X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1)

by A. Carlock Maxwell DVM

  Maybe not. The apron over the besmeared work pants did lend a certain frumpy air. Brown leather brogans caked with cow manure weren't glass slippers. Bovine Number Two wasn't Chanel No. 5. "It made it easier, you being here. As you can see, I'm not very experienced in running men off."

  Will regarded her with cool civility, eyes mocking, a playful smile illuminating his eyes. "I wouldn't say that. I didn't hang around long the other day."

  Liza tried to frown but her lips were uncooperative. Then she laughed, a sharp bark from the belly. "For someone so aggravating, you sure make me laugh. But it's not fair to bring up something that's already been forgiven."

  Crimson spots highlighted his cheeks. "You're right. I apologize." He drifted towards the couch, sat, picked up a picture. She followed, stood behind him.

  She cleared her throat. Thumbs and forefingers rubbed together behind her back. Hungry heat continued to surge through her body. Cool off. "Don't sweat it. I was just kidding around." She anchored her hands on the sofa back. "Whatcha looking at?"

  "Just a picture that was laying out." He positioned it so she could see. "I hope you don't think I was snooping."

  She bent to look over his shoulder. His smell pricked her nostrils. If she possessed a spontaneous cell in her body, she would crawl over the couch. It seemed the logical thing to do. "That's me and Guinevere. Our mule kicked her, broke her leg. I bet your uncle fixed her up."

  He twisted to face her. His eyes tunneled into hers. Only inches away, they appeared darker blue than at a normal distance. What color eyes would result from mixing green and blue? Purple?

  "You don't remember being there?"

  Her glance shouted, duh. "Like, I was maybe five or six years old. Who remembers stuff from when they're five or six?"

  His look said everybody did. "I do. I remember spending part of a summer with my granny when I was six."

  Liza pinched the bridge of her nose. He would argue with a stump. "What was her favorite thing to wear?"

  "A dress."

  "What color?"

  His shoulders rolled in a shrug. "A blue print with little yellow flowers. Probably dandelions. She liked dandelions."

  She slapped his shoulder. "You're completely making that up. Dandelions are weeds, not flowers. And I've never seen them used on dress material."

  "Fashions change." He raced on before she could object. "But I'd remember if my dog's leg had been broken. And I'd remember who fixed it."

  Why did the memory seem so important to him? "Maybe it'll come back to me."

  Will hesitated before speaking. "I can refresh your memory."

  Her head cocked and a hand cupped her chin. "Really?"

  "I was there."

  "No way." Her hands went to her hips. Since the storm, pictures from the attic had revealed captured images of her life that perched on the cusp of memory, creating a new treasure chest of recollections. Ones seen, though not triggering a sense of having actually been experienced. What snippet would this photo uncover? And where did he get off, trying to take part ownership of a memory clearly belonging to her?

  "Your dad brought the pup to my uncle. You were with him. We fixed its leg. Uncle Bill didn't charge, said y'all were having it rough. When he handed the pup to you, you kissed him on the cheek. Then you turned to me and-"

  She took a step back. "Don't tell me I kissed you too." And don't even ask how I feel about kissing you right now. Where was PJ when she needed her?

  Will laughed. "No, no, no. You stuck out your tongue."

  "I never in my life did such as that." Big fat lie. What about the other day in the cemetery? "Dad would have warmed my hindster."

  "Your back was to him."

  She snorted. He had an excellent memory. "That's bizarre. Is that all you remember about it?"

  "Yep."

  She squinted as she rubbed her jaw. When her dad used yep as an answer, submerged information remained. Intuition screamed that the event mattered more than he acknowledged. Even though it might not be important to her, she wanted to know why. "Are you sure? I think you're holding out on me."

  His eyes broke contact with hers. "Yep. Now, what to do with the smelly guy sitting in your living room?" He dropped the picture back on the pile and picked up the books she had been reading. Mary, Queen of Scots. Plus works by John Wesley and Jonathan Edwards. "I see you're interested in history."

  Liza shuffled her feet and blew at a sprig of hair dangling from her temple. He seemed to be getting ready to go. She had to keep him here. How? Being positioned to kiss as she had been in the kitchen, even unintentionally, hadn't worked, so flirting was out. Eating. Men liked eating. But she needed to not sound over-eager, needy. He had heard Miss Clio's comment about her clock not running backwards. "You're welcome to stay for supper. We told Andy you were. Hate to feel like we lied to him. That is, if you wouldn't mind eating veggies. That's mostly what I eat."

  He put the books on the table and faced her. "Same here. Sometimes."

  Surprise flavored her voice. She took him for a meat and potatoes guy. "For real?"

  "Except for chicken now and then. But they're stupid enough to be considered a vegetable." He stood and smoothed his shirt, ready to leave. The tear-damped spot over his heart was hers poured out. "I don't want the neighbors gossiping about you, so I'll go on. And if I get these samples mailed today, we'll hear back a day sooner. I'd like to some other time. For real."

  She nodded, unable to read his brief smile. Hard to tell whether polite people always told the truth. Was she being rejected? Maybe not. But she sure wasn't being strung along, like PJ worried about. "Are you sure? It's no trouble to set another plate."

  She crossed and uncrossed her arms when he didn't reply at once. The conversational lulls built into men were a near death experience. Countless times she had wanted to bop her dad over the head while he sat reading across from her as an inventory of unused words rotted in her mouth. Strange things happened if she didn't talk.

  He moved around the coffee table. "Yeah, I'd better be going."

  She tilted her head for a moment, frowning. What did she expect? A proposal? "You'll call when you hear the results?" Her voice sounded tinny.

  "Immediato." His eyes met hers in an awkward glance.

  "Thanks for everything." She extended a hand but pulled it back when he stuck his out. The twinkle of the moment dimmed. Would her dad think she was a flirt, behaving this way?

  He smiled at being tricked again. Distrust of her emotions kept her on the porch as he walked to the truck without looking back.

  Arms hugging herself, Liza stood for minutes, focused on the spot where he disappeared from sight. After a glance at the hills, she went back inside, picked up the picture and looked at it, trying to extract it's meaning and strangely warmed as she wondered how God would answer her prayers.

  Like Will, she needed a word, a vision, or a picture.

  Chapter 30

  Thursday

  Will debated stopping by Liza's the next day after work to tell her he would be visiting the cemetery, but thought better of it. No way did he want to get tangled up in those green eyes again. Like Andy said, she needed a keeper. But not him. Loving your neighbor should remain within biblical context. Even when the form and the scent and the heat of her body pressed against him lingered on his skin a day later.

  After walking through the graveyard, praying and listening, Will was no closer to a decision than before. Getting himself out of the way so he could walk by faith was proving harder to do than he thought. It would be so much easier if it made sense. Maybe it did make sense in the spiritual realm. Maybe this was an opportunity to walk by faith and not by sight.

  He imagined what his friends, many not sharing his faith, would say if he chose the Springs because of the old photo in a cantankerous girl's living room. After a conversation with God. It was as if the pool of Bethesda was stirring and he stood beside the swirling waters, waiting. For what? The faith to enter and receive God's blessing inh
erent in obedience? Getting nowhere in the mental tussle, he decided to explore. A small trail, narrow and slick from use, mainly by deer, led from the lower end of the cemetery to the shallow creek. The weathered gray boards of the crumbling church building loomed above him as he hopped rocks across its fifteen foot width. A small trail, narrow and slick from use, probably by deer, leading from the lower end of the cemetery down to the creek and up the opposite side to a crumbling building.

  He stopped before it, imagined the sounds of horses and buggies in years past, the chatter of families excited to see each other after a week of striving to scratch a living from their ground. Mutually shared struggles and hard-earned victories formed the community's currency.

  His feet sent creaks shivering through the sagging floor. The sounds swelled in the emptiness. Screw holes commemorated rows where pews had once stretched in somber rows. The room stood bare save for two chairs near the front, setting near the rickety remains of an old podium and altar. Around the chair were footprints in the dust. Curious, Will bent to examine them. One person. The tread resembled that of a work boot.

  Backing away so as not to advertise his being here, Will walked the perimeter of the room, found no other prints. Liza had mentioned having trouble with trespassers. Maybe he should tell her of his discovery. He moved to one side, took a seat on the windowsill, and bowed his head.

  Prayer eluded him. He bent his head, seeking insight concerning his decision, but was diverted into praying for Otis Spivey. For blessing. For grace. For being born again. For healing in all its facets. For reconciliation. All quite bizarre.

  Afterwards, he looked up, perplexed at the detour his prayers had taken. What was he doing in the Springs? Was he supposed to stay? A small breeze disturbed the treetops. He fought off the notion he was acting foolish, listening like some prophet of old for words the wind might contain. Nothing. Next he would be expecting ravens to bring him a meat and three.

  Why was he still arguing? His prayer in the cemetery was to see a picture. Last Friday, during his conversation with God, he had been nudged to watch out the next week for a word, a vision or a picture.

  He had done that.

  And he had seen a picture.

  The very image that had carried him through veterinary college. Could it be that easy? Or did he need forty-six other confirmations of what the Spirit was saying? After another glance into the old church, he turned and left, feeling he was being watched.

  Next time he spoke with Liza, he would mention his findings. Someone had frequented the dilapidated structure on an ongoing basis.

  Chapter 31

  Friday

  Will slumped in the office chair as he listened to the tech from the state brucellosis lab read the report concerning Liza's cows. Miss Effie busied herself with cleaning a sink, but her ears were working more than her hands.

  Out of the ninety-eight tested, twelve tested positive. They would have to be sold. Those left would be retested in sixty days. Any reacting positive then would have to be sold and the remainder retested in sixty days, the process continuing until there were two consecutive tests two months apart where all tested negative.

  Even if no reactors were found the next two times, losing that many would put a major crimp in her cash flow. He wished there was a practical way to help her besides the small things he had already done. But how would she perceive help? Like he was a stalker?

  Though he had met women with better interpersonal skills, something about her attracted him. He leaned back, looked at the ceiling. Perhaps he was drawn to the niche demographic of surly and sultry and self-sufficient women who extracted necrotic fetal membranes from cows. It could be that simple. Whatever it was, holding her in his arms, feeling their warmth merge, had suspended time, allowing hope time to reappear as the days to make a decision dwindled down. Auburn was putting pressure on him to tell them something, one way or the other.

  He glanced at his watch. He should go during lunch, give her the bad news in person. It seemed too clinical over the phone.

  Miss Effie broke the silence. "I know that was the lab. What's the verdict? Don't keep me in suspense. You know I have a weak heart. Palpitations, they run in my family, that's what Dr. Dudley says." To underscore the fact, she fanned her face with a hand. "That's why I take black cohosh and crampbark."

  The names alone made his stomach squirm. "The news isn't good. I'm going to take an early lunch and drive out there." He paused. Thinking about the entire situation, he remembered the vaccine vial he had found in her barn. Had he dropped it when he first arrived? He didn't think so, but wasn't sure. "Could you do an inventory and see how much Bangs vaccine is on hand? And how much we should have?"

  She crossed her arms, frowned. Keeping a secret form her was like keeping Fay Ray from King Kong. "Why?"

  "I'll explain later. Maybe."

  She fanned her face again. "I mentioned the palpitations. I feel 'em coming on."

  "Creamed cohosh on crampbark is good for that. I'll call in a prescription for you."

  Maybe the drive along the Cumberland would help him sort things out. With the threats from the cases he had lost Monday occupying his thoughts, he wasn't sure if he would stay beyond finishing Liza's case. Despite an inheritance. Despite the picture. Despite his uncle's admonition to do something for God. And someone else.

  Liza was certainly someone else.

  He looked in the mirror. A smile broke across his face. It could be a win-win, obeying Uncle Bill and God.

  ***

  Liza kicked her shoes off, wiggled bare toes against the cool stone porch before plopping on the swing.

  Each movement pinched shrill squeaks from it. A truck engine groaned as it geared down and pulled into the drive. She glanced up as Blue raced toward the road. He'll be smacked dead one of these days. She smiled as Will's truck jerked along, nearly stalling as he rode the clutch to avoid the dog. He must have taken the chiding about driving too fast to heart.

  She sighed. Lower lip pushed out to one side, she attempted to blow curls into place. No time to freshen up. But it was as obvious as the dirt under her nails that he wasn't going to be interested in someone more country than grits. She massaged under her eyes. Pollen. Every spring, it filled her sinuses. She sneezed and resisted the urge to rub her nose as he approached.

  The somber look clouding Will's features as he climbed the steps hollowed her insides. A chill swept over her, shuddering her despite the midday heat. Noticing trembling hands, she clasped them together, hoping he hadn't noticed. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Pulling up a brave smile from a dwindling inventory, she forced herself upright to greet him. "Your driving is improving."

  He acknowledged the compliment with a sarcastic nod. "Watching The Dukes of Hazard seems to help. Hope I didn't interrupt anything."

  "Not really." For a moment, she forgot her problems, felt sorry for him. Strain revealed itself in the tightness around his eyes and mouth. His job must be stressful, dealing with people and their grief on a regular basis. And there was the cloud surrounding his uncle's death. That had to emotionally taxing. "Have a seat. How about a glass of tea? And there's an extra peanut butter sandwich. Crunchy."

  "Sure."

  When she returned, he was staring at the remains of the rose garden. He took the glass, thanked her. The swing shrieked as she sat down. She raised her hands in apology. "Been meaning to either fix it or lose twenty pounds."

  "It can't be your weight. A squirt of WD 40 should take care of it." He took a swig of tea, avoiding looking at her face. "Reckon your roses will live?"

  She shifted in the swing, hoping the springs didn't re-announce her weight. Now sitting in front of you, Lard Butt XXX. "I'd say they'll outlive the both of us."

  "Probably."

  "Have you had a good day?" She took a bite of sandwich.

  "Not bad."

  Men. They said such outrageous things in such outrageous ways. "You ought to notify your face then."

&
nbsp; His attempted smile died in delivery. "I've got other things on my mind."

  Bare feet dragged on the porch as brakes, stopping the swing. Elbows propped on knees, she leaned forward. His eyes avoided hers, focused on her nose. As if she'd never heard of the old trick to win staring contests. Or to avoid intimacy. Since they weren't in a staring contest, it must mean the latter. That thought was as sad as the report she knew he brought. "I'm guessing you didn't drive out here for the peanut butter buffet."

  Will scooted his seat around to face hers, spilling tea on his pants in the process. She handed him a napkin. "The folks from the lab called."

  "And?"

  "I don't know how to say this." His tongue licked at the corner of his mouth. A thumb dragged back and forth over his chin.

  She shrugged. "Try English. Short sentences."

  "Twelve positives." His eyes met hers briefly, then returned to her nose. She hoped it made him dizzy.

  Twelve. Worse than anticipated, not as bad as it might have been. At least their sale price would help against the loan coming due. Tears gathered in the reservoir behind her eyes, threatened to overflow. Her throat tightened. How would she force words around the clog? She coughed to dislodge it. One fist tapped her lower lip. "I see."

  His face was a bleak winter's day in North Dakota. "I'm sorry."

  Liza stared at the rose garden. Focus. Keep breathing. At least she could work on a plan now. Fraying nerves shredded her voice. "No reason to be, I reckon. It's certainly not your fault."

  "I figured you'd rather hear it this way than over the phone."

  "And I appreciate it." She stood, in hopes he could take a hint. Better to be alone when she screamed. And cried. And screamed and cried. And looked in the mirror. "I know you need to get back to town. Have you decided whether or not you're staying?"

  "Not yet." His attention drifted to the dark ground beyond the drive. The slight breeze transported a loamy fragrance containing the scents of death and promise. "I see you've plowed."

  She glanced at the field, laid off in rows straighter than a Marine's back. When she parked last night, her bottom had resembled a tractor seat. "Good thing tractors have lights."