Bittersweet. Laura Browning

for any signs of swelling or infection as he added, “Of course, there might have been a lot more offers if she hadn’t been pregnant as she was interviewing. There was also one professor who was not high on her, claimed she was a dilettante with a bad work ethic, but she’s busted her ass for us.”

      “I see.” It was time to change the subject. As much as he wanted to know more, it somehow felt underhanded, as though he was sneaking around behind her back instead of doing the logical thing by asking her. “How did the mare do on the vet check?” he asked to change gears.

      “Passed. Flying colors. I’m sure Wynter will call you.”

      She did, around lunchtime, so Chris hooked the two-horse trailer to go to Pheasant Run. About halfway, he stopped at a country store to grab a bottle of water. As he came back, Anna, or someone who appeared to be her, was headed inside.

      Chris started to say something sarcastic about the dried mud on her until he got close enough to see her face. Underneath the dirt streaks, she looked pale and shaky. She brushed by him as if she didn’t even recognize him.

      “Anna?” As soon as she glanced his way, he saw she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?”

      “I had to kill a pig,” she muttered as she made to move past him again, but Chris touched her sleeve.

      “Come over here in the shade under the tree and sit before you pass out.” He knew she was feeling rotten when she made no protest. “Here, take my water. I’ll get more.”

      He returned with some wet towels and two more bottles. He offered her the towel and watched as she scrubbed her face and hands. He tracked her movements as she reached around the back of her neck and rubbed the towel between her breasts. Chris swallowed. She looked wiped out.

      “What happened?”

      She turned to him with a sigh, and a spark of the Anna he knew burst through. “The boar got stuck in some mud near a farm pond. By the time anyone checked on him, he was already overheated. I couldn’t get his temperature down and he started having seizures. I gave his owner the options. Euthanize him or get him to the vet school. He decided to put him down.”

      She looked away, blinking several times. “I’ve never had to kill anything before.”

      “It happens.” Chris didn’t want to sound callous. He was being realistic. Saving every animal wasn’t always possible. Livestock owners simply had to learn to deal with that–apparently veterinarians did too.

      She smiled, her face wan. Again, Chris was overcome with a feeling he knew her from somewhere. “Thanks, Mr. Stevenson–for the water, the towels and the ear to bend. I’d better get back.”

      As she rose, Chris clasped her wrist.

      “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

      Her blue eyes widened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

      “Come on,” Chris coaxed. “Nothing fancy. Bring Becca and we’ll cook at my house, so you don’t have to worry about the whole…” He found himself at a loss for words.

      “The whole breast-feeding thing?” Anna finished with a sarcastic tone. “No thanks, Mr. Stevenson. It’s my personal policy not to socialize with clients of the clinic.”

      He ignored her tone and smiled at her, not sure why her agreement was so important. “I grill a great steak.”

      She shook her head again. “I’m hungry enough to eat half a steer right now, but I can’t accept your invitation to dinner. Please leave it.”

      Chris felt... What? Irritation? Surely not disappointment? Trying to keep a check on things, he smiled. “At least let me buy you a sandwich for lunch. I know this place doesn’t look like much, but they make a great toasted pimento cheese.”

      She nodded. “A sandwich would be great, if you think you can stand the mud and pig smell.”

      “I’ve smelled worse.”

      She smiled. The dimple was there. She looked happier, and for once, young and carefree. Chris wanted to kiss her until she begged for more. And he had no idea where that thought came from, since they’d done nothing but rub each other the wrong way since they’d met. Even so, when he turned it over in his head, it didn’t seem half bad.

      Instead of following the urge, he said, “I have one request.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Call me Chris. Mr. Stevenson is my father.”

      It surprised him when she blushed before she replied, “Okay, Chris.”