Take Me Home

by Nancy Herkness

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she grabbed it with a sense of relief.

  “Ms. Parker? This is Maria Fannucci at Merrill Lynch. The wire transfer you were expecting just came through.”

  So Tim had bought the Castillo in spite of their rift last night. She had wondered if he would still want it. In any case, she certainly hadn’t expected him to come up with such a large sum of money so quickly.

  The broker went on to read the amount transferred, and Claire gasped. “Oh my God!”

  “Is there a problem?” Maria asked. “Is the deposit incorrect?”

  “It’s too much. Way too much.”

  “I’ll double-check it with the sending bank.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I think I know what happened. Thanks.”

  Claire put the phone down gently even though she wanted to throw it across the room. Tim had paid her almost twice the price she’d asked for the Castillo.

  “Damn you, Tim!” she muttered. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  The pricing of art was very subjective. There was no fixed monetary value for any painting. It depended on a variety of factors ranging from something as straightforward as the size of the canvas to an idea as nebulous as the painting’s perceived significance within the artist’s entire body of work.

  If she had put it up for auction, the Castillo might have brought even more than the amount Tim had transferred to her, mostly because there was a small, finite supply and a large demand for the artist’s work.

  However, that did not change the fact that he had taken matters into his own hands and overridden her determination of a fair price.

  She also couldn’t help wondering how he had come up with so much cash on such short notice. He had just bought a thriving veterinary practice and was building a substantial house. How could he afford to pay more than the asking price for an extremely expensive work of art?

  She would have to call him.

  Tim had snatched five minutes to wolf down a sandwich in the medications storeroom when his cell phone vibrated in the breast pocket of his lab coat. He swallowed and pulled the phone out to check the caller ID. When he saw Claire’s name, he felt an almost physical pain.

  He had spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he could offer her what she deserved from a man. He had failed. That didn’t stop him from desperately wanting her to stay and take what little he had to give.

  He knew why she was calling, and he had marshaled all his arguments about the money already. He punched the Answer button just before the call went to voice mail. “Hello, Claire.”

  “Hi, Tim.” There was a second’s hesitation before her voice came through strong and clear. “I just heard from my broker that the wire transfer hit my account. You paid almost twice what I asked for.”

  Her voice twisted the ache in his chest, and he leaned against the metal shelving with his eyes closed. “I did some research of my own. You asked too little for the painting, so I adjusted to the market value.”

  “There’s no set market value for art. You know that. Castillo could release a hundred paintings tomorrow, and yours would plummet in value. Besides, you just bought a new business, and you’re building a house. You shouldn’t really spend all that money on a painting.”

  It warmed him to know she was worried about his finances. “You don’t have to be concerned about me going broke. Before I went into veterinary medicine, I did cancer research. I have a couple of lucrative medical patents.”

  “Oh”—another slight hesitation before he heard her draw in a breath—“it doesn’t matter. I’ll send you a check for the difference.”

  “I’ll tear it up.”

  “Fine, I’ll deliver cash.”

  “It’ll go in the fireplace.”

  “Tim!”

  “Claire!” he echoed back. “I don’t want to look at the painting and feel like I took advantage of a friend.” It killed him to use that word when he knew she was much more than that.

  “You’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me after last night, are you?” Her voice was low, and he could tell that she was forcing herself to ask the question. “Because that would be ridiculous and unnecessary.”

  He had done it because this was untainted. He could present it to her with a whole heart, knowing he had done the right thing for the woman he loved so much he had to push her away. “No, this was a business deal, pure and simple. You have a painting I want, and I paid you the going rate for it.”

  He wanted to slam his head against the steel support to counteract the agony of lying to her. He had spent hours debating how much he could get away with giving her for the Castillo, both to assuage his guilt about hurting her and to help her in the future when he wasn’t around.

  “I don’t really believe you,” she said. “But I’m going to take the money for Holly’s sake. Thank you for your generosity.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. “You’re welcome, but don’t go back to New York thinking I overpaid. That painting’s a masterpiece. It doesn’t matter how many more Castillo creates.”

  “You told me persistence always pays off, didn’t you?” she said, and her voice had softened almost as though she were smiling. “You got your painting, after all. I’m glad it’s going to you because you understand why it’s so brilliant.”

  “You still have visitation rights.”

  “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

  Now he heard the hurt, and it sliced through him. “My door’s always open. Whenever you feel comfortable coming through it, you’ll be welcome.”

  She sighed. “I know you mean that. I’ll let you get back to work,” she said. “Thank you again. This will mean a lot to my sister.”

  “No more thanks. I’m getting exactly what I wanted.” He was such a liar.

  “Frank’s in Mexico—with his girlfriend,” Holly said when Claire found her in the kitchen. The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies permeated the air, and Claire had a vague thought that her sister must be feeling better if she was baking. “The girls are out in the yard, so we can talk.”

  Claire dragged her mind back to Holly’s situation. She’d been so busy wallowing in her own misery that she hadn’t spared a thought for her sister’s very real concerns. “How do you know?”

  “Chief McClung has a friend in Immigration. They checked on Frank’s passport and found out he’d flown into Guadalajara yesterday with a female companion. That means I’ll never get the money back.”

  “It also means you won’t have to worry about Frank showing up drunk and violent, and that’s worth every penny of the money he stole from you.” Claire had gone by her house to pick up the checkbook for her brokerage account. She held it up. “Besides, we’re settled financially. Tim bought the Castillo, and the funds are in my account as of today.”

  “Already? How did he get that much money so fast?”

  “Evidently he holds some medical patents that produce income. Anyway, I thought we’d go to the bank tomorrow and pay off your mortgage.”

  Holly put down the spatula. “I don’t know how to tell you what this means to me. I feel free—and safe. I didn’t realize how fear hung over me like this dark cloud all the time. And now it’s gone.” She looked around the room. “This is my kitchen, and no one can take it away from me.”

  Then she looked at Claire. “You are one amazing sister.”

  “Darn right I am,” Claire said, turning away the compliment. All she had done was sell something she didn’t want anymore.

  “Claire? You don’t look all that happy. Is something wrong?”

  She couldn’t tell Holly the truth. She was afraid it would hurt her feelings to know that Claire would stay in Sanctuary for a man, but not for her sister. Besides, Holly had enough on her plate right now. Claire shoved back the creeping misery and pasted a smile on her face. “Nope, I’m just a little tired. Nothing that a chocolate chip cookie wouldn’t fix.”

  “Would
you rather have dough? I saved you some because you always liked it more than the cookies.”

  As Claire dug her spoon into the thick, chip-laden dough her little sister had remembered she loved, she decided that Paul’s bourbon couldn’t possibly be any better for drowning her sorrows.

  CLAIRE ZIPPED UP her red overnight bag and carried it down the steps to her kitchen. She checked that the coffeemaker was unplugged and the washing machine valve firmly closed so it wouldn’t flood the house while she made her quick visit to New York. She was leaving for the airport directly from the gallery after work.

  She stood in the middle of the cozy room for a few moments, then sat down at the pine table and rested her head on top of her folded arms. Regret weighed so heavily on her it was hard to move.

  The only bright spot in the past four days had been Holly’s face when the bank representative had handed her the mortgage papers with Paid in full printed on them. Her sister was growing stronger every day now that Frank’s shadow no longer hung over her. Knowing the house was hers seemed to speed the healing even more.

  Other than that, all Claire had done was miss Tim and curse her own stupidity. She could be spending two more weeks of moonlit nights with him, and instead, she had pushed him into breaking off their relationship.

  “Who am I trying to kid?” She shoved herself up from the table. “It wasn’t enough for me. I needed to know if we had a future.”

  As she bent to pick up her bag again, her cell phone rang. Sharon’s name came up in the caller ID. Claire debated not answering, but it was rare for her friend to call her so early in the morning.

  “Claire, are you still in Sanctuary? I can’t remember when you said you were leaving for New York.”

  “Yes, I’m here. I’m not leaving until after work.”

  “Then you might want to come down to the stable now. Willow’s not doing so well. She’s been colicky for over an hour, and I’m about to call Dr. Tim.”

  “Wait, why do you think I should come now? Isn’t colic treatable?”

  “Well, it depends on the cause. Thing is, I’ve seen lots of cases, and this one looks pretty bad, especially because Willow isn’t as strong as she should be.”

  “You mean she could die?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Sharon was not prone to exaggeration, so Claire felt her words like a knockout punch. “I’ll be right there.”

  As she raced back up the stairs to change her clothes, Claire was already making the first call to rearrange her schedule. She would stay with her whisper horse for as long as it took to save her life.

  Claire pulled into the stable parking lot in a spray of gravel. As she charged toward the barn, she saw Tim’s big tan pickup backed up to the open door. Dodging around it, she made sure to brace herself for the anguish of seeing him again.

  It didn’t work.

  He was hauling a large metal case out of the back of the truck and didn’t see her. She gave herself a moment to soak in the sight of him: the lock of hair falling over his forehead as he leaned forward, his focused gaze, the play of muscles across his back. Longing ripped through her, and she had to wrap her arms around her waist and force herself to breathe in and out.

  After a couple of breaths, she dropped her arms to walk around the truck’s back bumper. “Can I help?”

  “Claire!” He let go of the case as though it had burned him and turned toward her. “What are you doing here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I just thought you’d be in New York by now.”

  “Sharon told me Willow was sick. How is she?”

  His expression became grim. “I’m afraid it’s a torsion in the colon. I want to do an ultrasound to make sure.”

  “If it is, what’s the treatment?”

  “Surgery.” He went back to wrestling the case out of the truck. “And in Willow’s condition, that’s going to be chancy at best. It might be kindest just to euthanize her.”

  “No!” Claire couldn’t bear the thought of losing her whisper horse without a fight. “You’re a brilliant doctor, and I’ll take care of her after the surgery. She survived everything her horrible owner put her through, so she wants to live.”

  “I reckon you have a point about that. She’s sure made a comeback.” He set the case down on its wheels and stood staring down at it as though he had forgotten what it was.

  “Tim?” Claire was worried by his distracted air. “Is there something else I need to know about her condition?”

  His gaze flicked to her face and away. “No, that’s it.” He grabbed the machine’s handle and headed toward Willow’s stall with it trundling along behind him. Claire got behind the box and helped push it through the thick sawdust.

  As they approached the stall, she heard Sharon speaking in low, soothing tones. “Easy, girl, easy! Hang on, Willow, the doctor’s coming. He’ll make you better.”

  The mare squealed above the sound of hooves thudding rapidly against the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Claire asked Tim.

  “Sharon’s keeping her on her feet, in case her colon isn’t already twisted. Willow wants to lie down because she’s in so much distress.”

  Tim swung open the stall door and pulled the machine inside.

  “She’s getting worse,” Sharon said. She was standing by Willow’s head, holding onto her halter. “Claire! I’m glad you’re here. We need to hold her still so Dr. Tim can see what’s going on inside her. She responds to you better than anyone else.”

  “Hey, sweet girl,” Claire said, starting toward Sharon. Willow swung her head around and whinnied, a shrill cry of agony. Her eyes were wild, but she stopped stamping her hooves as soon as Claire touched her. “I’m so sorry you hurt, my sweet Willow. So very sorry.”

  Claire put her arms around the mare’s neck and laid her cheek against the horse. “Dr. Tim will fix you, don’t worry.”

  Willow whinnied again, but the sound was less frantic. Claire came around in front of her and ran her fingers over the mare’s nose and face. The horse lowered her head and leaned into Claire, whickering softly.

  “The painkillers couldn’t calm her down, but you can,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “She’s your whisper horse, for sure.”

  Claire kept stroking Willow as Tim scanned over the mare’s belly and haunches with the ultrasound. The horse quivered and pawed the ground once but otherwise stood still.

  Tim frowned at the machine and then turned it off before he looked up at Claire and Sharon. “We need to make a decision quickly. She’s got a twist in one of the large left quadrants of her colon. The only way to save her is to operate immediately. But as I told Claire, she’s not a good candidate for surgery since she’s been malnourished for so long. Even strong horses can die of complications from a twisted colon.”

  Sharon looked at Claire. “You care about Willow more than anyone. It’s your call.”

  Tim’s eyes were on her too, and she felt pinned. “I don’t want to cause her unnecessary suffering.”

  “I’ll anesthetize her as soon as we get her to the operating room at my office,” Tim said.

  Claire shifted so she was looking into Willow’s eyes. The mare moved restlessly, but her gaze was clear and trusting. Claire took a deep breath. “All right, girl, we’re going to get you to Dr. Tim’s office and make you better.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sharon was shouting to bring around a horse trailer, and Tim was on his phone specifying operating room prep. Claire stood with Willow in the still, quiet center of all the drama, letting her horse lean against her and talking comforting nonsense to the mare.

  “I’m going to ride with her in the trailer, just in case her distress becomes more severe,” Tim said as the vehicle was maneuvered close to the stall.

  “So will I,” Claire said.

  Tim didn’t look happy. “It’s dangerous to be in a moving vehicle with a large animal. She may strike out without meaning to hurt anyone
.”

  “I can keep her calm.” Claire sounded more confident than she felt. She knew that her control of Willow depended on the horse’s goodwill. If pain clouded the mare’s mind, she might not be able to recognize the human who loved her.

  “All right, but if she becomes violent, you have to get away from her.”

  Claire nodded, and Tim left to collect his vet’s bag from the truck.

  “The trailer’s ready,” Sharon called. “Claire, bring her on out. I’ve got three hands here to help, if you need it.”

  But Willow didn’t hesitate to let Claire guide her up the ramp into the trailer. “You are the best girl,” Claire crooned as she threaded the lead line through a metal ring. She knew the moment Tim stepped into the trailer because it dipped slightly under his weight.

  “Okay, close it up,” he called before he came up to Willow’s head. He patted the mare’s nose, but he was looking at Claire, a frown drawing deep lines between his eyebrows. “You get behind me if she starts to thrash around.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  Sharon poked her head in the trailer’s side window. “You ready to roll?”

  Tim nodded, and Claire heard the truck engine rumble to life. “Hang on to the window grille,” he said as the trailer began to move.

  Claire grabbed a metal bar with one hand, but kept the other on Willow. The mare whinnied and thumped her front hoof on the straw a few times, but otherwise, she stood quietly.

  “It’s lucky for Willow you have an operating room for large animals,” Claire said, just to break the silence between them.

  “I had it built when I bought the practice. I figured if I was going to doctor farm animals, I’d better be prepared for the worst.”

  “How many times have you used it?” She noticed Tim was doing the same thing she was, gently stroking the mare’s neck and shoulder. Her breath shuddered in as she remembered the feel of his hand on her own skin, and for a moment, she wanted to change places with the horse.