by Loree Lough
“Oh, I’d believe it all right. And if I had a dollar for every time that’s happened to me, I could probably hire that housekeeper I’ve been dreaming about for years.”
When they’d sat side by side at the rehearsal dinner all those years ago, her nonstop giggling and nervous chatter had been the reason he’d labeled her a dizzy blonde. The gypsylike clothes, bangle bracelets, and dangly earrings only proved to cement his opinion, and that was before long-haired musicians and glassy-eyed artists started frequenting the Misty Wolf. But in the months since Eli had moved in with her, the way she ran the B&B and cared for Eli forced him to reconsider his opinion.
“At the very least,” she continued, “I’d have enough for a down payment on a cruise.”
Reece chuckled quietly. “How ’bout if I check with Maureen and Gina and get back to you.”
“Okay, but you don’t need to call first. You’re family, and family is always welcome.”
In the span of two minutes, he’d gone from not quite being a guest to family, even now that Eliot and Margo—their main connection—were gone?
The silver-framed photo of Eli, front and center on his big glass-topped desk reminded him of a bond that would last a lifetime.
“If it turns out I can make it, what can I bring?”
“Nothing … except a man-sized appetite. I don’t know what got into me. Made enough chicken to feed a small army.”
When she punctuated the statement with a merry laugh, his ears went hot and his palms grew damp. He hadn’t exactly lived a monk’s life, so he didn’t understand why he had nothing to compare the feelings to.
“Well,” he said, “better get crackin’ if I hope to take off early.”
Had she said goodbye before hanging up? Had he? Reece honestly couldn’t remember.
“Somebody put chewing gum on your phone, doc?”
The suddenness of his secretary’s voice startled him.
“I was just wondering if maybe that’s why it’s stuck to the side of your head.”
He glanced at the handset. “Oh. Right,” he said, and hung up.
Gina’s left brow rose slightly on her forehead. “So you’re footloose and fancy-free tonight, are you?”
The exact words he’d used, moments ago.
Gina and her mom had been with him for eight years, and in all that time, he’d racked up one complaint: to them, an open door was as good as an engraved invitation to listen in on his calls.
“Like I’m always telling Mom—you live a charmed life.”
A charmed life. Right. With parents who preferred life in war-torn countries on other continents to spending time with their own kids, a sister so weak-willed that she’d mourned herself to death, an ex-fiancée who’d left him high and—
He ground his molars together and willed the self-pitying thoughts away. “Any patients left to see this afternoon?” he asked.
“Nope, we’re through for the day. So is it okay for Mom and me to duck out early?”
His cell phone buzzed, and recognizing the number, he hit Talk. “Annie, darlin’, what can I do for you today?”
And knowing Maureen and Gina would never ask to leave without first dotting every i and crossing every t, he said, “Have a good weekend.”
“Will do,” she whispered. “You, too!”
Annie’s gravelly voice grated into his ear. “I just thought you should know that pesky cat is back, and this time, it upended both of your trash cans.”
He winced. “Aw, man … how big a mess did she make this time?”
“Not to worry, handsome,” Annie said. “I’ve already taken care of it.”
At seventy-three, Annie Landers was the self-appointed guardian of the neighborhood. Nothing got by the woman who seemed determined to walk in her famous namesake’s shoes, a fact that had distinct plusses … and an equal number of minuses.
“I called Animal Control,” she continued. “Oy! What a waste of taxpayers’ money. Why, I’d be surprised to find out there’s one functioning brain cell among ’em. Do you know what the young fella on the phone said?”
No, Reece did not, but experience told him that if he remained quiet long enough, Annie would tell him.
“Said he’d be happy to deliver a have-a-heart trap … for a hundred dollars. A hundred dollars! Can you believe it?”
“Friend of mine is a veterinarian. I’ll see if he can hook us up with a trap.”
“Reece Montgomery, you’re my hero! And let me tell you something, young man … you’re lucky I’m not thirty years younger …”
He braced himself, wondering what crazy joke she’d lob at him this time.
“… because I’d run you around that flagpole out front until you agreed to walk me down the aisle!”
“Annie,” he said, “there isn’t a preacher in all of Virginia who’d let a sweetheart like you marry a miserable old cuss like me.”
“Miserable, my foot. In my day, the girls would have had a cat fight to get dibs on a catch like you, and not just because you’re a handsome, successful doctor. Why, any woman in her right mind would consider herself blessed to have a husband like you.”
Not likely, Reece thought, remembering the reasons Dixie had cited on the day she’d dumped him.
“If you haven’t already done it,” Annie continued, “you need to get down on your knees to thank the good Lord for chasing off that golddigger before you said ’I do.’ She’s trouble with a capital T, that one.”
“So you’re a mind reader now, too, are you?”
“Don’t need to be a mind reader to know how hard it is for you to let go of things. And people. Even that poster girl for narcissists.”
He couldn’t deny that Dixie had been high maintenance, but a classic narcissist?
“I also know that you don’t like it when people stick their noses into your personal life.”
But that’s just what you’re fixin’ to do, isn’t it, Annie?
“You’re not gettin’ any younger, y’know. Stop fixating on the once-burned-twice-shy adage and get busy looking for a sweet young thing who loves kids as much as you do, who’ll treat you with the respect you deserve, unlike that … that fiancée of yours.”
Before he could puzzle out why Taylor had so quickly come to mind, Annie cut loose with an ear-piercing whistle.
“Here’s a question for ya, doc: if your pal the veterinarian comes through for us with a trap and we’re lucky enough to capture the li’l trespasser, what will we do with her?”
“Good question,” he admitted. Definitely something to consider before baiting the cage.
Maybe Taylor would like a cat to act as mascot for the inn.
He told himself she’d popped into his head—again—because of their recent conversation.
“Oh, good grief,” Annie said. “Gotta go. There’s the doorbell.”
She hung up before he could say goodbye or wish her a good afternoon.
Chuckling, he replaced the handset in its cradle, grabbed his medical bag and started the usual inventory: flashlight and batteries, prescription pad and pen, wrapped tongue depressors and disposable thermometers, reflex hammer and stethoscope, alcohol wipes, sterile gauze pads and tape, surgical gloves and face masks, syringes and needles. He’d just restocked his supply of meds, but habit compelled him to make sure he had an ample supply of analgesics: morphine and ibuprofen; amoxicillin, benzylpenicillin, and other antimicrobials.
Satisfied he was as prepared for an emergency as possible, Reece snapped and locked the bag’s brass clasp. His stomach growled, more than enough incentive to inspire the decision to skip the trip home and head straight for homemade oven-fried chicken.
He put the convertible top down and cranked the stereo, but neither the wind nor The Eagles smooth rendition of “Hotel California” drowned out the Harley-like purr of the Alfa Romeo’s motor.
Taylor’s brother had been the only person who’d ever asked the price of the Alfa Romeo, and to keep from being judged a blockhead by his
Marine lieutenant brother-in-law, Reece didn’t admit that he’d paid top dollar for the used Spider or that it cost him thousands more to have it shipped to the U.S. and an additional two grand to drive it from New York to Blacksburg. Instead, he’d pointed out that the powerful 6-speed, V-8 Italian engine could go from zero to 62 mph in 4.2 seconds flat, the car’s standard-issue Bose sound system, and the two-layer, electrically operated fabric roof.
When it came to matters of finance and planning for the future, Reece had always been frugal and self-controlled. So much so, in fact, that Margo loved to tease him about it, saying things like “You’re so tight-fisted, I’m surprised you can open your hand at all!” and “You pinch pennies so hard that Lincoln cries!”
Until he bought the Spider, that is.
The reason he’d splurged on the sleek red sports car had nothing to do with looks or performance. The Spider’s badge so closely resembled the Rod of Asclepius—which, for centuries symbolized healing and medicine—that owning one shot straight to the top of his bucket list, and he’d take that secret truth with him to the grave.
Eli was out front, hanging from the tire swing when he pulled up to the Misty Wolf.
“Uncle Reece!” he shouted, racing across the lawn.
Reece had barely closed the driver’s door when the boy launched himself into his arms.
“What’re you doing here? It isn’t Friday, is it?”
“Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, it is, but—”
“Taylor must have forgotten,” he whispered as Reece carried him to the porch. “She didn’t pack my stuff or anything.”
Reece gently deposited the boy beside the front door. “No, she didn’t forget. She called me at the office a while ago to see if I’d like to join you guys for some fried chicken.” As he opened the screen door, his stomach rumbled.
“Wow,” Eli giggled, “sounds like you got here just in time!”
From the end of the hall, Taylor called “What’s so funny?”
“Uncle Reece’s tummy is grumbling. Better get him some chicken, fast!”
White-blonde curls framed her face, and the bright blue ribbon that held back the bangs gave her gray eyes a slightly blue cast. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, no doubt from poking her head in and out of the oven, and the turquoise earrings from the set Eli had given her dangled from her earlobes. Hopefully, she’d worn them because she liked them, and not just to make the boy feel better about his gift.
The purchase reminded Reece that she had a birthday coming up. If she hadn’t already celebrated it, he’d buy her a card. Maybe a small box of chocolates, too, to show his appreciation for—
“Last time I saw you in a shirt and tie,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “we were sitting side by side in Moses Adams’ office.” She wrinkled her nose, as if inhaling something unpleasant. “Remember?”
How could he forget one of the worst—and best—days of his life?
“You look very… .” Tapping her chin with a flour-whitened fingertip, Taylor tilted her head slightly. “… very doctor-like and … and dignified.”
He shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. “Uh, thanks.”
Then she pointed at the clear-plastic utensils and stacks of paper plates and napkins on the counter. “The guests have already loaded up and headed for places unknown, so please, make yourself at home.”
Reece loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. “Smells good enough to eat,” he said, grabbing a golden drumstick. She’d made potato salad and baked beans, so he shoveled a scoop of each onto his plate, too.
“Iced tea or lemonade?”
She looked so cute, standing there in her knee-length shorts and ruffly top, that he almost forgot to answer. “Ah, lemonade. Thanks.”
He’d known her for years. Surely at some point—at a cookout in Margo and Eliot’s backyard, a summer wedding, something—he’d seen her bare feet before. So why couldn’t he take his eyes off her bright pink toenails?
She pulled out a chair. “Take a load off. Unless you’d rather sit on the porch.”
“Where are you and Eli going to sit?”
“Outside,” Eli answered. “Maybe we’ll see that deer herd while we’re out there.”
“Maybe,” Taylor said, mussing his hair.
“Taylor says the reason they come so close to the porch is ’cause the screens make it hard for them to see us. So if we’re very, very quiet …”
“Gotcha,” Reece whispered.
Plate in one hand, lemonade in the other, he nodded and followed the boy outside. He’d only been out here once before. As usual, Eliot had been deployed—Iraq? Afghanistan?—and it fell to Reece to help Margo load up the mountain of gifts she’d received at the baby shower Taylor had thrown in her honor.
He sat facing the yard and bit into a crunchy wing, frowning as he chewed.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Reece?”
Taylor frowned a little too. “Is it too bland? Not crispy enough?”
“Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”
“Then why the long face?”
He held up his hands, to show her his greasy fingertips. “I was gonna roll up my sleeves.” Chuckling, he shrugged. “Should’ve done that before I started eating, I guess.”
Taylor scooted closer. “Here. Let me help you.”
And without waiting for him to agree or disagree, she proceeded to do it for him. “Bossy li’l thing, aren’t you?” he teased.
“There are few things I hate more than seeing a man struggle,” she shot back.
He was close enough to feel her breath on his cheek, to see that her thick dark eyelashes were long enough to touch her eyebrows, to notice a dot of flour on her chin. Close enough to inhale the delectable scent that would lead him to her in a crowded room, even blindfolded. And if he leaned forward an inch, maybe two, close enough to kiss …
Reece didn’t have time to wonder where that crazy notion had come from—or whether he might have kissed her—because she sat back and patted both shirtsleeves.
“There,” she said, nodding proudly. “All nice and tidy.”
He considered picking up his napkin to wipe away that dab of flour.
“Thanks,” he said instead.
Standing, Taylor crouched slightly to ask, “Would you mind very much if I left you guys alone for an hour or so?”
To go where? he wanted to know.
“I thought I’d try and sew a few more stitches into …” She glanced in the boy’s direction, and satisfied he wasn’t paying attention, said, “into Eli’s quilt.”
He held up a drumstick, gave it a little shake. “Seems the least I can do, to thank you for the free meal.” Her grateful smile was all the incentive he needed to add “We’ll play checkers or something. Take your time; I’m in no particular hurry to get home.”
She hugged Eli from behind. “I’ll be upstairs, if you need me.”
The boy faced Reece. “You staying, Uncle Reece?”
“Long as there’s still chicken on this platter,” he said, grinning, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
After wolfing down his meal, Reece cleared the table, and seeing that her guests had left mugs and glasses in the sink, loaded the dishwasher, too. He’d just wiped crumbs off the wrought-iron table on the porch when Eli suddenly got to his feet.
“What’s that funny noise?”
Reece stood at the screen door and tried to identify the sound … something between a scream and a high-pitched whinny, coming from the direction of the river.
“Is that … is that the horses?”
Yeah, unless his ears were playing wicked tricks on him.
“You think a wolf got in the barn and it’s eating them?”
He drew Eli into a hug. “No wolves in this part of the country, buddy.”
Or were there?
A year or so ago, hikers and campers with no connection to one another filed similar complaints with the Department of Natural Resources: a dozen o
r so wolf sightings in the Appalachian Mountains. DNR officials blamed the similarities between coyotes and wolves for the reports, and reminded everyone that attacks on humans by either species were extremely rare. They denied having released wolves into the area, as claimed by several former employees.
True or not, this was black bear country.
The noise from the barn was louder now and was accompanied by the sound of wood hitting wood. Had one of the horses kicked down its stall?
“Probably just a dumb squirrel,” he said to calm Eli’s trembling. “Probably sneaked into the barn through an open window or something, and now it’s panicking because it can’t figure out how to get out again.”
Eli only hugged him tighter.
“Do me a favor and let your aunt know that I’m going down there and check things out, okay.”
“Okay,” he said, and moved woodenly toward the door.
Almost as an afterthought, Reece blocked his path. Stooping, he looked into the boy’s fear-widened eyes. “I want you stay inside until I say otherwise. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Reece gave him a gentle hug and sent him on his way.
With every step he took, the noise level seemed to double. He wished he’d thought to grab something—a shovel or a lead pipe—to defend himself against whatever was in there, attacking the horses. Too bad you’re not an old-west cowboy, he thought, because having a loaded six-shooter strapped to his hip would feel mighty comforting right about now.
Instead of the open window he’d described to Eli, Reece noticed that the big double doors were slightly ajar. He breathed a sigh of relief, because no way a bear or a wolf could have fit through an opening that narrow. Once inside, he spotted a pitchfork on the wall beside the door and grabbed it, and said a silent prayer that he’d see the intruder before it saw him.
The trouble, he saw right off, was in the dapple gray’s stall. Millie, Taylor had named her, and he knew without her having to spell it out that this was her favorite. Eyes wide and wild and ears flat against her head, Millie had bloodied both forelegs, kicking at the gate.