The countryside was definitely not for you.

You should have guessed by the time you got off the bus and your stiletto heels stepped on the sandy, bare ground. There were not many roads made of asphalt, and with the sand rising from the wind your black heels became a brownish color. You held on to crying and grabbed your suitcase like your life depended on it.

You had studied long years as a veterinarian and had graduated in so many specialties to end up in a southern town of the United States, a people lost by the hand of God. You could have been a marine vet, or an exotic animal vet.

But no, it seemed the universe wanted to see you working with cows and bulls.

There was no problem with the rent. The old people you rented the cottage to were very kind, and even the old lady offered you a piece of cake. You couldn’t help but feel like a weirdo, 'cause they all looked like they were from an old west movie, and you were in heels and formal clothes like a city woman.

"Just go down that hill and you will reach Mr. Flitz’s farm." The old man pointed out, "He has a couple of sick cows."

It seemed simple. But when you grabbed your vet briefcase and got to that hill, you knew that was going to go wrong. There was too much slope. And of course, when you tried to come down, you tripped and rolled down the hill.

"Ma'am!" You heard a man scream behind you. You screamed as you rolled. "Oh, God. Ma'am, watch out!"

"What am I supposed to do!", you exclaimed as you kept rolling down the hill. Luckily it was soft grass.

You rolled to the end, and you lay on the grass. Your briefcase flew a few feet. You gasped with your eyes wide open. You heard that man come down the hill with agility and approach you.

You hated him immediately, he made it look so easy.

He knelt beside you, with those brown eyes inspecting you closely. He was Elliott Miller, the eldest son of the sheriff who had recently followed up on his father’s legacy. He wore his local police uniform.

"Here, let me help you, ma'am." He tried to help you.