by Anna Burke
Table of Contents
Titlepage
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About Bywater Books
For Tiffany.
And for those of us living with chronic pain, I see you.
Prologue
Lillian Lee didn’t believe in love at first sight, but she did believe in the inevitability of hate. The data backed it. She’d felt it, hot and liquid, coiling in her stomach the first time she’d locked eyes with Ivy Holden.
This is it, she’d thought, trying not to bounce on her toes or show any other outward signs of excitement—or fear. Walking onto the Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine campus for orientation marked the culmination of years of hard work and the beginning of many more. There were only thirty vet schools in the States. Getting into one required top grades, dedication, a flawless interview, and, in her case, a student loan larger than most mortgages. Lillian pushed that last thought aside. This was her dream. Like all dreams, it required sacrifice.
At the moment, that sacrifice seemed to be of the human variety.
Everyone knew team-building activities were par for the course for orientations. She grimaced at her accidental pun as she surveyed the Hoffman Challenge Course looming out of the grass ahead. Her palms left damp stains on her jeans. Impossibly tall wooden struts supported equally improbable platforms, all connected by networks of ropes she had a horrible premonition she’d be expected to climb. Her peers milled around her. Some looked as daunted as she felt. Others laughed and chattered in groups, already finding friends in their cohort. Her heart lurched. I belong here, she reminded herself. These were her future colleagues. She repressed the lingering insecurity their bright, confident laughter inspired, and adjusted her glasses. Maybe the lenses were magnifying the course. Nobody in their right mind would climb that high.
“This looks like as much fun as a lobotomy,” said a tall girl with short dark hair to her left. Lillian caught her eye and noted the nametag: Morgan Donovan.
“You afraid of heights, too?” she asked.
“I have a healthy respect for the division between humans and other primates. We chose the ground.”
“Seriously.” Lillian eyed the ropes. Even looking at the upper levels made her feel sick. A warm breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the distance. Trees that looked just as tall as the ropes above her. A bumblebee hummed across the clover at her feet. She’s got the right idea. Ground level was the level she was most comfortable navigating. The insect zigzagged from flower to flower, and she wished she, too, could fly away like the bumblebee, floating just a few inches off the ground.
“Are you allergic to bees?”
She looked up to find Morgan studying her. “No, why?”
“An allergic reaction would get you out of this.”
She laughed just as the leader began giving instructions. The sound caught the attention of a slender girl with immaculate waves of blond hair, who turned around with her glossed lips twisted in a moue of disapproval. Heat rushed to Lillian’s cheeks. The girl’s green eyes flicked over her as if she could catalog everything she needed to know about Lillian in the time it took for her eyes to travel from Lillian’s braided hair and glasses down to her scuffed sneakers. The result of her assessment, her smugly superior face said, didn’t even merit pity.
God, I hate blondes. The sense of entitlement that came with their lack of proper pigmentation baffled her, and this one, with her lululemon yoga pants and perfect eyebrows, symbolized everything about the breed Lillian despised. She dug her toes into her sneakers as she entertained a fantasy of Blondie shrieking as she fell from the ropes.
“If they make us partner off,” she said as she turned back to Morgan, “want to be my partner?”
“Sure. Nice to meet you, Lillian.” Morgan’s easy smile alleviated the shame still prickling the back of her neck from the blond girl’s dismissal, and she allowed herself to relax. Maybe things would be okay.
Partners, however, were chosen randomly. Lillian knew what would happen long before the orientation leader paired them off. Dread soured her mouth. Luck didn’t favor the Lees.
“Lillian, you’re with Ivy,” the leader said in a peppy voice.
“Next time,” said Morgan as she drifted away.
She turned to face Ivy, preparing to paste a smile to her face for the sake of politeness. The smile curdled when she met the other girl’s sneer.
“Nice shirt.”
Lillian glanced down at her T-shirt, which she’d bought at the Cornell store—the first off-the-rack item of clothing she’d purchased in years. Across the front, the words Treating Magical Creatures Since 1894 circled the Cornell veterinary school crest. The shirt had made her happy when she put it on this morning. Arriving at Cornell, pursuing her dream—these things really had felt magical. Now she felt stupid and childish, even though several other students were wearing the exact same thing, and regretted spending twenty dollars on cheap cotton. The shirt had probably been manufactured by child labor overseas, anyway. Nothing magical about that.
“Thanks,” she said, knowing she’d think of the perfect comeback later that night when it was of absolutely no help to her.
“Didn’t I see you in the kennels earlier?”
She shrugged, aware of the blush creeping up from the collar of her shirt. Yes, Ivy probably had seen her in the kennels, not that Lillian would have noticed, as her first shift that morning had involved more diarrhea than should have been biologically possible given the size of the dogs. She could still smell it lingering on her skin despite her shower. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I didn’t realize you were a student.”
“Most of the kennel staff are students.”
“How provincial.” Disdain dripped from the word and from Ivy’s perfectly arched brows. She stared around the field as if even the grass was more interesting than Lillian.
Anger built as they waited for more instructions. All the other pairings were making friendly conversation. Morgan and a pretty girl Lillian thought was named Tysha were chatting about something that, apparently, required Tysha to lean into Morgan’s every word. Morgan’s grin suggested she enjoyed the proximity.
“Friend of yours?”
She jerked around. Ivy had startlingly green eyes. They gave her face a predatory, almost feline, cast.
“Yes.” She decided Morgan would, in fact, be her friend, because if the alternative was girls like Ivy then she was going to have a very long and very lonely next four years. Ivy made a noncommittal noise that managed to sound both bored and also judgmental as hell. Lillian’s nails carved half-moons in her clenched palms.
Don’t let her see she’s riled you. Girls like Ivy had teased her all through middle school, mocking her poorly fitting secondhand clothes and thick glasses. The thrift stores near Bath, Maine, rarely carried anything name brand, and her family hadn’t been able to afford fashionable frames until her mom’s most recent promotion at Bath Iron Works. Besides, she had better uses for her money than clothes that would just get covered in dog hair and dirt. Jeans were jeans. The brand didn’t matter, as long as it covered her ass—or so she told herself each time she rummaged through her drawers.
She did not need someone like Ivy reminding her of t
hose childhood torments. Thus resolved, she folded her arms over her chest and clenched her jaw.
The first activity consisted of a low ropes course that hardly merited a harness, according to the muscular guy in front of them. He proclaimed loudly to his partner about how “into bouldering” he was back home. His partner, a girl with long legs and an increasingly frustrated expression, edged away from him.
Lillian thought he was probably Ivy’s type: blustering, generically attractive, and brimming with the confidence of an average white male. He’d go on to make twice as much money as his female counterparts for doing half the work.
Nerves were making her bitter.
A low ropes course was still far too high. Worse, the activity required teamwork to traverse. She tried to pay attention to the rules, but the ringing in her ears made it difficult, and by the end of the explanation she still had no idea what was expected of her.
“We did this for undergraduate, too.” Ivy sounded bored.
“You went to Cornell?” She congratulated herself on managing to sound civil.
“Yeah. You?”
“University of Southern Maine.”
“A state school?”
“They have a good pre-vet program.” And an even better scholarship.
“Sure.”
Heat exploded in her chest as Ivy drew out the word. “At least my parents didn’t have to buy my way into college.”
Ivy’s lips thinned, and the glare she fixed on Lillian was diamond edged. The arrival of a staff member with a pair of harnesses, however, prevented her from replying.
Point goes to the scholarship kid. She couldn’t help the smug smile that twisted her own lips.
“You ladies excited?” asked the staff member. Either she was immune to the frostbite radiating from Ivy, or she chose to ignore it. “I’m going to show you how to put these on. You’ll be perfectly safe if you follow instructions.”
That “if” had to be a joke.
Ivy fastened her harness without help, a hint of angry color in her pale cheeks. Reality slammed back into Lillian as the staff member placed the bundle of straps and buckles in her arms.
“You doing okay?”
“It’s no higher than the ski lifts at Telluride,” Ivy said. “She’ll be fine.”
“Excuse me?” Lillian rounded on her, aware sweat was dripping down her back and likely staining her new shirt. How dare this girl speak for her?
“What? It’s not a big deal. Unless you’re scared of heights?”
There probably were activities for people petrified of heights. There was no shame in that. All she had to do was ask, and she’d be left safely on the ground. But Ivy was watching her with a hand on one hip, and so she raised her chin and let the woman tighten the harness around her body.
“I’m fine.” The harness cinched across her hips. She plucked at the thick nylon and pulled her shirt free of the buckle. When she looked up, she caught Ivy staring at her again through half-lidded eyes. Her stomach swooped. “What is your problem?”
Their helper inhaled in surprise at her tone.
Ivy gestured at the harness. “Didn’t realize you had a waistline.”
“Ladies—”
“I’ll go first,” Lillian said. Fuck Ivy. Fuck her entitlement and her judgment and the way her skin itched beneath Ivy’s gaze.
“Good.” The woman steered her toward the base of one of the massive posts with perhaps a touch more force than was merited. “You’ll wait at the landing for your partner, and then . . .”
She tuned out the rest. Once the ropes were clipped to her waist, she set her hands on the spikes that served as a ladder and hauled herself skyward. What did that even mean, Ivy hadn’t realized she had a waistline? Just because she liked shirts that fit comfortably didn’t mean she lacked a figure. Not everyone needed to strut around in skin-tight athleisure. In fact—
“. . . worst that can happen is your hand gets tangled when you fall,” Mr. Into Bouldering was saying loudly from below. “A friend of mine broke his wrist that way.”
Her feet froze on the rung. She’d broken her arm when she was thirteen. It had taken her moms six years to pay off the hospital bill. A broken wrist could end her veterinary career before it even began. All her savings had gone into rent and paying for the Cornell student insurance package, which she knew wouldn’t cover nearly enough in an emergency. Maybe someone like Ivy could afford to live carelessly, secure in the knowledge their safety net would catch them, just like the nets that dangled below the ropes course, but Lillian knew better. If she fell, she’d land on grass, shattered, and there would be no second chances.
“You’d have to be an idiot for that to happen.” The irritation lacing Ivy’s voice distracted Lillian, and she glanced down.
The earth spun dizzyingly, and a roaring sound pulsed in her ears. Her hands felt glued to the rungs. Someone was saying her name, but their words seemed to come from far away, and they echoed in her skull.
Ivy’s emerald eyes were the last thing she saw before she passed out.
Chapter One
The couch, the book, and the wine should have felt glorious after a long day spent reasoning with anxious owners and dealing with a particularly feisty African Gray parrot. However, as a cold September wind blew leaves against the window of the farmhouse, she found it hard to buy into the opening of the historical romance in her hands. The improbably endowed duke and his rival’s equally improbably proportioned wife had just met for the first time, and both were instantly infatuated. She took a sip of wine. Normally she loved the comfortable formula of romance novels.
And yet.
She shut the book. Two weeks had passed since Brian had called things off. The fact that it hadn’t come as a surprise didn’t help. She’d known their long-distance relationship, sustained with intermittent visits between his graduate work in South America and her schedule at the clinic, wasn’t enough for him, but she’d hoped he could hold on long enough to finish his dissertation—which he’d been dragging out for three years.
She took a measured breath and counted to three. Breathe in, breathe out. At least she didn’t need to have that fight anymore. Her Italian greyhound, Hermione, opened one eye from her position curled up on Lillian’s chest and glared her displeasure at the disturbance. Muffin, the larger of her two dogs, was no doubt digging holes out in the yard.
“Sorry, princess.”
Dogs were better than people anyway. Brian could postpone finishing his dissertation as long as he liked. It was no longer her problem, and it freed up time for more pleasurable activities, like reading.
Not that she was having much success. Maybe she needed a mystery novel. A few dead bodies might make all the difference. Of course, that would require she move, and Hermione’s visible slit of pupil suggested only monsters would commit such crimes.
The farmhouse door opened from the other room. She listened for the sound of footsteps, trying to gauge which of her roommates had just returned home. The clack of dog nails on the hardwood, followed by the hot breath of a sable German shepherd in her face, indicated the new arrival was Morgan Donovan.
“Morgan, I need your help.”
She heard Morgan kicking off her boots in the mudroom, followed by the sound of dirty clothes joining their brethren in the washer. A button clanged against the metal side. Morgan appeared a moment later in clean garments, but a sprig of hay clung to her short mop of dark curls and an aroma of horse followed her.
“Can you grab me another book? I’m trapped.”
Silence. She tilted her head to get a better look at her friend.
Morgan stood in front of her with her hands buried in her pockets and her knees locked, as if she wanted nothing more than to flee. The freckles scattered across her cheekbones stood out against her flushed cheeks, and her slate blue eyes avoided Lillian’s.
“Are you okay?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Lillian scooped up Hermione and resettled her i
n her lap as she sat up. “Did something happen with Emilia?”
“What? No. She’s fine.” Morgan seemed fascinated by the patterns on the carpet. “Danielle hired a new large animal vet.”
Danielle owned the veterinary practice where both Lillian and Morgan worked, and they’d been sorely in need of a new large animal veterinarian. Morgan had covered more than her fair share of work for months.
“That’s good news.”
“Yeah. Um, listen. There’s something you need to know.”
Dread coiled up from the springs of the couch and into her stomach. Something about the way Morgan still refused to meet her eyes warned her change was coming—change she wasn’t going to enjoy.
“Just tell me.”
“The new vet is Ivy Holden.”
That couldn’t be right. She blinked, her forehead wrinkling. It sounded like Morgan had just said Ivy Holden. Obviously she’d misheard, as that would be cruel even by the standards of the cold and unfeeling universe, and her earlier reminiscence had simply conjured the woman’s name like a bad smell.
“Who?”
“Ivy Holden. From Cornell.”
Air hissed out of her lungs. Her diaphragm filled, instead, with shrapnel. She shook her head and willed Morgan to take back her words. Ivy couldn’t be coming to Seal Cove. This was Lillian’s place. Ivy was in Colorado, safely far away, and their story had ended six years ago when they had graduated and gone their separate ways.
“I’m sorry. She’s the best candidate we’ve had. You know how long we’ve been searching for a new vet.”
“Right.” Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. “Of course. You have to do what’s right for the practice.”
“It wasn’t up to me. Trust me. I tried convincing Danielle she wasn’t a good fit.”
“But there were no other applicants?”
“None I’d trust with my cases.”
Deserts contained more moisture than her mouth. “When does she start?”
“End of September.”
The shrapnel pierced her diaphragm and burrowed toward her heart. “That’s next week.”
Morgan examined the ceiling. Lillian followed her gaze. The exposed beams did not collapse, however, sparing her this conversation, and contrary late afternoon sunlight illuminated dust motes and a few floating dog hairs.
