The Bequest

"Mrs. Brooks?" The vet must be standing behind us. His voice is deep and throaty, but still somehow smooth.

"I'm Mrs. Brooks." I turn around, and this time, I'm the one who freezes. I expected the vet to be, I don't know, rough. Dirty. I hoped, at his best, he might look like the horse trainer I saw from across the yard. But this man looks nothing like that.

His hair is longish. His features are perfectly symmetrical, with a sloped jaw, a defined, sharp nose, and an angled brow. His eyes, though, they command my attention.

Maren had a section on genetics in science last year, and I discovered that less than two percent of the population has green eyes. His are grass green, which perfectly offsets the lighter shades of dark blonde that highlight his russet hair. He's ungodly good-looking in his crisp, button-down shirt, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. He even has a little bit of scruff, like he didn't have time to shave the cowboy Heather told me I needed to find. I can't help glancing at his left hand, sure it will have a ring encircling the third finger.

But it's bare.

"Abigail Brooks?" He narrows his eyes at me.

Probably because after saying I was Mrs. Brooks, I haven't spoken a single word. I'm like the heroine in a 1980s teen romance, unable to speak at all when I first meet the high school quarterback. Now all I need is a bad perm and some glasses so my best friends can do a makeover.

"Abigail Brooks is my mom," Ethan says. "This is my Aunt Mandy."

The vet starts chatting with Ethan, probably having decided I'm slow. "I've got the checkbook, whenever you need it."

Both men stop talking and turn toward me. "The checkbook?" Ethan asks.

"Why would I need your checkbook?" the super hot vet asks.

"Uh, Abby told me that since she had to work, I was supposed to pay when you're done."

"Right," he says. "I'm Eddy Dutton. Nice to meet you." He jogs up two steps and holds out his hand.

I should be saying whatever stupid and polite things people say. Like my full name. It's not like the vet will call me Aunt Mandy. But I can't seem to think straight when I'm looking at his face.

"Her kids are fighting and it's clearly distracting her-they were supposed to be going home in a few days, but they've decided to stay a whole month."

Bless Ethan. He's always been my favorite. "That's me," I say. "Amanda Brooks."

"Nice to meet you, Amanda. I'll come let you know when we're done." He turns toward Jeff and Kevin, clearly ending our brief conversation. "Where are the calves?"

"Farthest meadow," Jeff grimaces. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Eddy says. "I know the drill. Are the other meadows all prepped for hay?"

"Finished clearing the last one yesterday Ethan's a hard worker," Jeff says. "Having him around helped."

"Glad to hear it," Eddy says. "You guys ready?"

"Actually, I'm coming too," I say.

All four guys turn toward me slowly, like from a scene in a movie.

"You are?" Ethan pauses, his expression completely confused. "Why?"

"It's not like there's anything else going on." I shrug. "Is that alright?"

"Of course," Kevin says. "Happy to see you taking an interest." He doesn't sound happy, but he's too polite to tell me no.

"Are you planning to go in that?" Eddy lifts one eyebrow as he scans over my handkerchief dress and open-toe sandals.

"I probably ought to change."

"Why don't you and Jeff go set up pens," Eddy says to Kevin. "I'll bring Aunt Mandy and Ethan in my truck. Ground's dry. Should be fine."

Kevin and Jeff, who don't seem to care at all, disappear immediately.

"You gonna take more photos?" Ethan asks.

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "Are you a photographer?" Eddy asks..

"It's her job," Ethan says, before I can respond.

"My cousin does that," Eddy says. "She mostly does studio work, though. Graduation shots, senior photos, that kind of stuff."

"I take a lot of candid shots," I say. "And I'm supposed to get some of cowboys. You won't mind if I take some?"

Eddy shrugs. "Snap away."

I probably ought to explain that I'm an influencer, but any time I tell normal people what I do, I get a lot of confused questions and disbelieving looks. "I'll be right out."

I duck inside, but I still hear Eddy's next statement. "She doesn't seem like someone who'd make a good rancher."

I need to go change, but I can't quite drag myself away before listening to Ethan's response.

"I heard she just broke up with someone. He didn't take it well, so she had to get out of the city for a while. Since we were coming here for the summer..." He drops his voice, as if he's talking to a co-conspirator, instead of a vet he's never before met. "I think she just needed something different."

As he says the words, I realize that, other than the stalker, he's right. I did need something different. I hate not being connected to the rest of the world...but I needed the break. It's not healthy to be completely tied to social media all day long.

"She's hiding from a stalker?" Eddy asks. "Well, this is a good place to do it. Thanks to Jed's stubbornness, there isn't even any internet."

I have no idea where Ethan heard that story, but it makes me sound super desirable instead of like an older woman who's met every single man in New York and is now repeating them without realizing it. I finally jog to my room and slide into the scruffy jeans and t-shirt I'd been planning to wear. It's ironic that my "cowboy catching" outfit was utterly unsuited for spending any time with an actual cowboy.

When I finally emerge, they're still talking.

"Actually, I haven't finished sanding yet," Ethan says. "I'm trying to prep and paint this porch and the house trim as a surprise for my mom. I've got to do the prep work while she's working, and if I only do half, she'll immediately notice. Can I come out in an hour? It's only a twenty-minute walk, and I don't mind meeting you."

"You're a good kid," Eddy says.

I can't disagree with him.

"Thanks." Ethan picks up the sander.

"You ready?" When Eddy's full attention fixes on me, my brain shorts again. And we're about to be alone in his SUV. This is not good.

"Yes," I finally manage to say. Get it together, stupid.

Luckily, it's a quick drive, and once we reach the field, Eddy's so busy we don't do much talking. I follow his simple instructions and hand him the things he needs. Calves don't like vaccinations much more than kids do, but no one cares when they cry, and you can tie their legs.

I do find the time to snap a few photos of Eddy while he's working. He really does make cowboy look good, as much from the back as the front. Talk about making my job easy. Now to find out how old he is he barely looks older than Jeff and Kevin, but he's a vet. He seems like a competent vet. He must be at least thirty, right? Unless he's the Doogie Howser of the vet world.

"Have you always known you wanted to do this?" I ask. "Like in high school?" I do my best cheerleader impression and shout, "Class of 1999!" I pause. Was that too obvious? Just weird? "Did you know when you graduated?" It's hard not to cringe.

He squints up at me from where he's crouched on the ground. I wish I could snap a photo right now, but it would be too obvious. "Class of 1999? How old do I look?"

"Ouch," I say. "I was class of 1999."

"Really?" He winces. "Rough."

"What class were you?" Kevin asks.

"Two thousand," Eddy says. "A completely different millennium.”

I laugh. "You really had me going there."

"Did I?"

I shrug. "You look twenty-five."

He already looks like a movie star, but when he grins? Forget it. What is someone this good-looking doing in the middle of nowhere? And how is he single? Women should be throwing themselves at him. Or maybe he is married, but doesn't wear a ring because of the dirty, messy work he does?

Or maybe he's a real jerk.

Actually, that must be true. It's not like there are a bunch of great guys my age, just wandering around, unattached. The forty-something singles scene is like shopping at a Nordstrom Rack. There may be some treasure hidden in there, but it's buried under piles of returned and damaged merchandise and things so odd no one ever bought them.