And those magical hands.
His strong fingers gripped the steering wheel, tapping occasionally in time with the music and, in spite of her best efforts, she couldn’t stop thinking of the way those hands had touched her in places that had driven her wild. She tamped down the ache those memories evoked.
Every now and then he glanced her way with a look that turned her insides to mush and made her knees weak.
But there was so much more to Grant Nathan than good looks and warm smiles. His innate love of animals. His deep concern for people. And his stick-to-it attitude reflected in the strong set of his jaw.
Not to mention his skills as a carpenter, landscaper and decorator, she thought, recalling the intimate comfort of his home.
How could she guard her heart against such a man? In self-defense, she attempted to catalog his faults. He lost his temper when pushed to his limit. He wouldn’t mind staying in Pleasant Valley the rest of his life. He…Her mind went blank. If she was going to use his shortcomings to resist him, she was flat out of luck.
But look at her dad, she reminded herself. He had almost no faults, either, and he’d broken her mother’s heart.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Grant said.
“I was wondering how a great guy like my dad could go so wrong.” She wasn’t about to tell Grant she’d been thinking of him.
“Jim’s human,” Grant said. “We all make mistakes.”
“I know.”
But what she didn’t know was whether her own mistake was loving Grant or leaving him.
MJ was relieved when they arrived in Pleasant Valley at Mrs. Weatherstone’s house, a massive three-story Victorian around the corner from Nana’s. The impending visit gave her something to focus on besides Grant.
She gazed at the house through the passenger window of Grant’s truck. “Mrs. Weatherstone must be at least eighty-five. I can’t believe she lives in this huge place all alone.”
Grant shrugged. “We tried to convince her to move or hire a companion. She refuses to go to a retirement home and she insists she doesn’t want strangers living with her.”
“How does she manage?”
“She uses only the first floor so she doesn’t have to climb stairs. She pays several teenagers who shop for her, do the housework and mow her lawn. Brynn checks on her once a day when she’s on patrol.”
MJ had to admit that the house and lawn looked neat and tidy, even though the flower borders weren’t as impressive as she remembered from her childhood.
Grant turned to Gloria in the back seat. “You have to stay, girl. Can’t have your tail-wagging destroying Mrs. Weatherstone’s knickknacks.”
Gloria whined.
“I’ll leave the window down,” Grant assured the dog. “We won’t be long.”
He climbed out of the truck, opened MJ’s door and held Jim Dandy’s crate while she hopped out and slung her camera over her shoulder.
“Should we have called?” MJ asked.
Grant shook his head. “Mrs. Weatherstone’s always home and always glad for company.”
They mounted the steep stairs to the wide porch and Grant rang the bell next to the oversize double doors with stained-glass panels.
For several long moments the house remained silent. Then a clumping sound grew louder and the front door opened. Mrs. Weatherstone, leaning on a metal walker, beamed at them. “Sorry to take so long. I was in the kitchen making tea. Come in and have a cup.”
“No tea for us, thanks,” Grant said, “but we would like to visit a minute.”
Mrs. Weatherstone seemed a bit more frail, but otherwise exactly as MJ remembered. Tiny in stature with birdlike bones, she was fastidiously dressed in a pink twin set with a string of pearls, a wool skirt in a pink-and-lilac plaid and sturdy black brogans. Short wisps of soft white hair framed her face and accented her violet eyes. And when she smiled, she reminded MJ of a saint pictured in a Sunday school pamphlet.
MJ and Grant followed her into the front parlor. Filled with heavy antique furniture, the room was bright with sunlight streaming through the tall south-facing windows. Grant, who’d held Jim Dandy’s carrier behind his back, slid it out of sight beside the sofa as they took their seats. The little dog, as if sensing he was a surprise, kept silent.
“I thought you were in New York City, Merrilee June,” Mrs. Weatherstone said. “But I don’t get out much these days, so I’m always the last person in town to hear any news.”
MJ hoped Mrs. Weatherstone hadn’t heard about her father and Ginger Parker. “I’m just home for a short visit.”
“That’s nice,” the old woman said with warm sincerity. “I know Sally Mae’s pleased.” She turned to Grant. “And it’s always good to see you, my dear. You Nathan children are my angels.”
She turned back to MJ. “I don’t know how I’d live without them. Jodie sends my dinner from the café every day, and any time I need something repaired, Grant fixes it for me.”
Grant looked uncomfortable at the old woman’s praise. “That’s what neighbors do.”
But MJ knew that Grant was more than a good neighbor. When folks needed him, he went the extra mile, because that’s the kind of man he was.
Excellent husband material, her heart insisted. But her head reminded her of the betrayal of her father, the most excellent of husbands, and reinforced the wall she’d thrown around her emotions.
Grant moved to sit beside Mrs. Weatherstone and took her fragile hands in his big ones. “I’m so sorry about Itty-Bitty.”
The violet eyes filled with tears. “I do miss her. My lap seems so empty without her. She was my best friend.”
Grant nodded. “And you were hers. She had a long and happy life, thanks to you.”
Mrs. Weatherstone pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “The house is so quiet without her. Who would have thought such an ittybitty dog could fill a house this big?”
“She filled it with love,” Grant said.
Mrs. Weatherstone nodded. “I never realized how much I talked to her until she was gone. Now there’s no one to talk to. I miss her so much.”
MJ swallowed against the lump in her throat.
Grant gave Mrs. Weatherstone’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”
Mrs. Weatherstone sniffed and appeared to shake off her sadness. “Ask anything you want, dear. You always do so many favors for me.”
“I have a dog that needs a home.”
The old woman’s violet eyes flew open wide with consternation. “Not Gloria?”
Grant laughed and shook his head. “Good grief, no. She’d be like a bull in a china shop in this house. Gloria has a home for life with me. But this little fellow was abandoned in a bus stop in North Dakota. Would you like to meet him?”
Mrs. Weatherstone looked hesitant.
“You don’t have to agree to anything,” Grant said gently. “Just have a look.”
“Well, if you put it that way…”
Grant reached over the arm of the sofa, picked up the crate and set it on the floor in front of Mrs. Weatherstone. When he opened the door, Jim Dandy, who’d apparently been asleep, stepped out, stretched and looked around.
MJ held her breath.
As if knowing where his future lay, Jim Dandy hopped onto the footstool near Mrs. Weatherstone’s seat, then dived directly into her lap, where he curled up as if he’d been sleeping there all his life.
From the look in the old woman’s eyes, MJ could tell it was love at first sight.
“He’s precious.” Mrs. Weatherstone drew in her breath and ran a trembling hand over the warm little body. “I can’t believe nobody wants him.”
“I know Jim Dandy can’t replace Itty-Bitty,” Grant said, “but he needs a good home, and Itty-Bitty would want you to have a companion, now that she’s gone.”
Tears overflowed and ran down Mrs. Weatherstone’s face. She fumbled again for her handkerchief.
“Forgive an old lady for cryi
ng,” Mrs. Weatherstone said, “but I’m sad and happy. I’ll be glad to give this sweet little fellow a home.”
MJ understood the woman’s mixed feelings, and Grant put his arms around the older woman and hugged her. “Jim Dandy has just won the doggie lottery, Mrs. Weatherstone, being adopted by you. He’ll have the best life a dog could have.”
Grant kissed the old woman’s forehead and MJ snapped a picture, preserving the perfection of the moment for all time.
“You take good care of this young man,” Mrs. Weatherstone patted Grant’s hand and spoke to MJ as they were leaving. “He’s a keeper.”
“I’m not…we’re not…” MJ had started to explain, but, not wanting to detract from the old woman’s happiness, she had simply nodded.
HE’S A KEEPER.
The words echoed in MJ’s head, matching the rhythm of her heart as she sat in the waiting room. She stifled them by thinking of her father. So much for till-death-do-us-part. With more than half of all marriages ending in divorce and her own parents headed in that direction, the thought of any man, even Grant, as a keeper was absurd. If life had taught her anything, it was that love inevitably led to heartache.
She’d be better off with a dog, but as Itty-Bitty had so recently and unhappily proved, even beloved dogs weren’t forever.
Wondering how much longer she’d have to wait for Grant or her father to appear, MJ glanced at the clock above the reception desk and reached for another magazine.
The waiting room door opened and a client entered along with a swirling gust of frigid air. The wind carried the woman’s fragrance, a heavy, cloying scent of musty gardenias and the unmistakable odor of booze.
The owner of the overpowering perfume, a tall, raw-boned woman with coarse features and dyed auburn hair, was dressed in running shoes and skintight exercise leggings that emphasized her bulging thighs. Once inside, she struggled to shut the door against the prevailing wind, then removed her down jacket to reveal an equally tight tank top, cut low to expose maximum cleavage.
MJ caught a glimpse of the woman’s heavy makeup and the aggressive thrust of her large breasts before the newcomer turned away. The blatantly seductive sway of her wide hips as she crossed the room to the reception window seemed wasted, since MJ was the only person in the waiting room.
Fran glanced up and stiffened at the woman’s approach. The receptionist’s usual sunny smile of welcome froze on her lips.
“Is Dr. Stratton here?” the woman asked.
The nasal Northern accent, combined with Fran’s chilly reception, alerted MJ to the woman’s identity.
The notorious Ginger Parker.
MJ reeled from the surge of white-hot anger that threatened to propel her from her seat to the woman’s throat and she fought for self-control. She had always been impulsive and, as much as she longed to scratch the home-wrecker’s eyes out, she dared not behave in any way that would further damage her parents’ relationship. In an effort to calm herself, she gripped the edge of her chair with both hands and drew in a deep breath.
“Dr. Stratton is out on a call, Mrs. Parker.” Fran’s tone was as chilly as the wind that had gusted through the door.
“Then I’ll just wait in his office.” Ginger’s voice had a slight slur, as if she’d had too much to drink.
“I can’t allow that,” Fran said with obvious distaste, “but you can have a seat in the waiting room.”
“Don’t you know who I am?” the woman demanded with a snarl in her voice.
MJ felt a stab of pity for Fran.
The receptionist closed her eyes for a second, as if attempting to hold her temper. “You’re Mrs. Parker. You were in last year with a canary.”
“Oh, I’m much more than a client,” Ginger said with a smug smile that threatened to crack the top layer of her makeup. She thrust her left hand forward.
MJ strained to see, but the woman’s body obscured her view.
“Genuine emerald, two-carat, with yellow diamond baguettes.” Ginger’s throaty laugh sounded crude. “All I had to do was mention to Jimmy—”
Jimmy! MJ locked her lips against the protest rising in her throat. No one ever called her father Jimmy, not even when he was a boy.
“—that I love emeralds, and he had this special ordered.”
Ginger fluttered her hand for the jewel to reflect the light, and MJ caught sight of the obscenely large gem, an utterly tasteless ring that her mother wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. The piece was as different from her mother’s refined engagement diamond as Ginger’s coarseness was from Cat’s cool elegance.
“So you see, hon,” Ginger continued, and Fran winced at the woman’s familiarity, “I’m not just any client. I’m Dr. Stratton’s fiancée.”
MJ could take no more. She shoved to her feet and stormed across the waiting room.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” She spoke between gritted teeth to keep from shouting in the woman’s face.
Ginger swung around, swaying slightly on her feet like a punch-drunk boxer. “Who the hell are you?”
“Dr. Stratton is a married man,” MJ said. “How can he be engaged?”
Ginger swished her hand, as if brushing away the facts. “His marriage has been over a long time. The divorce will be just a formality.”
MJ opened her mouth for a scathing reply, but several things happened at once before she could speak.
The client with the cat left the examining room and crossed the waiting room toward the door. Gloria, tail wagging furiously, trailed the client into the reception area and, true to her love of women, loped straight for Ginger and gently nuzzled her hand.
“Get away from me, you filthy beast!” Ginger screamed.
With the hand that bore the tacky ring, she slapped the affectionate wolfhound hard in the face. The sickening whack of the blow reverberated through the waiting room, concurrent with Gloria’s heartrending yelp of pain and fear.
MJ lunged forward, but Gloria was too fast. The client with the cat carrier had opened the door to leave, and the wolfhound bounded past her, almost knocking the cat’s owner down in her haste to escape.
MJ raced out the door after her, but Gloria was already out of sight.
Chapter Ten
Grant stepped into chaos in the waiting room. Wearing attire as cheaply voluptuous as ever, Ginger Parker slouched at the reception window, her face blotched with anger beneath its layers of cosmetics. Fran appeared almost in tears. Merrilee was rushing in the front door.
“Who yelped?” He scanned the room. “Is an animal hurt?”
“Gloria,” Merrilee answered, out of breath, her eyes flashing fire, her fists clenched. “Mrs. Parker hit her and Gloria took off. I tried to catch her, but she’s gone.”
Anger blasted through Grant like a force-ten gale. He turned the full power of his fury on Ginger, whose smug expression lacked the slightest hint of remorse. “You struck my dog?”
“She bit me!” Ginger whined and rubbed the back of her hand against her heavy thigh.
“Gloria doesn’t bite.” Grant’s heart sank. He’d spent months gaining Gloria’s confidence and teaching her to trust people again. Ginger’s cruelty had shattered his efforts and Gloria’s too big heart. No wonder the animal had run away.
“She did not bite,” Fran was insisting. “I saw the whole thing. Gloria was just being her friendly self. Mrs. Parker had no reason to hit her.”
At the same time, MJ was shouting at Ginger, “You’re a liar. Gloria was only saying hello.”
Ginger shrugged with infuriating indifference and examined her hands. Her long crimson nails resembled talons on a raptor, eager for prey.
Grant looked away in disgust and noted the blood-lust in Merrilee’s eyes. He had to separate her from Ginger before more blows were struck.
He turned to Fran. “Cancel my other appointments. I’m going after Gloria.” He looked to Merrilee. “Come with me?”
She was already tugging on her coat.
Next, he rounded
on Ginger, his voice cold with anger and fear for his dog. “If you ever strike an animal again, I’ll have you arrested for animal cruelty.”
“Sheesh.” Ginger tossed her dyed hair out of her eyes. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a dog. And I didn’t hit it hard.”
Grant started to respond, but, noting Merrilee’s barely contained fury, grabbed her elbow instead and steered her out the front door before she could launch an attack. Grant empathized with her. He’d never struck a woman, never intended to, but if anyone deserved her block knocked off, it was Ginger. She dispersed chaos and destruction in the lives of others like Pigpen in the comics spread a perpetual cloud of dirt.
“Take it easy,” he warned Merrilee on the porch and attempted to follow his own advice. “Nothing you say or do can change that woman into a decent human being. And she’d be the first to level charges against you if you threaten her. Right now, we have to find Gloria. Did you see which way she headed?”
Merrilee shuddered, drew in a deep breath as if fighting for control, and pointed west.
Grant’s heart sank again. Gloria had headed away from town toward the mountains. With her long-legged, regal stride, she could cover miles in minutes. If she left the highway, and he hoped she did so she wasn’t hit by a car again, she could roam the forest for weeks without being found. With her fear of humans strongly resurrected by Ginger’s cruelty, the wolfhound would avoid all contact with people.
Grant might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had to try. A domesticated animal, Gloria wasn’t trained to fend for herself, and with a spring snowstorm in the forecast, the dog might die of exposure if she wasn’t found soon.
“Get in the truck,” he ordered Merrilee.
She didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. By the time he had the engine started, she had her seat belt fastened.
He drove away from the clinic and turned west onto the highway. “Look for tracks or any signs of a path broken through the underbrush.”
Grant switched on the emergency flashers and drove slowly, inching along the road. Too absorbed in their search to make conversation, he and Merrilee scanned the shoulders of the highway and the adjoining fields for any signs of Gloria. Every quarter mile or so, he’d stop and they’d both climb out to comb different sides of the road and call Gloria’s name.
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