My hands continue to do compressions over the small puppy’s chest. I’m exhausted. I’ve been trying to save this puppy for three hours now.

Most vets would have given up a long time ago. He was hit by a car, and most of the bones in his body are broken. He has internal bleeding that I know I can’t stop. And he’s been touch and go since he arrived.

But he’s a fighter, and I won’t give up on him. So, I keep doing compressions, trying to convince his heart to keep beating.

“Skye,” Alicia, my vet technician, says in a stern voice.

I keep pumping my arms over the puppy’s small chest.

“Skye, it’s time,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

I know she’s right. That he’s already gone. But, for some reason, it’s harder for me to give up on the strays than the ones who have an owner. At least the ones with an owner had a good life. They were loved.

This puppy grew up alone. He’s barely eight months, and if the car accident hadn’t taken his life, starvation most likely would have.

“Time of death: six thirty-three,” I say, stopping the compressions.

I stroke his head. This is the hardest part of the job—when I can’t save them. This is what I was put on this earth to do, and when I fail, I’m lost.

“You should go home. You weren’t even supposed to be on duty today,” Alicia says.

I nod. I’ll go. I’m too exhausted to be of any use here.

I walk like a zombie to my office to collect my things, and then I start walking the half-mile down the road to the small farmhouse that I call home.

Usually, I like the walk. It gives me time to clear my head before I’m greeted by my herd of animals. But not today. Today, I don’t want to think. Today is hard.

My thoughts go back to the beach. To Brody, as they often have these last couple of months since I returned from my vacation. And I feel the familiar feeling of anger take over. It’s easy than the pain I feel when I think about the puppy that I couldn’t save. A puppy that didn’t even have a name.

I open the door to my small farmhouse and am greeted by my four mutt dogs. “Hey, Sherbet, Grumpy, Ernie, and Lady,” I say, greeting each dog.

I try to smile, but I just can’t today. Even Ernie’s infectious grin isn’t enough to warm my heart. Not today.

I walk the few feet to the back door and open the door to let them out into the backyard. I might be exhausted, but my day doesn’t end when I come home. I have three horses, two cows, six chickens, three pigs, a rooster, four dogs, and three cats that rely on me. So, I follow the dogs out into the yard and get to work. Thankful to have something to keep my mind occupied instead of my lonely thoughts.

The sun is setting fast by the time I’m about finished feeding and giving the animals the attention they need. I start walking back up the field toward the house to make myself something to eat with the dogs fast on my heels, excited that it’s time for them to get fed as well.

I sense him before I see him. My body is used to being alert for when I feel danger nearby.

“You’re not welcome here,” I say, grabbing on to Grumpy and giving the rest of the dogs a look to stay by me.

They all do, sitting carefully next to me as they intently stare at the stranger.

Brody is standing just outside the fence on my property. His face is clean-shaven, and his hair is shorter than the last time I saw him. In a dark suit, he’s very out of place here.

“I just want to talk. Can I take you to a late dinner or to get a drink or something?”

“No,” I say as I continue to hold on to Grumpy, the only dog I have that isn’t fully trained yet. My negative energy transfers through my body to his, the longer I hold him, getting him even more worked up as he fights to try to get to the intruder.

Brody looks down at the dog I’m holding on to. “He friendly?” he asks as he puts his hand on the gate.

“No, he’s not friendly. Especially toward men he feels are intruders.” I let him jump forward a little bit in my hands as I continue to hold on to him. He growls fiercely, making Brody hesitate.

Brody frowns. “What would it take to get you to talk to me?”

I laugh deviously. “There is nothing you could do to get me to talk to you.”

“I hurt you that bad, huh?”

“No, I just don’t give a shit about you. You aren’t even supposed to be here. You were supposed to be out of my life after the week, remember?”

“I didn’t get my last fuck in.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? It wasn’t my fault. It was yours! You were the one who said you would come to the airport and didn’t. It seems you got your last fuck in just fine, just not with me.”

He grins. “So, you do care.”

“No,” I lie.

“You were the one who went running home to Gabe. You were the one who cut our time short.” He looks at the dogs. “So, which one is Gabe anyway?”

My eyes darken. He thinks Gabe is one of my animals. Now, it’s my turn to hurt him.

“This is Grumpy. That’s Ernie, Sherbet, and Lady.”

He frowns. “So, Gabe is a cat.”

“Tommy, Jordan, and Ruffus.”

“A horse?”

“Blondie, Pumpkin, and Sandy.”

“The other animals?”

I smile. “Nope.”

He runs his hand through his short hair before rubbing his neck. “You aren’t going to tell me who Gabe is, are you?”

“Not likely, no. I like that you have too many thoughts going through your head right now as you try to figure it out. And it’s driving you crazy.”

He smirks. “It’s not driving me crazy. Not having your mouth sucking my cock—that is what is driving me crazy. I just want to know who Gabe is, so I know when to duck when he takes a swing at me.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Which part? Because I guarantee that your lips are going to be wrapped around my dick by the end of the night.”

I shake my head. “You’re still so cocky, aren’t you? We are done. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You sure about that? Because your body is telling me differently.”

I glare at him. “We are done.”

He reaches for the gate and opens it, thinking now is his opportunity to walk inside and catch me off guard. I’m sure he thinks, if he can get close enough where I can smell his cologne again, close enough that I can see his charming dimples, close enough that I can hear his beating heart, then I’ll change my mind. I’ll just fall back into his arms again, just like we were back on the beach in our fantasy world. That bubble burst the second he sent me the text message with the big-tits woman.

“Don’t take another step forward!” I shout.

He doesn’t listen. I release Grumpy and release the rest of the dogs with a look. I just wish, for once, they were actually capable of attacking a man when I needed them to. Instead, they run over and attack him all right. Just with kisses and hugs and tail wags.

But it gets the job done. He can’t move, and I take the opportunity to run inside. I slam the door shut and lock it tightly behind me as I lean against the door. Can this day get any worse?