re calling about our newest Main Street hooligan.”
I didn’t bother asking how he knew. This was Ruby River. Everyone knew everyone else’s business before it happened. “Tell me you have room.”
Theo exhaled, and my stomach dropped before he even spoke. “I don’t.”
I ran a hand through my hair and prayed he was joking. “Come on.”
“I’m serious,” he said, the apology clear in his tone. “We’re at capacity. We took in fifteen cats in a hoarding situation, plus two dogs someone dumped on the highway. I’m juggling fosters?—”
“So there’s no one to take him?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not right now.” Silence stretched between us. “Unless you …”
My jaw tightened. Yes, I was a registered foster. Yes, I was currently animal-free at home. No, I didn’t want to take on a bleating catastrophe with hooves.
The goat snorted like he was laughing at me.
Like he’d already won.
“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Temporary. How long?”
