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Page 14
“Is it really that bad? I just, I had one more thing to buy and I hate to go to the emergency room for this.” She let out a groan. “I am going to kill Lance Curtis.”
“I’ve got a first aid kit in the car. We can butterfly that closed, give you something for the throbbing, maybe some ice, and I’ll help you finish up your shopping. It’s only about three little stitches to stop the bleeding.”
“Stitches!” she squeaked.
“Steri-strips. Just think of it like a band-aid. No pain there. No worse than that lump you’re going to have tomorrow.”
“You sure?” she knew her tone was too hopeful. “But wait. God, I feel awful. You’re probably here to do your own shopping, Dr. . . . uhm,” She drew a blank. She could have told you his name a hour ago, before the conk on the head, but now all she could see were his beautiful eyes.
“Gabriel McAllister, remember? Call me Gabe, everybody does.” So Norm’s nephew was named for an archangel. His decided aura of masculinity didn’t quite fit with the name. He’d returned with a cup of ice and soon they were already across the parking lot at his Jeep, an old Grand Cherokee with wood panels that had seen better days, and not recently. Carpet remnants lined the back, stacked with some equipment that had a very medical look about it. He sat her down on the tailgate, produced a large bandage, filled it with ice, expertly folded it closed, and had her press it against the cut. Then he reached past her for a large white plastic box duct taped to the interior wall. The case was full of hypodermic needles, white medical tape, gauze and a variety of swabs and bottles.
“That stuff isn’t for cattle, is it?” Grace asked speculatively.
“Nope, just dogs and cats. But you’d be surprised at how we treat cuts and scrapes on a dog or a cat. Not much different than you or I. At least we won’t have to shave your forehead to get this tape to stick.” He leaned over her and dabbed antiseptic while she winced.
He smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower; fresh soap and the faint summery scent of clean laundry. As he moved closer, she saw a shadow of hair above his top shirt button. Grace decided to study her shoes instead.
“Look up.”
She obediently tipped her head back so quickly that it made resounding contact with the bottom of a very square, freshly shaven chin. He was chuckling.
“I’m not used to patients that follow directions.”
He was smiling again. She could see the faintest outline of a scar down his left cheek. The edge was rough, down to his jaw, giving him a man-made dimple. She wondered about the scar. It had likely been obvious when he was a child but now, barely visible, it added to the latent sex appeal.
“So, your family must be—Scots?”
“Yep. McAllisters married McNeals, McNeals married McDonalds. Stayed within the clans all the way down the line. Even Cindy and Connie are Campbells.” He tossed the tape in the white case and closed it. Then reached to lift her hair and survey his handiwork. “Not bad. You’re much more attractive than my last patient.”
Grace tried to arch her eyebrow, but it hurt, so she settled for a piercing stare.
Gabe laughed at her again. “Don’t be offended, it wasn’t the backside of Bouche’s old mule I worked on. It was an eight-week-old puppy with a torn dewclaw. And while he was an AKC registered beauty, you have him beat.”
“Thank you, I think.” The deadly dimple appeared again.
“C’mon, Grace. Let’s go enjoy a consumer’s Christmas!” They headed back into the fray.
Grace had never spent time with a man that enjoyed crowds and shopping malls, much less a toy store, as much as Gabriel McAllister. He helped her select a remote control car for Derry and an electric learn-and-play toy for the four-year-old Willie. They laughed at tumbling penguins in the toy store window and then picked out book bags for Gina and Derry. Gabe insisted on buying books for each of the children, James Herriot’s “Moses the Kitten” for Gina and “Dog Stories” for Derry. The four-year-old would have a word book shaped like an Old English sheepdog made from brightly colored cardboard. He watched her admire crystal ornaments on the department store trees, pointing out porcelain turtle doves and a tree covered with animal ornaments. Gabe picked out two crystal stars, “for Cindy and Connie. They love this stuff, you know.”
“Believe me, I know.” She told him about the appearance of the box of ornaments with the note.
“Didn’t you ever wonder how Norm and Ed get up to so much? They just always seem to be around when they’re needed, don’t they?” Gabe read her thoughts, murmuring down to her while he studied a glittering angel.
“It is amazing. You know, I’m beginning to wonder about those two, Gabe.” They were standing close together, admiring the tree, when Lancelot Curtis came around the corner, a large bag from the men’s department over his arm.
“There you are, Gracie, I looked everywhere for you! Now then, you aren’t still upset about that moment we had in the parking lot, are you?” He was forced and cheerful but his eyes narrowed when he saw the proximity of Gabe to his victim.
“It’s Grace.” She answered through clenched teeth. She really did not like this man.
“Good job, Lancelot. She only needed four stitches.” Gabe commented dryly.
“Oh, come now. You can’t be serious.” The pout was back on Lance’s slightly pudgy face. He really did have a weak chin, Grace thought.
Grace lifted her hair from her forehead defiantly, eyes shooting sparks.
“You ought to give Anthony Turner a call, Grace. I hear he takes on personal injury cases for family and friends.” Gabe looped one arm through hers and was steering her toward the escalator.
“You can’t be serious. Gracie, wait.” A throng of shoppers moved between them, allowing Gabe and Grace time to jump on the escalator. Gabe took the opportunity to slide his arm around her again by carefully taking the package she had been holding for him out of her hand. She looked back down and saw Lance Curtis shooting daggers at Gabriel McCallister’s back.
“Gracie?” Gabe asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Only for family. Normally it doesn’t bother me, but when Lancelot Curtis calls me that, it gives me the willies. As one of my students would say ‘Ewwwwwww.’ ”
Two hours later they ended up in the darkness of a mall restaurant bar, sipping salty margaritas and wolfing down appetizers.
“So, you think you’ll stay?” Gabe asked. “In the house?” she nodded at his question. “I hadn’t thought of leaving. I just got here. Well . . . I don’t know if I’ll stay in the Bouche place. I like it there, but Mr. Bouche won’t sell. It would be good to have something of my own.”
“Are you sure he won’t sell? You might ask Norm. He’s got some pull there. But I meant in Franklin Hill. Pretty slow here after living out east isn’t it?”
Grace wasn’t sure how Gabriel McAllister knew the details of her life. Small town gossip, no doubt.
“It was good to live there. A worthwhile—” she searched for the word. “—experience. But, it can be a cold place without family around. If there had been a job here,” she shrugged, “I might have come back sooner.”
He leaned back, watching her. The look was one of satisfaction at her answer. “So you don’t mind small towns.”
“Mind them? No. I’ve missed it since the day I left.” He looked expectant, like he was settling in for an explanation. Grace went on, “It feels different in Franklin Hill, even smells different. The people aren’t like anyone I’ve met anywhere else. It just feels like home. There’s something here you can’t find other places.” She knew she was talking too much.
“Driving down Main Street in the spring and seeing the trees turn pink, smelling Darla Jinks’ bakery on Saturday morning or going to the old library and knowing that Granny Stillwell was there when she was a girl, borrowing books. Watching the river every day and seeing thunderstorms come over the bluffs. Wondering what it looked like before.”
“A hundred years ago?” he asked.
“I think it was probably beautiful. Rugged, but beautiful.”
“Just think, there were bears here then. Imagine that! Bears and mountain lions in Missouri.”
Gabe smiled and leaned forward. “I have news for you, Grace. The bears are back and mountain lions are making inroads.”
Grace laughed.
“Yes, they caught two off-season hunters out at Schull Knob, running for their lives. Jim Gowert, the conservation agent, said they were white as sheets, insisting they’d seen bear up in the woods. He didn’t believe a word of it at first, then he called me after he spotted the tracks. We took a plaster cast and did a little research. Small black bear, about a year old, probably a male run off by his mother. Usually happens in the spring. You know, the settlers killed nearly as many bear as they did deer in the early years. The state used to be full of them.”
“Amazing!” Grace was fascinated. A thought occurred to her. She asked with horror, “You don’t treat bears, do you?”
A chuckle. “No, Grace. We leave that to the Conservation Department vets. Bears aren’t one of my specialties.”
He walked her out to her car and they deposited the packages in the back. It had turned colder again. The wind coming across the parking lot was bitter. He opened the door for her and then leaned against it as she climbed in. There was a comfortable silence.
“Thank you, Gabriel McAllister. You are a life saver.” Grace leapt into the breach, unable to think of any other reason why he’d spent the afternoon and then evening with her unless it was to foil Lance Curtis’ plans.
He watched her start the station wagon, muffler rattling and in need of replacement, and waved as she drove off into the chilly evening. Gabriel McCallister thought Grace Phillips might be worth watching out for.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The interest Grace took in her new veterinarian had postponed any thoughts about the upcoming wedding. While Grace wanted to see her sister happily on her way in life with Mercer, she found wedding planning with Ellie tedious and a little on the ridiculous side. After all, Babe didn’t seem to care what went on, so why go to a lot of fuss?
She supposed there had been a time when she was a little girl where she’d looked with envy at wedding dresses and diamond engagement rings but somewhere after college that came to an end. One or two close encounters with men who had marriage on their mind had made her run the other direction. The brief living-in arrangement she’d tried while she was away from her family had not gone well. She felt smothered and anxious, trying to care for a man who really had no interest in caring for himself. While they had enjoyed socializing together and going out with friends, behind closed doors she found herself resentful of picking up someone else’s dirty laundry and cleaning a bathroom after a man who couldn’t even see his way clear to close the lid on the toilet. She wondered if she was just too difficult to get along with. Perhaps she expected too much of everyone, including herself.
She broached the subject in a late night conversation with Babe.
“Babe, I just wondered—how do you know this is going to work? I mean, I know you know Mercer, have known him for a long time, but aren’t you afraid . . . ” her voice faded. “Afraid he’ll drive me out of my mind?” Babe’s question was tinged with laughter.
“Well, no. I mean yes. I mean, God, Babe, what if he expects you to be his maid?” She hated asking, but there it was, Out on the table.
Babe was now having a good laugh at Grace’s expense.
“Gracie, do you know who does all the cooking when we are together?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s Mercer. If he doesn’t feel like it, we take a ride the twenty miles into town to eat. Sometimes we do that two nights in a row, sometimes we don’t go into town for two or three weeks. Do you know who does the dishes? I do. But I don’t cook unless I want to. And when Greg eats with us, he does the dishes. ”
Grace tried to picture the deep-voiced Indian, Mercer's soon-to-be best man, who could have been a picture on a postcard for the Native Tribes, with a dishcloth in his hands.
“No.”
“Yes. Greg enjoys a home-cooked meal, no matter who fixes it and he’s been living alone a long time. Mercer figured out years ago that I would eat peanut butter and jelly every night if I’d been ranching all day. And he loves to cook.”
“But Babe, you are a great cook, I don’t get it.” She hated that she was making this argument. It sounded like she was defending what women had worked for almost a century to overcome. She was trying to slot Babe right back into that world of cooking, cleaning and bearing children.
“But it’s not important to me to do it all the time. It is to Mercer. And he doesn’t want anybody taking care of him.”
“Okay. So, who cleans the bathroom?”
Babe burst into laughter again. “He cleans his bathroom and I clean mine, Gracie. And when we get married, we’ll each still have our own bathroom! But Juanita, Greg’s cousin, will probably come once every two weeks or so to help out. She’s going to school at night and needs the money. I’m not proud, you know. I hate cleaning the bathroom and so does your future brother-in-law!”
Well, thought Grace, at least that was realistic. Babe knew her own weaknesses.
“Listen, Gracie. We’re different, Mercer and I. Mercer is—” the laughter was gone, replaced by serious reflection. “—in some ways, Mercer is everything I’m not. He’s patient. He listens. He doesn’t run head long into trouble. He isn’t unnerved by watching me break a horse. He doesn’t try to talk me out of living my life out here. He’s careful and he’s solid. I can count on him. I know he’ll always be there for me.” There was a silence. Grace wasn’t sure what else she could or should ask. Would Babe want to live with him the rest of her life? Would she grow tired of sleeping with the same man every day, seeing the same face? But it all seemed too personal to give speech to her thoughts.
“Did you know that Mercer writes poetry?”
Grace spluttered. “What?“
“Yes, Grace. There are some unusual things about him. He isn’t everything you see there. Still waters run deep.”
Babe was marrying a man that wrote poetry. Grace was stunned. Impetuous, wild, carefree Babe with sober, silent, poetic Mercer.
“We’ll have to work things out. I figure he’ll probably be a cover stealer in bed. And I know he snores. He rattled the windows on that camper we brought home with us a few weeks ago.” They laughed together.
“But, even with all that,” Babe went on, “there isn’t anybody else like him, Grace. Nobody.” She paused, “He’s the one who makes me watch the sunsets, Gracie. He makes me see what I would otherwise miss.”
The rehearsal dinner was held in the large community hall annex of the Woods Chapel. The local florist and several of her employees had descended on the church on December 23rd with a vengeance. Silver taper candles glowed in tiers in the windows, greenery and delicate pewter roses surrounded each arrangement. Refusing to bow to the fashion of long “head tables” overlooking the guests, making the bride and groom as unapproachable as royalty, Ellie brought in a large round table to seat all fourteen guests. A full-size Christmas tree formed from brilliant red poinsettias filled one corner of the room. Each place setting held an evergreen spray circling a heavy gold napkin and a pewter-colored rose. The bride and groom had given Darla Jinks the seating arrangement along with envelopes for each guest on thick, cream-colored paper, beautifully inscribed with each name, that were sealed and placed under the gold chargers, in waiting for the meal to begin. The smell of seared lamb and sirloin came from the large grills set up in the parking lot by Maury Gretz from the Draft House, who had been recruited to help the festivities along. Maury was sporting his signature handlebar mustache, but had donned a formal white shirt with black bowtie. The rolled shirtsleeves while he tended his
grill somewhat diminished the effect of a grand chef, but still, he had made the effort, Grace thought.
Grace resisted the urge to dress too casually for the event, although Babe herself had sworn she would wear nothing but jeans after this “craziness was all over.” A berry-red sweater fell off her shoulders in folds, fitted at a waistline that the dreaded yoga kept reasonably narrow. For a woman approaching middle age at a sprint, she thought — or at least hoped — it was acceptable. A black crepe skirt, kick pleat showing more leg than one could allow in the office, accompanied the sweater along with peep-toe heels. It felt like she was going to a holiday party, she thought as she put simple diamond earrings in her ears. The earrings, a gift from the lazy live-in lover had been a costly inducement for her to continue to live with him. She had tried to return the expensive bribe, but the man had adopted a sniffling martyrdom, refusing to believe that Grace would never see him again. So the stones sat in her jewelry box while Grace tried to forget the whole sordid affair. She turned her head and looked at her reflection in the glass doors of the chapel. Evidently she was now over it and could enjoy the earrings, or at least wear them on occasion. It was fun to be out, to be with family, and to be part of Babe’s wedding. The smile on her face couldn’t be diminished by the shadow of an old lover.
Grace arrived early to meet the minister, Sherry Tingmeyer, who would perform the service. As she cruised the room and surveyed the place settings, Grace was pleased to see she had been seated beside Greg Ten Horse, Mercer’s best man. She had always liked Greg. His friendship with Mercer was easy to understand. He was quiet and a pleasure to have around. Greg was also very enjoyable to look at, even if he wasn’t quite her type. She moved down and around the table to see who Ellie had put on her other side, then blinked at the name on the place card. Gabriel McAllister. What was Gabriel McCallister doing at Babe’s rehearsal dinner? Her eyes narrowed. Granny Stillwell had mentioned two ushers who were “regular members of the congregation helping out.” She looked past Gabe’s assigned seat to the next one. Norman McCallister. Norm was here. Without Ed. That was odd. She had never seen the two apart. She found herself standing, arms folded, puzzling this out. Why did a small wedding of less than forty guests need ushers anyway? Granny Stillwell was up to something. She was sure of it.