by Maggie Way
With a few snazzy photos, I was sure she would have a new home quickly. Most of our adoptions occurred within a short period of time. The idea of having pets put down for inconvenience haunted me to my core. I’d made it my mission to find each one of them a new home.
The larger portion of my day as a veterinarian was spent with people who adore their animals and referred to them with endearing names such as fur babies and four-legged babies, but never a Piece of Work.
I was sure there would be an alternative place for Mrs. Chancelor and people like her who mistreated, neglected, or brought harm to animals.
Deep into mentally thrashing Mrs. Chancelor, I became startled when Zetta, my assistant, opened my door.
“Stuttgart Farms is on the line. One of their prized stallions got into the feed barn. Can you go out and take a look?”
I looked at the clock above the door—twenty after six—and let out a groan. Another night making barn calls.
“Bet it was Cherokee. I’ll get my kit and head that way if you’ll let them know?”
Zetta didn’t wait for my answer; she knew I was married to the job and wouldn’t say “no” to any crisis. In fact, she was my right hand girl and knew me by heart. We’d spent years working or training together at school.
She was finishing up her last year of veterinarian school at Texas A&M, my alma mater, where we’d first met. She planned on joining my practice full time once she graduated. By then, she hoped her husband, Clay, would be leaving the Army and returning home for good. Three tours of Afghanistan were enough for her. But until then, she and I had been joined at the hip since she was practically single, and I was eternally solo.
Cherokee Night was a beautiful black stallion and one of Stuttgart Farm’s prized possessions. With stud fees running around $100,000, you’d think their manager would have a lock on their grain storage that Cherokee couldn’t open.
“Hey Doc, thanks for coming out. This rascal is driving me nuts,” Glenn said, lifting his hat and scratching his head.
“Studs are suitable for two things and that’s one of them,” I quipped.
Glenn simply rolled his eyes at me. The man seriously had issues with women knowing anything.
Unable to determine how much grain Cherokee consumed meant I got to spend the night walking him and keeping a close eye on his behavior. Horses were known for getting into the feed if not monitored, and overeating can easily cause colic or death.
While Cherokee and I were walking the arena on the south side of the barn, I noticed two gentlemen take a seat on the fence. They seemed to watch us and carry on a conversation at the same time, pointing in our direction and obviously discussing Cherokee. One of the men was dressed in business clothes and sported expensive sunglasses. He didn’t look like a cowboy, horseman, or anyone who belonged to the farms, but he sure was attractive and caught my eye.
“Hey, Glenn, who’s the suit?”
“Some investor that the Stuttgart’s are tanglin’ with. His family is big in commercial construction.”
“Strange combination.”
“You don’t say,” he said snidely.
Glenn tossed me the keys to the property and told me where the fresh linens were in the loft above the barn, as if I’d never been there before. He knew I would sleep there that night so I could check on the horse. The owners kept me on a retainer, amply covering my fees, and rarely needed my services, but when I had to come out, it was no problem staying in a designer barn loft that was originally built for their daughter who had since married and moved out. Heck, it was better than my apartment.
I put Cherokee on the walker and took a seat on the bench attached to the barn. The two men watched me intently for some time before making their way over to my side of the arena.
“You must be Doc Howard?” the cowboy asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry. You seem to have me at a disadvantage. And you are?” I asked, a bit dismayed. I didn’t like it when someone knew more about me than I did them, and yet, they kept their cards close to their vest.
“Colt Stevens, Calvin Stuttgart’s son-in-law.” He removed his hat and shook my hand. “This is Flynn Davis.”
So the suit had a name.
About that time, Cherokee decided to drop to the ground and roll around. The night got exciting in a hurry, but that’s what happens when you have large, ornery animals.
“How did the night go?” Zetta greeted me with a cup of coffee.
“Long. It was Cherokee again, and he’s colicky. I’ll be going back at noon. I’ll spare you the details, but I did find out they are putting in a rough track and bringing in some investors. Glenn said it’s possible the farm would have a full time position within a year.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” she teased.
“Nice try, but who said we were discussing a position for you?” I badgered.
“You’d never leave the clinic. You love crappy people like Mrs. Chancelor too much.”
“Bullshit, but where’s that sweet Penelope?”
“She’s in your office chair where she looks like she’s been all night.”
It was going to take more coffee to keep me awake all day. I sat at my desk and tried to weed through the stack of emails while Penelope traipsed across my desk like she owned it.
The Evite caught my eye on the computer monitor. I opened the email attachment and groaned. Just what I wanted to do…attend a bachelorette party.
Bachelorette party, a time waster.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love my friend April and want her to be happy. We’d been best friends since high school, but she was the last of my single friends, and it was a reminder I wasn’t getting any younger. There was never anything interesting about their constant desire to attach me to someone, and I should’ve written a book with all of my excuses for their matchmaking attempts: 1001 Ways To Dodge A Blind Date.
Early on, I never thought I was going to be the old maid of our group, but I suppose it wasn’t in the cards for me to find the right guy.
Relationships are for fools who have nothing better to do.
Chapter Two
Chloe
“You got the Evite, right?” April asked almost out of breath.
“I’m going. Don’t worry. Are you calling me while you’re at the gym?”
“No, I’m carrying boxes up the back stairs at Moody’s.”
“It’s not even noon. Why are you at Moody’s?”
“You’ll see.”
“You know I don’t take an appreciation to your shock value.”
April quickly hung up the phone.
Grrrr. I hated surprises. And what was worse—the mentioning of Moody’s Bar—a place I’d avoided at all costs during the last three years.
Three painful years since him.
Moody’s had become our hangout when we came home for breaks during college. It was the place where I’d met Scott, and it was also the place where he’d broken my heart—in public.
Scott Devlin was attending law school at SMU. He was the typical third generation heir to the family law practice. I was home on spring break and let him buy me a beer. One thing led to another, and we launched a long-distance relationship that lasted a span of three years. It was easy for him to have girls on the side since I was away attending A&M in College Station. Who would know, right? Especially when his boy club kept his secret—Bullet point number one of The Man Code: Girls on the side are perfectly fine, you keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.
His secrets appeared safe. That was until my mom became ill, and I rushed home during the week. One night after a long day waiting in ICU, I stopped by Moody’s for a drink and was making an attempt to unwind. I watched from a distance as my boyfriend danced, played pool, and otherwise entertained some bimbo I didn’t know. Unable to control my anger, I approached him with a full glass of beer in my hand. Before the night was over, my face was wet with tears and his dripped with beer.
I tried going to Moody’s with my friend
s after that night, but the bartenders and the local patrons all knew the story and continued to talk about it or would mention Scott’s name to me just to spawn a reaction, so I stopped going.
On my drive out to Stuttgart’s to check on Cherokee, an Evite update came across my phone and I stared at the message.
Limo will pick you up. Check the scheduled attached.
Dinner at Henera’s
Post Party at Moody’s Bar 10:30 until?
Dress Code: Black mini-skirts, white tank tops, and accessories will be delivered tomorrow. Try on immediately.
I shook my head in dread. I pondered what emergency I could use that would get me out of going or at the very least, interrupt my night so I could say hello and goodbye in the same sentence. I made a mental note to get creative in short order to ditch a freakin’ disaster.
I checked Cherokee’s vitals. He was getting closer to his old self and a great distraction to my private life. Something about animals, even ornery ones, soothed my soul.
“How’s he looking?” Glenn asked from behind me and almost caused me to jump from my seat on the fence.
“He’s almost back to his mischievous self. I left a brochure on your clipboard for a new style of door guard you might want to install.”
“Yeah, okay, Doc.”
“I’m serious, Glenn. Next time we might not be so lucky.”
Glenn gave me one of those looks that indicated he had all the right answers and maybe I should just shut up and take a trip to hell. He was lucky Stuttgart’s didn’t fire him for not paying more thorough attention.
The wonderful package from April greeted me at the door of my apartment. I couldn’t wait to see what ridiculous outfits she’d come up with for us to wear. When I opened the box, my breath caught.
Oh. No. She. Did. Not.
My tank top said Available for Rent for Cheap Beer, and the black skirt was so small I was certain it would barely cover my ass. Just flippin’ great. The box included a tiara, pink boa, and pink hair chalk. We were going to look like a bunch of cheap bimbos or whores let out of the closet.
With my outfit displayed on the bed, I snapped a photo and sent it to Sara, one of our friends, and asked her to send me a photo of hers. When it came through, I let out a gasp as I read I got a hall pass, but don’t tell my husband on her shirt.
Quickly, my phone rang. “Are you seriously going to wear that? Did you show it to Mark?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief, though Sara couldn’t hear my imaginary marbles rattle.
“He’s fine with it. Look, it’s all in fun. Don’t be so uptight about all of this. What’s really the problem or do I have to ask?”
“I don’t want someone to see me in that getup or taking photos of me that could end up on Facebook or Twitter. My partners would have a fit.”
“This isn’t about work. It’s about Scott. Why don’t you just admit it? You haven’t seen anyone or gotten laid since, have you?”
“That’s none of your damn business.” I huffed. She was right, but the world did not need to know the intimate secrets of my sex life.
Non-sex life. I think there’s a term for that. Perhaps an app?
Sara’s sigh was soft, but audible still. “It was always my business before. Look, wear the outfit and have fun. For everybody’s sake, please let your hair down and enjoy it. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
With a glass of wine, I scoped out the contents of the box and came to the conclusion that maybe it could be okay after all, but it was going to take more than one glass of Chardonnay to convince me I would have any fun.
Overnight, I made the decision to turn the table on April, have fun with the situation, and try my best not ruin it for her. I made two stops after work, the first to pick up a bottle of my favorite Tequila, and the second to pick up a bottle of pink hair color—the kind that washes out.
If she wants us to wear ridiculous garb, who says I can’t personalize my look?
I pulled out an old pair of stiletto ankle boots to compliment my Ho outfit and downed three shots of Tequila to get my courage up. By the time the limo arrived, I was feeling fine and the rest of the world could go to hell.
When the driver opened the door, I was surprised to see April and Sara already occupying space in the limo.
“What the hell? The schedule said I was first?” I asked, handing my bottle and purse to Sara, so I could climb in.
“I thought you might chicken out, so I tricked it up and brought reinforcement.” She paused to gasp, “What the fuck happened to your hair?” Sara exclaimed.
“It’s my party do. You don’t like it? Don’t worry, it’ll wash out.”
“How many shots did it take to get the courage to turn that gorgeous blonde hair to pink?” April teased me.
“Whatever is missing from that bottle,” I slurred, perhaps on purpose.
The limo made a few more stops and picked up the rest of our party. We were a sight walking in to Henera’s for dinner. Everyone in the place turned and stared as we were led to the private room, which of course, had to be in the back. I was certain we didn’t appear anywhere close to a Sunday school convention, and I worried someone would mistake us for the Street-Corner Chicks in Training.
Standing in the private room, I laughed out loud at all the comments on our shirts. It really was meant in fun, and April had planned each one of them to meet our personalities. She didn’t leave herself out of it either. Her shirt said Buy me a drink and talk dirty to me. I won’t remember it in the morning, so your secret is safe with me.
By the time we made it to Moody’s, I was feeling no pain and had lost all of my inhibitions about going. That was until I saw him…
Chapter Three
Flynn
Checking my voicemail after work, I heard, “Hey, Dude. Call me back. I need to know what time your flight gets in. We all got a kitchen pass and plan on going out tonight. You’re going whether you want to or not. I talked to Connie and she cleared your calendar.”
It was my best friend, Drew Murphy. He was a general contractor in our family construction business, and I’d known him practically my whole life.
“You harassing my assistant again?” I asked into the phone.
“Nope. I wink at her and she loves me. Not harassment. When ya getting’ in?” Drew jokingly snapped back.
“Six-thirty. Why?”
“You know why. We’re all going out tonight. You need to go out. It’s been months.”
“Nah, man, I’m not into it.”
“Dude, seriously. It’s been what—eight months since you and Courtney bit the dust? I’ll throw down a Benjamin that you don’t have the balls to pick up a girl tonight,” he said with a cocky laugh.
“All right fine, make it two, and I’ll take that bet.”
“Two hundred and I get to pick the girl.”
“Deal.”
As luck would have it, my flight was late. I made it home just in time to jump in the shower and throw on some jeans, loafers, and a white dress shirt. My usual uniform. I had a closet full of identical clothes.
I should have grabbed dinner on the plane. Liquor and me weren’t friends if I didn’t eat first.
I was the last of our group to arrive at Moody’s, and the guys were well into the first game of pool. When Allen threw down two hundred bucks on the bar table and stared at me with a half-cocked grin, I knew Drew had let him in on the bet.
“Am I the only topic of conversation today?” I asked.
“No dude, not you, the little tart that we’re gonna pick out for you,” Drew said in laughter.
We shot a few rounds of pool before going downstairs to eat. I loved playing pool and hanging out with the guys at Moody’s, but their food was awful. I looked at the greasy wings and could only imagine half of that shit ending up on my white shirt. No, thanks. I passed.
We’d been downstairs about an hour before heading back to our game. Allen was the first guy up the stairs and started grumbling and swearing like a sailor. A
ll I could make out was “Somebody had a fuckin’ pink feather fart up here.”
The stairs roared in male-harmonious laughter.
We all climbed the stairs and formed a line up against the dark mahogany wall. There were pink feather thingies and bachelorette signs everywhere. Somebody named April was getting married, and a bunch of women dressed like flamingoes had flown in and invaded our manly space in the poolroom of Moody’s bar.
When Marlee, our waitress, came upstairs, I stopped her.
“What the hell happened? Who’s April?” I asked, while Drew, Allen, and Kai stood by ready to do battle.
“April Davenport has been coming here since she was old enough to drink—um maybe on that last part.” He laughed. “She’s getting married, and her posse is having her party here. Relax, the pink won’t kill ya.”
“Dude, say hello to your pussy for the night,” Drew said.
All the guys laughed with him.
“Shut the fuck up, Drew.” I shook my finger in his face. This was not at all what I’d had in mind. In fact, the only thing I wanted to do was get in my car and go home.
Allen slapped my back. “Relax, bro, it’s all in fun. You can get outta the bet, just say the word.” He was challenging me.
“No, I’m in. Because if I’m not, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Six girls climbed the stairs and filed in one by one. We watched as they pranced and wobbled, obviously already intoxicated and each one of them wearing a ridiculous outfit some fool put together. I tried to read their shirts, but they stayed too huddled together for me to make out what they said.
It wasn’t long before Drew and Allen started going eeny-meeny-miney-mo for which one I would be stuck with. I waited to hear my fate.
“The one with the pink hair,” I heard Drew say to Allen.
Allen nodded yes.
All I could see was a pink ponytail swooshing back and forth as the owner of the exotic hair spoke to the girl to her immediate left beside the edge of the pool table, directly in front of me. My eyes darted to the short black skirt she had on when she shifted sideways. Nice ass, I thought to myself.
