Beauty & the Beasts

by Janice Kay Johnson; Anne Weale

  Turning onto the road, Madeline wondered if her mother had ever had a fierce need to protect her. If so, how had maternal devotion twisted into a determination to use her daughter? And did her mother even know the difference?

  “GOOD DAY?” Eric asked casually as he set an onion on the cutting board.

  “Yeah, it was okay.” Though somewhat bland, this was a step up from three weeks ago, when Garth would have said with blistering sarcasm, “Yeah, right.”

  “I saw Madeline drop you off.” He’d hidden behind the curtains like an old busybody.

  “We went to the shelter.” Garth was making the salad. He shook wet lettuce leaves, soaking everything within three feet with a fine spray. Including his father. The boy appeared not to notice. “These two cats just came in. They’re eleven, and they’re really nice, but they’re scared, and Madeline says they’ll be hard to place ‘cause nobody wants ones that old.”

  “Why are they there?”

  “Their owners are getting divorced and don’t want them anymore.” Garth studied him, and Eric could feel what was coming. He continued chopping the onion. “Don’t you know somebody who’d take them?” Garth asked. “I mean, you know practically everybody in town, right?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that strongly.”

  “I really like those cats.” Garth ripped the lettuce into huge chunks, which he dropped into a bowl.

  Having Garth care about something again was worth any price. Eric vowed he’d find a home for that pair if it killed him.

  Resignedly he asked, “Do you know if they were indoor only or if they’re used to dogs?”

  “No.” His son frowned. “I guess you’d have to ask Madeline.”

  “Or you can ask her.”

  He gave his father a sidelong glance. “Yeah. I guess.” He reached for a carrot. Peelings flew. “She says she misses you.”

  The knife slipped and blood beaded on Eric’s finger. He swore. What the hell was wrong with him? Of course she’d said that—when his twelve-year-old son asked her! If she really missed him, she’d call, say she was sorry, ask if they could talk. She’d give him a chance to say, “I like the heart that’s underneath your perfect breasts, too.”

  He ran cold water over his finger, remembering her breasts, ivory and rose, just big enough to fill his palms. And he remembered her face, mouth puffy from his kisses, her eyes huge and dark, the color running across her perfect cheekbones….

  He swore again. Something base and male in him refused to rise to sublime heights. He wanted her body.. He couldn’t help it. God, he wanted her right now, this minute, and he was standing in the kitchen with his son.

  She’d wanted him, too, he’d have sworn it. But he’d said the wrong words, or else she’d flat out panicked, in which case nothing he’d said would have been right. Either way, how was it fixable? He couldn’t watch everything he said forever; if she had more confidence in her inner self, she wouldn’t care so much what people thought about her outer.

  “I suppose,” he said, drying his finger on a paper towel, “you told her I missed her.”

  “I might have. Just to be polite, you know. I mean, I couldn’t say, ‘Nah, Dad doesn’t mind.’” Garth shot him an inscrutable look. “But it wasn’t like you wanted to marry her or anything, did you?”

  “No. I wasn’t ready to walk down the aisle.” He frowned at his reflected image in the dark window above the kitchen sink. A heaviness in the pit of his stomach made him wonder. Had he been ready to say, “I do”? “I thought you liked Madeline,” he said.

  Garth turned a pair of round innocent blue eyes on him. “I do.”

  Those damned words again.

  “She’s cool,” his son continued. “She said maybe she’d take me out to dinner some night.”

  Oh, that’d be fun, sitting at home thinking of his own son out with the woman he—Whoa! He didn’t love her. They’d only known each other for six weeks or so. He had the hots for her. He liked her. Teeth clenched so hard the enamel must be cracking, Eric made himself recite silently, I do not love her. He just couldn’t quit thinking about her, which was different.

  These days it seemed as if every damn thing he did at work made him think about Madeline. The very next day, for example, he got to be the lucky one to explain to a man old enough to know better that, yes, a cat could get pregnant as early as six months. In fact, a female cat invariably did get pregnant that early unless spayed first.

  The fellow chewed that over. “I just figured she was getting kind of plump.”

  Through the wall of the kitten’s abdomen, Eric felt the shifting of several other lives. “Kittens rarely get obese.”

  “I guess it’s, um, too late to spay her, huh?”

  Eric stroked her soft black head. “I’d say she’s due any day.”

  The man hoisted his jeans. “My girlfriend’s real fond of her, see.” He shifted uneasily. “Well, I guess I am, too. Pixie’s a nice cat. She sits on my lap when I watch TV. Pays closer attention to Mariner games than my boy used to. But what do I do with the kittens?”

  Eric handed him a Ten Lives business card and ushered man and pregnant cat out. Madeline would not find this story amusing.

  On Eric’s way back in, he met Teresa coming out of one of the other examining rooms.

  “Why do I bother speaking in the schools,” he asked rhetorically, “when the kids’ parents don’t seem to understand the birds and the bees? Hell, maybe I should go speak at the seniors center. Or the Rotary luncheon.”

  “You are speaking at the Rotary luncheon,” she pointed out “Last week of July. Tell them all to neuter their pets.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head and started to pass her. “Maybe I’d better take my pointer and a chart that shows female anatomy.”

  Teresa snagged his arm. “Got a minute? I have somebody I’d like you to meet.”

  Without the slightest curiosity he followed her. In the examining room a Dalmatian puppy—the latest fad—stood on a stainless-steel table. The pup’s owner was a pretty brunette in tight chinos and a knit top that nicely outlined her breasts—breasts that would have done a hell of a lot more than fill his palms.

  He tore his eyes away. Teresa was introducing the woman, who apparently owned a local window-glass business.

  “Nice to meet you, Rhonda,” he said, shaking her hand. She wasn’t in any hurry to take it back. He shouldn’t have been in any hurry to give it back. Mildly surprised at himself, he let her hand go and leaned against the door. “Puppy have a problem?”

  “No, she’s just here for shots.” She gave him a smile that might have been a come-on, but was the kind he liked: direct and friendly.

  He felt no stirring of interest

  “Rhonda’s a friend of mine,” Teresa told him. “Just figured you two might as well meet.”

  It finally penetrated: Teresa knew he and Madeline weren’t seeing each other anymore and she was trying to set him up with her buddy.

  “Well, good to meet you, Rhonda.” He ruffled the puppy’s fur. The skinny tail whipped. “Enjoy this little guy. Make sure you take him to an obedience class.”

  A hint of wryness in Rhonda’s smile told him she understood he wasn’t interested.

  “Teresa has been giving me the same lecture. It’s okay—I grew up with Dalmatians.”

  “Ah.” He opened the door. “Well. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

  The next patient was already waiting in the examining room he was using today. This one was the fattest little terrier he’d ever seen. Not pregnant; just three or four inches of fat wrapped around the poor thing’s rib cage so that she could barely waddle. He’d been giving the dog’s elderly owner lectures on not feeding her table scraps, measuring out the dog food, encouraging a little more exercise. So far, no cigar.

  The old lady looked up eagerly when he came in. “I think she’s lost weight, Dr. Bergstrom. She cries at night, she’s so hungry, but I’ve been strong.” Her face crinkled into a sheep
ish smile. “Mostly.”

  “Well, let’s take a look.” Eric bent down and hoisted the solid chunk of terrier onto the scale. She didn’t try to take a piece out of him, which was something. Maybe, he thought, amused, she was weak with hunger. Now that, Madeline would think was funny.

  The sense of loss slammed into him afresh. He fiddled with the scales to cover the moment during which he couldn’t have spoken to save his life. The pain subsided. He glanced at the chart, then raised an eyebrow at today’s weight.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Rodenas! You’re right. She’s lost a pound.”

  She clapped her hands and chortled. “I knew it! Can I give her just a little treat to celebrate when we get home?”

  “Now you know better than that,” he said sternly. “You don’t want to lose Julitta at an early age, do you? She’s barely begun her diet. Let’s shoot for another pound by next time.”

  Mrs. Rodenas, pleasantly padded herself, shuffled as slowly as her dog. He escorted them out, one patient step at a time, then—speaking of waddling— turned back to find Teresa lying in wait again.

  “What was wrong with Rhonda?” she demanded.

  Eric played dumb. “Wrong? What do you mean?”

  His partner splayed her hands on her belly—over which the lab coat no longer fit. Voice dry, she said, “You know exactly what I mean! Where was the playful smile? The bedroom eyes? The husky tones?”

  He snapped. “What? Did you promise I’d perform like a goddamn toy poodle? Flirt on command? Well, let me tell you a secret. I don’t circle pretty women as if they were in heat and I were a mindless male dog, whatever the hell you think!”

  Damn Teresa, what did she do but smile with blatant satisfaction. “You’re in love with Madeline.”

  He let out a bellow and tugged at his hair. “Don’t even try to explain your convoluted female thinking! I don’t want to hear it!” He stalked down the hall to his office and slammed the door. Residents of the kennel responded with a chorus of unhappy howls and yaps.

  Eric flung himself into his chair and stared moodily at the wall. He should be getting ready for surgery. He needed steady hands and concentration. This was not the moment to feel his gut churning.

  Damn her! he thought again, and then realized that he saw not Teresa, but Madeline, clutching her shirt to her breasts.

  He muttered a colorful profanity and shot back to his feet. Teresa met him in the surgery room. Thank God, she said nothing, only smiled. He gritted his teeth and began scrubbing.

  A couple of hours later he stripped off his lab coat and wished his partner a terse good-night. He supposed he could go home, but he’d been putting off a visit to Ten Lives. Madeline had spent most of yesterday there; she wouldn’t have any reason to come back today, would she? It ought to be safe.

  He let the staff know where he was going, then checked the supply of basic meds in his truck. A short five-minute drive, and he pulled into the lane leading up to the shelter. He parked, collected a bag of supplies he knew he needed and started toward the house. He was almost to the doorstep when he saw her car.

  So she was here. He swore softly. He wasn’t in the mood to get their inevitable meeting over with.

  As he retreated, a boy’s laugh rang out. Oh, hell, his son was here, too. He’d look a damned fool if they saw him skulking away.

  Eric strapped his bag back into place in the truck, then walked silently to the corner of the garage, where the chain-link-fence runs began. He stood in the shadow of the woodpile and glanced into the yard. His heart almost stopped.

  Madeline wasn’t ten feet away with Garth, who sat cross-legged in the grass. Wearing snug jeans and a sleeveless shirt that exposed slender creamy shoulders, Madeline squatted on her heels beside Garth, her head cocked as she looked down at the cat in his lap. The bundle of hair at her nape was even cruder than usual; thick fiery tendrils tumbled over her cheek and down her neck. Her profile was flawless, with that straight little nose, high curved forehead and delicate chin.

  Eric reached out and grabbed the chain-link fence until it bit into the pads of his fingers. God, she was beautiful! More than beautiful. She laughed then, and his chest cramped.. A moment later, as he stared hungrily, her laughter stilled, and small crinkles appeared on her forehead as she listened to something Garth was saying. Eric could hear the words; they just didn’t fit together into anything meaningful. All he felt, heard, saw, was her. As she listened, she idly stroked several cats who tangled their sinuous bodies around her legs. Nerves shivered under Eric’s skin as he felt the tenderness of her touch. It was his heart that felt the gentleness of the hand she laid on Garth’s shoulder.

  Apparently his son qualified as one of the shy frightened wild creatures she let herself love. Too bad he didn’t.

  If she knew how he hurt…

  On a spasm of wrenching pain Eric closed his eyes, pried his fingers loose and backed silently away. He had to leave. Now. Before they saw him. Before he had to do any more pretending.

  He got into his pickup and drove until he came to a packed dirt turnoff beside the road. There he put on the emergency break, turned off the ignition and pounded the wheel with his fists.

  Why, why, why couldn’t he have some of that bottomless love she handed out so freely to the lost and angry?

  Maybe, an inner voice suggested, because all you can think about is how beautiful she is. Admit it: she’s right.

  No. Goddammit, no! She was wrong. It wasn’t just her looks that got to him. It was…everything. Her incredible compassion. Her smile. Even her prickles. She reminded him of some of the cats, the ones that craved human affection but feared it, too. He wanted to know why she was that way. He wanted to know why she disliked her mother. Why she was willing to keep extending herself for his son.

  He made himself picture other beautiful women he’d known. Deliberately he thumbed through mental files, remembering Noreen on their wedding day, his college girlfriend lying atop him laughing, several other women he’d dated, one he hadn’t. Perfect cheekbones, soft mouths, shimmering hair. And he felt…nothing.

  Panic grabbed him then. He stared blindly ahead through the windshield. Dear God, he was in love with her. He didn’t just want her, he needed her.

  And he had absolutely no idea whether she’d give him a second chance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OH, LORD. Eric was here.

  Madeline lifted her foot from the accelerator, stalling her car halfway up the driveway to the shelter. Muttering under her breath, she restarted the car and threw it into reverse. Too late. Joan appeared in the parking area and waved.

  With all the courage of an ant scuttling from an ominous shadow, Madeline thought maybe she could somehow avoid him. If he was in the surgery room, she could slip into the house. He wasn’t likely to come looking for her.

  She shifted into first, drove forward and parked in her usual spot. Getting out of the car, she glanced at Eric’s pickup. “I see Dr. Bergstrom’s here.”

  Duh.

  Joan, too, glanced at the pickup. “He came about an hour ago. He’s already neutered Whitey and Friendly, and all the male kittens. Now he’s doing some blood draws and checking Nefertiti’s skin.”

  “Oh, good.” Madeline edged toward the main house. “I just stopped by to clear up some paperwork.”

  Joan didn’t budge, making it hard for her to keep sidling toward the front door. Arms crossed, Joan asked, “What paperwork?”

  Madeline stole a glance at the feral building. Eric didn’t burst out. “I’m organizing all the old release forms, trying to match them to the adoption contracts.”

  Joan gave her a frankly astonished stare.

  “Okay. I’m avoiding my mother.”

  “She’s still here?”

  “I think she’s moved in with me and just hasn’t thought to mention it.”

  “She might mention it if you were ever home,” Joan suggested.

  “Maybe I’ll go home and weed, instead.”

  At
last her friend moved, firmly taking Madeline’s elbow and ushering her toward the house. “As long as you’re here, why don’t you give me your opinion on something? Since we’re finally going to be tiling the garage with that grant money, I was thinking of having the old cages torn out and new ones built. They could sit on top of some catproof cabinets. You know, with locks and the whole shebang.”

  Once inside the house, Madeline felt reasonably secure. The garage had no windows looking out toward the front, so she couldn’t watch for Eric, but it wasn’t as though he’d hunt her down. He probably despised her, she thought, which lowered her mood another notch.

  She and Joan briefly discussed where they’d put the new cages and how they’d manage while the tile was laid and the grout cured and sealed.

  Finally Joan glanced at her watch. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Can you take Sassafras out to the feral building before Eric goes and have him check her ears? She’s been scratching, and the drops for mites don’t seem to have helped.”

  “Joan—”

  Already bustling out, the older woman gave her a starchy look. Joan had once been a third-grade teacher and it showed. “I’m going to be late to work if I don’t go. Caroline is the only other one here, and she’s out giving him a hand.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Don’t whine. You’ve got to see him sooner or later. Today is as good a time as any. See you.”

  “Joan…”

  She was gone. Madeline muttered a word she rarely used. Then reluctantly she grabbed a carrier and went in hunt of the elderly black-and-white cat Maybe she’d get lucky and Caroline would meet her at the door of the feral building. She might not have to set eyes on Eric.

  Sassafras proved elusive. Mudhen, the homely shelter “manager” strolled importantly ahead of Madeline through the house, growling at cats who dared attempt to distract her from her mission. Warier ones scattered once they saw the carrier. Caroline, a volunteer in her fifties, came in once and released two cats.

  From down the hall Madeline called, “Tell Dr. Bergstrom I have one last cat for him to look at”