She took a deep breath and puffed up with dignity. “I’m going to look under the porch and see if Georgia and Wolf are there.” Her eyes looked suspiciously bright, as if she might cry.
His sense of hilarity died a quick death. He really hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. “Let me.”
She hesitated at first, but then handed over the flashlight. “I’m coming with you.”
“As far as the porch,” he specified. He walked behind her onto the porch, hoping she was realizing right this minute that she definitely needed his help. “Wait here.”
“Fine.” She didn’t much sound like she was appreciating his presence, but maybe she’d think about that later, when she wasn’t so worried about the dog. He went down the stairs and walked around the porch, looking for a break in the dense azaleas that surrounded the house. He wanted to point out that if he hadn’t been here, she’d be hobbling around outside in the dark all by herself. But maybe he should wait until he found the dogs to do that.
Around the far side of the porch, he found a scraggly, puny azalea that had been partially dug up by the gutter’s rain spout. He turned on the flashlight and got to his hands and knees, pushing forward in the less-dense spot until the bushes parted enough to allow him to see under the porch. Sure enough, a freshly dug mound of dirt loomed before him, the area around it patterned with dog footprints, some big and others small. “I’ll be damned.”
He couldn’t see the entrance to the den, so he crawled around where the porch overhang met the backside of the shrubs, brushing cobwebs out of the way with the flashlight. “Georgia?”
Unlikely visions of badgers and coyotes flashed into his already weirded-out brain, and he was pretty sure something was crawling in his hair. But he pressed on until he could see the edge of an opening in the den that seemed to go under the foundation of the house. Smart construction; it would be out of the wind and sheltered from rain not only by the roofed porch but by the foundation itself, and the dirt mound formed a wall that would keep the opening hidden from predators. “Georgia,” he called. “Come here, puppy.”
“Do you see her?” Abby asked, sounding excited.
“No, but you’re right. There’s a den under here.” He shone the light’s beam at the big mound of dirt, marveling again at the ingenuity of the dog—or whatever—that had built it. “She’s not coming out, though, and I can’t see into the den. What do you want me to do?” He wasn’t eager to crawl all the way under the porch and confront whatever might be living in that den. Even if it was, in fact, Georgia and the wolf dog, he didn’t want to risk getting his face ripped off by the bigger dog.
“Come on out.” Abby sighed. “Reva said Georgia will come out on her own when she’s done pouting.”
He crawled back around the porch to the thin spot where he had entered the shrubs and pushed through. Abby leaned over the rail. “What do you have to say about animal communication now, smarty-pants?”
“Pretty incredible, I guess.” When he’d first seen the den, he had felt a thrill of revelation, as if maybe Reva and Abby did have some direct line to the consciousness of those two dogs. But between that moment and this one, his brain had been busy rationalizing.
The existence of a den might have seemed to be some sort of validation at first, but after further reflection, he wasn’t convinced. Abby could have deduced that the dogs might have dug something under the porch because she’d observed Georgia’s dirty feet earlier. He didn’t know how Reva would have known that, but he didn’t hear Reva’s side of the conversation.
For all he knew, that den could’ve been there for years, and Reva probably knew that Georgia liked to hide out there when she was in trouble. The fact that some fresh dirt had been deposited there recently didn’t mean anything. But he wasn’t about to say any of that now, knowing that it would shatter Abby’s satisfied smile, and then she’d probably kick him out.
After stomping the mud off his boots, Quinn came up the porch stairs and handed over the flashlight. “Unless you need me to crawl around in the shrubbery some more,” he said, realizing too late that his wording sounded a tad ungracious, “I want to grab a shower before all the spiders in my shirt decide to bite me.”
Abby’s lips tightened, but she didn’t say anything. She just dumped the flashlight into the basket, grabbed the scooter’s handlebars, and hopped ahead of him into the house.
“Um…” He closed the front door behind them and locked it, then hurried to catch up. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I mean, if it sounded any type of way.”
“You’re in a hole,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Might be smart to stop digging. I’m going to bed.”
* * *
Abby woke just after 3:00 a.m. when Georgia jumped onto the bed. Abby reached down to pet her, then brushed the dirt from her gritty fingers on the thin, summer-weight quilt. “Great, Georgia. Thanks a bunch.”
Georgia licked Abby’s fingers. It felt like an apology. “I’m sorry, too, girl. I shouldn’t have insisted on bathing you when I knew you were scared.”
Georgia licked Abby’s fingers again, then stretched out along Abby’s leg and settled down to sleep. Abby petted Georgia’s sandy head and went back to sleep herself. She was right in the middle of an excellent dream when the house phone—the landline in Reva’s office—started ringing. It rang five times before voicemail picked up. Abby rolled over and burrowed under the covers. She had just-about fallen asleep when it started ringing again.
Who would be calling here this early? Not Reva; she would text first, even in an emergency. Eventually, the phone’s ringing was bound to wake Quinn, though he was sleeping in Reva’s room at the opposite end of the house. With her eyes still blurry from sleep and her limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated from the pain meds that had put her so far under, Abby slung back the covers. Georgia rolled over and groaned, sending Abby a look of annoyance before closing her eyes again. “Don’t let me disturb you,” Abby groused.
The answering machine picked up, but in no time, the damn phone started another round of ringing. No way would she get there in time to pick up before the machine kicked in. But by now, she knew that the asshole on the other end of the line would try again. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come back to bed in five minutes.” Abby set her knee on the scooter and hopped into the living room, where a weak hint of sunlight was just beginning to lighten the walls. She made it to Reva’s desk when round four began. She snatched up the receiver and yelled into it. “What!”
“Please tell me I didn’t wake you, Reva,” a querulous old-lady voice said. “I wouldn’t be up myself if your big, black cat wasn’t yowling at my window.”
“And who is this?” Abby asked, not bothering to correct the old woman about the multitude of facts—okay, maybe just two—that she’d gotten wrong.
“It’s Mildred, your next-door neighbor?” This said in a tone that suggested Reva might have recently lost her mind. “And the only neighbor who is on your side in your recent troubles, apparently, though I’m rethinking that position.”
Recent troubles? On Reva’s side? Was the old lady suffering from some sort of psychosis that made her imagine things? “Miss Mildred, this is Abby, not Reva. She’s out of town and I’m house-sitting. Reva has a lot of cats, but none of them are black.” Though if there was a feral tomcat in the area, Abby had no doubt that he’d end up here sooner or later. “Do you need to borrow Aunt Reva’s live trap?”
“Abby? Who’s Abby?”
“Reva’s niece. I spent every summer here when I was a kid.”
“Oh, yes,” Mildred gushed, finally sounding happy. “I remember you. Long-legged skinny thing with a wild mane of wavy hair. Lord knows, I tried to tell Reva to try coconut oil on that hair. I know she wrestled with it something fierce whenever you’d come in from a day of climbing trees and whatnot. Yes. I remember you.”
“That’s great, Ms.
Mildred. Do you need me to send someone over with a live trap for that cat? He’s not ours, but if you can catch him, we’ll take care of getting him fixed up and adopted out.” Unless no one wanted him, in which case, he’d stay and live here like all the others.
“Well, honey, I don’t know how to set up that contraption. And as you may remember, Wilbur isn’t mechanically inclined, bless his heart. But if you want to come and set up that trap, I’d appreciate it.”
“I can’t come myself, but I’ll send someone else this afternoon.” She’d ask Quinn to do it.
“That’ll be fine, honey. Just call first, because we might be napping.”
“I know we all value our sleep,” Abby agreed with some lightly veiled sarcasm.
“See?” Mildred chortled, in high spirits now. “I told those people that you were good neighbors.”
“What people?” Abby asked.
“I don’t remember their names right off,” Mildred said, beginning to sound confused. “But Wilbur sent them packing before they’d set foot inside the house. He’s not like me, you know. He doesn’t believe in inviting folks in from off the street. But you know; I like those Jehovah’s Witness boys, so well dressed and polite, coming around on their bicycles trying to spread the word of the Lord. I always invite them in for a nice chat and a glass of sweet tea. You know how hot it gets out here, and how easily even healthy folks can get heatstroke. Why, you know, when—”
“Ms. Mildred,” Abby interrupted. “I think somebody’s knocking at my door.” Not likely at the butt crack of dawn, but Abby was determined to go back to bed and sleep until eight thirty, at least. “I’ll call you this afternoon about that live trap. Okay?”
Abby slipped back into bed without waking Georgia, then managed to take up dreaming where she’d left off. In the dream, she’d found a new job on a tropical island, where she managed an open-air office on a white-sand beach. She was still trying to figure out what sort of office it was when the smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking coaxed her gently awake. Abby sat up and stretched. Sun streamed through the thin curtains, brightening the pale-yellow walls to a deep buttery tone. Georgia had already followed her nose to the kitchen.
Abby dressed in shorts and a Bayside Barn Buddies tee, then hopped into the kitchen.
Quinn’s too-long brown hair stuck up on one side, but aside from that one minor imperfection, he looked like a movie star standing in her aunt’s old-fashioned kitchen. Barefoot and shirtless in low-slung jeans, he used tongs to turn the bacon in the heavy cast-iron frying pan. When it splattered, he jumped back and rubbed his chest. “Shit fire,” he muttered, turning the heat down.
She opened a cupboard and took out a splatter guard, setting it on top of the frying pan. Then she adjusted the gas burner, turning it down a couple notches. “Good morning.”
He turned those blue-jean-blue eyes on her. “Good morning.” He looked at her lips, and for a second, she thought he might be about to kiss her, but the second passed by without incident. “I’m cooking an apology breakfast.”
“Oh, okay.” She took a mug from the cabinet and yawned. “You have coffee already?”
“Not yet. But I’d love some, if you’re pouring.”
She poured coffee into the blender and added all the ingredients that made it bullet-proof, then filled two mugs with the rich, frothy concoction. He turned off the heat on the bacon, then took her mug and motioned for her to go ahead of him. “I thought you might like to sit by the pool with your coffee while I cook. I’ll bring breakfast out when it’s ready.”
She sat in one of the lounge chairs and took the mug he handed her. “I like the way you apologize.”
He winked. “I can apologize in more delicious ways than this, but we don’t know each other that well yet.”
“Sexual harassment!” She held up a hand as if flagging down a taxi. “Somebody help!” As if in answer, Georgia hopped into Abby’s lap, her feet and coat dyed orange by the den’s dark red-orange dirt.
“I’m not sure who’s harassing whom here,” he said, giving Abby the stink eye along with a mischievous grin that quirked up one corner of his mouth. “But we can figure that out later.”
With his wide shoulders, bare chest, tight abs and just-out-of-bed hair, he was too handsome for anyone’s good. He bent forward in an obsequious butler’s bow. “I’ve gotta finish cooking breakfast for milady. And, by the way, I’ve already fed Georgia and the inside cats. I’ll do the rest once I’ve delivered your breakfast to the patio.”
“Fine.” She waved him off and took a sip of her coffee. “While you cook, I’ll decide whether I want to forgive you for being such an asshat last night.”
“Would it help if I whipped up a mimosa to go with your coffee?”
“No, thank you. Coffee is enough.” She had already forgiven him. Some of her angst yesterday evening had been due to her own insecurity. Reva had always been good at claiming her ability of animal communication without regard to what anyone else thought. But Abby did care what other people thought, no matter how much Reva preached about the dangers of becoming an approval whore. Reva said that knowing you were fulfilling the mission you’d been born to accomplish was all that mattered. What anyone else thought of you was none of your business.
A flash of gray, a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, caught Abby’s attention. Barely seen and gone already, it had to have been Wolf. Georgia’s ears pricked up, and she whined. Abby sat forward and turned around on the chaise to look toward the corner of the house. “Come here, buddy,” she called, knowing Wolf was near enough to hear. “Come on, we won’t hurt you.”
Tail wagging with anticipation, Georgia quivered and stared at the spot where Wolf had been. Abby had the impression that Georgia was communicating with Wolf, inviting him to show himself.
“Puppy, puppy,” Abby called. She whistled low. “Come on out.”
The azaleas shivered, then Wolf appeared. Nose first, low to the ground, he commando-crawled onto the open lawn. “Hey, Wolf, you’re okay.” Abby held her hand out, knuckles first. “Come on.”
He crawled forward a bit more, then dropped back down to his haunches, sending anxious glances toward the house.
Georgia hopped down and ran across the lawn toward him, jubilant and encouraging. She stopped in front of him and rolled to her back, licking his mouth in welcome.
Then Quinn opened the door, and Wolf disappeared into the azaleas like a ghost. The moment was lost.
* * *
“You should’ve seen it,” Abby gushed. “He came closer than ever this time.”
Quinn kicked back in the recliner and muted the TV, because he didn’t need the sports commentary to know what was happening on the field. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
She had told him this story about a dozen times. He didn’t mind hearing it again, though, because her pretty face was so animated, beaming with happiness about such a simple thing. Wolf had shown himself a few times, but only when Abby was outside alone, and only for a few minutes. He’d been coming closer each time, but never close enough for Abby to touch.
“Wolf was so scared, I could see him trembling. But he wanted to come to me. I could tell. And Georgia was so sweet to him.” She reached down to stroke Georgia’s thick fur. “It’s like they’re in love, isn’t it, girl?”
Abby sat on the couch with a book in her hand, her foot propped up on the ottoman. Georgia stretched out next to her on one side, Max the tabby lay on the other side, and Griffie sat like a half-chewed loaf of bread in her lap. “I wish he’d just come to me,” Abby said. “I know that big scab on his side needs vet care. It looks like something tore a big chunk out of his skin.”
“Maybe the next time you see him, he’ll let you touch him.”
Sharing the recliner with Quinn, the new kitten, Stella, kept stretching up to nuzzle his chin. He had given up pushing her away. Abby s
aid Stella hadn’t had any use for her since the day Abby had grabbed her from the culvert, but the kitten seemed to have decided that Quinn was okay. He stroked her soft fur and decided that he liked her, too.
“I know I’m probably trying too hard,” Abby said. “It’s enough right now to know that he’s getting fed.”
“Yep.” Quinn put a bowl of dog kibble out on the patio every night and went back to pick up the empty bowl an hour later, so they knew Wolf ate his food as soon as Quinn went inside. “There’s no harm in letting Wolf take his time deciding that this is a safe place.” Especially since they knew he was safe in his den under the porch.
“I just worry that he hasn’t had his shots, and he might need antibiotics for that wound in his side.”
Quinn knew that Abby wanted to get Wolf the veterinary care he needed and to get him neutered (a concept that made Quinn squirm whenever he thought about it). But first, they had to earn his trust. “All we can do is all we can do, though, right?” Quinn stopped petting Stella, and she settled down in his lap. He was almost getting used to being surrounded by animals, and it wasn’t all that bad. In fact, he enjoyed having a cat or two purring next to him in bed at night.
“Hey,” he said to Abby. She looked up from the book she was reading. “That pile of mail I’ve been putting on your aunt’s desk is getting pretty thick.”
“I know. I’ll handle it tomorrow. Promise.” She closed her book and sighed. “I think I’m about done for. I’m going to bed.”
He wished he had the courage to follow her in there. He had long since stopped torturing himself by denying their mutual attraction. He’d been keeping his distance, though, because that’s what she seemed to want. Since he had moved in, they had fallen into a routine that felt as intimate as an old married couple’s life together. Like Abby’s emerging relationship with Wolf, they were close, but not close enough to touch.
* * *
After the morning chores and a big breakfast, Quinn and Abby went to separate ends of the house to get cleaned up for a grocery run in preparation for Sean’s Wednesday evening visit. In the guest bathroom, Abby plugged the tub and turned on the taps. When the tub was full of perfect-temperature water, she performed the yoga-like ritual of stepping into the tub with her good leg, then lowering herself carefully into the water while leaving her cast hanging over the edge.
Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay Page 21