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And very, very tired.

Also, did Ireallyask Wyatt to show me how to pick someone up last night? My heart skips several beats at the memory of the way his fingers locked around my wrist, his eyes steady on mine.

The craziest part? It worked. Beck and I danced to not one, but two whole songs together before I finally lost my nerve and disappeared into the ladies’ room with Mollie and her friend Wheeler. I would’ve danced with him more, but I felt so painfully self-conscious that it kind of ruined the whole thing for me. I wish I could be a little more carefree around him. A little bit more relaxed. Maybe then we’dbothhave a good time.

“I’m already dressed,” Dad says. “Coffeepot is on. We’ll take it to go, and I’ll fill you in on the drive.”

As much as my dad’s been on my ass lately about, well, everything, I have to smile at his thoughtfulness. He means well. Loves well too.

Shivering, I throw on jeans, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, and thick socks. I have no idea if we’ll be working in a barn or outside this morning, and doing my veterinarian thing in the frigid temperatures of upstate New York has taught me to always dress in layers and prepare for the worst. It doesn’t get nearly as cold here in South Texas, but it sure as hell isn’t comfortable outside in the dead of night in November.

Popping out my retainers, I brush my teeth and try not to think about Wyatt. I could very well be performing surgery in the next half hour. I need to strategize. Go through my mental catalog of the things I gleaned from that pair ofarticles I read last week, the ones about tweaking the double-plating technique I’ve used to repair equine compound fractures.

Putting down a foal is not something I want to do this morning. Or ever. Which means I have to fix her leg.

But I’m tired, and my mind keeps wandering to the warm, firm slab of muscle I felt when I accidentally slipped a finger inside Wyatt’s jeans. The man is jacked, no two ways about it.

I’m pretty sure he wears briefs; I felt their thick, silky elastic waistband. And the way he looped an arm around my waist—how confidently he moved, how smoothly?—

“Sally, honey, coffee is ready! We best get a move on!”

I jump at the sound of Dad’s voice from downstairs. Rinsing my toothbrush, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and turn off the light.

Time to get to work.

Mom is already on her way to the New House at Lucky River Ranch, where she’s the chef and she feeds its dozens of employees breakfast, lunch, and dinner five days a week. So it’s just me and Dad in the same F-150 he’s driven for as long as I’ve been alive. I made sure all my surgical supplies and the portable X-ray machine were still in the back before we left.

I sip my coffee as we drive through the dark, heat blasting. “Where we headed?”

“The Wallace Ranch.”

My stomach plummets. That ranch belongs to Beck and his family. They run an incredible horse breeding program there, and rumor has it they want to start training barrel racers there too. Dale Wallace, Beck’s dad, is even building an arena on their property.

Because they’re such a big operation, they have their own veterinarian on staff. Vance is a little younger than Dad—in his late forties—and he’s a kind man and an excellent doctor. If he can’t fix the problem, you know it’s serious.

“The fracture is complex, then.” I take a bigger sip of coffee, even though it scalds my tongue.

“Yep. She specifically asked for you.”

“Who?”

“Ava Bartlett. She’s a new trainer over there—just started this week. I think she was a barrel racer for a while. Anyway, she called me in a panic, saying Vance was stumped. He told her you were the person to call.”

My chest lifts at the compliment. In many ways, I feel more confused about my future than I ever have. I just can’t seem to get excited about the job I just accepted. But this—my reputation, my hard work—I’m damn proud of it. I love what I do.

Also nice to feel needed by the community I grew up in and love with all my heart.

“See how good that feels?” Dad asks, glancing at me. “What I’d give to be the go-to person for this kind of thing. You possess talent and brains that I never have. I’m glad you’re not gonna waste it staying in Hartsville.”

Now my chest is twisting. I reach over to pat Dad’s arm. “Life is good here and you know it. Besides, you’re the go-to guy for other things that are just as important.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I suppose. But the thought that I coulda been better, coulda done more with my life…” He sighs. “Hard not to dwell on it sometimes.”

When my adviser called last week to offer me the job, Dad was so proud, so excited, he literally had tears in his eyes. Beneath his excitement though, I also detected a hefty dose of regret. I know that was a callhehad hoped to get but never did. I understand why he’s so invested in my career—this job is an opportunity he missed out on—but at the same time, it puts a lot of pressure on me to take advantage of that opportunity.

I also wonder if Dad is a little jealous. He loves his work and appreciates the beautiful life he and Mom have built inour small town, but he never had the support, financial and otherwise, that he’s always provided for me. I wonder ifhewonders how far he could’ve gone in life if his parents had been a little more involved in his education. They were ranchers who, according to Dad, “didn’t have two pennies to rub together.” My grandfather never finished high school, so it was a big deal that Dad not only went to college, but to veterinary school too.

I know he’s proud of that fact. I also know Dad is a smart, ambitious guy, and his regrets about his career haunt him in a way he doesn’t want regret to haunt me. I have to remember that the pressure he puts on me comes from a good place.