The Bequest

Once they've finally caught and stuck the last calf, the guys start taking the pen apart. Eddy's chatting while they work, until a piece gets stuck. He leans over a little to pull it out, his arms flexing, and I see my window. I snap one last shot.

With the way the sun backlights the whole thing, it looks like a scene out of a movie. You can tell he's really good-looking and in great shape, but you can't really see his face.

I ought to ask if it's okay for me to post the image, but I'm too afraid he'll say no. I fall in love with it while editing, and I can't face the prospect that he might refuse. "You ready?" he asks.

I nearly drop my phone. "Yes. Let's go."

"Longer and more boring than you thought?" He's smiling, but there's an undercurrent to his question-almost like he's nervous that I've been miserable. I'd probably muck stalls, if he was doing it.

"It wasn't too bad," I say. "Other than the occasional smell of poo, the air was fresh, the weather was perfect, and the company wasn't awful either."

His smile broadens. "If you liked that, you should come with me the next time I get a call about a dental abscess."

I must make a face, because he laughs.

"Or maybe I should call you when I'm done with work one day," he says. "We could do something less smelly and more fun."

Did he just ask me out?

It occurs to me for the first time that in a town of 400, his options are probably even more limited than mine back home. "I'm not sure," I say. He shrugs. "Can't fault a guy for trying."

"It's just that..." I may not be the best cook. I may not be great at faking emotion. I may be terrible and useless at anything to do with animals. But I know how to hook a guy.

"What?" He stops only a few feet away from his SUV.

I sigh so forcefully it blows my hair away from my face. "You're so much younger than I am." I smirk. "With such a large age gap, I don't see where this could ever go."

A lot of women would say that the way to draw a guy's attention is with a rocking body. Or great food. Or flirting outrageously.

I think they're wrong. It's making sure he laughs when he's around you.

Judging by his laugh, I'm on the right track.

"Is that a no, then?" he asks. "Because you should know, Kevin and Jeff both owe me favors. I could come out here every day for the next week, if that's what it takes." I put my hands on my hips. "For what?"

"Do you know how many animals there are at Birch Creek?" He shrugs. "Could be anything. Colic. Bumble foot. Eye infection. You name it. I could have you writing checks all week long." "This account isn't my money," I say. "It wouldn't cost me a dime."

He steps closer. "But think of the animals. Would you really put them through all those senseless farm calls?"

My heart rate picks up and my hands feel clammy. I haven't been around a guy who made my hands feel clammy in a very long time. "Alright."

"Alright, you'll let me take you out?"

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I shake my head. "I'll give you my number. If you play your cards right, it could be a date."

"Oh, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's playing the odds."

He hands me his phone, presumably to put my number in, and opens the door for me.

"Do guys still do that here?"

He frowns. "Do they not open doors in New York?"

"No one really has a car, but I've never had anyone open a cab door for me."

"I guess I'm old-fashioned."

While he's walking around to his side, I scroll through his contacts a little to see how many girl-sounding names are saved.

There are a lot. Which shouldn't bother me. Neither of us are young. So he knows a lot of women? So what? I enter my number, typing in 'You Wish' instead of my name. Just as I click save, he has an incoming call from someone named Claire. I hand his phone back.

He declines the call, and swipes through a few things. He's frowning when he looks up at me. "You didn't save your number?"

"Oh, I did, just not under Amanda. If you want to ask me out, you'll have to figure out what name I saved it under and then also remember my name without it being typed into your phone. I'm sure with all the women's names and numbers you've got, that's unlikely to happen."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on."

"You don't appreciate things you don't work for, Dr. Dutton. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

"I suppose you have a lot to teach me."

"You have no idea."

While he totals up the number of calves he treated and works up the invoice, I stare as much as I want, which is quite a lot. I sort of figured that, up close, upon longer acquaintance, I'd notice something annoying. A mole.

An underbite.

Nearsightedness that makes him squint. Anything.

But the longer I stare, the more I want to stare.

When I write the check, and he thanks me and climbs back in his SUV, I'm actually sad. He waves as he drives away, and I can't stop looking at that dimple that shows up even from a half smile.

It takes me almost an hour to get reception for long enough to post, but it's worth it. The photo of him, muscles straining, sunlight streaming past his silhouette? #HotCowboy #Downand Dirty #Giddy Up #VetCheckMePlease There's no way Heather's not going to be delighted about this.

Let's hope my followers are, too.

When I check later that night, it turns out, they are. I tell myself that's why I'm so excited.

Now if only I believed it...