Of course, she didn’t care that much one way or the other.
“Madeline!” A female voice brought her out of her brooding. The pretty dark-haired woman pushing her own loaded cart wasn’t going to distract her from thoughts of the veterinarian, however; Jess Kerrigan had dated Eric a couple of years ago and was sisterin-law to his partner, Teresa.
“Hi, Jess. I’ve been meaning to call you.” Meeting Eric had made her think about Jess and realize they hadn’t gotten together in a while. “Would you like to have lunch someday?”
“Love to,” her friend said promptly. “How about Tuesday?”
They arranged a time and place. As Jess moved past, Madeline began to select flavors of canned cat food from the shelf and stack them in her basket.
Jess stopped her cart so suddenly toilet paper toppled out. She swore as she bent to pick it up, then apologized. “If I’d been behind the wheel of my car, I’d have probably rear-ended someone. But seeing you just gave me an idea. You guys have kittens right now, don’t you? Steph’s birthday’s coming up and it occurs to me I could get her one. We only have Atlas, you know, and he’s fifteen if he’s a day. Not much fun for the girls. I’m sure he’ll hate a newcomer, but all he does is sleep and eat, anyway.”
“Could I talk you into two?” Madeline asked. “Kittens are so much happier with another one to play with. Especially since they’ll be alone in the day while you guys are in school and working. Raised together, they’ll stay friends all their lives. Besides, even though it’s Steph’s birthday, this way the girls could each have their own.”
“Thus avoiding squabbles.” Her friend gave her a look. “You’re good at this.”
Madeline widened her eyes innocently. “Finding the right homes for cats?”
“Suckering people into taking one. Or in this case, more than one.”
“They really are better off in twos.”
“The grocery store and the vet will be happier, too.” She sighed. “I’ve been trying to talk Teresa into offering a family rate. Doesn’t that seem just?”
“Absolutely.” Careful to sound casual, Madeline said, “I did persuade them to give the shelter a special rate. Dr. Heyer retired. Yesterday Eric came for the grand tour.” She smiled. “He adopted a cat”
“You are good,” Jess said admiringly.
Madeline’s grin broadened. “I know.” She laughed. “Actually Hannah managed it on her own. She courted him very affectingly.”
“Smart cat.”
Even more casually Madeline said, “Don’t I remember that you dated him?”
“Uh-huh.” Jess leaned comfortably on her cart. “Two or three times. I think it was too soon after my divorce. He’d smile—you have seen him smile?—I’d get goose bumps, and then I have this horrible attack of guilt. It was like I was still married and contemplating an affair. Really strange. Somehow we didn’t hit it off that well, anyhow.” She shrugged. “He’s great with the horses, though. Best equine vet around. And very nice to look at.”
“I’d never met him before.”
Jess grinned. “Let me guess. He asked you out.”
“I said no.” Madeline edged her cart out of the way of a grandfatherly type shopping with two preschoolers. One was singing in a piercing voice. The other stuck out his tongue as he passed.
Jess turned her head to reciprocate as soon as Grandpa’s back was turned. Then, expression unrepentant, she said, “He’s a brat. Steph baby-sits him.” She gave her head a shake. “Did I hear you right? You actually rejected the gorgeous Dr. Bergstrom? You did get a good look at him first?”
“Yes and yes.” Madeline hesitated, then confessed, “But I’m weak. He asked again yesterday and I succumbed. We had dinner.”
“And?”
“I had a good time.” How tepid that sounded, she thought in disgust. Should she admit she got goose bumps, too? “He was nice. Not what I expected.”
Surprisingly Jess nodded with apparent satisfaction. “You haven’t dated anyone since I’ve known you.” She made a face. “Not that there are very many single men around who I’d even get in a car alone with. Never mind ones who are glorious, heartstopping, hormone-zapping—”
“I get the idea.”
Jess’s blue eyes were suddenly serious. “Just so you know—he’s kind of a playboy. I mean, don’t bother getting serious.”
“Warning duly noted.” Madeline gave a careless smile. “He may not even call again.”
“Now that he’s set eyes on you?” Her friend patted her arm. “He’ll call.”
She thought about demurely saying that her looks weren’t anything special, but was afraid she’d sound like she was fishing for a compliment. Besides, it would be less than honest; she knew she’d been blessed with great bone structure, flawless skin and eyes and hair that pleased the eye. She could still be modeling if she wanted to. If she hadn’t grown to hate being valued for nothing but her cheekbones and skin and eyes.
“Maybe,” she said, and wondered if Eric Bergstrom was capable of seeing beyond those features. Or were they precisely what he, too, valued in a woman?
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’M HOME,” Garth called, slamming the front door behind him.
Nobody answered. Had Mom gone somewhere? That’d be surprising; lately she didn’t trust him—her words—to be home alone. Just because she’d caught him lighting up a cigarette in his room. He’d done that because he knew it would make her mad. Why not? At least then she noticed him for a minute or two.
Their San Francisco town house was narrow and tall. The bedrooms were on the third floor. As he bounded up the stairs, he heard voices drifting down. Women’s voices. Mom was in her bedroom with someone else.
Instead of going into his own room, Garth moved quietly down the hall and stopped just outside her door, which stood a few inches ajar. He couldn’t see anything, but he heard a long breathy, “Oooh! Noreen, it’s glorious! Chuck’ll think he’s the luckiest man alive when he sees you coming down the aisle.”
His mother giggled like a junior-high-school girl. “Oh, Frances, I hope so! I feel so lucky.”
Garth gagged. So she’d found some guy willing to marry her. What was so lucky about that? Chuck Morrison had money, but he was balding on top and getting a paunch that hung over his belt—he really, really liked to eat. He took Mom to these fancy restaurants, and the rest of the time she fussed in the kitchen so she could surprise him with some gourmet delight like blanquette de veau—which was still eating a big-eyed calf, even if the name was French. Or—get this—squid in ink sauce. Mom had actually sat there in the kitchen on her tall stool, humming under her breath and squishing ink sacs in a sieve and then making a sauce out of it. And she called him picky because he wouldn’t eat it. Chuck, of course, had exclaimed in delight and dug right in. Mom told Garth that she was trying to cook more seafood because she was worried about Chuck’s cholesterol. Big surprise. And she was lucky to have him?
“I’m home,” Garth repeated, and pushed the door open.
One of her closets had mirrored doors. Mom stood in front of them in her wedding dress admiring herself. She’d spread it on the bed for him to see a few days before, but on her it was different, not just stiff fabric. Rose-colored—at least, that was what Mom called that dark pink—the dress was really simple and shimmery. Long and straight, it sort of molded to her waist and hips and thighs more than he liked noticing when they were his mother’s. Her best friend, Frances, who Garth used to think was okay until she introduced Mom to Chuckie, sat on the edge of Mom’s bed, her hands clasped in front of her as though she was gazing adoringly at a Monet or a Picasso. Frances didn’t even turn her head to look at Garth.
Mom didn’t ask how his day was, either. She held out her arms and rotated gracefully on tiptoe. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. “So, what do you think?”
He would never have admitted it to his friends, but he knew she was beautiful. He’d been proud of her when she picked him up at friends’ hou
ses or went to school functions with him. But he’d never seen her like this. She…glowed. Because of Chuckie.
And because she was ditching her son for the summer so she could be alone with the love of her life. All she’d do was cook. And go to bed with Chuckie, something he didn’t want to think about.
He jerked his shoulders and said in a bored tone, “It’s okay.”
Her face dimmed a little. “Sweetie, I wish—”
“That I’d call Chuck ‘Daddy’?” Garth curled his lip. “I suppose we’re having something gross for dinner?”
“I thought…since it would just be the two of us…”
Chuckie must be busy. Otherwise, she couldn’t have lived without him long enough to have dinner alone with her son. She’d even brought the guy to a school parent night.
Garth gave her a flat stare. “I’m going over to Dave’s.”
“Why don’t we go out to dinner? Your choice.” Her smile was as bright and fake as the gold-painted poster-board crown he’d worn in a school play. “I’ll pick you up about six?”
“I’m not that hungry.”
Mom’s eyes became steely. “I’ll pick you up, anyway.”
He shrugged and left, throwing his book bag in his bedroom as he passed. Maybe he wouldn’t be at Dave’s when she came at six. That’d show her how much he wanted to spend time with “just the two” of them. Like he was supposed to be excited because she might actually talk to him for once, instead of to Chuckie with an occasional vague question his way when she remembered he existed.
He bumped his mountain bike up the basement steps and out the front door. What would happen if he scared his mother enough? Would she call Chuckie and weep in his arms? Or would she be so glad to find him she’d change her mind about shipping him off for the summer?
Garth figured it was worth a try.
A DOZEN HORSES, ridden English-style by solemnfaced teenagers, pranced as they waited for the gate to the arena to be opened for their amateur class. Among the shades of cream and dapple gray, the few chestnuts and blood bays stood out Yesterday’s rain had left the ground muddy enough to splatter the gleaming hooves and slender legs of the Arabians.
“Hot dog?”
“Hmm?” Madeline turned from admiring the horses to Eric, who’d paused in front of the concession stand.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, nodding toward it.
She realized that mixed with the smells of manure and sawdust and mud had been the seductive aroma of hot dogs and warm pretzels and mustard.
“I’d love a hot dog. Or even two. And maybe a pretzel. And, um…” She contemplated the offerings. “A licorice rope—I love those, have you ever had one?—and a lemonade.”
He grinned, that slow mischievous smile that twirled her stomach on some kind of internal spit. “And I thought you’d be a cheap date.”
“I warned you I like to eat,” she reminded him.
“So you did.”
As they stood in the short line, the gates opened and out loped a Western class, bits jangling and Stetsons worn low. In went the English horses and riders, numbers pinned crookedly to their backs.
A few minutes later, loaded down with food, Eric suggested they go in and sit down while they ate. “We can watch a few classes, see what’s coming up, then wander through the barns.”
Madeline smiled happily. “This was such a good idea.”
She wasn’t sure why coming to a horse show at the Evergreen State Fairgrounds in Monroe hadn’t inspired the same anxiety in her that a dinner date would have. It just seemed so much more relaxed. More like something friends would do together. And they didn’t have to stare at each other across a candlelit table and think of witty things to say.
Even the topics they’d covered on the drive here had been uncomplicated. Jess Kerrigan was showing one of her Arabians later this afternoon in a class for amateur owners. Teresa Hughes and her kids planned to come. That subject exhausted, Eric talked about doctoring horses, more his specialty than Teresa’s, although she’d become increasingly interested, he said, as the whole family got involved with 4-H and cow penning.
“I wish barbed-wire fences would go the way of bell-bottoms,” he’d said, shaking his head. “I treat more cuts than anything else, it seems. A horse will paw at the fence and rip his foreleg open, even get the damned wire wrapped all the way around the pastern.”
“I hate to tell you this, but bell-bottoms have come back in style.”
“What?” He’d shot her a glance. “You’re kidding.”
“Regrettably, no.”
“All right, I wish barbed wire would go the way of…oh, hell, how about disco?”
“That’s probably safe. For a few years.”
Now they found a seat partway up the bleachers overlooking the arena. They watched as the teenagers and their horses trotted and cantered on command from the judges, who stood in the center with clipboards in hand.
“Reverse,” the announcer said, and the riders dutifully swung their horses in neat U-turns so that they were cantering the opposite direction around the perimeter of the ring.
“I like that dapple gray,” Madeline said between bites of her hot dog. “The one with the boy—that one.” She pointed as the pair passed in front of them, the canter perfectly collected, the horse’s neck arched and the pale mane foaming over-the boy’s quiet hands.
Eric took a swig of his coffee and nodded. “And the bay.”
The gray took home the huge blue rosette, while the bay inexplicably got left out of the honors. Eric grumbled amiably while they argued about who ought to win out of the next batch, a yearling halter class. The lanky youngsters fidgeted and rolled their eyes and flared their nostrils as the judges solemnly circled them and made notes on their clipboards.
After studying the program and agreeing that they wanted to be back in time to see Jess and the costume class afterward, Eric and Madeline followed the yearlings out, watching them dance skittishly on impossibly slender legs while their trainers or owners made soothing noises.
“What fun,” Madeline said a little wistfully. She’d been as horse-crazy as any other girl, but instead of having a chance to indulge in her dream, she’d spent her childhood as far from green pastures as you could get: among the concrete building blocks and freeway cloverleafs of Southern California. She’d spent it, not on horseback, but in front of a camera.
“Do you ride?” Eric asked.
“I’ve only been a few times,” Madeline admitted. “You know, rent a horse for an hour. The kind of thing where you plod along a trail in a dutiful line behind the wrangler. Or do I mean baby-sitter?”
“Want to learn?”
She studied him warily. “Do you mean it?”
“I have a horse, you know. A quarter-horse mix, nothing fancy, but she’s easygoing. When you get a little more confident, I can borrow one of Teresa’s or Jess’s and we can go trail riding. The real thing, not a plod.”
Excitement bubbled in her, as if she were a girl again being offered this same chance. But she wasn’t a girl anymore; his offer sounded so long-term, as though she’d be over at his place—or wherever he kept his horse—often. As though he took for granted her compliance.
And she still didn’t know why he wanted to spend time with her. Was it only her face and figure that interested him?
“I…wouldn’t mind trying it,” she said, figuring she wasn’t committing herself to anything.
“Good.” He smiled, took her hand and drew her into the first long barn.
She’d always liked the smells of manure and wood shavings and hay and leather soap. Absurdly conscious of the warmth of his hand engulfing hers, she wandered with Eric down the aisle lined with stalls. Horses popped their noses inquiringly through the bars, and Madeline used their lure as an excuse to withdraw her hand from Eric’s. Wary of the horses’ big yellow teeth, she tentatively stroked velvet muzzles.
Show ribbons festooned some stalls, and a few silver bowls were proudly displayed o
n wooden chests. Owners groomed the handsome animals cross-tied in the sawdust-floored aisle. A few of the riders, wearing flowing robes, were tying ribbons into their horses’ manes and loading them down with jeweled tack and tiny silver bells and colorful satin draperies for the costume class þo come.
Eventually they found Jess, already leading a dainty gray mare out of the barn.
“Hi!” she called. “Did you come to cheer me on?”
“Absolutely,” Madeline said warmly. “Are your girls here? Oh, there they are. Hi, Sarah. Hi, Steph.”
Teenagers now, the two dark-haired girls smiled and said, “Hello, Ms. Howard. Hello, Dr. Bergstrom.”
“Either of you showing?” he asked.
“I am tomorrow,” the older and taller of the two said. “It’s my first time in anything bigger than the Stanwood Fair.” She made a face. “I’m really nervous.”
“I’ve seen you ride. You’ll do great.” His smile would have brought a blush to the cheeks of any female between ten and eighty. It didn’t fail with Sarah.
“Thanks, Dr. Bergstrom.”
This time Madeline and Eric sat with Jess’s daughters and Teresa Hughes and her kids. Jess rode with flair and dignity and left the ring clutching the blue ribbon.
Almost immediately the ten entrants in the costume class swept into the arena, the horses moving in a high-stepping trot that made robes and manes fly. The crowd cheered. Madeline found herself smiling, although she couldn’t imagine any selfrespecting Arab nomad wearing purple satin or robes in a rainbow of velvet. The riders might have looked silly, had the horses not been so magnificent. They cantered and galloped and pranced, ducking their heads and preening as though they knew well their own beauty.
The rider and snow white stallion in purple satin won; second place went to a bay bedecked in brilliant green and black.
Madeline sighed in contentment. Eric smiled. “Once you learn to ride, the world’s your oyster. You, too, could don ten yards of gaudy fabric and gallop around the ring.”
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