“A lot of married people aren’t happy.” Angela shrugged. “And sometimes fate interferes before they have to do anything about it. I had a friend in L.A. who’d wanted a divorce practically from the beginning. The day she planned to tell her husband, he was in a wreck on the way home. Died at the scene. I had another friend in the same situation—trying to find the courage to get out of a marriage with a guy who absolutely adored her. She worked out what she was going to tell him and practiced in front of us, like auditioning for a part on TV, and when she was finally ready to tell him, she went home, found his stuff gone, their bank accounts cleaned out, everything she had of value disappeared, and a note from her adoring husband who’d run off with his pregnant girlfriend. Fate,” she repeated with a shrug.
Jessy had wanted out of her marriage, but a few weeks before she’d planned to tell Aaron, he’d died. Fate? Was that all it was? Some universal force taking things into His/its own hands? Or had Angela’s friends set off some sort of bad karma in the universe that caused the results they got? Had Jessy’s bad karma made Aaron the target of that sniper’s bullet?
She shook her head, trying to clear it. “No, Dalton and Sandra were very happy.” All of her friends had been blissful in their marriages; they’d all had tough times, but they had survived them. Only Jessy had given up. Only she had planned an escape.
For two years and nearly nine months, that knowledge had made her feel so much less than them.
“So if you’re feeling your way, I’m guessing you’re the first woman Dalton’s been serious about since his wife. I can see where that would be tough…but worth it. Sometimes that’s how you get through, by keeping your eye on the prize. You may make some missteps, but look at the reward. Forever with a good man. How cool is that?”
Everything inside Jessy wanted that—believed she could have it. But she summoned a careless grin to hide that aching need. “Cooler for me than it would be for you.”
“True. I’m perfectly happy with Meredith, thank you.”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Twenty-one years. Since we were fifteen. We always figured we’d get married someday, but then we chose to live in Oklahoma, so not for a good long while.”
Probably not. Oklahoma was a great place, but the state as a whole bled conservative red.
Outside a bark sounded, followed by more both inside and out. Two cats scurried for dark corners while two others, tails held high, regally walked down the hall preparing to be worshiped. “That should be our prospective parents,” Angela said, starting to gather leftovers. “Right on time.”
“Go on. I’ll clean up here.” Down the hall, Jessy saw a mother, well dressed, with matching children, clean and neat and waiting politely. A doctor’s wife, according to Angela, who homeschooled her ten-year-old daughter and twelve-year-old son, had a large fenced yard, was active in her church, fervently believed in pet adoption, and was a major donor to the shelter. Jessy wished the family could take all of the animals. Hell, she wished she could take all of them, but her apartment was too small, and more puppies and cats in need would come along. They always did.
After straightening the break/storage room, she went outside, put clean water in the bowls, and refilled the plastic wading pools in the backyard. After she’d scratched every furry bundle of quivering joy there, she went to the front yard and took a seat on another cheap lawn chair.
Oliver stood about six feet away. He tolerated people getting closer but didn’t like it. His cone showed little battering from miscalculating doorways or play, maybe because he spent most of his day in the same spot. Was he waiting for his owner to find him? Did he like the way the sparse grass smelled there? Did he simply like doing something that made humans wonder?
“You’re a pretty boy, Oliver.”
His brown eyes didn’t blink.
“I wonder what happened to you.” When the economy started to tank, Meredith had told her, a lot of people couldn’t afford to feed their pets so they surrendered them or, worse, dumped them somewhere. Sometimes people moved to a place that didn’t allow pets, or they didn’t want the hassle of taking their animals with them, so they just left them behind.
“You know you’ve got people out there somewhere. They might not know they’re yours yet, but they’ll figure it out.”
He gazed at the front door for a moment, then turned in a circle and settled to the ground, chin resting on his cone, front paws flat on the grass as if he might need to leap to his feet unexpectedly.
“In the meantime, this isn’t a bad place to be. You get to lie in the sun when you want, go inside where it’s air-conditioned when you get hot. Your belly’s full, Meredith’s taking care of all your owies, and you’ve got me.” She laughed softly, first at the idea that she was having an actual conversation with a dog, and second at the proposition that she was any great prize, even for a homeless puppy who’d just had pellets picked out of his flea- and tick-riddled hide.
She raised one finger to the dog. “Don’t go thinking like me, that I’m no big deal. I’ve been good, and I’ve been bad, and a lot of places in between, but I’m getting better. I haven’t had a drink in…hell, a lot of minutes. At least a year in doggie time. I’m a work in progress, just like you.”
Oliver stretched out his front legs, then scooted forward on his belly. He repeated it until he’d closed half the distance between them, where he settled again.
“Aw, see? You do like me. A lot of people do.” A faint smile curved her lips at the truth of her comment. “Some people, in fact, adore me. And some don’t. But you know, life is too short to care about people who don’t care about you. So if you sit out here alone all the time because you like it, that’s fine, but if you’re watching for your old humans, don’t bother, sweetie. Your new ones will be so much better.”
And everyone deserved better humans, just as she deserved to be a better one.
* * *
“You having any second thoughts, son?”
Standing in a corridor that opened off the sanctuary of Carly and Dane’s church, Dalton looked up as the pastor joined them, offering his hand to Dane. It was a rhetorical question. A blind man could see that hesitation was the last thing on Dane’s mind.
“No, sir. I’m ready to make it official.”
“You’ll never meet anyone more ready than him.” Keegan Logan, the other groomsman, was leaning against the wall with his little girl holding his hands, her feet planted between his, swinging her chubby little self left to right like a pendulum.
Though Keegan himself might be more ready. According to Jessy, the guy was crazy mad in love with their friend Therese and counting the days until his current enlistment was up so he and Mariah could move to Tallgrass to make a family with the Mathesons.
Family. Dalton had resigned himself to not having one of his own. He’d figured he’d be the odd uncle that Noah’s kids didn’t quite know what to think of, nothing more. But for the first time in a long time, he could see himself getting married again. Maybe having kids, maybe not, but definitely not spending the rest of his life alone.
He could see himself with Jessy.
Somebody signaled to the pastor that the rest of the wedding party was ready, and he walked into the sanctuary. The setup was pretty much like every wedding Dalton had ever seen. He, Dane, and Keegan followed the minister in; Carly’s niece and nephew came down the aisle with flowers and the ringbearer’s pillow; Therese and Carly’s sister-in-law Lisa followed; then the father of the bride escorted her to the altar.
After a quick run-through, Dalton met Lisa at the center aisle and they headed to the back behind Carly and Dane. “So you’re the cowboy,” she said. “Yippee-kai-yai-yay.”
“And you’re the rocket scientist.”
“Anthropologist, actually. These days I’m mostly mom to Isaac and Eleanor.” She gestured to the kids at the back tussling over the embroidered pillow. “At the moment, I’m pretending I don’t see them misbehaving. O
ur entire family is thrilled to see Carly happy and in love again, though you might miss the obvious signs.”
She gestured again, and he looked at the large group filling the two back pews: mother, father, three brothers, two wives, a passel of kids. The kids mostly appeared bored while the adults looked, alternately, uncomfortable or lost in thought. They were absentminded professors, Dane said, every last one of them a bona fide genius. Lacking at least one social skill for every ten points of IQ over 140, Carly had added with obvious affection.
Across the aisle from them, Dane’s mother and a couple he’d pointed out as Carly’s former in-laws seemed over-the-top engaged-in-the-moment in comparison.
“Do you have a wife hanging out here?” Lisa asked with a glance at the others in the back, more relatives, he assumed, but strangers to him.
“No. She died on her second tour.”
Lisa’s fingers tightened around his arm. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” They reached the end of the aisle, and she released her hold only to wrap her arms around him in a quick hug. “Now that Carly’s found Dane, I’ll worry about you in her place. I’m so sorry.”
A lump formed in his throat, heat flooding his face. He wasn’t embarrassed exactly. Just taken aback that a woman he’d met minutes ago could be so bone-deep sincere and make him feel that she really cared.
As Lisa’s hug loosened, he cleared his throat and gazed past her to make sure his eyes weren’t damp. “Thanks. I appreciate it. But right now Eleanor’s hitting Isaac with his pillow. He’s got age and height on her, but she’s got a pretty wicked swing going for her.”
Lisa rolled her eyes, then gasped as she turned in time to see Isaac hit the floor and roll under the nearest pew. “Eleanor! Isaac! Roger!”
One of the Andersen brothers turned, brows lifted, and automatically said, “I didn’t do anything.”
“Your children are wrestling right underneath you! In church!”
Roger looked over his shoulder, twisted, and hauled Eleanor over the back of the pew into his lap while Lisa pulled Isaac to his feet. Both kids were sticking their tongues out at each other from the protection of their parents’ embraces.
Dane and Carly, arms around each other, stopped beside Dalton. “Isaac’s going to be a scientist and make clones of his sister that can’t talk and have to do everything he says,” Carly said.
“And Eleanor’s going to be a superhero or a supervillain. She hasn’t decided yet,” Dane added. “Whichever gives her the most chances to smack her brother.”
“Our family. We’re so proud.” Carly copied his grin. “We’re all going to Zeke’s out on Main. You’re welcome to join us.”
Dalton thanked them politely, made it out the door without distraction, and climbed into his truck for the drive to Jessy’s. She occupied the entire bench outside her apartment, back against the curved arm, legs stretched out to the other end. Her shorts were white, her top black, her shoes a black, pink, and green print with delicate heels. The usual overnight-bag-sized purse rested on the bench beneath her propped-up feet, and she was fanning herself with a couple of white paper rectangles.
He parked in front of her, rolled down the passenger window, and called, “Hey, you waiting on Prince Charming?”
Slowly she pushed the dark glasses up to rest on top of her head. “Princes are too stuffy. I’d prefer a cowboy on a fiery steed.”
“Huh. Palominos aren’t very fiery.”
“I don’t know. A good photographer, sunset, that golden coat reflecting the light…” Moving lazily—sensually—she swung her feet to the ground, stood to her full height, bent to slide the purse strap over her shoulder, and strolled toward the truck. Everything about her looked so good and touchable and kissable, and he’d almost decided to forget dinner and turn this truck toward home when she settled and directed a purely innocent smile at him. “Take me somewhere that serves beef, cowboy. I’ve got a craving for red meat.”
Home qualified for that. He had a side of beef in the freezer from the last butchering, and he was sure they could find things to occupy them while the steaks thawed. It would only take five, maybe seven, twenty-four hours.
After pulling away from the curb, he turned south on First, putting the setting sun on her side, her golden skin reflecting all that light.
“How was rehearsal?”
“Uneventful, unless you count the flower girl beating up the ring bearer.”
She laughed. “I went to a wedding years ago where the bride and groom each had a five-year-old daughter so they were both flower girls. They got into a fight during the ceremony, kicking, screaming, pulling hair, and the bridesmaids had to pull them apart, then drag them down the aisle afterward.”
“That must have been a fun new family,” he said dryly.
“Like having twins who despise each other.”
Bingo. “What have you got in your hands?”
She looked at the papers, then smiled. “Photographs.”
“Of my animals?”
“He could be.” She waved the pictures for emphasis, and he caught a glimpse of a solemn-faced dog.
He swallowed back a groan. “Did I tell you Oz was a stray? Covered with fleas and ticks and half-starved?”
“See? They have so much in common already. Oliver was dumped with fleas and ticks and half-starved, plus someone used him for target practice with a pellet gun.”
A knot tightened in Dalton’s gut. He’d spent his entire life taking care of animals. He’d just as soon shoot someone who abused them. But he hadn’t wanted a dog when Oz adopted him, and he didn’t want another dog now.
You already have two small herds. What could one more animal hurt?
His father’s voice echoed in his head: That damn “what could one more hurt?” David’s parents, his wife, his neighbors, and his kids had used that question to guilt him into taking every stray dog and cat, injured horses, cattle that were nothing more than pets, even a herd of goats when their owner went into a nursing home.
He delayed his answer by turning into the parking lot of an old cinder block building. A crooked neon sign that hadn’t lit up since he was a teenager welcomed them to Holy Cow, where a short line was forming at the door.
“I’ve seen this place, but I’ve never been here,” Jessy said, sliding to the ground.
“Your loss. Those beeves you were taking pictures of—”
Meeting him at the front of the truck, she frowned up. “Cows. Pretty bovine animals.”
“Beeves,” he repeated. “Damn good dinner on hooves. Anyway, those folks sell their beef to this restaurant. The place isn’t fancy, but the food is the best.”
They joined the line, the tin roof blocking them from the sun slanting in from the west. She tapped the pictures together, then offered them to him. He took hold of one corner, but before pulling them free, he warned, “I’m just looking, all right?”
She nodded.
The dog was Dalton’s favorite breed: a little bit of this, a little bit of that. He looked full grown, no more than thirty pounds, and his big brown eyes…God, those eyes alone were enough to win him a home. Thoughtful, sad, confused, a good show of bravado underscored with traces of fear.
Jessy didn’t gush, coo, or point out all of Oliver’s good points. She just watched Dalton as he thumbed through the pictures. When he handed them back, she put them in her purse, then laced her fingers together.
“There’s no rush, is there?” he asked after a while. “The shelter’s a no-kill shelter, right?”
Another nod.
“Is there any reason you aren’t adopting him?”
Her face wrinkled delicately. “Can you imagine a living, breathing being depending on me for everything?”
“I have a whole lot of living, breathing beings depending on me. You could handle one dog. You could even take him to work so he wouldn’t have to be alone during the day.”
“Yeah, but you’re responsible. I’m—”
When she broke off, he quietly
said, “You put a lot of energy into criticizing yourself, Jess. Why?”
Her face flushed. “I’m trying to stop. Old habits, you know. They’re hard to break.”
He understood that. He’d buried himself in bad habits and dark places for too long.
Gently, he pulled her hands apart, then twined his fingers with hers. “I’ll offer this. I’ll be Oliver’s last resort. If you don’t find the perfect people for him, we’ll take him. Okay?”
The smile that lit up her face was sweet enough, honest enough, that he would have agreed to take all the shelter’s dogs just to see it again.
Maybe even their cats.
Chapter 12
Jessy dressed carefully Saturday afternoon, giving herself more than two hours for a task she could often pull off more than adequately in under ten minutes, but she still wasn’t ready when Ilena and Lucy came to pick her up. Normally, she would have just walked to the church, especially since she was leaving with Dalton, but when the sisters had offered, she’d accepted. Accepting little things like rides was something friends did, right?
Hands bracing her lower back, Ilena trailed Lucy into the apartment and to the bedroom. “Jessy, my girl, this is my last visit until my boy is born. Those stairs are a killer.”
“I’m sorry, Mamacita. I didn’t think of that or I would have been waiting on the street.”
Lucy waved a dismissive hand. “I offered to leave the car running and the AC blasting while I came up to get you, but she said—”
Ilena chimed in with her. “‘Aw, exercise is good for Hector Junior.’”
Jessy kicked off a shoe and wiggled her foot into another, the same shade of red but two inches taller with a sexy little bow off-center on the ankle strap. “I thought we were under orders to call him John,” she said, twisting her foot this way and that in front of the full-length mirror in the closet.
“Carly is not the boss of me,” Ilena said with a huge grin. “Gorgeous shoes. Loan them to me when I can see my feet again, will you?”
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