Paige wasn’t in the market for trinkets or furnishings of any kind, but she was intrigued to meet the matriarch who sounded like a real character.
“Open. Come on in,” she read from the big sign in the door. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
“Just me and a couple of ghosts,” a thin, slightly squeaky voice called from somewhere in the bowels of the house. “Come on back. Coffee’s hot.”
Ghosts? That’s interesting, but coffee?
“Yes, coffee. Now, you’re talking my language.”
She slipped off her coat, hung it over one arm, and wound her way through the narrow pathway created by claustrophobia-inducing antiques. Half-way across, she paused to admire a beautifully constructed, shoulder-height wooden heart-shaped display, set on a sturdy base with six horizontal shelves arranged in a sort of patchwork design in the middle.
The shape made her think of Miss Valentine— the source of an earlier argument with TJ. No way in hell was she giving the animal back to the person who left her to die in the middle of nowhere, beaten and abused. If she got a name from the internet, her next call would be to the police.
“Howdy,” a voice said from the doorway. Paige turned to see an elderly pixie standing a few feet away. Two pretty turquoise clips kept her thin, wavy white hair pulled off her face. The woman put a finger to one corner of her smiling lips. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’d put money on you being Betty McFee’s house sucker—I mean, sitter.”
Paige caught the faux pas, but the twinkle of mischief in the old woman’s eyes told her it was on purpose. ”That’s me. Paige Jackson.” She held out her hand and advanced toward her. “And you are?”
“Old enough to know better than to tease a newcomer. Name’s Ida Jane Montgomery. Welcome to the Old Bordello Antiques Store. Did you happen to bump into my great-niece on her way out? Jenny brings me lunch from the Broken Wheel a couple of times a week. Best chicken-fried steak on the planet.”
Paige remembered spotting the eatery on her way into town. The place looked homey. Brad would have called it a greasy spoon.
Mistaking her frown for one of concern over the health benefits of the eatery, Ida Jane said, “Don’t worry. The Wheel ain’t all trans fats and crappo-hydrates.” The pronunciation made Paige smile. “But the takeout is convenient. Jenny can drop off lunch then run home for a quickie, if Josh is around.”
Paige blinked, completely speechless.
Ida Jane laughed and made a follow me motion. “It’s okay, dear. They’re married and trying to get pregnant, so every little nooner helps. Come along. Coffee’s in the kitchen. I heard a rumor you and TJ are looking for a certain coward who takes his temper out on helpless creatures. Am I correct?”
Paige nodded still searching for her voice. She wasn’t sure which surprised her more—the old woman’s use of the word nooner or the fact she knew about Miss Valentine.
“Then you’re in the right spot. Two things I cannot abide: liars and abusers.” She ushered Paige to a kitchen table that looked like it could have served prospectors rushing into the area during the California Gold Rush. But the laptop sitting open on top of it looked brand new.
For the first time since TJ’s abrupt departure, Paige felt like she’d regained her footing. She had a purpose, an interesting new friend, and—her mouth watered from the aroma billowing out of the mug Ida Jane handed her.
Forty minutes later, Paige had the name of a suspected donkey abuser, a serious coffee buzz, and enough information about Prospect Creek history, the Garden Club, and the Sullivan triplets to win a local trivia contest.
“Don’t ever put your money on nurture. The triplets came out of their mother’s womb as fully formed individuals. Jenny has always been sweet, serious, and eager to please. People call her Jenny Perfect for a reason. Andrea—who goes by Andi now—is stubborn as the day is long but loyal as a Labrador. She’s a Marine, of all things.” Her chin moved back and forth as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “And Kristin…” The woman’s demeanor changed again. Sad and reflective. “So like her mother. Quiet, studious, easily hurt, and the last to forgive a slight. We haven’t seen Kristin much since the girls graduated from high school.”
Paige had closed the laptop several minutes earlier. Shouldn’t TJ be back by now?
As if she’d conjured his spirit, a horn sounded from outside.
Ida Jane got up and walked to the kitchen window. “Your ride’s here. I’ll walk you out so I can give TJ a hard time about not dropping in to see me more often. For a boy who started out with ten strikes against him, he sure turned into a decent man and a fine human being.”
Paige couldn’t attest to TJ’s beginning, but she agreed completely with Ida Jane’s assessment. Too bad I’m not sticking around longer. Who couldn’t use a really fine human being in their life?
Her Cowboy Valentine: Chapter 8
“Hello, Miss Valentine. How do you like that new feed?”
The donkey chewed, her large ears wiggling to acknowledge Paige, but the reaction seemed a far cry from the excited welcome they’d received from the dogs when she and TJ returned home from Prospect Creek an hour earlier.
Paige rested her arms on the top rail of the stall and watched the donkey munch down the special hay TJ had scored. He’d picked her up at the Old Bordello just forty minutes after dropping her off. Although Ida Jane had tried her best to get him to stay and “visit,” he’d insisted he had to run the parts to Murdock. So, they’d driven straight to Betty’s. Their only talk: donkey feed, carburetor kits, and the Sullivan triplets.
Paige hated how disappointed she’d felt that their earlier chummy give-and-take and getting to know each other had suddenly come to an end, but she understood why. Acting on a mutual attraction that was only going to last a couple of weeks was a bad idea. A really bad idea.
But she missed their closeness—even though he was only a couple of hundred yards away in the lean-to Betty called a garage, finishing up whatever Murdock didn’t get done.
“Are you looking for TJ? He’s next door working to give me mobility.”
The soulful abyss in Miss Valentine’s brown eyes seemed a friendly confessional.
“I’m grateful. Really. I am. I’m just afraid once he crosses fix Jeep off his list, I’ll never see him again.”
She closed her eyes. Look, Dad, I’m talking about my love life—or lack of one—to a donkey.
She did an abrupt about-face and walked to an enamel pan on the counter to check on the beat mash TJ picked up at the feed store. “Most beet pellets have to soak overnight,” he’d told her when he added hot water he’d carried from the sink. “This brand says it’s ready in five minutes. The guy at the feed store told me, ‘Donks love this stuff.’”
She checked her watch. “Maybe now would be a good time to re-apply the ointment Doc left.”
Paige slipped into the stall, the small tube in hand. As she approached the donkey, Miss Valentine froze. All except her ears, which went down and back. Her body language shouted fight or flight. Paige murmured calm reassurances just as her father taught her, but when she reached out to dab the ointment, the donkey skittered sideways.
“Problems?”
TJ. The man she’d slept beside last night and kissed this morning. The man who’d made it clear they weren’t crossing any imaginary “relationship line” in the sand.
“She was perfect for us last night. Now, she acts like I’m a stranger.”
“Hmm. Actually, that’s how she was with me last night before you came into the stall. Once you got here, she settled right down.”
“Brain damage from the abuse?”
He shrugged. “I just figured she favors women over men. Not surprising if you’re right about the guy you found online.”
“You mean the moron who posted pictures of his ex-wife’s donkey without whip marks and claimed it somehow broke loose from him and got away when he was trying to deliver it to her at her new lover’s cabin? What I wouldn’t give to be with Deputy G
rimaldo when he shows up at that fool’s house.”
She and Ida Jane had identified the man looking for his “lost and pregnant donkey” within a few key strokes. Since Paige had photos of Miss Valentine on her phone—with close-ups of the abuse, Ida Jane called a sheriff’s deputy who used to date Kristin Sullivan.
“Donnie’s great. He won’t believe any bullshit. You sent him the photos?”
She nodded. “Every single one. Smart of you to suggest documenting everything.”
“Livestock rustling is still a serious offense around here. But rescuing an abused animal takes precedence.”
He held up two very greasy hands. “Let me wash up, then I’ll help, if she’ll let me.”
“She will. She knows you’d never hurt her.”
Her comment seemed to give him pause, but he left without saying anything. She dropped to a squat a foot or so from Miss Valentine, who had returned to her feed. “Doc texted that he’d be by to check on you tomorrow. You trust him. How come you’re acting so standoffish with me now?”
A strong hand squeezed her shoulder. Although meant to be comforting, her body reacted as skittishly as their nervous donkey. Maybe I’m the one who is afraid of men.
“Miss Valentine reminds me of a few of the kids who came through Betty’s. So damn traumatized and jaded they’d bite the hand that fed them and then start fight with anyone who treated them nice.”
Her heart melted into a big lump hearing the words he didn’t say: Kids like me.
Without meaning to, she leaned into his touch. The feelings zipping through her body resonated with hints of long-forgotten man-woman attraction.
He swallowed loud enough for her to hear and walked around the animal, putting the donkey between them. “Hello, Miss Valentine, whatcha givin’ our girl Paige a hard time for?”
Paige watched the donkey look from TJ to her and back. She would have sworn she spotted a smile on Valentine’s lips. Donkeys don’t smile.
“No anthropomorphizing,” her father always said. “Animals think like animals, not like humans. Although the same can’t always be said for people.”
“Maybe she doesn’t trust either of us alone, but she trusts us together.”
His head cocked, as if considering her theory. “As good an answer as any I’ve got. Let’s give it a try.”
He stroked the thick muscle along the donkey’s short, sticky-up mane until he reached the black cross at the top of her withers. The markings she’d learned were typical of the breed, and some attributed to a biblical connection to the donkey’s association with Jesus. Miss Valentine kept eating.
“Progress.”
Paige caressed one long ear, whispering sweet nothings while TJ applied the ointment to the purplish-brown wounds along her ribs.
“Do those sores look any better?”
“A few inflamed spots but not bad. The key is to make sure all the infection is gone before a sore scabs over. She probably needed stitches but it was too late for that by the time I found her. Or she found me,” he added under his breath.
“Doc said it’s important she swallows all her pills. Did you get one down her today?”
Paige chuckled. “I nearly swallowed it myself by mistake. She somehow did a fancy pirouette when I tried to open her mouth. The pill went flying and barely missed me.”
His smile set off a strange skipping sensation inside her midsection. Stop, already. We’re not doing this.
“Shall we try again?”
A loaded question.
She pulled the pill from her jacket pocket and brushed off a little lint. “Ready when you are.”
TJ wrapped one arm—his thick jacket for padding and protection—across the little donkey’s withers and then pulled her tight to his body. Instead of fighting, as she had with Paige, Valentine seemed to relax against him. She didn’t make a sound when Paige opened her mouth wide and strategically placed the pill at the far back of Miss Valentine’s tongue.
The donkey swallowed like a perfect patient.
TJ let her go and straightened, hands on his hips. He shook his head, his expression thoughtful. “That’s…odd. You don’t think…naw, couldn’t be.”
“What?”
His ruddy complexion went a shade deeper in hue. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, right?”
“A week and two days, I believe.”
“Maybe she’s”—his expression told her it grieved him to say whatever he planned to say out loud—“um, you know, playing Cupid.”
Paige tried to make sense of the words. “Cupid? As in the little naked imp with a bow and arrows dipped in some special potion to make people fall in love?”
His face scrunched up. “Dang. That sounds even more outrageous coming from your lips. Sorry. Of course, that’s not possible.”
“I agree. Cupid wouldn’t waste an arrow on the two of us.”
“Come again?”
She could tell that rubbed a nerve. “We’re the proverbial ships that pass in the night—well, I am. Just passing through. You know what I mean.”
His scrutiny made her nervous. She blathered on—as she tended to do when she was pitching a story idea without a script. “And we have next to nothing in common. I’m divorced, homeless, and I drive a prima donna car. Does that really sound like the kind of girl who would ever in a million years interest a guy like you?”
“What do you mean ‘a guy like me’?”
Now, he sounded pissed.
“Stable. Normal. Someone with a life you made from scratch. All I bring to any party is a boatload of baggage, including a vitriolic blogger who blames me for her sister’s suicide.”
His stance changed. “Who? Why? When?”
His rapid-fire questions brought back memories she’d hoped would stay in LA. The headlines. The whispers any time she ventured out. The looks of pity—mixed with relief—that Paige’s fall wasn’t theirs.
Her stomach clenched, the smells of the barn suddenly getting to her. She pivoted on one heel, squeezed through the doorway and ran to the middle of the driveway. Her breathing came shallow and fast.
Both dogs raced from the front porch toward her, tails wagging, the minute they spotted her. At least someone here likes me.
She bent over at the waist. Cold fingers gripping the tops of her knees, she hauled in big gulps of icy air. What is wrong with me? Why would I bring up the very thing I took this job to forget? Why can’t I ever have a normal relationship with a man?
A warm, heavy hand rested squarely between her shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”
“No. According to my shrink, I’m a clinical basket case.”
He took her shoulders and made her face him. “I didn’t know that was an official diagnosis.”
She faked a smile. “I’m special, can’t you tell?”
His chin dipped so he could look her straight in the eyes. “I knew that the moment I saw you.”
“Why are you being so nice to me? I just insulted you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been called worse than a self-made man. Sweetheart, I was a public figure for a number of years, and when you’re on top, that means people have a better shot at you. Trust me, I have the reviews to prove it.”
“Why did you stay in a job that didn’t value you?”
“It’s all I knew. No college for me. No money. Sketchy juvenile record. Bad attitude. Bulls were the obvious choice. Something I could excise my demons on daily, without going to jail.”
She crossed her arms. “Maybe you didn’t attend a university, but you’re far from uneducated. Sometimes you sound like a college professor.”
He snickered. “I doubt that. I’m no teacher. But…” He tapped a finger to his ear. “Professional rodeo involves a lot of travel. When I left here, Betty gave me a set of books-on-tape. I listened to each three or four times before I had enough pocket money to buy new. You used to rent audiobooks from one pit stop to another. Now, I listen through an app on my phone that connects by Bluetooth to my truck’s
sound system.”
“Just plain listening doesn’t always equate to learning. You have to want to learn.”
His expression turned inward. “I had a teacher tell me once that I was the smartest student in her class, but also the angriest. I’ll never forget what she said, ‘TJ, your mind is starving. But everything you do feeds your mad, instead.’”
Feeds your mad? “After Sophia died, I was too angry to eat, drink, or reach out to anyone—even my husband, who was in pain, too.”
Neither spoke for a few seconds, then she said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For underestimating you.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Growing up, I learned to fly under everybody’s radar. It was safer that way. Nobody expects anything from you. Once I hit the big time, things changed. My girlfriend was always nagging me to do more on social media. Open up. Give them something they could relate to.” His soft snort was filled with irony. “They’d never in a million years relate to my life. I gave them what they paid to see—the bull rider. But that’s all.”
She pictured her old life. Lunches. Shopping. Social media. All pretend. Without thinking, she put her arms around his middle and hugged him hard. The dogs, apparently feeling left out, moved into the space between their legs, squirming and whining until Paige let go and took a step back.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re so pushy.” She bent over to pet Rocky, then Titus nudged his huge head straight to her chest and she lost her balance. She would have wound up on her behind on the freezing pavement if TJ hadn’t scooped her up in his arms.
As a relatively tall woman, she’d never experienced the sensation of being carried. She hadn’t realized how much trust was involved. Luckily, they were only a few steps from the porch, where he carefully lowered her feet.
They were eye level now. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to turn on the outside lights and the muted golden light from the living room didn’t help her read his expression. “Are you coming in?”
Cupid to the Rescue: A Tail-Wagging Valentine's Day Anthology Page 77