And now she had a farm full of animals with needs she did not begin to know how to meet.
You can handle this. You’ve organized charity galas for three hundred people. You can manage a dozen animals.
Chairman Meow chose that moment to appear on the kitchen windowsill and yowl at her with a sound so mournful and accusatory it could have been Fern herself, reaching from beyond the grave to lodge a complaint about Tessa’s inadequacy.
The cat needed insulin. Now.
But Arlo’s list did not specify how much insulin the cat needed nor how she was supposed to administer it to said cat.
And the only veterinarian in this valley—the only person who knew how much insulin Chairman Meow needed and when and how to administer it to a cat who clearly viewed humans as the enemy—was a man she had publicly and memorably sworn she would never call.
If you were the last veterinarian in Montana, I’d learn animal medicine myself before I picked up the phone and called you.
She picked up the phone.
Arlo answered on the first ring, skipping a hello and going straight to announcing, “Been expecting you to call.”
“Thank you for picking up, Arlo. I also want to thank you for leaving me the list of information about Fern’s animals and their various needs. That’s why I’m calling, in fact. I don’t know how much insulin the cat—uh, Chariman Meow—needs, and I have no idea how to give it to him.”
“So here’s the thing. Fern left me a letter. That lawyer fella gave it to me when he read the will to you.”
. . . And she sensed another Fern grenade about to explode. Now what?
“Well, I read the letter.”
She would hope he had. His best friend in the whole world had left it for him.
He was speaking again. “. . . and Fern had some instructions for me. She left some money in a bank account for me that I can only have if I follow her instructions exactly. To the letter, she said. Mind you, it’s not a fortune, like she left Makayla. But it’s enough to make a difference to me.”
Tessa braced herself. “What were the instructions, Arlo?”
“I’m not to help you in any way for the next year. I’m not supposed to answer any questions, do anything around her place to help out, or lift one finger to look after any of her critters. She was crystal clear that you’re supposed to figure it out for yourself and take care of this place one-hundred-percent on your own.”
Tessa swore under her breath for one of the few times in her adult life. Outmaneuvered by her wily mother-in-law. Again.
“I’m real sorry, Miz Tessa. But I live off my Social Security check. And with the price of everything going up so much these days, I need that nest egg Fern left for me. I gotta do what she said.”
“You can’t even tell me how much insulin the cat gets?”
“Nope. The letter was specific. I can’t give you any information—not even the time of day. Those were her exact words. Only reason I left that list in the barn was because I wrote it up before the will got read.”
Tessa blinked, unsure of what to say or do next. Good manners took over and she managed to choke out, “Umm, thank you for letting me know about the letter.”
“You bet.” A paused. “Good luck, ma’am.”
“Since it looks like we’re going to be neighbors for the next year, please just call me Tessa.”
“All right then. Tessa it is.” A longer pause this time. “Fern might have forbidden me to give you any help with the farm, but her letter didn’t say I couldn’t give you advice about other stuff.”
It was clear he was going somewhere with this, but she didn’t see where exactly.
He continued, saying casually, “If I were your age . . . and I was a woman . . . and a handsome young animal doc walked up to me somewhere public and was awkward with me, I might figure he was just shy around the ladies and give him a second chance.”
“Are you giving me dating advice, Arlo?” she blurted.
“I’m just sayin’. Second chances aren’t always a bad thing.” And with that, he hung up.
She stared at her cell phone, bemused. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d just suggested to her obliquely that she give the obnoxious veterinarian from Fern’s funeral a call.