She took him first to an empty house in the new family-style subdivision. Kids on bikes and skateboards cluttered the streets, and skinny new trees struggled to survive in the red clay. He wasn’t impressed though the house was fine, three bedrooms with a fireplace in the living room and a double carport.
“I can see you’re not bowled over,” Cinda said, “so we’ll just keep this one in mind.”
The second house was better, on a tree-lined street off the main drag, small and neat, with a white picket fence along the front. The rooms were dark but clean, with high ceilings, lots of old cabbage rose wallpaper, and lace curtains. Very pretty. And very feminine.
He looked at Cinda. “Let’s look at the last one.”
The last house was an old carriage house that’d been renovated into a guest house. It had high ceilings, plenty of light, and a fireplace that dominated the living room. It sat behind the main house by at least thirty yards, separated by a thick boxwood hedge, private and accessible by the rear alley, with a bricked courtyard heavy with blooming plants. There was only one bedroom, but that was all he needed. It was already furnished. He nodded.
“Yeah. This feels right. Will the owner rent to me?”
“Yes. The property belongs to Ridgeway Realty.”
He glanced up at the main house, one of the oldest in Cane Creek, a two-story white mansion that had been built twenty years before the Civil War. “So who owns that house?”
“It also belongs to the realty company.” She said it coolly, with no inflection, but he read what she didn’t say.
“And you own Ridgeway Realty.”
She met his eyes, hers cool and green. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
He shrugged. “Not to me.”
“Then we’ll draw up the contract. You can come in tomorrow afternoon and sign it. It’s very simple, first month’s rent and a security deposit up front. Three hundred each. For an extra fifteen a month, you’ll have access to the washer and dryer in the basement of the main house.”
“Who lives in the main house?”
“I do.”
Right. He didn’t know what to say to that so didn’t say anything. It seemed safer.
Neither said anything until they were almost back at the motel. Then she asked, “Why did you come back, Chantry?”
He didn’t bother with a long, involved reply. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth. I think I know, but maybe it’s just an excuse. I’m doing my residency with Doc. A preceptorship for veterinary school. I’m in my last year at Mississippi State.”
He turned to look at her, studied her profile, the straight nose and full mouth, classical and just flawed enough to save her from the impression of a cold statue. God, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t help his reaction, more than just physical, but a feeling deep down in his gut that he’d lost something precious.
“Why’d you stay?” he asked more roughly than he intended.
After a moment, she said softly, “I don’t know.”
He understood. Life had a way of doing that sometimes. Presenting questions with no clear answers. Or answers you’d rather not face, anyway.
There were other questions he wanted to ask, ones that would take a lot longer than a few minutes or words to answer. He wasn’t sure he should ask, but it came out anyway before he could stop it: “Are you married?”
“No. And since you were with Cathy, I assume that you aren’t married now either.”
Denial never had done any good, even when it was true, so he didn’t bother with it now. “Never been married.”
“Spoken like a confirmed bachelor.”
“Yeah. Haven’t seen much to recommend it.”
Now she looked at him, a brief turn of her head with an expression he couldn’t read on her face. Like she was remembering Mama and Rainey, and the hell of their lives together. Or maybe she was thinking about her own parents, a match made for mutual advantage if not for love. He’d never quite figured that one out, but he’d never tried too hard, either. There had been lots of other things on his mind back then.
An awkward silence stretched, and then they were at the motel and he knew he should get out of the car. He delayed the moment, and she said nothing to hasten it either. They sat silently in the whoosh of air coming from the vents, while the hot sun baked the parking lot.
“How’s Mikey?” she asked finally.
“Walking on his own now since he got the last operation on his feet. In college. Thinks he knows more than he does. The usual.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. He was a sweet little kid. He deserves success.”
“He gave it to me that day. You know. The bracelet you sent for my birthday.”
Something else stirred between them now besides the awkwardness, old memories maybe, a sense of loss, of tentative reconnection. He saw her glance toward his wrist, and shook his head.
“I had to stop wearing it when I was in the service. After—it just never felt right again.”
“You were in the service?”
“Yes.” He paused, then added, “Marines. A long time ago. A few months after high school graduation.”
She studied him for a moment. “Maybe that explains it then.”
He stared at her. “Explains what?”
“You . . . your hardness now. I mean . . . you always had this wary look in your eyes, like you were just waiting on something to happen, but there was always a . . . a sweetness about you, too. A kindness.”
“So now I’m Jack the Ripper?”
“No. Of course not.” She looked away, at her hands on the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s just because you’re older. So tall and . . . and dark. I don’t know. There’s a difference, though.”
He didn’t doubt that. He just hadn’t realized it was so obvious. It made him feel uneasy, tense. Uncertain.
“Maybe I have changed,” he said after a minute. “It’s been fourteen years. I couldn’t stay sixteen forever.”
“No, and neither could I. But I always thought . . . when I was eighteen, that you’d come back.” She laughed softly, but it sounded sad. “I actually expected you to show up on my birthday that year. Silly to remember that now.”
He couldn’t say anything.
“When you didn’t come or call,” she said after another moment ticked past, “I knew you were really gone, that you never meant to come back at all. That I had to go on with my life. So I have. I put you from my mind nearly twelve years ago and until two days ago, I thought you were gone forever. Now you’re back. I hope it’s for the right reasons.”
He couldn’t tell her why, couldn’t give her right reasons when he didn’t know himself, had no idea why he’d felt compelled to come back here when he knew he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. And he didn’t want to tell her that he’d never let himself think about her, never again let himself be stupid enough to dream things that’d never happen. All his dreams had turned to ash a long time ago, and he knew the futility of wanting something that was out of reach. It was safer to focus on life’s necessities, not the intangibles.
“Me too,” was all he said, and could tell from her suddenly opaque eyes that it wasn’t the right thing to say. She looked away.
“Nancy will have the paperwork ready for you tomorrow. We’re open until six, but if you need her to bring it by to you later in the day, she’ll make arrangements. I have plans to leave town for my annual vacation this week so doubt I see you again before my return. I’ll be gone for a month or two. My caretaker will be there should you need anything done in the carriage house.”
He might have said something then, he didn’t know what, but she stuck out her hand when he turned toward her and said simply, “Goodbye, Chantry. And good luck.”
“Yeah. You, too. Thanks for—helping out.”
He shook her hand, a swift impersonal gesture, then got out of the car and shut the door. She drove away and it felt o
ddly like another loss. One more thing Mikey was right about—he really was a dumbass.
CHAPTER 29
Dale Ledbetter looked very much the same. A little gray in his hair, maybe a few more lines around the eyes, but other than that, it could have been the week before since he’d last seen him. Apparently, Ledbetter found Chantry greatly changed.
“Damn, son, what have you been doing since you left town? Bounty hunting?” He grinned when he said it, but it was obvious he meant it, too.
If one more person told him he looked hard, Chantry figured it’d be time for him a career change. Maybe bounty hunting. One thing for sure, it was getting old fast. He shrugged.
“Little of this, little of that. Mostly going to school.”
Ledbetter nodded. “Been what, now—twelve, thirteen years?”
“Something like that. So, you said there’s a problem with your bull?”
“That’s another reason why I got Doc out here. Off his feed. Got a pup not doing so well, either. Needs to be checked out. Hey, whatever happened to that dog you had, son?”
“He’s half-deaf, half-blind, still lame.”
“Still alive? Damn. Well, I’m not surprised. You always had a way of getting things done that you wanted.”
It was amazing what some people thought of him, the memories they had very different from how he remembered those days. He remembered the losses most.
While Doc checked out the bull, Chantry went to look at the dog. It was a stock dog, a young Catahoula pup that reminded him of Shadow. It sat lethargically in the run, squinting in the bright sunlight. He checked it out, noted the tucked up abdomen, asked a few questions, did a brief examination.
“Is this a new dog?”
Ledbetter nodded. “Supposed to have all his shots. What’s up?”
“Looks like canine hepatitis. There’s reddening of the lining of the mouth, throat, and his eyelids. Probably need to take him into the clinic, put him on some IVs and do some blood work. Have you seen any diarrhea? Vomiting?”
“No. What about my other dogs?”
“Those who haven’t been inoculated yet need a vaccine. Wash down all the cages and disinfect them, and anyone that feeds should disinfect hands and boots. The virus spreads by direct contact with an infected dog, but can also get carried into runs, cages, food dishes. Watch the other dogs, and if you see any blue eyes, increased thirst or lack of appetite, get them in to the clinic pretty quick. Got a crate?”
Ledbetter called one of his workers to bring a crate for the pup, and they loaded the dog into Chantry’s car while he checked out the other dogs. None showed any symptoms, and he told Ledbetter to bring any in that hadn’t yet had their ICH vaccines. Then he went to tell Doc what was going on, and that he’d be at the clinic if he needed him.
Knee-deep in cow manure and cranky bull, Doc waved him on. Ledbetter walked him to his car, stood for a moment, hands deep in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Finally he just nodded toward the dog in the rear of the car.
“He’s in good hands, son. Glad you’re back.”
Well, there were three people glad to see him. Four, if he counted Cathy Chandler. Not really good odds in a town of nearly two thousand. But when had he ever worried about the odds being in his favor?
Back at the clinic, he did the blood work and put the pup on an IV. It was doing pretty well, all things considered. No bloody diarrhea yet, so it might just have a mild infection. He’d known dogs to die within a few hours of the first symptoms. This pup might just make it.
Doc had a new assistant. Mindy Rowan, who used to babysit Mikey after Mama died. She looked at Chantry sideways sometimes and kept her distance, but wasn’t unfriendly. She had to be in her mid-twenties by now, several years younger than him, and was married with a couple of kids under the age of three. She called him Doctor or sir instead of by his first name. It made him feel suddenly ancient, but then, he’d always felt old.
“Doctor, Mrs. Tidwell is here with Precious,” Mindy said from the clinic doorway, “and is insisting that someone look at him right now. What should I tell her?”
“Precious. That cat’s still alive? Jesus. He has to be—how old?”
“Sixteen, almost seventeen. And he’s not as sweet as he used to be.”
“You’re joking, right? He was never sweet. An ill-tempered beast if ever there was one. If she wants me to look at him, though, I will.”
Precious hadn’t improved over the years. Fat, white, prone to bouts of diarrhea probably caused by Mrs. Tidwell feeding him people food instead of sticking to a decent feline diet, the cat apparently remembered Chantry as well. He hissed and moaned, showing fangs and claws from the safety of Mrs. Tidwell’s chubby embrace.
Chantry eyed Precious. Mrs. Tidwell eyed Chantry. “Don’t I know you?”
“Yes, ma’am. What’s the matter with Precious today?”
“He’s sick. Pooping everywhere. Aren’t you that boy who used to work here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mindy, will you please hold Precious on the examining table?” He took his temperature, another adventure in veterinary technique, then dosed him with KP Plus before saying, “If you want him to live a long time, you’ll stop feeding him stuff that’s making him sick. Stick to a good brand of cat food with only occasional feline treats.”
Mrs. Tidwell bristled. “Precious eats only the best food. I feed him what I eat.”
He eyed her portly frame for a beat, and remembered that part of veterinary medicine was supposed to treat the animal’s owner as well as the sick animal. He doubted Mrs. Tidwell would appreciate him advising her to push back from the table, however, so he said only, “It’s too rich for him and will probably kill him if you keep it up. He needs vitamins and nutrients not found in our food. There are several brands you can choose from, either here or at any pet store. Mindy will get you the names. Give him five cc’s of the KP three times a day. It has an antibiotic in it.”
“Doctor Malone said giving Precious chicken and tuna is just fine.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean KFC and Starkist. You’ll end up killing him.”
“Here, Mrs. Tidwell,” Mindy said, “I have you a new bottle of KP Plus all ready. And I’ll get you that list.”
Mrs. Tidwell glowered at Chantry but she followed Mindy out front. He was glad to get to the back again. It was safer with the animals.
Mindy came to the back a few minutes later and leaned in the doorway. She wore her brown hair high in the front so that it looked like an air scoop on a hot rod hood from the sides and back, but the rest was long, caught back in a ponytail. With one hand on her hip, she said, “You might need to work on your people skills.”
“Why? I don’t like most people. I prefer animals. At least they’re honest.”
“But animals don’t write the checks.”
“I’m not doing this for money.”
“Good thing. You might want to discuss it with Doc, though. He still has to pay rent.”
Right. “Yeah. Thanks for the advice. Where does Doc keep the Betadine these days?”
Mindy got it for him, gave him a look, then went back up front while he cleaned a spider bite on a cockapoo. He’d never really thought too much about that part of veterinary work. His focus had always been on the animal, not the people connected with the animal. Shortsighted of him.
Doc got back to the clinic a little after noon. He told Mindy to go to lunch, then went in the back with Chantry. “How’s the Ledbetter pup?”
“I think he’ll be okay. Got it in time. He knows to watch for symptoms in the other dogs for the next week. Where’d he get the dog? They’ll probably have an outbreak soon, if they don’t already.”
Scrubbing up at the deep sink, Doc nodded. “Yeah. I think he got it from a breeder down in Madison County. He said he’d call. Got the pup in quarantine?”
“Yeah. The pup should have been inoculated. He’s old enough. Ledbetter needs to hire
someone new to check up on all that.”
“Some folks get lax. Lazy. Or just don’t give a damn. I run into that a lot.”
“Man who doesn’t want to take proper care of his animals shouldn’t be allowed to own any.” Chantry stood up, closed the door to a bottom cage where he’d put the dog with the spider bite.
“No one’s figured out how to discourage people from having kids they don’t take proper care of yet, so I figure it’ll be a while before they get around to preventing the same people from owning animals. Anyone come in while I was gone?”
“Mrs. Tidwell.”
Doc grinned. “Glad I had my arm up a cow’s ass and you got stuck with Precious. The usual, I suppose.”
“Hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. That cat should have shit itself to death years ago.”
“I think he’s still alive out of sheer spite. People should have it so good.”
Chantry didn’t answer. Precious was one of the lucky ones. For some reason, he thought of Tansy’s cats then, wondered how many were still alive, and remembered the old yellow tom. It was unlikely he was alive. Feral cats had a much shorter lifespan than house cats. Disease or wild animals or both got them within a few years. Maybe it was better that way. Living wild and free for a short time was preferable to being cooped up in a velvet prison for too long. When it came to some cats, anyway. Just like some people, he guessed. There were those who liked living on the edge, and those who liked security too much to take any risks. He fell somewhere between. And wasn’t happy being in the middle. But then, he hadn’t been happy at either end.
After the clinic closed for the day, Chantry went by the real estate office. Nancy Owen was waiting on him, looking uncomfortable. She had to be somewhere around his age but he didn’t really remember her from school. She had brown hair and pale eyes, and gave him nervous glances like she expected him to pounce on her at any moment as she handed him the paperwork. It was a simple lease with the usual caveats and conditions, renewable month to month. Probably to give either him or Cinda or both a chance to get out easily if it didn’t work out.
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