Beauty & the Beasts

by Janice Kay Johnson; Anne Weale

  “Petty” wasn’t the word. “Adolescent” came closer, he realized with a flash of amusement. Nonetheless, he unlocked the canopy of his truck and slid the box in. After locking the canopy again, he gestured toward the open passenger door.

  “Madam, your chariot.”

  He was looking forward to seeing her hitching that tight skirt up enough to clamber into the truck. He had been so distracted by her deliciously long legs and the tantalizing curves just above them that he’d missed half of what she’d told him on their tour. To his disappointment, she ascended now with a ladylike grace and modesty that avoided exposing even another inch of those legs, clad in hose he’d have bet his last dollar was silk.

  He slammed her door, shook his head—win some, lose some—and circled to the driver’s side, where he levered himself up easily onto the high seat. Starting the engine, he asked, “Where would you like to eat?”

  “I like almost anything.” Her nose crinkled, and a flash of mischief wiped away the Ice Queen image. “The starchier and fattier the better.”

  “You mean, you’re not a fan of tofu and lentils?”

  “I like those, too.” She grinned unabashedly. “But I like Italian better. And Chinese and Thai and deep-fried fish and chips, and pizza and designer ice cream. So far, my cholesterol has stayed low—good genes—and I haven’t worried.”

  He’d meant to avoid any remarks that might suggest flattery, but now he couldn’t help it. “A woman with your figure doesn’t diet?” he said incredulously. “My ex-wife counted calories in her sleep.”

  “I guess I’m lucky.” Madeline looked down at her long legs, demurely crossed, and a small frown touched her face. “I’d rather not be overweight.” Damned if she didn’t sound doubtful.

  Eric studied her curiously. What the hell was going on in that beautiful head? Every woman he’d ever met would kill to look like she did! He had to be misinterpreting, not hearing the profound gratitude she must feel at being able to eat however she wanted and not put on pounds.

  His curiosity went beyond the idle; he vowed he’d find out even if it required the patience of a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from a woodpile.

  “How about Gianni’s, then?” he suggested. “You can clog a few arteries with fettuccine Alfredo.”

  “Sounds good to me. If you like Italian.”

  “Only thing I don’t eat is raw fish.” He released the emergency brake and looked over his shoulder to back out. “Although in the interests of avoiding a heart attack at forty, I do watch the fat content.”

  “How far away is forty?” A smile enriched her voice. “Or is it rude to ask?”

  “Not if you’ll answer the same question.” He didn’t mind finding out that she was curious about him on a personal level. “I’m thirty-eight.”

  “Thirty-one,” Madeline said promptly.

  Older than she looked with that smooth skin. Eric was just as glad. He was starting to feel uncomfortably as if women much under thirty might well be from another generation. If they were closer in age to Garth than him, he figured he wouldn’t have much in common with them.

  As he turned toward Everett, they passed the Forland farm on the right; with an approving eye Eric scanned the peacefully grazing herd. A three-generation concern, it had a lower incidence of infection and disease than any other dairy farm around. As a result the Forlands were less profitable to their vet, but it wasn’t as if he and Teresa weren’t plenty busy, and he liked to see things done right.

  “You take care of their cows?” Madeline asked, apparently noticing his interest.

  Next thing he knew, she’d asked pointed enough questions to get him talking about mechanical feeding systems, the design of loafing sheds and the evils of manure ponds.

  They were on the trestle crossing the river plain, and the city reared against the skyline ahead when he broke off. “You shouldn’t have gotten me started. I’ve probably ruined your appetite.”

  “Nothing ruins my appetite,” she assured him. “I was interested.”

  She looked like she meant it. “Have you ever been married?” he asked abruptly.

  Her gaze flicked nervously to his and then away. “No. Not even engaged. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the expressions come and go on her face. She lost her internal struggle. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “Five-and-a-half years,” he answered willingly. “I just counted. My son called the other day. The…subject came up.” And he still hadn’t called Garth back.

  “How old is he?”

  “Twelve. He’s coming for the summer.”

  He felt her gaze, heard the tentativeness in her voice. “Are you looking forward to that?”

  “Sure I am,” he said. “I miss him.” Pride didn’t let him admit that Garth apparently didn’t miss him.

  “Where does he live?”

  They chatted about San Francisco. She owned to having spent most of her youth in Southern California and said that her mother still lived there.

  “I sometimes go down there for Christmas.”

  Her tone was particularly inexpressive, as it had been when she mentioned living in L.A., and Eric wondered why. Obviously her relationship with her mother wasn’t close, but more seemed to be going on here. He made no comment, however; it was too soon to pry.

  Conversation over dinner stayed casual. They talked about the shelter, about the regular adoption days Madeline took the cats to, about the people who abandoned cats and the ones who took them in.

  “We have a lady who must have rounded up twenty-five strays over the past couple of years. They were all in apartment complexes. People move and just leave their cats.” Anger and sadness mixed in equal measure on her face. “We lend her a live trap sometimes. Mostly she spends hours feeding them and making friends until they let her catch them. She pays to have them neutered if they’re not already, and then we take them in. Nearly all of them have been adoptable. A couple had been declawed, which made them especially defenseless. Most were sweethearts. To think that somebody just climbed in the car and drove away, leaving them sitting in the parking lot.”

  Eric shared her feelings. He’d had to euthanize a stray only the day before who’d been hit by a car. He’d have liked to smash the nose of the bastard who’d dumped that poor animal.

  Eventually Eric worked the conversation back to the personal. “Had you ever had your own business before you opened Madeline’s?” he asked.

  “No, but I’d been a buyer and department manager in a big store.” She named a pricey Northwest clothing store that had expanded into a dozen or more malls in the more upscale suburbs of Seattle and Portland. “Finally I got frustrated with decisions that weren’t mine to make. I shared a house in the Greenlake area with a couple of other women, and that got old, too. I decided to strike out on my own, preferably not in the city. I wanted to live in a small town.” She spread her hands. “Voilà. Truthfully I’m lucky it worked. Most ventures like mine don’t.”

  As a small businessman of a different sort, he’d had many of the same problems and experiences she’d had. Probably they shared a few of the same clients. A couple of women who dressed elegantly were regulars at the animal hospital.

  Madeline seemed happy to talk about business taxes, parking problems—the handful of slots on the street in front of her store weren’t enough—and amusing or annoying clients. It wasn’t until he steered the subject back to her that her animation became evasiveness.

  “No, I didn’t start as a clerk. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t even have a college degree. I wish I had one in business or accounting. Actually—” she was no longer looking at him “—I was a model.”

  “New York? L.A.?”

  “L.A.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, dear. I really ought to be going. Do you mind…?”

  Subject closed. “Of course not,” he said obligingly, and signaled for the check.

  Conversation stayed light
on the drive back to White Horse. At the shelter she produced a cardboard carrier for Hannah, who unhappily allowed herself to be ensconced in it.

  Eric waited while Madeline locked up again, then strolled beside her out to their vehicles. Days were growing longer, but by this time of the evening dusk had painted the sky purple-gray. He deposited the carrier in his pickup, then turned back to Madeline, who’d hurriedly unlocked her car door and was using it as a shield.

  “Thank you for dinner.” Her voice was light, quick. Nervous. “Really. I enjoyed it. But I do wish you’d have let me pay my own way.”

  He shook his head and took a deliberate step closer. “I’m the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  She ran a finger along the metal edge of her car door. Head bent, appearing to concentrate on the back-and-forth movement of her finger, she said, “I was rude when you first asked. I apologize.”

  “No. You were polite enough, despite what I said at the time. I made assumptions.” According to Teresa, what he’d assumed was that any woman favored by an invitation from him would leap at it. Dammit, he wasn’t that cocky.

  Madeline apparently didn’t want to talk about his assumptions. “Well, um, good night.” Her shaky smile died when he took another step.

  “Can we do this again?” he asked, voice deepening.

  Now her fingers gripped that car door. She swallowed hard. “Again?”

  He didn’t usually have this effect on women. And he’d been so careful tonight.

  He backed up a step, made his tone soothing. “Yeah, why not? The food was good, and I thought the conversation was, too.”

  She relaxed immediately, he guessed because of his physical retreat. “Yes, it was. Dinner again sometime sounds nice.”

  He knew better than to say, What about tomorrow night? Patience, he told himself. Take it slow.

  He smiled easily. “Good night, then. Thanks for your company. And the cat.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be talking,” she said dismissively. A moment later she’d climbed into her car, started the engine and with a wave of her hand backed out

  He got into his pickup. Hannah uttered an inquiring mew. Eric poked a finger into one of the holes in the cardboard so that she could rub her soft nose against it.

  “You want to know where we’re going? Is that what you’re asking? You’ll like the answer. Home.”

  He used his signal, then turned out onto the road. Ahead red taillights flickered. To the cat he said, “Do you know why that lady is scared of me, Hannah? No? Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to find out. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  Patience, he reminded himself.

  HE’D INTENDED to shut Hannah in Garth’s bedroom for a couple of days, to give her a chance to acclimate, but when he let her out of the carrier, she tested the air with her pink-and-gray nose, then hopped up on the bed and surveyed the room with quiet serenity. She wasn’t going to hide under the dresser for a week. Eric decided to see what she’d do if he left the door open. What she did was follow him. She wasn’t completely confident; she crouched, ready for flight if necessary, and she oozed around corners, but she still came.

  She slipped around a glass-fronted bookcase and almost tripped over Mannequin, who’d earned her name by rarely moving. If she hadn’t occasionally wanted food and the kitty litter, he could have kept the cream-colored ball of fluff on a shelf like a stuffed animal, with no one the wiser. Now Mannequin lifted her head, blinked her magnificent blue eyes and allowed herself to be sniffed. The newcomer’s tail puffed, but otherwise she didn’t appear alarmed. She’d apparently read Mannequin’s nature immediately.

  The other cats seemed to be outside, which was just as well. Hannah could explore without fireworks. Leaving the two to get acquainted, Eric went into the kitchen, grabbed the cordless phone and dialed Garth’s number. He might as well get it over with.

  His son must have snatched up the receiver after the first ring. Sounding surly, he snapped, “Yeah?”

  “It’s Dad,” Eric said mildly. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I thought you were…I’m okay.” His voice turned eager. “Hey, did you think about this summer? You didn’t say anything to Mom, did you?”

  “About your not wanting to come? No.” Eric trailed Hannah, who’d lost interest in Mannequin, into the next room. “She told me she’s remarrying. Chuck something?”

  “Morrison,” Garth said gloomily. “He looks like he’s wearing a tie even when he isn’t.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Not especially.” Garth let out a heavy sigh. “As if how I feel makes a difference. Mom likes him. That’s all that counts.”

  Eric watched the small gray cat explore. “Your mother thought you got along with him better before you found out they were getting married.”

  On a burst of anger his son said, “Having him around once in a while was okay. I don’t want to live with him, all right?”

  “You’ve got to take that up with your mom,” Eric said. “And it sounds to me like it’s too late. The wedding is only a few weeks away.”

  Garth sank back into gloom. “Tell me about it.”

  “I’ve sent the plane ticket to your mother.”

  “Well, I guess I have to come while they’re on their honeymoon, don’t I? Honeymoon,” he sneered. “It’s not like they waited for the wedding night or anything.”

  Eric forgot the cat. “What? You haven’t been spying—

  “Dad,” the boy said with exaggerated patience, “Chuck spends the night. It’s obvious, don’t you think?”

  Yeah, he did think. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if Noreen had had a string of boyfriends doing the same. After five years of life as a single mother, she’d met a man, gotten serious and was marrying him.

  “Does that bother you?” Eric asked.

  “You mean that she’s having sex?”

  Eric gritted his teeth. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  With the nonchalance of modern youth, his son said, “Nah, not really. It’s just that he’s all she thinks about anymore. Everything I say she pops up with something Chuck said. It’s like he’s some expert on every subject. And she’s always on the phone with him. She giggles.”

  Noreen had giggled when they first fell in love, too, Eric remembered suddenly. They’d had a lot of fun in bed that first couple of years. Out of it, too. For the first time since Noreen had broken the news, he felt a stab of loss.

  “She must be happy.”

  “Shouldn’t she care whether I’m happy?” Garth asked.

  Had he ever been that self-centered? Eric wondered. He’d have to ask his mother.

  “Of course she cares. She’s just caught up in her new feelings.” He took a deep breath. “That’s why she needs this summer with what’s-his-name. By fall, she’ll be your mother again.”

  “They’re dumping me on you, right? I’ll bet you’d get out of it if you could,” the boy said rudely.

  “Your mother is not dumping you.” Eric’s mouth twisted. “And I wish you were here all the time. I’m your father. I don’t want to give up this summer.”

  The silence fairly pulsated. “So I have to come!” Garth burst out. “Nobody cares what I want!” The phone crashed down.

  Eric winced and turned his own off. That hadn’t exactly been a success.

  He thought back to the boy who had happily spent the summer with him the year before. Garth had been eleven then, but he didn’t look much different than he had at ten or nine or even eight. He hadn’t yet had a real growing spurt and was being left behind by his classmates, about which he’d become sensitive. He was skinny, thin-faced, his blond hair cut short by his mother. His blue jeans invariably had grass stains or rips at the knees, and he liked T-shirts with funny sayings.

  In his school picture, taken last September, he’d looked a little older, but his blue eyes still held the solemn quizzical expression he’d had since he was two. Noreen and Eric used to tease him that his first
word was “why?” Unlike some kids, he really wanted to know. His best quality, though, was his empathy. He always thought about other people first. He was the one to worry about the squirrel running across the power line, or the dog down the street whose owner left him chained outside twelve hours a day.

  Still brooding, Eric went looking for Hannah. The family room was quiet and still. When he opened the garage door, he heard a scrabbling sound. Poking his head around, he saw her tidily burying something in the kitty litter. Good. She’d found it and knew what it was for.

  She hopped out and headed straight for the food bowls, in another part of the big garage. Eric let the door quietly close. Obviously she was comfortable with kitty doors, too.

  Garth was a terrific kid, he told himself. Okay, he was nudging adolescence, and he was having a hard time dealing with his mother’s remarriage. It was normal for him to be pretty much fixated on himself for a few years here. That didn’t mean he’d really changed, not inside where it counted. The boy had been blowing off steam tonight, that was all. Give him a month or two, and he’d accept his mother’s new marriage.

  Any lingering uneasiness Eric put down to his own anxiety, which rose like a barometer every year at this time as he worried about whether he and his son could take up where they’d left off. His nervousness invariably vanished the second Garth popped out of the airline passenger tunnel and gave him a grin so incandescent it would have glowed in the dark.

  They’d always gotten along great. No reason this summer would be any different.

  MADELINE PUSHED her grocery cart down the petfood aisle. The damage to her budget mostly came here.

  Thinking about pet food turned her mind to the shelter and then to Hannah and logically to Eric Bergstrom, DVM. Amazing how often it had worked that way. She’d be embarrassed for anyone to know how frequently she went over their dinner conversation, replaying every glance, the couple of brief touches, his suggestion at the end that they do it again.

  Again? she’d parroted, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. She still blushed, thinking about her gaucheness. It would be amazing after that—especially considering her response to his first invitation—if he really did call.