by Loree Lough
Tootie harrumphed. “You’d best take care, or the poor filly will end up bald.”
“She hasn’t been a filly for close to six months now.”
Tootie’s shoulders sagged. “I know, I know,” she droned, “fillies are four years old or less, and—”
“It’s good to hear that you pay attention to some of the things I say.” He faced Taylor to add, “But Tootie makes a good point. Too much brushing will irritate her skin. You know how sensitive that horse is. So if that isn’t what’s eating her, what is?”
“How about a good rub-down instead? She likes that every bit as much as being brushed.”
Unfortunately, work on the quilt would just have to wait—again—until Eli and the Misty Wolf guests had settled in for the night. Snipping and stitching always had a calming effect on her; maybe tonight it will relax her enough to catch five hours’ sleep instead of three or four.
Taylor slid the tray of cracker-coated chicken into the oven and set the timer for ninety minutes, and taking the back stairs two at a time, dashed into her room to trade her flip-flops for work boots. On the way through the kitchen, she grabbed a few raw carrots from the fridge, then jogged toward the barn.
“How about some music, girl?” she asked, turning on the CD player. Millie loved the old classics, and as a Tchaikovsky sonata began to waft from the dual speakers, she remembered an article she’d read, months ago. “Just be thankful that we don’t live in England,” she said, finger-combing the mare’s dark gray forelock. “Remember that story about the poor woman who was fined for playing the radio for her horses?”
Ears pricked forward, Millie bobbed her head.
“How crazy and unfair was that?”
She slipped the curry comb onto her hand and began brushing. Each slow, gentle stroke increased the gloss of the gray-speckled hair. Millie nickered quietly—a sure sign that she was enjoying the attention. “Since you’re being such a good girl,” Taylor whispered, ruffling her thick, dark mane, “maybe I’ll give you some braids and bows.”
Millie swished her long glossy tail, and Taylor read it to mean the horse wanted no part of it. Laughing, she hugged her. “We don’t have a whole lot in common, but we’ll always have that, won’t we?”
Taylor had always been a bit of a tomboy. As a girl, chin-length curls guaranteed less time in front of the mirror and more time on horseback, in the treetops, or fishing at the river-bank, and she’d worn the style right into adulthood. Mark loved to tease her, saying “Bet I’m the only guy on the planet whose best girl hates fussing with her hair … but won’t leave the house without a pair of dangly earrings on.” She couldn’t very well argue with him, since she didn’t understand it herself.
“Ah, well,” she said, moving to Millie’s other side, “such is life, eh, girl?” The quote reminded her of her grandmother, who could fire off a witty adage to fit almost any situation. “You were just a foal when Gran died, so you never had the pleasure of hearing her silly sayings. Like ‘I’m gonna live forever, or die trying!’ and ‘If you put those two in a sack, no telling which one would crawl out first!’ And my favorite, ‘God and nature have decreed that I’ll age, but I refuse to get old!’ ”
Smiling, Taylor hummed along with the Allegro Giusto section. The music roused a memory of the first time she’d heard the melody: two days before her seventh birthday, when her mom had taken her to see a dinner theater production of Swan Lake.
Two days after that, her mom and dad were gone from her life. Forever.
Millie swung her head around and rested her chin on the back of Taylor’s hand. “Is that your clever way of telling me I should get back to work, or that you’ve had enough of this for one afternoon?”
But even as she spoke the words, Taylor knew that wasn’t the reason for Millie’s affectionate gesture. The horse had always been attuned to her moods, and this was no exception.
“And I love you, too,” she whispered.
Taylor returned the brush to its proper place on the shelf and grabbed the hoof pick. “I declare,” she said, tucking the horse’s right-front hoof between her knees, “if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never figure out how your hooves get so full of gunk, even on days when you aren’t out riding the trails!”
Millie chose that moment to steal one of the carrots tucked into Taylor’s back jeans pocket. “Hey!” she said, laughing. “That was supposed to be your reward for not stomping on my toes.”
But the treat was gone, even before Taylor could put the hoof pick back where it belonged. “The way you’ve been gobbling up everything in sight lately makes a body wonder if you’re eating for two.” But except for sluggishness and an increased appetite, Millie displayed none of the other signs of pregnancy. Besides, if Taylor had a mind to breed Millie, she’d have done it last fall, not only so that she’d have some say in what the foal would look like, but to give the little thing plenty of time to grow healthy and strong before the snows started swirling.
She plucked another carrot from her pocket and held it near Millie’s nose. “The chicken will be ready to come out of the oven before we know it, so—”
Her cell phone buzzed from deep in the bib pocket of her coveralls. “Good grief,” she muttered, glancing at the caller ID, “it’s Jimmy.”
Millie munched contentedly as Taylor punched the Talk button. “Hey, you, what’s up?”
“Just realized what day it is, and thought I’d give you a call, make sure you’re okay.”
What day it is? And then it hit her: five years ago today, the doctors diagnosed Mark with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. She pictured his handsome young face, contorted with shock and confusion as the oncologist handed him an inch-thick stack of brochures, compiled to help patients cope with a terminal diagnosis. But how like Mark to shake off his own fear and grab her hand … to comfort her. Had she subconsciously pushed the awful date from her mind? It would go a long way in explaining what had put her into this strange funk these past few days.
“Taylor? You still there?”
“Yes, yes I’m here.”
“How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine.” And then it dawned on her that Jimmy—an only child—had known Mark far longer than she had. Over the years, Mark became more his brother than his friend; if memory of this date rattled her, how much had it affected him? “And how ’bout you?”
“I’m fine,” he echoed.
In her experience, it was always better not to dwell on sadness. “Isaac and Tootie and I are planning Eli’s birthday party,” she said, forcing a cheeriness into her voice that she didn’t feel. “July 4th falls on a Saturday this year, and since that’s his actual birth date, we thought it’d be nice to combine the festivities.”
“Sounds great. Wish I could be there.”
A peculiar mix of disappointment and relief swirled in her heart. “Why can’t you be here?”
“Because I’m doing a concert at the Scottrade Center in St. Louis on the 3rd—”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
“—nearly 700 miles from my favorite girl.”
Taylor held her breath and prayed that God would help her come up with a response that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Or send the wrong message. “Why not get online to look for one of those cheap flights they’re advertising, and sneak away, just for the day?” The words were no sooner out of her mouth before she remembered that just last Christmas, he’d bought a 2001 Lear jet.
“I, ah, I guess that might be something to consider …”
“… if you didn’t have a plane of your very own, you mean?” she finished for him. Take a nap, you big goof, so you’ll have the presence of mind to think before you talk!
Millie whinnied and pawed the stall floor.
“Oh. Hey. I didn’t realize you were in the barn. Guess I should have asked if I was interrupting anything.”
“You aren’t. I was spending a little quality time with my best girl, here.”
“Give her a pat for me.” A pause,
and then “So tell me, how’s my best girl?”
Don’t jump to conclusions, harebrain. He’s probably talking about Millie. “Oh, just being her old self,” she said as the horse grabbed the last carrot. “Stealing carrots, eating and sleeping like there’s no tomorrow, stomping around and pouting when she can’t get outside to run and play.” It was all Taylor could do to choke back a giggle, because how silly would all that sound if Jimmy hadn’t been referring to Millie!
“Takes a load off my mind knowing that if the Misty Wolf ever goes under, you can find other work … as a comedian.” He cleared his throat. “Guess I’d better let you get back to brushin’ that old nag. No point giving her another excuse to pout, right?”
“Right.” He’d laughed quietly as he said it, but Taylor didn’t know how to explain his suddenly gritty tone. “Thanks for calling. And if you can rearrange your schedule for Eli’s party, just say the word. The place is already booked up for that weekend, but someone could cancel. Or you can bunk down in the library.”
Jimmy sounded a little more like his jovial self when he said, “Not my first choice, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they? Besides, I’d rather sleep on the floor than bunk down at that fleabag motel on 412 again.”
After a moment of “take care”s and “see you soon”s, he hung up.
She snapped the phone shut and dropped it into her shirt pocket. “Now really,” she said, pressing her forehead to Millie’s, “does he expect me not to book his favorite suite, ‘just in case’?”
The horse bobbed her head.
“Makes y’wonder why Tootie—or anybody else, for that matter—thinks I want to spend the rest of my life linked to a moody musician, doesn’t it.”
The question reminded her of Isaac’s earlier observation that she was falling in love with Reece. “Falling, but unaware of it,” she grumbled.
Taylor pictured his mop of dark hair, his bright green eyes. Memory of his slightly crooked grin painted a dreamy smile on her own face, and when she caught herself at it, Taylor loosed a groan of frustration.
“Hard to believe a guy who’s big and broad enough to be a quarterback could be afraid of an animal as sweet-tempered as you, isn’t it?”
Millie pawed the floor again, then snorted, a subtle reminder that she could be as high-strung as a royal Arabian when she wanted to be. “I suppose you’re right. Men—and thoroughbreds—haven’t exactly cornered the market on ‘temperamental,’ have they?”
Taylor filled Millie’s feedbag and water trough, and in her hurry to check on the fried chicken, tugged a little too hard on the latch. The stall gate smacked her anklebone hard enough that the clunk startled the horse. It reminded her of an afternoon, soon after Eliot and Margo returned from their honeymoon, when she’d asked her new sister-in-law if a football injury had caused Reece’s slight limp. But he’d thumped into the room before Margo had a chance to answer … and the look on his face was enough to tell Taylor it wasn’t a topic they discussed in the Montgomery family.
“I need to be more like you,” she said, turning out all but the light above the tool bench, “and convince every one of ‘em that I’m perfectly content and complete without a man in my life.” Maybe if you say that often enough—and with enough conviction—you can convince yourself, too.
Millie was still bobbing her head as Taylor latched the big double doors.
As she headed up the path, Taylor checked the timer. Eighteen minutes, yet, before the fried chicken needed to come out of the oven. She waved to two of her guests, just returning from a hike near the river. “Having fun?” she hollered.
“You bet!” they hollered back.
They reached the porch at the same time as Taylor.
“Taylor, dear,” Peggy said, “that view is simply spectacular. I sure hope the pictures I took turn out.”
“They’re digital, hon,” said her husband. “Only way to ruin them is to hit the camera’s delete button.”
“You know, I’ve grown so accustomed to this newfangled gizmo that I nearly forgot about that!”
Laughing, they followed Taylor into the kitchen, where Peggy flopped onto the nearest chair and fanned herself. “Pete, sweetie, get out your checkbook and sit down here. I want to book the same room for this week, next year.”
Pete’s brow furrowed slightly. “You sure you wouldn’t rather come back in the fall, when it’s a little cooler?”
“Absolutely not. Now pay this sweet girl. Can’t you see she’s just itching to get busy with something?”
Taylor grinned. “It only looks that way because I can sense that my timer is about to buzz.” Midday meals weren’t normally included with the B&B’s amenities, but since she’d made enough to feed all of the guests, Tootie and Isaac, and Eli, she decided to make an exception. “I’m serving an impromptu lunch in half an hour,” she said, taking salad fixins from the fridge. “Nothing fancy, but you’re more than welcome to join us in the dining room.”
Peggy slapped a hand onto the table, rattling the salt and pepper shakers and startling Pete enough that he dropped his checkbook. She picked it up and, winking, waved it under his nose. “If you don’t pay her, by golly, I will.”
Pete sat across from his wife and fished a ballpoint from his fanny pack. “Are you married, Taylor?”
“No.” And she saw no reason to tell him more.
“Well, if you ever decide to take the plunge, see to it that you treat your poor husband with a little more deference.”
Anyone eavesdropping on the conversation might get the impression that Pete and Peggy weren’t overly fond of one another. But Taylor, standing in the glow of their decades-long love, knew better. And for the first time in a long time, her heart ached with longing for the warmth and companionship she’d shared with Mark.
“Fool thing’s out of ink,” Pete said, shaking his pen. “Peggy? Do you have one that writes?”
While Peggy searched her pouch, Taylor said, “I don’t need a deposit right now. I’ll pencil you in for this week next year, and send you a reminder in January.” She shrugged. “Life’s funny; who knows what could come up between now and then?”
Pete got to his feet. “You’re a doll, Taylor,” he said, extending a hand to his wife.
As Peggy took it, she said, “We’ll just freshen up a bit and meet you in the dining room in thirty minutes. And maybe while we’re eating, you’ll tell me more about that quilt I saw poking out of the sewing basket in the parlor.”
“Maybe,” Taylor said, tossing the salad. And maybe not. So far, Eli had no interest in the contents of the basket, and she intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. “Would you mind rapping on your neighbors’ doors to let them know they’re welcome to join us, too?”
“Of course,” they said together.
The timer buzzed as they disappeared around the corner, and after silencing it, Taylor turned off the oven. The drumsticks and thighs would stay warm and grow even crispier while she set the table and put last night’s apple cobbler on the buffet.
The grandfather clock chimed. “Eleven forty-five,” she whispered. Time enough to call Reece? He might have to decline if there were patients scheduled, but if not, Eli would love the surprise visit.
And even more surprising, so would she.
10
I know it’s last-minute, but then, so was this crazy idea of mine.”
He could almost see her, leaning against the kitchen wall where her clunky old dial phone hung. He’d been avoiding her, partly because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his opinions of her good buddy to himself. According to the TV news, the singer had homes in three European cities, Nashville, and L.A., as well as a tour bus the size of a small ranch house. So why was he spending so much time at the Misty Wolf? It wouldn’t have bothered him nearly as much if Eli hadn’t picked up so many of Jimmy’s mannerisms, and some of the singer’s bad habits, too.
“What crazy idea?”
“To serve lunch to my guests. Not t
hat we consider you a guest. Exactly. But if you can make it, I’ll set a place for you.”
We meaning Taylor and Eli … or Taylor and Jimmy?
“Who’ll be there?”
“Just the two couples who are staying with us through the weekend,” she said, “and Isaac and Tootie.”
Good, he thought, no mention of Jimmy. Maybe between now and the time Eli was tucked in for the night, he could figure out a nonthreatening way to broach the touchy subject.
“How soon would you need me there?” Reece did some quick mental math: fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to tie things up here at the office, another ten to drive home and get into jeans and a T-shirt, an additional twenty to drive to her place.
“Oh, this is a very ‘come as you are … whenever’ sort of gathering. It’s nothing fancy—just oven-fried chicken and some sides—and like I said, very impromptu. So unless you’re a purist.”
“A purist?”
“You know, one of those people who prefers his chicken hot? It’s fine if you are, because it won’t be any trouble at all to nuke a leg or a thigh or whatever when you get here.”
Reece chuckled. “I’ve been a bachelor way too long to be picky about stuff like that.” The real truth, in his opinion? The only thing that tasted good straight out of that appliance was popcorn. And only then if it was cooked exactly long enough. Given a choice, he’d choose a cold-from-the-fridge drumstick over rubbery microwaved chicken any day. Besides, it’d be great, seeing Eli on an “off” weekend. Especially one that didn’t involve Jimmy.
Taylor must have read his silence to mean he was searching for a polite way to say no, because she said, “If you have patients to see or hospital rounds to make …”
Her voice trailed off, and then he heard her take a gulp of air.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. And groaned. “What was I thinking! I can be such a ditz. I should have known you’d have other plans. It’s no big deal. Really. I haven’t said anything to Eli yet, so there’s no chance he’ll be disappointed.”
Was it his imagination, or did she sound disappointed? “As it happens, I’m footloose and fancy-free, as they say. It’s just, well, I looked at the appointment book this morning, and would you believe I can’t remember if I have more patients to see or not?”