Chapter One

So this was Texas.

Maple Leighton wobbled in her Kate Spade stilettos as she stood on a patch of gravel across the street from the Bluebonnet Pet Clinic and fought the urge to hotfoot it straight back to New York City. What was she even doing here?

You're here because you sold your soul to pay for veterinary school.

A doctor-of-veterinary-medicine degree from a top-rated university in Manhattan didn't come cheap, especially when it was accompanied by a board-certified specialty in veterinary cardiology. Maple's parents—who were both high-powered divorce attorneys at competing uptown law firms—had presented a rare, united front and refused to fund Maple's advanced degree unless she followed in their footsteps and enrolled in law school. Considering that her mom and dad were two of the most miserable humans she'd ever encountered, Maple would've rather died. Also, she loved animals. She loved them even more than she loathed the idea of law school. Case in point: Maple had never once heard of animals clawing each other's eyes out over visitation rights or who got to keep the good wedding china.

Especially dogs. Dogs were always faithful. Always loyal. And unlike people, dogs loved unconditionally.

Consequently, Maple had been all set to plunge herself into tens of thousands of dollars of student-loan debt to fulfill her dream of becoming a canine heart surgeon. But then, like a miracle, she'd been offered a full-ride grant from a tiny veterinary practice in Bluebonnet, Texas. Maple had never heard of the clinic. She'd never heard of Bluebonnet, either. A lifelong Manhattanite, she'd barely heard of Texas.

The only catch? Upon graduation, she'd have to work at the pet clinic for a term of twelve months before moving on to do whatever her little puppy-loving heart desired. That was it. No actual financial repayment required.

Accepting the grant had seemed like a no-brainer at the time. Now, it felt more like a prison sentence.

One year.

She inhaled a lungful of barbecue-scented air, which she assumed was coming from the silver, Airstream-style food truck parked on the town square—a literal square, just like the one in Gilmore Girls, complete with a gazebo right smack in its center. Although Bluebonnet's gazebo was in serious need of a paint job. And possibly a good scrubbing.

I can do anything for a year, right?

Maple didn't even like barbecue, but surely there were other things to eat around here. Everything was going to be fine.

She squared her shoulders, pulled her wheeled suitcase behind her and headed straight toward the pet clinic. The sooner she got this extended exercise in humiliation started, the sooner it would be over with.

Her new place of employment was located in an old house decorated with swirly gingerbread trim. It looked like a wedding cake. Cute, but definitely not the same vibe as the sleek glass-and-steel building that housed the prestigious veterinary cardiology practice where Maple was supposed to be working, on the Upper West Side.

She swung the door open, heaved her bag over the threshold and took a glance around. There wasn't a single person, dog, cat, or gerbil sitting in the waiting room. The seats lining the walls were all mismatched dining chairs, like the ones in Monica Geller's apartment on Friends, but somehow a lot less cute without the lilac walls and quirky knickknacks, and Joey Tribbiani shoveling lasagna into his mouth nearby. The celebrity gossip magazines littering the oversize coffee table in the center of the room were so old that Maple was certain the couple on the cover of one of them had been divorced for almost a year. Her mother had represented the wife in the high-profile split.

I turned down my dream job to come here.A knot lodged in Maple's throat. Could this be any more of a disaster?

"Howdy, there."

Maple glanced up with a start. A woman with gray corkscrew curls piled on her head and a pair of reading glasses hanging from a long pearl chain around her neck eyed Maple from behind the half door of the receptionist area.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" the woman said, gaze snagging on Maple's shoes. A furrow formed in her brow, as if the sight of a patron in patent-leather stilettos was somehow more out of place than the woefully outdated copies of People.

Maple charged ahead, offering her hand for a shake. "I'm Dr. Maple Leighton."

A golden retriever's tawny head popped up on the other side of the half door, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.

"Down, Lady Bird," the woman said, and the dog reluctantly dropped back down to all fours. "Don't mind her. She thinks she's the welcome committee."

The golden panted and wagged her thick tail until it beat a happy rhythm against the reception desk on the other side of the counter. She gazed up at Maple with melting brown eyes. Her coat was a deep, rich gold, as shiny as a copper penny, with the feathering on her legs and underside of her body that goldens were so famous for.

Maple relaxed ever so slightly. She could do this. Dogs were dogs, everywhere.

"I'm June. What can I do for you, Maple?" the receptionist asked, smiling as benignly as if she'd never heard Maple's name before.

It threw Maple for a moment. She hadn't exactly expected a welcome parade, but she'd assumed the staff would at least be aware of her existence.

"Dr. Leighton," she corrected and pasted on a polite smile. "I'm here for my first day of work."

"I don't understand." June looked her up and down again, and the furrow in her brow deepened.

Lady Bird's gold head swiveled back and forth between them.

"Just one second." Maple held up a finger and then dug through the vast confines of her favorite leather tote—a novelty bag designed to look like the outside of a New York pizza parlor, complete with pigeons pecking at the sidewalk—for her cell phone. While June and Lady Bird cocked their heads in unison to study the purse, Maple scrolled quickly through her email app until she found the most recent communication from the grant committee.

"See?" She thrust the phone toward the older woman. The message was dated just over a week ago and, like every other bit of paperwork she'd received about her grant, it had been signed by Dr. Percy Walker, DVM. "Right here. Technically, my start date is tomorrow. But I'd love to start seeing patients right away."

What else was she going to do in this one-horse town?

June squinted at Maple's cell phone until she slid her reading glasses in place. Then her eyes went wide. "Oh, my."

This was getting weird. Then again, what wasn't? She'd been in Bluebonnet for all of ten minutes, and already Maple felt like she'd landed on a distant planet. A wave of homesickness washed over her in the form of a sudden craving for a street pretzel with extra mustard.

She sighed and slid her phone back into her bag. "Perhaps I should speak with Dr. Walker. Is he here?"

June went pale. "No, actually. I'm afraid Dr. Walker is...unavailable."

"What about the other veterinarian?" Maple asked, gaze shifting to the old-fashioned felt letter board hanging on the wall to her right. Two veterinarians were listed, names situated side by side—the familiar Dr. Percy Walker and someone named Dr. Grover Hayes. "Dr. Hayes? Is he here?"

"Grover?" June shook her head. "He's not in yet. He should be here right shortly, but he's already got a patient waiting in one of the exam rooms. And I really think you need to talk to—"

Maple cut her off. "Wait a minute. We've got a client and their pet just sitting in an exam room, and there's no one here to see them. How long have they been waiting?"

June glanced at an ancient-looking clock that hung next to the letter board.

"You know what. Never mind," Maple said. If June had to look at the clock, the patient had already been waiting too long. Besides, there was a vet in the building now. No need to extend the delay. "I'll do it."

"Oh, I don't think—" June began, but then just stood slack-jawed as Maple swung open the half door and wheeled her luggage behind the counter.

Lady Bird reacted with far more enthusiasm, wagging her tail so hard that her entire back end swung from side to side. She hip-checked June and nearly wiped the older woman out.

Someone needs to train this dog, Maple thought. But, hey, at least that wasn't her problem, was it? Goldens were sweet as pie, but they typically acted like puppies until they were fully grown adult dogs.

"Where's the exam room?" Maple glanced around.

June remained mum, but her gaze flitted to a door at the far end of the hall.

Aha!

Maple strode toward the door, stilettos clicking on the tile floor as Lady Bird followed hot on her heels.

June sidestepped the rolling suitcase and chased after them. "Maple, this really isn't such a good idea."

"Dr. Leighton," Maple corrected. Again. She grabbed a manila folder from the file rack hanging on the back of the exam-room door.

Paper files? Really? Maybe she really could make a difference here. There were loads of digital office-management systems specifically designed for veterinary medicine. Maybe by the time her year was up, she could successfully drag this practice into the current century.

She glanced at the note written beside today's date on the chart. Dog seems tired. Well, that really narrowed things down, didn't it?

There were countless reasons why a dog might be lethargic. Some serious, some not so worrisome at all. She'd need more information to know where to begin, but she wasn't going to stand there in the hall and read the entire file folder when she could simply go inside, look at the dog in question and talk to the client face-to-face.

A ripple of anxiety skittered through her. She had zero problem with the dog part of the equation. The part about talking to the human pet owner, on the other hand...

"Dr. Leighton, it would really be best if we wait until Grover gets here. This particular patient is—" June lowered her voice to a near whisper "—rather unusual."

During her surgical course at her veterinary college in Manhattan, Maple had once operated on a two-headed diamondback terrapin turtle. She truly doubted that whatever lay behind the exam-room door was something that could shock her. How "unusual" could the dog possibly be? At minimum, she could get the appointment started until one of the other vets decided to roll in to work.

"Trust me, June. I've got this." Maple tucked the file folder under her arm and grabbed hold of the doorknob. "In the meantime, would you mind looking into my accommodations? Dr. Walker said they'd be taken care of, but I didn't see a hotel on my way in from the airport."

She hadn't seen much of anything from the back seat of her hired car during the ride to Bluebonnet from the airport in Austin, other than wide-open spaces dotted with bales of hay.

And cows.

Lots and lots of cows.

"Dr. Walker..." June echoed, looking slightly green around the gills. She opened her mouth, as if to say more, but it was too late.

Maple was already swinging the door open and barreling into the exam room. Lady Bird strutted alongside her like a four-legged veterinary assistant.

"Hi there, I'm Dr. Leighton," Maple said, gaze shifting from an elderly woman sitting in one of the exam-room chairs with an aluminum walker parked in front of her to a much younger, shockingly handsome man wearing a faded denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Her attention snagged on his forearms for a beat. So muscular. How did that even happen? Swinging a lasso around? Roping cattle?

Maple's stomach gave an annoying flutter.

She forced her gaze away from the forearms and focused on his eyes instead. So blue. So intense. She swallowed hard. "I hear your dog isn't feeling well this morning."

There. Human introductions out of the way, Maple could do what she did best and turn her attention to her doggy patient. She breathed a little easier and glanced down at the animal, lying as still as stone on the exam table and, thus far, visible only in Maple's periphery.

She blinked.

And blinked again.

Even Lady Bird, who'd muscled her way into the exam room behind Maple, cocked her head and knit her furry brow.

"I, um, don't understand," Maple said.

Was this a joke? Had her entire interaction at this hole-in-the-wall practice been some sort of weird initiation prank? Is this how they welcomed outsiders in a small town?

Maybe she should've listened to June. How had she put it, exactly?

This particular patient is rather unusual.

A giant, Texas-size understatement, if Maple had ever heard one. The dog on the exam table wasn't just a little odd. It wasn't even a dog. It was a stuffed animal—a child's plush toy.

And Cowboy Blue Eyes was looming over it, arms crossed and expression dead-serious while he waited for Maple to examine it as if it was real.

Don't say it.

Ford Bishop glared at the new veterinarian and did his best to send her a telepathic message, even though telepathy wasn't exactly his specialty. Nor did it rank anywhere on his list of abilities.

Do not say it.

Dr. Maple Leighton—she'd been sure to throw that doctor title around—was definitely going to say it. Ford could practically see the words forming on her bow-shaped, cherry-red lips.

"I don't understand," she repeated. "This is a—"

And there it was.

Ford held up a hand to stop her from uttering the words stuffed animal. "My grandmother and I prefer to see Grover. Is he here?"

"No." She lifted her chin a fraction, and her cheeks went as pink as the blossoms on the dogwood trees that surrounded the gazebo in Bluebonnet's town square. "Unfortunately for both of us, Grover is out of the office at the moment."

"That's okay. We'll wait," Ford said through gritted teeth and tipped his head toward the door, indicating she should leave, whoever she was.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him and didn't budge. "I'm the new veterinarian here. I'm happy to help." She cleared her throat. "If there's an actual animal that needs—"

"Coco isn't eating," Ford's grandmother blurted from the chair situated behind where he stood at the exam table. "And she sleeps all day long."

As if on cue, the battery-operated stuffed animal opened its mouth and then froze, exposing a lone green bean sitting on its fluffy pink tongue. There was zero doubt in Ford's mind that the bean had come straight off his grandmother's plate during lunch at her retirement home.

Dr. Maple Leighton's eyes widened at the sight of the vegetable.

Lady Bird rose up onto her back legs and planted her paws on the exam table, clearly angling to snatch the green bean for herself.

"Down, Lady Bird," Ford and Maple both said in unison.

The corners of Maple's mouth twitched, almost like she wanted to smile...until she thought better of it and pursed her lips again, as if Ford was something she wanted to scrape off the bottom of one of those ridiculous high-heeled shoes she was wearing. She'd best not try walking across the cobblestone town square in those things.

Her forehead crinkled. "You know Lady Bird?"

"Everyone in town knows Lady Bird," Ford countered.

Delighted to be the topic of conversation, the golden retriever opened her mouth in a wide doggy grin. This time, Maple genuinely relaxed for a beat. The tension in her shoulders appeared to loosen as she rested her hand on top of Lady Bird's head.

She was clearly a dog lover, which made perfect sense. She was a vet. Still, Ford couldn't help but wonder what it would take for a human being to get her to light up like that.

Not that he cared, he reminded himself. Ford was just curious, that's all. Newcomers were somewhat of a rarity in Bluebonnet.

"Can I speak to you in private?" he said quietly.

Maple lifted her gaze to meet his and her flush immediately intensified. She stiffened. Yeah, Maple Leighton definitely preferred the company of dogs to people. For a second, Ford thought she was going to say no.

"Fine," she answered flatly.

Where on earth had Grover found this woman? She had the bedside manner of a serial killer.

Ford scooped Coco in his arms and laid the toy dog into his grandmother's lap. She cradled it as gently as if it was a newborn baby, and Ford's chest went tight.

"I'm going to go talk to the vet for just a minute, Gram. I'll be right back. You take good care of Coco while I'm gone," he said.

"I will." Gram stroked the top of the dog's head with shaky fingertips.

"This will only take a second." Ford's jaw clenched. Just long enough to tell the new vet to either get on board or get lost.

He turned, and Maple had already vacated the exam room. Lady Bird, on the other hand, was still waiting politely for him.

"Thanks, girl," Ford muttered and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. "Keep an eye on Gram for me, okay?"

Lady Bird woofed. Then the dog shuffled over to Ford's grandmother and collapsed into a huge pile of golden fur at her feet.

"Good girl." Ford shot the dog a wink and then stepped out into the hall, where Maple stood waiting for him, looking as tense as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

It was almost cute—her odd combination of confidence mixed with an aching vulnerability that Ford could somehow feel deep inside his chest. A ripple of...something wound its way through him. If Ford hadn't known better, he might have mistaken it for attraction.

He crossed his arms. "You okay, Doc?"

"What?" She blinked again, as if someone asking after her was even more shocking than finding a fake dog in one of her exam rooms. Her eyes met his and then she gave her head a little shake. "I'm perfectly fine, Mr...."

"Ford."

She nodded. "Mr. Ford, your dog—"

"Just Ford," he corrected.

Her gaze strayed to his faded denim work shirt, a stark contrast to the prim black dress she was wearing, complete with a matching black bow that held her dark hair in a thick ponytail. "As in the truck?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Dr. Maple Leighton, as in the syrup?"

Her nose crinkled, as if being named after something sweet left a bad taste in her mouth. "Back to your ‘dog'..."

Ford took a step closer to her and lowered his voice so Gram wouldn't hear. "The dog isn't real. Obviously, I'm aware of that fact. Coco belongs to my grandmother. She's a robotic companion animal."

Maple took a few steps backward, teetering on her fancy shoes in her haste to maintain the invisible barrier between them. "You brought a robot dog to the vet because it seems tired. Got it."

"No." Ford's temples ached. She didn't get it, because of course she didn't. That hint of vulnerability he'd spied in her soulful eyes didn't mean squat. "I brought my grandmother's robotic companion animal here because my gram asked me to make the dog an appointment."

"So you're saying your gram thinks Coco is real?"

"I'm not one-hundred-percent sure whether she truly believes or if she just wants to believe. Either way, I'm going with it. Pets reduce feelings of isolation and loneliness in older adults. You're a vet. Surely you know all about that." Ford raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. He couldn't believe he had to explain all of this to a medical professional.

"But Coco isn't a pet." Maple's gaze darted to the exam-room door. "She's battery-operated."

At least she'd had the decency to speak in a hushed tone this time.

"Right, which is why Grover usually tells Gram he needs to take Coco to the back room for a quick exam and a blood test and then he brings the dog back with fresh batteries." He threw up his hands. "And we all live happily ever after."

"Until the batteries run out of juice again." Maple rolled her eyes.

Ford just stared at her, incredulous. "Tell me—does this pass as compassion wherever you're from?"

"I'm from New York City," she said, enunciating each syllable as if the place was a foreign land Ford had never heard of before. "But I live here now. Temporarily."

Ford's annoyance flared. He wasn't in the mood to play country mouse to her city mouse. "As much as I'd love to take a deep dive into your backstory, I need to get back to Gram. Can you just play along, or do we need to wait for Grover?"

"Why can't you just replace the batteries when she's not looking? Like, say, sometime before the dog gets its mouth stuck open with a green bean inside of it?"

"Because Gram has been a big dog lover her entire life and it makes her feel good to bring her pet into the vet. She wants to take good care of Coco, and I'm not going to deny her that." He let out a harsh breath. "No one is."

Maple just looked at him as if he was some sort of puzzle she was trying to assemble in her head.

"Are you going to help us or not?" he finally asked.

"I'll do it, but you should know that I'm really not great at this sort of thing." She pulled a face, and Ford had to stop himself from asking what she meant. Batteries weren't all that complicated. "I'm not what you would call a people person."

He bit back a smile. Her brutal honesty was refreshing, he'd give her that. "Could've fooled me."

"There are generally two types of doctors in this world—general practice physicians, who are driven by their innate need to help people, and specialists, who relate more to the scientific part of medicine," Maple said, again sounding an awful lot like she was talking to someone who'd just fallen off a turnip truck.

If she only knew.

"Let me guess. You're the latter," Ford said.

Maple nodded. "I have a specialty in veterinary cardiology."

"Got it. You love dogs." It was a statement, not a question. "People, not so much."

She tilted her head. "Are we talking about actual dogs or the robot kind?"

Ford ignored her question. He suspected it was rhetorical, and anyway, he was done with this conversation. "June can show you where Grover keeps the batteries. I'll go get Coco."

"Fine," Maple said.

"I think the words you're looking for are thank and you." He flashed her a fake smile, and there it was again—that flush that reminded Ford of pink dogwood blossoms swirling against a clear, blue Texas sky.

"Thank you." She swallowed, and something about the look in her big, brown doe eyes made Ford think she actually meant it.

Maple and her big-city attitude may have gotten themselves clear across the country from New York to Texas, but when she looked at him, really looked, he could see the truth. She was lost. And he suspected it didn't have much to do with geography.

She turned and click-clacked toward the lobby on her high heels.

"One more thing, Doc," Ford called after her.

Maple swiveled back toward him. "Yes? Is there a teeny tiny robotic mouse in your pocket that also needs new batteries?"

Cute. Aggravating as hell, but cute.

"Welcome to Bluebonnet."