Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Ignoring the housework that desperately needs to get done, I go upstairs and get ready for bed. The girls are in the room right next to me, and I can hear them talking, laughing, and listening to music. I can’t really fault them. These walls are thin and it’s only ten o’clock.
Eventually, I’ll be moving into Aunt Kim’s room. It hasn’t been long enough to get rid of the rest of her stuff…has it? I don’t know what the appropriate amount of time is. Everly already thought it was disrespectful when we got rid of some of her things. Now I’m having a hard time believing what I told her about Aunt Kim knowing we would take over the house and that she would want us to make it our own,
Since there’s currently no mattress on the frame in the master bedroom, I don’t really have a choice but to stay up here. My plan is to get rid of Aunt Kim’s bedroom furniture and bring my own from our house in Indy. When I’ll have time to actually go back down to Indy is the real question.
I definitely see Jacob’s point more and more as each day goes on, but I will figure this out. The horses deserve it, and I won’t let Aunt Kim down.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JACOB
Maybe Mason was right.
It’s a jarring thought, one I don’t think I’ve ever had before. And it’s definitely not something I’ll admit to him. But I’m starting to think that he might have had a point back when we went to the bar not that long ago. I just wrapped up giving my second presentation at the Michigan Horse Fair, and my Q&A session had almost as many questions about my personal life as it did questions about equine medicine.
“Dr. Harris!” an attractive redheaded woman calls, hurrying from her spot in the audience. She goes around the podium, stopping just feet before me. The panel is over and everyone else is filtering out to get to the next presentation, grab food, or walk around and shop.
“Hi,” I say, remembering her from her rather crass question of how my wife handled my long hours. She smiled when I told her I didn’t have a wife, and I swear she’s undone a few of the buttons on her green plaid shirt. She’s attractive, probably just a year or so younger than me, and has a silver horse pendant hanging around her neck, resting right above her large tits.
“I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed your presentation. I lost a horse from colic a few years ago, and I can’t help but think if I had you as my vet, maybe I’d still have my horse.”
“Unfortunately, it’s something you would never know. Don’t beat yourself up over the what-ifs,” I tell her, knowing all too well how haunting they can be. The what-ifs keep me up at night more frequently than I’d like to admit. What if I got there sooner? What if we tried a different, more aggressive treatment approach? What if the owner didn’t wait before seeking help? What if treatments weren’t so expensive and we didn’t have to limit what we can do based on what the owner could afford?
“Very true. I think about a lot of things I could’ve done differently. But you’re right, wondering what if is only going to drive me insane.” she leans forward, reaching up to play with her necklace as she smiles at me. “But what I was wondering was if you would like to get lunch with me. Or, if you’re busy the rest of the day, we could always get dinner. I’m staying at the hotel right outside the convention center, and I hear their in-house restaurant is very decent.”
My automatic response is to politely decline. I have one more panel for the day, so I couldn't do lunch. I technically could get dinner. Right before I tell her no, I hear Mason's voice in my head, reminding me that she's not a client. I always thought Sam's advice of being able to fuck somebody out of your system was bullshit; though, I never really had a way to test it.
Ever since I took Josie home on Thursday night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I wanted so fucking badly to kiss her. That thought alone should have brought me to my senses and made me forbid myself from thinking about her like that again—ever. But I can't fucking help it, and I find my mind flitting back to her whenever it's not occupied with something else.
“I don't have time for lunch before my next panel, but I was going to grab something to drink,” I start. “There isn't a bar in this place, but I can buy you frozen lemonade.”