Page 6 of Against The Tide

“Is it worth getting Callie on the case?” He gives me his secret-weapon grin he reserves for whenever he sends his wife to handle a difficulty.

“I can’t see the harm in it.” I shoot back my coffee in a couple of gulps and rinse out both of our cups before putting them in the dishwasher and heading out. “I need to get to the office early today. I have a meeting with a potential partner for the practice.”

“Another one? Everything all right?” Rowan asks, getting in his truck that he’s parked beside my SUV.

“Yeah, just need to evolve to keep things profitable. It’s great having Prescott, but he’s still Cardio. I’m thinking of bringing in a pediatrics specialist, and this guy I’m talking to today has a great reputation. He did this unicorn procedure on a newborn, and it’s become the talk of the industry.”

“Sounds like you’re busy.”

“I sure am.” I start the car and open the window so we can finish the conversation. “Surf tomorrow morning?”

“Fuck yeah,” he sings as he begins to reverse out of my drive. “Laters, asshole.”

“Ciao, dickhead.” I’m pulling out and turning to go the opposite direction when he calls, “You should talk to Briar about the baby-making business. That’s her thing, and if you’re looking to expand…”

He drives off with a wave out of his window that’s partly a sloppy salute.

Of course he would start making suggestions. It’s Rowan—he likes being into everything. It’s why he’s good at what he does; he makes things his business and doesn’t relent until he’s made them his bitch. But baby making isn’t my business. I’m interviewing a specialized pediatric cardiologist, not a fertility specialist.

The whole mention of fertility makes me shudder. My history with it is tainted, and it’s not something I’ll ever want to go near again. Personally or professionally.

My thing is hearts, and I want to keep it that way. After all, I’ve got to level the karma out by fixing as many as I break.

The ranch is quiet as I cruise up the long stretch of driveway to the house. None of the dogs are running around, and the horses are all out in the field to the back of the stables on one side while the chickens are out in the sun. The rooster is sitting on his perch watching the hens clucking around. They should be having chicks soon.

Parking behind Jo’s cherry-red 1948 Ford pickup, I grab the pharmacy bag with her prescription. She can’t drive herself around now that she’s started to have severe muscle spasms and her coordination is failing her. Parkinson’s has taken away so much of the independence she loves, and I’m determined to help her get some of it back or at least slow down any more deterioration.

The two younger German shepherds come bounding toward me from the direction of the apple orchard. With the heat, any fruit that’s fallen off the trees goes bad pretty quickly. Jo’s probably out there cleaning it up.

“All right, guys, I missed you too.” I crouch and fuss over them so they stop jumping up at me. Breeze is the newest addition. She’s a little over one year old and is still full of energy, something she’s not all that aware about. Ship, on the other hand, is a couple of years older. Although he’s playful, he knows how to rein himself in. “You want treats?”

Breeze starts howling the minute I pull the Ziplock bag out of my pocket. She has a thing for carrots.

“Where’s Jo?” I hold out two chunks as I ask the question, and before either one of the two dogs takes theirs, they bound to the top of the porch and back for the treat, letting me know that she’s in the house.

It’s odd because all four shepherds are practically glued to Jo’s side. They go where she goes without fail.

When I head up the porch steps, the two of them run back in the direction of the orchard while I go inside.

Although the outside of the house is a traditional federal farmhouse style, the interior is all open plan with large glass concertina doors at the back that are left open to the porch overlooking the large lake out back.

“What are you doing here today?” Josie asks from the kitchen; she’s got her apron on and a few pies in front of her that need to be covered.

“I got your meds, and I figured I’d stay with you this weekend since Rowan and Callie aren’t around.”

By the time I’ve toed off my boots and made a fuss of Wave, who comes to greet me for her share of the carrot, Jo has already poured me a glass of her homemade apple cider.

“You don’t need to do that. Don’t you have a life? A nice girl to romance or…I don’t know…don’t you have shit to do with yourself?”

She has a habit of fluffing her graying auburn hair when she’s trying to divert the conversation, a habit that I’m not sure she’s aware of. As I give her a head-to-toe check to make sure she doesn’t have any new injuries since I was here last weekend, she turns to the sink.

“I have some paperwork to go over, but I can do that here in between shoveling the horse shit and cleaning out the coop.”

“Huh, you still hiding from that psycho sleepover?”

“No. I haven’t seen Tanya in over a month. I think she finally got what one night means.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”