The Bride Wore Red Boots

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “I’m sorry, Joely. What can I do?”

  She was a fragile patient physically, recovering more slowly than anyone liked. She’d lost the use of one leg, and nobody seemed to know if the injury could or would be reversed. Joely normally didn’t panic but tended to turn somber and fatalistic. She did suffer from depression, however, so the fear in her voice worried him.

  “I know it’s probably ridiculous, but I really want to talk to Mia, and I can’t reach her.”

  Mia. His pulse hiccupped and then sped forward like a Ferrari hitting a speed bump. Dr. Amelia Crockett, Joely’s sister, was a general and pediatric surgeon in New York. The woman was pretty much everything Joely was not: demanding, abrasive, pushy. She didn’t take no for an answer ever, and when she’d been here in Wyoming the first two weeks after Joely’s accident, she’d gone over his head to Pete multiple times, and over Pete’s head at least once. And yet, Amelia was brilliant, devoted to her sister and, at age thirty-two, a prodigy of a surgeon from what he’d been able to research about her—not that he’d admit Googling her to anyone. She was also stunning—a satisfyingly sexist observation—and the rich, warm, musical laugh that had accompanied her rare smiles came to mind every time he heard her name.

  “And you need me to call her again,” he said.

  “Everyone at home is still out somewhere. I’ve left all of them messages but . . . ” Her voice cracked and halted.

  “I’m sure everything is fine,” Gabriel said.

  To his surprise, she laughed weakly. “I’m so sorry. This is what self-absorbed panic sounds like. I wasn’t worried about them, isn’t that awful?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad you weren’t. You should be thinking about yourself.”

  “You’re a nice person,” she said. “So it’s your own fault you got this call. It’s just that I’d feel so much better if Mia could talk to the doctors here—even on the phone. I know she would ask the questions none of us here know to ask. They’re so grave about everything. I don’t know what to be worried about most.”

  “I will call your sister. And I’ll be at the hospital in five minutes. I’m just across the campus at the administration building.”

  “I left her a message, but they’re coming to get me any moment and I won’t be able to take my phone.”

  “I’ll find her. And I’ll find you. Okay? We have all night to figure this out.”

  He heard a slight sniff. “You rock. I did get the best patient advocate. This isn’t in your job description.”

  “For you, Miss Joely, there’s no job description. Happy to make it up as we go along. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Gabe. So much.”

  He hung up and sighed. He’d already talked to Amelia once today. It hadn’t gone that badly. She’d only called him Buster, vain, and a user of smug semantics.

  Whatever. He could handle a battle of nouns and adjectives with a girl. He smiled and checked his watch. It would be nine thirty in New York. She could be dealing with her own emergency patient. He found her in his address book and hit call. He’d leave her a message now and figure out later why his nerves vibrated with anticipation as he waited for her voice mail.

  SHE WAS CERTIFIABLE. Nobody would disagree with her.

  Mia had felt safe enough in the subway, but once she surfaced she knew she never should have agreed to Buster’s request no matter how heartfelt it had been. He’d promised to meet her at the top of the subway exit stairs and walk her the two blocks to St. Sebastian’s, and she’d confirmed with Gwen, the shelter director, that Buster/Aaron was legit. Despite her precautions, she looked around the dark, grimy street after emerging from the station and saw nobody who looked like he was waiting for a foolish doctor far from her comfort zone.

  Not that she was alone. Although the nicest term she could use to describe this neighborhood was sleazy, a couple walked the sidewalk across the street from where she stood; one wiry black man leaned in a doorway, eyeing her blandly while he exhaled cigarette smoke; and at least two pairs of feet in tattered shoes stuck out from a dilapidated storefront three doors down.

  Mia had lived in New York for eight years, and she’d spent plenty of time volunteering in mobile and free clinics. She wasn’t put off by poverty, nor was she squeamish about bodies sleeping outdoors—sorrowful, yes, but not shocked. She’d never, however, made a habit of walking tough neighborhood streets alone. And this was one of the toughest.

  She drew a breath and nodded to the man in the doorway. Just past the subway surround, she nearly stumbled into another body, seated against the upright iron posts of the green fencing. He held out a small plastic container containing a measly few coins and a couple of crumpled bills.

  “Spare a dollar, Mother?” he asked.

  She stopped and stared down at him. She knew handing out money to a panhandler was usually counterproductive. This man might want a fast food meal or sandwich at a local grocer, or he might head for the nearest cheap bottle of wine. She had no way of knowing which. “I’m heading two blocks to St. Sebastian’s. Will you walk with me? There’s warm food and a bed there.”

  “I don’t need no place to stay.” He stared at her, affronted. “I’m lookin’ to he’p my little child. No more than that.”

  “Now, Arthur, just because you don’t recognize this lady as being from around here, that doesn’t mean it’s all right to tell her your old fake little child story.”

  Mia sagged with relief and looked into the kind face of the woman whose voice she recognized from two phone calls. She was maybe in her fifties, more mature than her voice had given away. Behind her stood a thin, bearded, white man of medium height wearing a green army jacket, brown knit cap, and tweed gray fingerless gloves. He carried a large cardboard box, covered in animal designs, by a handle.

  “Gwen? Buster?”

  “I’m so sorry we’re late,” she answered. “We had a rush at the shelter all of a sudden. I think the weather forecast changed slightly, so everyone came in. We’re headed for a cold rain tonight.”

  Mia couldn’t help but turn in her spot and peer down the street at the worn shoes sticking onto the sidewalk.

  Gwen nodded. “We’ll get to them and try to convince them to join us. But there are a few who have such fear of crowds that they’ll huddle under trash before coming inside.” She waved to the man in the door. “Francis,” she said.

  “Miss Gwendolyn,” he replied.

  “I’m sorry.” She turned back to Mia. “I’m Gwen Robertson. Dr. Crockett, it’s so good of you to come. This is Aaron.”

  “Hi, Aaron.”

  “I prefer Buster,” he said pleasantly, and held out one hand. The glove was stained but not completely filthy.

  “Buster, then. And Gwen. I’m Mia.”

  “Please, won’t you come with us? Buster can tell you his whole story in the shelter where it’s warm. When my replacement arrives, I’ll be happy to take you back home as I promised.”

  That had been a selling point—she didn’t have to ride the subway back home with a cat. Everything else connected to this trip was insanity. “That was very kind of you.”

  “Come on, Arthur,” Gwen called. “Bring your earnings and put them in safekeeping for the night.”

  Arthur rose from his seat on the concrete, a lanky grasshopper unfolding angled legs. He was all knees and height when he stood, and not much older than Buster, perhaps thirty-five or forty. He tipped a worn baseball cap at Mia. “Sorry ’bout sayin’ I had a child.”

  “Well, you fooled me once,” she said lightly. “Won’t happen again.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  They headed down the sidewalk and turned at the corner, a nippy breeze greeting them with a quick little blast.

  “How is my little dude Rory?” Buster asked, switching his hold on the box to two hands and pulling it close to his chest. “I miss him.”

  “He’s going to be all right,” Mia said. “He talks a lot about you. You two must have had quit
e an adventure.”

  “He’s a smart kid. We lived pretty good out here, but I knew he couldn’t stay. I just had to convince him it was better to go live in a house where it was safe.”

  “Glad you did. Is that Jack there?”

  “Ha, man, dat’s Jack in the Box!” Arthur hooted at his own joke.

  “It is,” Buster acknowledged. “I didn’t want to leave him alone. Everybody loves Jack. Someone would take him.”

  “Do a lot of your friends have pets out here?” Mia asked.

  “Some. A couple have dogs. Not too many have cats; they get too wild living out here. Jack is different.”

  “I remember him as a kitten. As I recall, he’s a gorgeous cat.”

  “That he is. Rory grabbed him from the house when his mom got in trouble, but then he wasn’t allowed to bring him to the foster home. I never saw a little kid work so hard not to cry. That’s when I said I’d keep Jack safe until Rory could have him.”

  “And now you can’t keep him either,” Mia finished.

  “It would be hard.”

  They reached the front of St. Sebastian’s; a red sandstone building next to a church, it was caked in the dust and grime of a dilapidated Brooklyn neighborhood but nonetheless wore a dignified air. The instant Gwen opened the door, warmth, light, music, and the lingering aroma of warm bread banished the cold unfriendliness of the street.

  “Welcome to St. Sebastian’s Shelter,” said Gwen. “We serve over two hundred meals a day and up to a thousand on holidays. In the winter we can bunk up to a hundred people easily and up to two hundred in an emergency. We have few real amenities aside from cots, sleeping mats, heat, and food. We have toilets and very minimal showering facilities. Our most prized possession is a fairly new jukebox, which visitors can use until ten thirty every day. It’s quite popular, as you can hear.”

  Mia didn’t recognize the rap song playing. It was far out of her limited repertoire of favorite artists.

  “We try to keep current music for them. There are all genres. You could very well hear Miranda Lambert next and Green Day after that. Nothing offensive, but otherwise we don’t discriminate.” She smiled. “We sneak a few hymns in there too. They get played on occasion. Come on in. We can talk in the small office off the kitchen. Arthur, why don’t you go register your money with Susie and pick a bed? Have you eaten anything today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I had lunch.”

  “There are some cookies and sandwiches left.”

  The man left them with a wave, walking away like a gangly marionette. Gwen shrugged. “He’s a rare type. He has some learning disabilities, and he can’t keep a job, but he takes his begging as seriously as any career. He’s nice as the day’s long despite making up all those stories.”

  The room they moved through was thirty feet square, half filled with tables and benches, the other half with people sitting on the floor in front of the bright jukebox. Gwen pointed at two archways off the room that led to four more open rooms, those filled with cots, sleeping mats, and a handful of cribs. The simple complexity of the operation amazed Mia.

  The kitchen was large and utilitarian, with an institutional-sized stainless steel stove, two ovens, a refrigerator, and a dishwasher. Sturdy cafeteria-style plates, bowls, and mugs were stacked in columns on heavy duty shelving.

  “Here’s our office.” Gwen opened a door off a small corridor into a room painted a cheerful, robin’s egg blue. Two desks, two armchairs, and a small round table filled the space, along with three full-sized file cabinets. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ve never been back here,” Buster said. “I feel special. Can I let Jack out?”

  “Of course. We want Dr. Crockett to meet him.”

  When Buster opened the box, Mia stared, stunned, at one of the most beautiful cats she’d ever seen. It emerged like a prince, calm and curious, its long, silken coat a muted, creamy buff, its ears, tail, paws, and face all a rich, beautiful black. Most startling of all were its bright blue eyes—sharp, assessing, missing nothing.

  “Hey, Jack-man,” Buster crooned. “Come and meet Miss Amelia.”

  “I knew he was pretty. I didn’t remember how beautiful. And huge.”

  “The vet told us he’s a gray seal point ragdoll cat. He weighs about eighteen pounds, but they’re the biggest cat breed, so that’s not even all that large.”

  Without prompting, Jack walked regally to Mia’s feet, wound his way in a figure eight around her ankles and then sprang into her lap. He sat fully upright, facing her like an Egyptian cat god, and waited for her to pet him. His fur was velvety and rabbit-like, and the instant she touched it, Jack’s purr filled the room. He rubbed his cheek to hers twice, turned around neatly, and curled into her lap.

  She’d known myriad barn cats in her life, but she’d always been a dog person. None of that mattered as she swiftly, thoroughly, and pathetically fell in love.

  “You can see why he’s a favorite wherever Buster goes,” Gwen said.

  “I can,” she agreed. “But you really can’t keep him?”

  “Buster is one of our success stories,” Gwen answered, pride obvious in her voice.

  “I’ve got a job.” Buster took over his tale. He was a unique man, slender, nice-looking in a sandy-haired way, slightly clichéd with his army surplus look. Yet he was obviously erudite and well-educated. Likeable. “I don’t want to own a house again or have any of the trappings. But I would like to be able to buy my own clothing and food and pay for my time here at the shelter.”

  “We’re working on the no-home part,” Gwen said.

  “I won’t be here every day to watch over Jack, and I don’t trust anyone else with him. People move around too much, and they’d take him. I was going to bring him to the animal shelter tomorrow and beg them to not adopt him out until we could get him to Rory. But the lady I talked to said they don’t board animals—they find homes, and if they can’t . . . ” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have that. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here tonight to ask for advice. It’s the craziest thing that Gwen had your number.”

  She couldn’t help it; she was moved. Here was a man pulling himself up out of utter poverty who was worried more about an animal than himself. It reminded her of the ranch hands in Wyoming who’d go without food for two days to ride out and find a missing cow and calf.

  “I have to be perfectly honest,” she began. “I don’t have any place for a cat to be outside if that’s what he’s used to. I live in an apartment.”

  “He used to live inside at Rory’s,” Buster said, without any urgency.

  “Oh, Buster, I’m not sure why I came. Maybe to try and talk you into keeping him, I don’t know. But I promised Rory—”

  Her phone rang out, and she saw Joely’s number again. Minor panic filled her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “This is a family call. I have a sister who’s ill, so I should take it.”

  Buster stood and pulled Jack from her lap. Mia popped out of the office and answered the phone. “Joely?”

  “Hello,” replied the voice that turned her throat to sand and her pulse to useless fizz in her veins. “Déjà vu.”

  Chapter Five

  “GABRIEL HARRISON?” SHE stared around the shelter’s kitchen, surprised and lost for more words.

  “At last. I’ve graduated from Lieutenant.”

  “Look,” she said, worry snapping her out of her surprise. “I know that’s the most important issue for you, but I need to know right now everything is all right.”

  “Everything is all right.”

  Tension that had twisted up her spine like a steel snake relaxed its grip. Her breath released in a long sigh. “So, why are you using my sister’s phone?”

  “I wanted to make sure you answered. I thought you might not if it was me.” She sensed he was telling the truth even though his words were bright with humor.

  “Hah, you’re probably right. What’s going on?” she asked.

  “There has been a new dev
elopment with Joely. After a closer look at her MRI, the doctors found a suspicious spot in her spinal cord. It’s not a tumor,” he added quickly. “They’ve taken her down for another image, and this one has her a lot more upset. She missed you when she tried to call and nominated me to try again.”

  “Is she in immediate danger?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have purposely lied about everything being all right.”

  “I’m sorry. It seems Joely is lucky to have you. You’re becoming her private secretary.”

  “Hardly. Your sisters and mother do all the work. This just happens to be an unusual day.”

  “So is there something I can do?” She brushed past his conversational chat.

  “Yes. Joely would like you to talk with her doctor because surgery could get moved up to as soon as tomorrow. She wants your opinion before that happens. Even a phone call between you and Dr. Landon would ease her mind.”

  “The need for surgery will obviously depend on what they decide this object or injury is. Some things would have to be dealt with quickly. Others could wait or be treated with physical therapy and/or drugs.”

  “You have a very calm, professional voice.”

  She wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or his passive-aggressive way of saying she was unfeeling. He at least made it sound like the former, and she softened, relieved at the less confrontational vibe they’d struck. “I think most doctors have The Voice,” she said. “It’s like putting on protective armor. At any rate, tell Joely of course. I’ll talk to whomever she wants.”

  “It’s getting late there now,” he said. “But is there a chance we could set up a call for tonight?”

  “Yes, but unfortunately I’m not even home at the moment. I’ll be back in my apartment within an hour, and then I’ll have access to my computer and some privacy.”

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”

  “No apologies needed. I’m glad you did.”

  “Hot date?” His voice was teasing.

  Just like that, the easy atmosphere they’d built evaporated. “I hardly think that’s any of your business, Lieutenant.”