Page 222 of Josephine and Clay

"You're impossible," I whisper.

He remains blissfully unconscious.

I gather my clothes from around the room and pull them on as quietly as I can. By the time I'm dressed, the first hints of gold have begun creeping through the curtains.

The sight stops me before I reach the door.

Clay is still asleep, one arm stretched across the empty side of the bed.

Last night, that sight would have terrified me.

This morning, it doesn't.

The future is still uncertain. There are still twins to prepare for, difficult conversations ahead, and more fears than I know what to do with.

But this is the first morning I don’t feel buried beneath it all.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room and lean down.

My lips brush his forehead.

A simple kiss.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

Whether he's awake enough to know I'm there or not, I can't tell.

I only know the sight leaves warmth blooming through my chest.

Then I slip from the room and head downstairs before the rest of the McCoy family wakes up and discovers exactly where I've spent the night.

By the time I'm leaving for work, Buckhorn is only beginning to wake up. The streets are quiet except for a few ranch trucks and Martha Lou sweeping the sidewalk outside Spurs Diner.

She spots me crossing Main Street. "Morning, hon."

"Morning."

"You look tired."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I gathered."

Martha Lou nods approvingly. "Good. Means you're still smart."

I shake my head and continue toward the clinic while she cackles behind me.

The morning at the clinic starts busy and somehow gets worse from there. A border collie with a torn paw. A horse with an infected eye. Three vaccination appointments. A goat that escapes an examination room and turns fifteen minutes of the morning into a full-scale manhunt.

By ten thirty, I'm crouched beneath Dr. Harris's desk attempting to retrieve the world's least cooperative goat. "Come on."

The goat fixes me with a look of stubborn conviction. I return the favor.

Neither of us moves.

Dr. Harris sips coffee. "You're losing."