Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Here,” I tell Cole, grabbing a napkin from the glove box after pulling my stained shirt from his hand. “Hold this on there.”
“It’s not even bleeding anymore.” Disappointment fills his little voice, and I know it’s because he thinks we won’t go to the vet clinic now.
“Let me see,” Cale demands, grabbing at his brother’s hand.
“Don’t,” I snap, drawing both of their attention.
I could tell by the gleam in both their eyes that they were going to make the wound open back up because the little pain was well worth getting to see the animals.
“We’re still going to have Doc McBride clean it up for us.”
They both smile, Cale releasing his brother’s hand and climbing inside the SUV and right over to his own booster seat.
I swear these boys have more of their mom in them than I’d like.
“We’re here to pet the doggies!” Cale tells the woman at the reception desk the second we step inside.
I give her a quick smile and pull him closer, nodding an apology to the woman who’s standing at the counter, holding a tiny dog that looks about ready to shiver right out of her arms.
“Can we pet that doggie?” Cole asks, holding his injured hand with the napkin wrapped around it in her direction.
The little dog growls, making my son frown.
“It’s just a tiny cut,” he says to the dog as if it understands.
I just love the purity of children.
“Chase Woodson,” the woman says. “I heard you were back in town.”
I pull Cole even closer when he ignores the warning the dog has given him twice now.
Cale, as always, is quicker to read the atmosphere around him and keeps his distance.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her. “How have you been, Marlene?”
“Can’t complain. The rain last week and the sunshine this week have made my pole beans double in size.”
“Can we expect some of those down at the store in the next couple of weeks?”
Marlene owns the Fresh Quest Grocer, the only local store we have to buy groceries because Lindell would never allow something like Whole Foods or a Super Target anywhere near their city limits. Something convenient like that would be far too progressive for our little town.
“Fingers crossed,” she answers. “Now, I have to get Mr. Happy back home. I have a raid at two.”
I nod at her, still surprised every time I remember that despite her age, Marlene is an avid online gamer.
“We have Cale here,” the woman says when I step up to the counter.
“Cole,” I correct.
Dad thinks he’s slick, pretending to get the boys mixed up. He always says it’s because he doesn’t get to spend enough time with them, but they’re fraternal twins not identical. To me, they look nothing alike, and I know Dad can tell them apart too. He just enjoys a quick dig at my absence as often as he can do it.
“Exam room one,” she says, pointing to the door number with a big dog paw on the door.
Before I can wrangle the boys who have gotten distracted petting a Husky puppy, I watch as the door to exam room two opens up.
Kristina Alexander walks out looking flustered, her son Justin only a few feet behind her.
She smiles at me. We’ve always been cordial, but there’s almost thirteen years between now and when we were in high school.
“Doc Ellis is out of town,” she mutters as Justin limps behind her. “He stepped on a nail.”
“Cale tried to cut Cole’s finger off,” I say in commiseration.
“We suck at magic,” Cale adds.
“We don’t say that word,” I tell him, sighing as I look back up at Kristina.
“What’s another word for magic?” I hear Cale ask his brother.
Kristina huffs a laugh, and I can’t help but join her.
“Good luck,” she says as Corbin opens the door to exam room one, no doubt looking for us.
I nod at her.
“Hey there, boys,” the vet says. “Have you convinced Dad to adopt that Husky yet?”
Chapter 4
Madison
“Another one?” Adalynn asks when I hold my empty glass up to Walker.
“Unlike you, Ad, I came here to drink.”
“I came here to drink,” she says, her hands wrapping around her glass of soda.
I laugh. “I’m not trying to insult you. This isn’t high school. No one around here is going to try and pressure you into alcohol consumption.”
She sighs as she looks at me, her eyes darting back and forth.
“You’re different.”
I swallow and look away. It’s been ten years since we graduated, and although we’ve stayed in contact through social media and quick visits when I’d come back to stay with my folks for the holidays, we’re not as close as we once were. I hope to change that, even if I don’t plan on sticking around town any longer than I have to.
“Different how?” I ask.
“Alcohol consumption,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s repeating my words. “You’d used to say drinkin’.”