Page 11 of Forget That Guy
There wasn’t anything to this place. They could’ve looked at the outside of our house and seen that there was nothing inside to steal.
Getting that call while I’d been out with friends…
The sound of a snowmobile pulling up outside had me freezing.
I turned to look out the dirty windows to see Denver wearing his winter rancher’s garb—thick Carhartt overalls. Winter boots that were meant to work. A worn-out Carhartt jacket that looked like it’d been well used and loved for years upon years. And a beanie that came down low over his head, mostly covering his eyebrows.
But those honey-colored eyes met mine through the dirty windowpane and he started up the steps.
I went to the door and met him there.
There wasn’t much difference between the outside of the house and the inside, so I didn’t bother to invite him inside. I just stood in the doorway with my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
“Are you going to make me leave?” I asked.
He looked at the house around me, noted the falling-off screen door. The missing board on the front porch that should’ve been replaced years ago. The peeling paint. The charred boards that met the uncharred ones.
He didn’t miss a thing when he said, “Yeah. You’re going to have to leave.”
Those words were the final nails in the “I hate Sinclair Windsor” coffin.
Especially when he listened to me beg and held his ground.
THREE
I’m just impressed with how ugly I’m willing to look in public these days.
—Holly’s secret thoughts
HOLLY
Four months later
“Holly!” Boone called from the OR.
I looked over at him through the glass windows, surprised that I’d heard him, and called, “Yeah?”
He gestured me closer with his chin, and I walked to the door and pushed it slightly open.
“Got a couple of house calls we need to make. Can you check those?”
I looked at the poor horse that was currently being held up by straps as he performed surgery on the front part of a horse’s chest and nodded, “Sure.”
“Thanks.” He gave me a brief smile, knowing that his presence made me uncomfortable.
I’d been working for Boone Windsor for four months now, and it wasn’t too bad.
Sure, I wasn’t always super happy with his style of work—all my way or the highway—but it was doable.
He also didn’t make me hate him like his uncle did. Though, I use the term “uncle” loosely seeing as they were closer in age to brothers than uncle/nephew.
I’d agonized for days on whether I should work for Boone or not.
I’d interviewed at four clinics, and all four of them had offered me a job.
However, Boone’s clinic was the only one that was in the same town that I wanted to live in, offered an office vehicle I could drive to appointments, and was within walking distance of the rental that I’d made into my new home.
He’d also offered an advance in money to pay for my apartment for the next few months, as well as promised enough work that I could easily make it on the salary he provided plus some if I wanted to work more.
