“But not as a love interest. Your soul mate is part of your destiny, and that’s all tied into the life lessons. You won’t recognize him until you figure things out.” She looked at me with eyes that sparkled with wisdom and mischief.
“Okay, if you say so.”
“The spirits say so.”
She let go of my hand and stepped back.
“I’ll see you in three days. Goodbye, Shay.” With that, she walked away.
It was a few minutes before I realized I hadn’t told her my name.
“New in town. Family resemblance. Not a hard guess,” I muttered. I refused to think about how sure the woman had been.
A thought hit me and I smiled. This Aunt Octavia was a real character. I could always use a character. She’d definitely end up in one of my books.
With more enthusiasm than I’d had in a while, I went back to my manuscript.
Chapter 6
The deep pounding sounds of the band KISS jarred me from sleep. Groaning, I peeked at the clock. At least she’d let me sleep until four-thirty. As I stumbled to the bathroom, I remembered why it was never a good idea to argue with the likes of my stubborn cousin.
I made coffee, pulled on my clothes, and took a cup out onto the front porch. The temperature was in the fifties, but with my light jacket and hot coffee, it wasn’t bad. There, in the deep darkness that is night’s attempt to hold back the dawn, I thought about what Aunt Octavia had said about life lessons. It wasn’t that I believed her, exactly. It was more an uncomfortable feeling that somehow she had hit on the truth.
Two quick barks caught my attention. The sound was close, but too deep to be Trixie. Then through the soft lamp light coming from the big front window of Miz Carlisle’s house, I saw the shadowy shape of a big dog. I groaned. Wherever that canine had come from, it would rile the woman up, and that was the last thing we needed. I’d get a flashlight and a leash and see if I couldn’t stop this incident before it got started. Before I could get to my feet, I heard my neighbor’s voice.
“What are you doing bringing that nasty creature to my house?”
“I had no other choice,” a male voice said.
“You have to get it out of here before dawn,” Miz Carlisle said.
“Fine.”
“Don’t ever do this again. You understand me?”
Shadowy figures went through the woman’s front door, leaving the dog outside and muting whatever answer the male had.
“That’s weird,” I muttered into the night, then realized what I’d done. “Damn, when did I develop this ridiculous habit of talking to myself?” I grinned. “Oh yeah, at birth.”
I sat there, staring into the darkness while my writer’s brain threw scenarios at me. What if the man was a foreign agent coming to the house to hide out from the FBI? Why would he go to the home of an old lady? Maybe she was a foreign agent too, or she could be undercover CIA. Nobody would suspect her, that’s for sure.
What if I was looking at it all wrong? What if the man was FBI and Miz Carlisle was a contact? He’d come to her to get away from bad guys, or to set up a future sting. Maybe she was a bad old woman, or maybe another FBI agent.
The door opened and the man came out. Through the murky light across the yard, I saw him get the dog and load it into a car, then head down the road away from me. I smiled to myself at my silly theories. Maybe I could write the incident into a book, or use the ideas I’d generated as fodder for a new plot.
I was opening the front door to go back inside when an idea hit me upside the head. This dude could be the tech thief. I had no idea why he’d go to Miz Carlisle, but she seemed to hate everybody, so I guessed she’d be a natural ally. I shook my head as I walked through the living room. That was as crazy as the other theories I’d spun in my head. Right? Maybe I’d mention it to Ace. Except he already disliked my neighbor. Did I want to give him more ammunition?
I sighed and went into the kitchen. Thumping music still came from behind Terri’s closed door. What a beginning to the day.
****
Three hours later, I was zooming down Interstate 40 in the passenger seat of Ace’s big Xterra thingy. We hadn’t said anything to each other except hello when he arrived at my house. I watched the miles rush by and wished I could think of something cute or sarcastic or funny to say. This was boring. And uncomfortable.
Ace must have been thinking along the same lines. “Have you ever been to Nashville?” he asked.
“Yes, actually. I took my mom there once.” And I’d vowed to never take her again. She was too anxious to fly, so we drove. I’d taken a week off work and built in fun things to do. I thought she’d love the scenery. I’d chosen Nashville because country music was her favorite thing.
She’d spent the bulk of the drive there sobbing without a sound. On the way, we’d visited Savannah and spent a night at the Chattanooga Choo Choo Hotel, but she could have been a zombie for all the interest she showed. I’d been positive that when we finally arrived in Nashville she’d be at least a little happy to be there. I was wrong. She’d walked through town as if drugged, which was ironic because the doctors couldn’t find a drug that helped her.
“Are you okay?”
I jerked out of the pain-inducing ruminations, embarrassed to have been so caught up in the past. Especially in front of Ace. “I’m sorry, I got lost in my own thoughts. How many times have you been to Nashville?”
“Three, all for dog pickups, although I did manage to do some photography the last time.”
“You do mostly animal photography, correct?”
“Yep, actually my work has been published in some prestigious magazines. The newspaper stuff is to supplement that income so that I can do more for the dogs.”
“You sure care a lot about those dogs.”
He gave me a sideways glance.
“Yes, I do. So?”
There was a sharp, defensive edge in those words. Sheesh. “How many dogs do you have?”
“Three of my own, plus ten rescues that will, hopefully, go to forever homes.” The defensive tone of his voice increased.
“Like Hugh.”
He nodded. “Like Hugh.”
“How do you find homes for them?”
“Getting out as much publicity as we can. Petfinders.com, the Internet in general, local groups, adoption fairs, anything we can do to get the word out.”
My ears perked up, and my heart twisted a little. Was he involved with someone? Not that it mattered. Nope, not at all. “We?”
His lips pulled up a little. “Other rescuers.”
I was not happy about the lack of mention of a relationship. Nope. Not my business. “That makes sense.”
He smiled for real then. “You don’t know what to think about a guy who rescues animals.”
“Not the way you do, no.”
“It’s unusual for a man, true. It’s my way of changing the world—at least a little.”
“Why dogs? Why not kids, or the environment, or world hunger?”
His lips pressed together and his hands on the wheel got white. “In other words, something that helps humans.”
Great, I’d insulted him. “Hey, I love animals. It’s just that humans need help too.”
“Then you help them.”
The sharpness in his tone whipped over me.
I clamped my mouth shut before I said something else that upset him. Damn, he had a trigger a breeze could pull.
Ace reached over and flipped on a jazz CD. I sat back, relieved, and listened to the music. Much better than talking. I let my mind slide away into thoughts of my characters. Not the ones in my current manuscript, other characters who inhabited a story that haunted me. A story that was nothing like what I had always written. A story for which I had no editor or publisher or contract. Characters so very different from my usual fare that I was afraid everyone who read the material would think I’d lost my mind. After all, it ran in the family.
“You like jazz?”
It too
k me a second to return my mind to the present. “Actually I do. I write to it sometimes, although I prefer silence.” I shrugged. “When I do listen, I put on a smooth jazz Internet station, so I haven’t put names or titles with anything.”
“Maybe I can give you some suggestions.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
It was quiet again for so long I was beginning to doze off. I know Terri was angry, but why couldn’t she find a way to get back at me that didn’t involve missed sleep?
“We’re early. Would you like to get something to eat?”
My stomach let me know it thought eating would be a good idea. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, we’re meeting the other transporter at Cracker Barrel, so we could eat there.”
I shrugged. “Sounds good.”
We pulled into the parking lot, and Ace parked toward the back near a grassy area. I was grateful for the short walk. Sitting for hours was not my favorite thing to do—unless, of course, there was a laptop in front of me and I was happily playing in a world that existed only in my head.
Ace’s strong hand against my waist gave me no pleasure at all. No tingles. No warm yummies. Really.
We walked into the warm, bustling restaurant. I looked around at the displays of bright, colorful merchandise that was reminiscent of days of long ago and smiled. Since childhood, I’d loved the homey feel and Southern-style food served at Cracker Barrel.
Soon we were ushered into the dining area, and I opened the menu. The photos and descriptions of the food had me realizing how long it had been since breakfast.
“My treat.”
I looked at him. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re doing me a big favor; let me at least pay for your lunch.”
Mine was a turkey sandwich along with vegetable soup. Ace chose a yummy-looking hamburger with thick meat, and piled high with cheese, lettuce, and tomato. The burger was served with thick, crispy steak fries, and I kept glancing over at his plate, wishing I’d given in to my dark side and risked the calories.
“Would you like a bite?”
I actually jumped. My face went hot as I looked at Ace. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Yeah, thinking how much you’d like to have my burger.”
My face was on fire. “Of course not, I’m just preoccupied, that’s all.”
His eyes twinkled as he picked up his knife and cut a nice sized chunk off his burger. He put it on my plate and smiled at me.
“There you go. If you want more, just tell me.”
“Ace—”
“Don’t even go there. Just eat so we can get out there and meet the cat people.”
“Want some turkey sandwich?”
“I’d like that.”
I picked up my knife and cut him a big hunk off. I stole some of his fries, and he took a few spoonfuls of my vegetable soup. I began to relax and by the time we got the check, I had decided I was glad he’d asked me on this trip.
Back at his car, we stood on the grass and let the cool breeze blow around us. I was more relaxed than I’d been in a long time.
A blue SUV pulled in next to us and Ace walked toward it as the driver slid out and stood next to Ace. She was a thirty-something woman wearing a navy track suit and Nikes. She was slim and looked to be in relatively good shape but I somehow doubted she used that suit for much more than errands and transporting animals.
“Barbara?” Ace asked.
“Yes. You must be Ace.”
“In the flesh.” He motioned toward me.
“This is my friend Shay. She was good enough to keep me company on this trip.”
Barbara smiled. “Nice to meet you.” She turned back to Ace. “I appreciate you taking on such a long trip.”
“No biggie,” he said.
They walked toward the back of her SUV and wasted no time moving four small animal carriers from her vehicle to his. In each carrier was a cat, and none of them looked at all happy about the situation.
I went over to the cages and peeked at the furry critters. There was a black and white cat, a tan one that looked to have Siamese heritage, a yellow kitty, and a calico with the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen on an animal. “They’re adorable,” I said.
“And that,” Ace said, “is the reason I asked her along.”
While the two animal people did whatever the hell they did, I talked to the beautiful cats. The calico actually let me pet her with a finger stuck through an opening in the front of the carrier.
“Bonding with the furballs, I see.”
I looked up at Ace and smiled. “They’re sweet.”
“Unlike you.” His voice was teasing.
I made a face at him just about the time the tan cat stuck his paw through an opening in the door and scratched Ace’s arm.
“Damn.” He looked at me as he backed up. “They don’t like me.”
“Must be your charming personality.”
A little growl came from his throat.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
“You’re asking for it.”
His expression was probably meant to be mean, but it looked rather silly to me.
He closed the back while I went around to the passenger seat. For a long time we were both quiet. Somewhere around the halfway mark between Nashville and Atlanta, he said, “What’s your favorite color?”
Trick question? Maybe, but there was no obvious good reason not to answer him. “Red.”
He grinned. “Figures. I knew you were a hot one.”
“Ha ha. What’s yours?”
“Blue.”
“Figures. Cool and relaxed.”
He did that puffed-up-man move. “Yeah, that’s me, cool and laid-back.”
I rolled my eyes. “You like jazz. Any other music?”
“Lots of different kinds. One Direction, Bruno Mars, some hip hop.”
“I lean more toward Adele, Tori Amos, Daya, Kelly Clarkson. And classical.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You like Beethoven and stuff?”
“Yes.” I gave him a don’t-mess-with-me look. “Beethoven is among my favorite composers.”
He shrugged. “Whatever doesn’t sink your kayak.”
The rest of the trip to Atlanta went like that. Teasing banter and information. It wasn’t a bad way to travel.
Ace got quiet as we got closer to the metropolitan area, and I knew he was focusing on the traffic. Anybody who’s ever driven in, around, or through Atlanta can testify to the crazy lanes, the miles of traffic, and the frequent tie-ups of said traffic.
“You’re a good person to do what you do for animals.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
It was quiet after that, as Ace focused on maneuvering through the rising number of lanes and vehicles. I let my thoughts wander. Music, classical, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, ballet.
Crap.
My mood dropped like a piano falling out a second-story window. Thoughts danced through my head, a classroom with mirrors on one long wall and barre on the other. The feel of the sweat-soaked leotard and tights, the ache in my legs as I forced them through a difficult step again and again and again. The frustration when the work wasn’t paying off, and the sweet feeling of accomplishment when everything fell into place and I felt like I was part of some great cosmic movement
There it was, the smell of sweat and ambition and broken dreams. The realization I could never do the thing I wanted the most.
“Finally,” Ace muttered, as he moved into an exit lane and pulled away from the mass of traffic.
Grateful for the distraction, I focused my attention on where we were headed. Before long, he pulled into another Cracker Barrel. “Do animal rescue folks have stock in Cracker Barrel?” I asked.
“It’s just a convenient place to transfer.” His voice sounded strained, more than just what would be expected from a driver who had just faced the wilds of Atlanta traf
fic.
Great, now I was going to be riding home with an irritable guy I wasn’t crazy about in the first damn place.
He pulled in next to a light blue van with C.R.A.P. written in letters formed from drawings of cats in convoluted positions. In small regular letters below that were the words: Cat Rescue And Protection. “Do they realize their logo is less than professional?”
Ace shrugged. “It gets attention, and that’s what it’s all about. Attention gets you free publicity, contributions, and interest in adopting.”
“I guess.”
He ignored me and got out. He went over to meet with the humans, and I headed to the back to talk to the four-legged critters. I was beginning to understand the charm of furry balls that didn’t give you crap. Hmm, maybe the group’s name had significance after all.
I was smiling at the fuzzy balls of sweetness when a short, square person—no kidding, the woman bore an unfortunate resemblance to Sponge Bob—marched up to me. “Please do not pick at the felines.”
“I was just talking to the gorgeous things.” I smiled as I touched the paw the sweet faced tan cat had extended through an opening in the door.
“Humph,” she snorted, her expression one of a person who was chronically constipated. She didn’t say anything else though.
Another, more normal-shaped, woman joined us, and I backed away from the furballs.
The two women took the carriers to the C.R.A.P. van, and drove away. I went around to the front of our vehicle. I saw Ace, his back turned to me, cell phone to his ear, shoulders forward almost as if he’d just taken a punch in the stomach.
“I’m at the Cracker Barrel,” he said. Then, after a pause. “Sure, I’ll wait here for you.”
I went toward him as he clicked off his phone and turned. “Everything all right?” I asked, though it was obvious something was amiss.
“Damn humans! People don’t care about anything but themselves.”
My hand touched his arm before my brain kicked in. “What happened?”
“The Labs will be coming with us. The people who adopted them decided they didn’t want to fool with two big dogs.”
He took a breath, then met my gaze.
“They went through the screening process. They have a large, fenced-in backyard. They seemed the perfect people to adopt two big dogs. Then, after three months, they suddenly decide they don’t want to ‘fool with them.’ Don’t they care about the dogs at all?”
Doggone Ugly Creek Page 6