One Perfect Year

by Melinda Curtis

  * * *

  SHELBY WAS LOSING her mind.

  Or maybe her common sense.

  For a second in the backyard, she’d thought Gage was going to kiss her. He’d leaned forward and looked at her mouth.

  And...well...she didn’t want to think about how her pulse kicked up a notch at the idea.

  She’d talked to a grief counselor after Nick died. Their discussions had helped her sort through her thoughts and feelings. She’d been taking Nick’s bed pillow everywhere. It smelled of him. The counselor had spouted terms like stages of healing, complicated grief and emotional transference. Meaning Shelby held on to that pillow as if it was Nick. And that hold kept her from moving on with her life. The pillow was still with her. On her bed in Grandpa’s house.

  What if these strange feelings Gage seemed to be inspiring in her were along the same lines? Her bed was lonely. The nights long. Gage would be a better substitute for Nick than Nick’s pillow.

  That was it. Emotional transference.

  Eureka!

  Case closed. She breathed a sigh of relief. The chances she’d ever fall in love again were slim. She’d loved Nick too much. And on the off chance that somebody else did measure up? She’d remember the devastating pain and break things off.

  Shelby wished she was brave enough to attempt a new relationship. She was just too scarred and too pragmatic.

  She glanced at Gage as they approached the darkened clinic. No comparison to Nick came to mind. He was just Gage, unlocking the back gate that led to the paddock and the kennels. Steady, used-to-be-reliable Gage. His shoulders seemed broad enough to carry the weight of the world. They’d certainly carried the guilt he’d been feeling toward Nick and what happened the day he died.

  She reached out to rub those tense shoulders when Captain started barking.

  What was she doing?

  She drew her hand back. “Captain’s happy to see me.”

  “That dog is making sure whoever’s coming in knows he’s in charge.” Gage’s tone was definitive. He’d never been one to let her wrap him around her finger, unlike Nick.

  She followed Gage through the open gate. “Here, Captain. Captain!”

  The Saint Bernard stared from Gage to her, then back to Gage. In the dim light, his eyes seemed less soulful, less lost, less in need of her.

  “I don’t think he likes that name.” The humor in Gage’s voice flowed over her.

  He’ll be impossible if he makes me smile.

  Since Gage’s confession earlier, his eyes had become less lost, as well. While she liked the idea of him coming to terms with Nick’s death, the niggling idea that he might need her less put her right back at a loss—in Dead Gage mode. He’d leave. Maybe not today, but certainly in two months’ time. And she couldn’t talk him out of the risks he took. Frustration she knew she had no right to feel sped through her veins.

  Shelby moved toward Captain’s kennel, determined to feel the same bond she’d experienced when she’d first seen the dog. “Uh, how about Riley? Here, Riley.”

  The dog sat down without so much as a wag of his tail.

  “Henry? Samson? Max? Spike?” She was borderline desperate. Okay, lonely and desperate. She wanted someone to love her. Someone safe who wouldn’t break her heart. Like this sweet, lost beast.

  Or Gage, her heart whispered.

  No. Just the dog. The safe, loyal dog.

  The dog in question held himself very still.

  “You suck at this.” Gage spun the key ring on his finger.

  His sarcasm got to her in a way the frustration hadn’t been able to, urging her closer. “Ammo? Gunner? Koda?”

  Gage’s bark of laughter made the dog’s tail wag. “You might just as well try something common, like Lucky.”

  The dog leaped up and started barking.

  “Lucky?” Shelby peered forward. “Is that your name? Lucky?”

  He barked some more. Leaped around. Tired himself out. Sank onto his haunches and panted.

  “Lucky,” Shelby crooned sticking her fingers through the kennel wire. Lucky leaned against it so she could scratch behind his ears. “Can we let him out? He can’t get away with the gate closed.”

  Gage’s belabored sigh drifted into the crisp night air. “All right. But beware of what he’s doing. Watch the perk of his ears and the lift of his tail.”

  Shelby nodded.

  Lucky bounded out as soon as the kennel door was open, sending Gage crashing back into the fence.

  “Are you all right?” Shelby laid a hand on his chest, felt his heart pound, was reminded of how she’d clung to him after she’d passed out the other night. She snatched her hand away, feeling her cheeks heat.

  Lucky rubbed up against her thigh, demanding attention. She laughed and obliged. It was easier to pretend that spark of nameless something didn’t exist between herself and Gage. She stroked Lucky’s big head, rubbing his soft ears, patting his barrel chest. She let him lead her over to a patch of dirt outside the paddock. A small white goat bleated inside. “Can I take Lucky home? I don’t want to leave him here alone.”

  Gage’s frustrated breath was a precursor to his refusal. “He’s about two years old, Shel. He may or may not have given up chewing. He may take a liking to everything in the house—from your shoes to your grandfather’s piles of books.”

  “We can’t let you near Grandpa’s books, can we, Lucky?” She stroked Lucky’s head. “He can stay out in back with Mushu.”

  “And scare a life or two out of Gaipan.”

  “Please, Gage.”

  Gage closed his eyes. He was silhouetted against the inky sky, most likely preparing to refuse her. She imagined reaching up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips. Her pulse applauded.

  Emotional transference.

  It couldn’t be. Her pulse doubted her diagnosis. Her heart doubted, too. And her lips.

  “Okay,” he said unexpectedly. “Let’s take him home.”

  Shelby launched herself into his arms. “Thank you.”

  Lucky launched himself at his human friends, sending them crashing to the ground. The goat bleated in the paddock, catching Lucky’s attention. He bounded away.

  Shelby had landed on top of Gage. “Are you okay?” she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes, not quite able to move.

  He grunted.

  He probably couldn’t breathe. She pushed up and—

  Lucky galloped back to play, planting his big front paws on her back.

  And just like that, all her curves were pressed tightly against all his hard planes. Again.

  “Lucky,” she wheezed when the dog didn’t move. He slobbered on her neck and Shelby cringed, sinking closer to Gage.

  “Shel.”

  Gage sounded as if he was expending his last breath.

  Shelby strained against the weight on her back, thrusting her chest against Gage’s.

  Gage lifted his head, most likely to make sure she heard his dying words.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t die. He kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GAGE HAD WAITED nearly a decade to kiss Shelby.

  He’d dreamed of her soft lips on his, of her warm arms encompassing him, of their bodies drawing closer.

  He hadn’t imagined a mountain of a dog playing matchmaker to the point where he could barely breathe, much less resist kissing Shelby.

  In that moment as his heart pounded and his chest heaved with the excitement of a long-awaited kiss, her lips weren’t soft, there was no warmth and she didn’t draw closer. And he feared this was turning into a colossal mistake.

  Thankfully, that moment didn’t last.

  Her breath mingled with his on a sigh. Her lips captured his. Her body turned languid atop him. And the kiss went on.


  Maybe a little too long.

  He should pull back, brush her hair from her eyes and say something romantic.

  He did none of those things. The cocktail of dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine kept his hands glued to her shoulders. He couldn’t let go.

  Lucky ran his slobbery tongue over them, then rolled off Shelby onto the ground next to Gage. The dog twisted onto his back and raised his massive paws into the air.

  Gage and Shelby scrambled to their feet, wiping their cheeks, and expressing their revulsion to dog germs.

  And then they froze, caught like a deer in each other’s headlights.

  I kissed Shelby.

  His pulse rate reached maximum speed.

  It was awesome. And wonderful. And scary.

  Silence. Not even an owl hooting.

  Say something.

  “I...er,” Gage said, at the same time that Shelby mumbled, “Hey, uh...”

  Their gazes collided.

  Lucky stood between them, panting as if he’d just run a race and beat them both.

  They laughed the uncomfortable laughter of the highly embarrassed.

  It’s going to be all right.

  Silence.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Shelby said.

  “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. They needed to talk about it, to analyze, to hypothesize. Did she like kissing him? Did she want to do it again? Did she think they could have a future together? One that invalidated Mae’s prediction of Shelby as a lonely cat lady?

  “Blame it on the dog.” She chuckled again, as if the kiss meant nothing to her. The sound chilled him. “Speaking of which, he probably needs another quiet night at the clinic.” She spoke as calmly as if they’d never pressed their lips together.

  As if he hadn’t just put his heart at her feet and she hadn’t just hopscotched over it.

  He put Lucky in his kennel and turned.

  Shelby was gone.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” Doc demanded of Gage the next morning. “You’re dragging your feet. We should have been at the clinic ten minutes ago.”

  “I wanted to say good morning to Shelby.” Gage wiped down the kitchen counter for the third time. Frankly, the longer he waited for her, the less likely the first words out of his mouth would be "Good morning." Early on, he’d been thinking the best way to greet her would be, “Hey, we need to talk.” After waiting an hour, he was leaning more toward a silent, smoldering glare that let her know they would talk, whether she wanted to or not.

  “Dogs, all mighty. Shelby already left this morning when it was still dark outside.” The old man walked like he was a cowboy and had been riding hard for days. He paused at the back door, his age-spotted hand on the knob. “Wait a minute. Are you interested in my granddaughter?” He turned to face Gage, nearly losing his balance in the process.

  “Don’t go playing Cupid,” Gage grumbled, sliding his cell phone into his back pocket.

  “You two were always close, but...”

  “Put your arrows away.” The kiss had been an aberration, an outlier, an unexplainable quirk that Shelby clearly wanted to ignore.

  Gage didn’t usually leap into things. He studied situations and opportunities, but over the course of a few days, he’d leaped into the job at the clinic and kissed Shelby. Next thing you know, he’d be moving here permanently, giving up on racehorses and Kentucky.

  It was time to man up and get a grip. Shelby was his friend. He’d do the town right by serving this two month sentence and then move on.

  The old man held the door open for him. “It’s like that, is it?”

  Gage chose not to answer.

  “I could talk to her.”

  Gage knelt to pat Mushu, who’d been patiently waiting for some attention on the back porch. “I’m only talking to Dr. Wentworth, not Cupid.”

  “Do you think I’d disapprove?”

  “No.” Gage brushed aside the way the old man’s approval warmed him. “I think you’d meddle.”

  “I don’t meddle.”

  Gage unlatched the gate and held it open for the meddler. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

  “One time. That doesn’t count.”

  Gage made a disparaging noise. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

  “I don’t have to take this.” Doc’s indignation rumbled through the empty street. “I’m walking to work.”

  “You’re not walking. You get out of breath after fifty feet.” It would be just Gage’s luck if Doc did walk and his ticker gave out.

  “You love her.”

  A cricket chirped.

  “Now, son, you just need to—”

  Gage turned back to the house, steering clear of his mentor, or rather, tormentor.

  “Where are you going?” Doc demanded.

  “To pack.”

  “Wait a doggone minute.” The old man’s orthopedic boots beat a slow pace as he followed. “You promised me—”

  Gage whirled around. “I’ll stay if you keep all interaction between us focused on the clinic.”

  “But—”

  “There’ll be no speculation, no advice, no gossip in the lobby.” That was what went on while Gage treated animals. Dr. Wentworth lorded over the waiting room, gleaning all the news, spreading his own. “And no matchmaking or I’m leaving.”

  Doc chewed the inside of his lip. “You strike a hard bargain.”

  * * *

  MAE OPENED THE front door when she saw a truck with the winery logo pull up in front of her house. It was Shelby, coming to help Mae clear out the shop.

  So soon?

  They were signing the papers tonight. Mae wanted more time.

  I’ve become a foolish old woman.

  More so because she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the end loomed near. She hadn’t called Ava or Andrea. She kept putting it off until tomorrow. What if tomorrow never came?

  Shelby hopped out of the truck. Her short, bright blond hair glinting with natural highlights, contrasted against her black T-shirt. She looked like life should have been her oyster, and yet something didn’t seem quite right.

  A huge dog leaped out of the truck’s window and onto the sidewalk. He loped toward the front porch.

  Mae gasped and slammed the door.

  Big dogs were a threat. They bumped into things. Tables, lamps, people. There was nothing as scary to a person past their prime as the threat of a fall. Everyone knew the adage: A broken hip and you’d best make out your will. You’d be dead in six months.

  Or less.

  Mae struggled to fill her lungs. She didn’t expect to celebrate Christmas. Still. Why race to heaven?

  “It’s after nine, Mae.” Shelby knocked. “Moving day.”

  Mae opened the door a crack, squinting at Shelby, who stood alone on her porch. “Where’s the monster dog?”

  “Lucky’s sitting in the backseat of the truck eating a dog treat. It’s the only way I can get him inside. No need to be afraid.” Shelby glanced over her shoulder. “I figured he was going stir-crazy at the clinic, so I broke him out. Nobody keeps Lucky in a cage.” Her smile was halfhearted.

  The Saint Bernard hung his head out the back window. A footlong drool dangled from his mouth.

  “A cage.” Mae harrumphed. “You might apply some of that Tao to your own life. You’re living in a cage of your own making.”

  Shelby cast a curious glance over Mae’s shoulder. “Is it purple in every room inside?”

  “Of course.” Mae’s house was purple everywhere. She loved the color. It was powerful and passionate. “I’m a single woman. I can do as I please.”

  “And how is purple different from black?
” There was a spark to Shelby’s eyes that had been missing before.

  Mae chuckled. “I can loan you a purple blouse.”

  “I can loan you a can of white paint and a brush.”

  “Got you thinking, did I?”

  Shelby didn’t answer. Her gaze landed above the hearth. “Who are all those men?”

  Mae opened the door wider. Six framed photographs graced her mantle. “My husbands.”

  “All of them?” Shelby’s eyebrows rose when Mae nodded. The girl might yet learn that love always returned, repairing hearts and filling voids.

  “I didn’t use to display all their photos. But after I buried my last husband, I became sentimental.” Truthfully, it’d been the doctor telling her the cancer was back and had metastasized in her organs. “I try to think a good thought about each one of them every day.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “It’s a penance of sorts.” Mae leaned on the doorknob. She was getting worn out standing. “Would you like to know my secret?”

  Shelby’s expression grew cautious. “Secret to what?”

  “Not my potato salad recipe, girlie.” Mae laughed. She only got out two ha’s before she began coughing. When she recovered, she said, “My secret to mending a broken heart.”

  Shelby’s face closed down. She took a step back.

  “You’ll ask me someday.” Unless Mae died first.

  Unconvinced, the younger woman jingled her keys. “Are you ready to go?”

  “In theory.” The reality scared Mae. She was clearing out another section of her life. How much was one supposed to prepare for before death? She grabbed her purple sweater, and followed Shelby slowly to the truck, allowing the younger woman to help her inside.

  The dog snuffled on Mae’s updo. She swatted him away, missing completely. Except for the drool. That pooled in her palm. She dug a tissue from her purse.

  “Do you have a plan for clearing out your things?” Shelby put the truck in gear.

  “A plan?” Mae stared down her nose at Shelby.

  “You know. Do you want to donate the dresses? Trash the mannequins? Except for Conchita, of course.” Shelby spared Mae a glance. “We need a plan before we start.”