Cupid to the Rescue: A Tail-Wagging Valentine's Day Anthology

by Lisa Mondello

  Paige returned with what looked like a large hunk of aluminum foil. “I found this when I was loading my stuff. Didn’t even know it was there.”

  She shook it out. Paper thin. The crinkly sound made the donkey’s ears wiggle. Even though he doubted it would do any good, he helped tuck it around their little patient and partway underneath.

  “How do you plan on moving her once we get to the barn?”

  “We start by you moving your car.”

  She looked at the Jag. “Of course. I left the keys in it because I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to park.”

  Before she could return to the car, he grabbed the skinny arm cloaked in a ridiculously inadequate raincoat. “Can I ask you something? Why are you driving a Jag?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a car.”

  “A fifty-thousand-dollar car.”

  She frowned. “It was part of the property settlement. I never liked it, but I just got the pink slip and didn’t have time to trade it in on something more practical.”

  He swallowed a snarky comment about first-world problems and turned his attention to the donkey. The little beast’s eyes had started to glaze over. Pain, maybe. Fear, probably. Definitely needed hydration.

  “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road. You can park your car under the metal carport just across from the barn. I may need your help getting her out. She was probably still operating on adrenaline when she climbed in here on her own.”

  She tossed him a thumbs-up and dashed back to the car, Betty’s little yapper, Rocky, at her heels.

  He leaned into the compartment to look at his patient. “How’ya doing, little girl?”

  Her nostrils moved with each breath, but he could almost feel her slipping away. She was going to need round-the-clock care. Even if Doc showed up, he probably wouldn’t want to move her again. Paige would have to step up. But he’d spotted her initial look of fear—panic?—when she spotted the donkey. And Betty mentioned something about Paige’s issues with horses.

  He’d planned to be a veterinarian at one point in his life. Before a skirmish with a high school rival—a kid with money and connections—skewered college for him, which meant Plan B. By mutual agreement with the school administrators and the law, he was awarded an early release—diploma by mail—if he got out of Prospect Creek. He headed to Texas to pursue a new goal: becoming a top bull rider.

  A tearful Betty had given him her stash of “egg money” and the title to her old truck before he left. And damned if he hadn’t made bank. Enough to buy a hunk of land up the road from Betty’s. Free and clear. With two springs and a nice creek that ran most of the year. Best of all, it had an old gold mine on it.

  He worked the vein when he wasn’t building his cabin or helping Sam.

  He let out a sound of frustration that made the donkey tense up. “Sorry, girl. My boss is expecting me to show up for work tomorrow. I don’t think City Girl is ready to fly solo on the old homestead.”

  He watched the vehicle, its tires losing traction every so often on the muddy drive. He had to give her credit. She managed to park it without any bumps or scrapes.

  A door slammed and she hurried toward them.

  “I could take her to my boss’s place.”

  The suggestion stopped her in her tracks. “Is he close by?”

  “Probably an hour from here. You go down before you go up.”

  She closed the gap between them with purposeful steps. “Please don’t risk her life on my account. I have no experience with donkeys…as you probably guessed. But I’m very good at following directions. If you tell me what to do, I’ll do my best.”

  TJ watched Miss Valentine—the name he’d impulsively given the donkey—a moment longer. Damned if she didn’t visibly relax when Paige was near.

  “Okay. Let’s get her settled. Betty’s got a heat lamp around here someplace. If Miss Valentine is still with us when Doc gets here, he can make the call.”

  “Miss Valentine?”

  “Yeah. That song…‘My Funny Valentine’…was playing on the radio right before…you know. Kinda stuck.”

  She looked down, her smile tender when she brushed some twigs from the donkey’s short, bristle-like mane. “I like it.”

  His heart did an odd little rumba in his chest. Kindness. It got him every time. Beautiful and kind. I am so screwed.

  He smelled her scent—something fresh and vibrant, like lilacs on a spring day—above the stinky animal scent.

  Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrant in his shirt pocket. “Doc. Thanks for calling. Did you get my message?”

  He listened a minute. “Sounds good. We’ll see you then.”

  “He’s coming?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t want to move her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you and I are in for a long, uncomfortable night.”

  Her Cowboy Valentine: Chapter 4

  Paige didn’t bother unpacking. She grabbed the first pair of jeans she found in her suitcase, shed her city clothes, and then dug through her stuff to find the sweatshirt she knew she’d packed. The oversize, sloppy gray one with her alma mater’s initials on it. UCLA. The one she always wore at the beach.

  She’d kicked off her boots the minute she walked in the house, but none of Betty’s fit. “The woman has gremlin feet. Wide and short.”

  Paige’s eight-hundred-dollar boots weren’t made for barns or mud, but they’d have to do for now. “Maybe I’ll order some cowboy boots online. Even if it means a trip to town to pick them up.”

  An excited bark drew her to the window. TJ was walking from the barn to his truck. Tall and substantial, he moved with purpose, but also a slight hitch in his step. She had no idea how he’d managed to get Miss Valentine into his truck in the first place.

  Moving the skinny little beast into the barn had taxed her puny biceps. She hated her body at the moment. She’d let her pain and grief take her to a place she’d never known. Lethargy so profound, some days she couldn’t get out of bed.

  No wonder I don’t have any muscles.

  “That is going to change, my friends,” she told the dogs who seemed to accept that she was here to stay, even if their beloved Betty was gone.

  A movement outside made her breath catch. TJ did a quick about face and hurried toward the barn. Was Miss Valentine still alive? Please, God. You couldn’t save Sophia. I accept that. But this innocent animal has suffered enough. Please let her recover.

  She put the hand that had touched the donkey to her nose. The same unforgettable smell of horse. How odd.

  The scent brought to mind hazy images from the past. Following her dad through barns. Being careful where she stepped. Kneeling on fresh straw to watch the wonder of a birth. Until that last afternoon.

  She shook her head. “Enough. A sick and brutalized donkey can’t hurt me. And even if she could, I’m done being afraid.”

  She hurried through the house, pausing only to grab a baggy fleece vest and a pair of stretchy gloves from Betty’s stash by the kitchen door.

  She caught up with TJ returning to his truck from the barn.

  “How’s our patient?”

  “Same.” He held up his phone. “I heard it ring and thought it might be Doc.” His upper lip curled slightly. “Telemarketer.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Good. That Miss Valentine is holding her own, I mean.”

  “So, you’re okay with this?”

  She pulled on her gloves. “Which part? The dogs? The road? Or the dying donkey?”

  When she looked into his eyes, she saw definite surprise and—she hoped—a hint of respect. She doubted she’d made a very good best first impression—with her city car and clothes, but she’d meant what she said. She was a fast learner—and usually didn’t make the same mistake twice.

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Do you have time to give me some instructions on how to care for the donkey before you leave? I’ll record them, if you don’t
mind.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Um…sure. That works, I guess. I got her to take a few slurps of water. That’s a good sign.”

  When he turned and started toward the barn, she hurried to stay astride—phone in the air between them. “What else do I need to know about running this place? Betty was pretty chill about feeding schedules, chores, and maintenance.”

  “Chill? Yeah, that’s Aunt Betty.” His laugh completely changed his face. He looked younger, and so damned handsome, she nearly stumbled over a pebble. With his head back, she could see his features more clearly. Dark eyebrows, thick lashes of the same color, and those damn Paul Newman–blue eyes she rarely saw in “real” life. “Living here was the most consistently chill years of my life.”

  That sounded like high praise. “How long were you one of her foster children?”

  “From the middle of seventh grade till I graduated.”

  Important years in a young man’s life, she imagined. “Did you go to school in Prospect Creek?”

  “Yes.”

  “The bus drove across Betty’s road every day?”

  His laugh made a few birds take flight in the mostly bare trees that were close in. Oaks, she presumed. Gnarly, with thick, entwined branches. They looked dead. Thank heavens for the pines.

  “Oh, no. I hoofed it to the main road through rain, snow, and heat. Betty said it built character—and more importantly muscle mass. She was a big believer in athletics. Every child she fostered had to do some sort of organized sport.”

  Paige pictured her mother driving her to ballet, dance, cheerleading, track, and diving. Mom called parenting her full-time job. Luckily, they’d had enough settlement money to live on until Mom remarried. “How did Betty swing all the cost that must have entailed?”

  “Good question. Not one I ever asked. Kids can be pretty self-centered—and the kids that passed through Aunt Betty’s tended to come in two types. Angry or beat down. The angry ones didn’t try because they assumed someone would pull the rug out from under them anyway, so why bother? The beat down ones tried, but only to please Betty. Most of them never saw the value of tennis lessons or softball or karate. They weren’t fighters. They were just trying to stay alive and figure out something to do for the rest of their lives.”

  Aren’t we all?

  “Do you like it here?”

  “The mountains always felt like home to me. I did a lot of traveling on the circuit, but I knew I’d come back eventually. Betty’s the only family I have.”

  His revelations ended the minute they reached the barn. From that point on he was all business. Which suited Paige just fine. She wasn’t here to broaden her social network. She was here to heal. Not unlike the little beast with her legs curled under her on the bleached white straw.

  The barn, she’d discovered, was larger than it looked. Five wooden stalls occupied one half of the rectangular building. A fairly wide dirt floor went straight up the middle.

  “This building looks really old.”

  He looked up. “Betty told me there was a stick-built farm house where her modular is sitting. It burned down. The family was in town at the time. The wife left something on the stove. They didn’t have insurance. People didn’t in those days. The family moved into town and never rebuilt.”

  “Are all those little dots in the roof, holes?”

  “Yeah. It gets a little damp in here during a big rain, but we’re not supposed to get any weather for a week or so. Structurally, this barn should last till Betty’s ready to sell the place.”

  “Sell? Really? Mom made it sound like Betty was a local fixture.”

  His strong-looking shoulders shrugged against his heavy canvas jacket. “Even fixtures get worn out. Just a feeling I’ve had. This rescue might be her last hurrah.”

  Paige blinked. “Do you mean she’s planning on bringing some of the wild horses back here?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. She’ll rehabilitate them and find good homes, then she’ll be done.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  She leaned on the gate and stared at the little animal, watching carefully to see the donkey’s ribs lift and fall—the same way she’d watched Sophia in the incubator.

  “I’m not a horse person.”

  “Sounds like a story I wish I had time to hear, but I’ve gotta get back to my place to put my tools away before nightfall. Things walk away if they aren’t locked up. Bet you didn’t know that.”

  She waved her phone at him. “What about my list of chores?”

  His lips compressed in a thin line of concentration. “Tell you what. I’ll clean up and come back. I put a pot roast in the slow cooker this morning. I’ll bring that along so you don’t have to cook.” He cocked his head. “Do you cook?”

  Not with any of the ingredients she’d glimpsed in Betty’s pantry. “My signature dish is Coquilles Saint-Jacques.”

  His low chuckle connected with a part of her she’d assumed atrophied from lack of use. “Is that a polite way saying you’re not used to cooking with the kind of items in Betty’s larder?”

  Cans. And more cans. “I saw eggs in the fridge. I won’t starve.”

  He reared back and looked skyward. “Oh, crap. The chickens. Come on. We’ve got to get them in for the night. They disappear faster than tools when you forget to put them away.”

  Chickens?

  Twenty minutes later, she had six large brown eggs in her vest pockets and a bruise or two to her ego as she walked TJ to his truck. Although dusty, it looked expensive. And big. How did he avoid killing Miss Valentine?

  She checked her watch. Four-thirty? That can’t be right. “It gets dark early here.”

  “Double whammy. Time of year and the foothills to the west.” He opened the door to reveal a very well-tended interior, except for the mud on the heavy-duty rubber floor mats. “You’ll be okay until I get back?”

  Her spine stiffened. “I’ll manage somehow.”

  “Just checkin’.” He climbed into the seat, wincing slightly, she noticed. “So, I’ll see you in about an hour and a half?”

  Since he added the inflection of a question, she forced a smile on her lips the way her mother taught her—gracious doesn’t cost you anything. “Thank you. Since Miss Valentine doesn’t appear to need me at the moment, I’m going to take these eggs to the house and check on the dogs, okay?”

  “Sure. She’s safe and warm. Until Doc gets here with meds, all we can do is watch and pray.”

  Like that does any good.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  TJ pulled over at the top of the pass to call Sam. “Hey, man, I know it’s late notice, but I’m not going to make it in tomorrow. Betty just took off for Arizona and the gal she hired to look after the Refuge is as green as a buckeye shoot.” Buckeyes, which were starting to leaf out in the lower elevations, were called the “harbinger of spring” because of their early, bright green leaves.

  “Really? I can’t picture Betty leaving her animals in the hands of a novice.”

  “I know. Right? Something’s been up with her for the past couple of months. I’m worried it might be her health. But, you know Betty. Got a poker face God would kill for.”

  Sam chuckled in his laid-back way. The man didn’t rattle easy—except when it came to his younger brother’s health. Josh O’Neal’s second bout of cancer had been a source of concern for the whole community. In part because Josh’s wife, Jenny Sullivan-O’Neal, was a local girl most people in Prospect Creek considered a favorite daughter, but also because Josh was a great guy. Young and full of life. Every hand at the Rocking R knew Sam still lost sleep over Josh’s prognosis. “Didn’t you tell me Betty did some downsizing recently? Even a flatlander should be able to take care of two dogs, a few sheep, and a dozen hens.”

  “And a beat-up donkey. I nearly ran over her on my way to Betty’s. Have you heard of anyone who lost a sweet little beast they mistook as a whipping post?”

  “Nope. But I’ll ask around. How bad off i
s she? Have you called Doc?”

  “He’s driving back from a surgery in Stockton. I’d like to get some fluids in her and maybe some meds.”

  They talked a bit more about Miss Valentine. TJ was grateful Sam didn’t ask about Paige. He couldn't bring himself to admit the attraction he felt toward her. He’d barely even looked at a woman since Mindy. But he couldn’t get this particular city girl off his mind. He knew historically, he’d always been a sucker for a blend of strength and vulnerability.

  “If the donkey’s better in the morning, I might run into town to get some feed and a few things. Oh, and, I almost forgot. Remember Betty’s old Jeep? It needs a little tune-up. Any chance Murdock is free? I’d cover his wages.”

  His friend hesitated long enough for TJ to think he’d lost the connection. “Murdock’s always puttering around here working on something, but he loves Jeeps. He’d probably welcome the change of venue. Why are you fixing it up if Betty’s out of town?”

  Because I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a kind heart? “Paige. The house sitter? She drove here in a Jaguar.”

  “Across Betty’s road? City girls.” Sam groaned. “I’ll send him over in the morning.”

  TJ felt his shoulders relax a bit. “Thanks, man. Hey, I meant to ask. How are Josh and Jenny? Pregnant yet?” Everyone in town knew Sam’s younger brother and his wife were trying to conceive their first child. There was even a pool going at the Slow Poke Saloon.

  Sam groaned. “You heard about that, too? I’m not sure Jenny will ever forgive my brother for sharing their procreation plans with the whole town, but Josh-- a.k.a. Mr. Romantic--told me he has something up his sleeve for Valentine’s Day to get back in Jenny Perfect’s good graces. His words, not mine.”

  The Sullivan triplets’ birth twenty-seven or so years ago had become both legend and lore in Prospect Creek. As a newcomer, TJ didn’t know fact from fiction, but he’d heard the whole town helped raised the little girls after their parents were killed in a car accident and Jenny, Andi, and Kristin became wards of their great-aunt, Ida Jane Montgomery. Of the three, Jenny somehow acquired the nickname: Jenny Perfect.