White Picket Fences

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Wonder why nobody told us when we were growing up that while we were building one kind of skill, we were missing out on another. All the emotional stuff—the dates, the fumbling first kisses, the hurt feelings. Those were experiences we needed and didn’t get.”

  “They didn’t tell us any of that stuff because winning is everything,” Randi told her friend, the knowledge as natural to her as the air she breathed. Competition was a fact of life, and the point of competing was to win.

  “We just didn’t know, until it was too late, that when we chose to win physically, we were losing something else just as vital,” Barbara murmured.

  “But it’s not necessarily fatal,” Randi said now, barely hiding the question in her statement.

  Barbara had managed, somehow, to win on all counts. She and Randi never spoke of the relationship Barbara had embarked on almost a year before. Randi had never even met the woman, but she knew the relationship was stronger than ever.

  She’d seen the change in her friend. The easy light in her eyes, the peace that had replaced the nervous tension in Barbara’s every movement.

  “It’s damn hard,” Barbara said slowly, “to coax out that emotionally retarded child inside of you. To risk feeling like a fool as you learn things about yourself, about life, that most people learn when they’re teenagers.”

  Randi wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. And yet, wasn’t it exactly why she’d called her friend? Because she knew Barbara had grown up the same way she had—with one hundred percent dedication to her goals.

  And they were women in a man’s world, to boot. Fighting not only to develop their talents to almost impossible levels, they’d also had to compete with men—for sponsorships, for trainers, for facility time. Even for comps. All the factors essential to a young athlete’s success came so much more readily to men than to women.

  She and Barbara and others like them had had to be strong on every front. Which left no room whatsoever for the softer things in life. Like giving one’s heart.

  Yet Barbara had finally found a way. She’d come to terms with her sexuality. She’d risked everything for the chance to not be alone.

  “And what if you’re more comfortable with the status quo?” Randi asked.

  “Of course you’re more comfortable,” Barbara said. “Who wouldn’t be? It’s what you’re familiar with, what you know.”

  “And you think that’s wrong?”

  “Not necessarily. Not if comfortable is enough for you.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Randi wasn’t sure one way or the other; she just wanted to be aware of all the possibilities.

  “Then you have a long—uncomfortable—road ahead of you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, almost two weeks after her not-quite-successful date with Zack Foster, the Montford Pet Therapy Club held its first meeting. Several creative excuses for missing the get-together entertained Randi on and off throughout that day.

  Maybe her Jeep was in the shop and if she didn’t pick it up by four o’clock, she couldn’t have it until the next day and then she’d have no way to get to work in the morning. Or to escape her home that evening in case of some dire emergency.

  She worked on that one for quite a while, coming up with different angles, but eventually dismissed it. Her Jeep was brand-new, for one thing; she had no intention of depriving herself of its use, for another—even if that meant she had to see Zack Foster again.

  She’d have claimed a sick dog or cat or fish she had to rush home to, except the reason that wouldn’t work was obvious. If she was going to make a fool of herself with an asinine excuse, it had to at least be one that would fly.

  The sick-grandmother thing was overused. Emergency baby-sitting might be good if there weren’t about a thousand substitutes for her services in this town full of college students.

  She had cramps.

  That might be true, but absolutely none of Zack Foster’s business.

  She was allergic to animals? But then why hadn’t she mentioned that from the outset? And wasn’t that something her brother would’ve known before assigning her this ridiculous advisorship to begin with?

  Still trying to come up with something at the last second, Randi locked her office early and headed toward the room in the student center that was to be the location of the dreaded meeting.

  Why in hell couldn’t there have been a tennis match that afternoon? Or a track meet? Or anything else that could even remotely pass as something that required her professional attention? Where were all the millions of things that took up every spare second of Randi’s time on any other day?

  Ten students were waiting in the room when Randi arrived. Ten students oohing and ahhing and making friends with the two canines drooling on the gray-tiled floor. Ten students, two drooling canines—and Zack Foster.

  He looked as good as Randi remembered. Damn him. And damn her for noticing that, instead of inventing a plausible excuse.

  “You’re late,” the man said when he noticed her hovering at the back of the room.

  Only ten minutes. That wasn’t bad.

  “I know.”

  His eyes locked on her briefly and he looked as though he had more to say.

  Randi just stood there.

  “Meet Sammie and Bear,” he finally said, indicating the furry masses holding court at his feet.

  Glancing at them and then away, Randi turned to the students, instead.

  “Okay, gang, let’s all have a seat and figure out who we’ve got and what we’re doing.”

  One of the first things she’d learned in life was to pretend she was always in control—even when she’d never felt less in control. Especially then.

  SHE HADN’T GOTTEN any worse-looking in the two weeks since he’d seen her, Zack thought as he leashed Sammie and Bear and stood waiting while Randi got the meeting under way. If anything, she looked even more desirable than he’d remembered. With her cropped blond hair, that narrow waist and those firm legs that went on forever outside those indecently tight shorts she’d worn two out of the three times he’d seen her—didn’t the university pay her enough to afford longer pants?—she’d cause any red-blooded guy to take a second look.

  There was nothing wrong with looking.

  “So, if you’re all comfortable with the time commitment, I need to have you sign here, leave me a phone number and, if you’re living on campus, your dorm. If you’re off campus, put your address here…”

  She turned the clipboard she was holding so they could all see the various lines on the form and then passed it, and a pen, to the young man closest to her.

  Damn, but she made running shoes seem sexy. Something about the way she moved in them…

  Leaning down to Sammie and Bear, one hand on each of them as he scratched behind their ears, Zack shook his head to free himself from distracting thoughts. He was there to do a job. A worthy and necessary job to which he was honestly dedicated.

  Finding running shoes sexy was kind of sick.

  Sammie licked his cheek just as Zack saw Randi look in his direction, her upper lip curled slightly in distaste. She resumed talking to the students.

  “In just a moment I’ll be turning the meeting over to Dr. Zack Foster. He’s a veterinarian here in Shelter Valley. He and his partner are establishing pet-therapy programs similar to this one in universities all over the country, apparently with a great deal of success. I’m sure he’ll tell you some of the stories….”

  At least she’d done her homework. Zack was impressed.

  He only had to see her on five occasions throughout the semester. And he’d have animals with him every time. He’d be safe.

  “Ms. Parsons is right,” Zack began when the floor was his. “My partner, Dr. Cassie Tate, and I have been visiting universities throughout the country. But I’m in charge of this portion of our pet-therapy program.”

  Although he refused to actually look at her, he followed Randi’s progress as she moved to the back of th
e room and perched on one of the desks. Sammie sat beside him, watching the students as though she was in the know. Bear lay down under a desk, his head on his paws.

  “Dr. Tate is involved in a very serious aspect of our work. In partnership with psychiatrists across the country, she works on problems with a much bigger scope than we’ll encounter. She and her specially trained animals deal with patients who have emotional disorders and mental illnesses—people who are clinically depressed, bipolar, that type of thing.”

  In spite of himself, he glanced up at his partner in this particular venture, wondering if she’d revised her assumption yet that they were all wasting their time in believing animals could help in the treatment of real human distress.

  She was studying her shoes, tapping them silently on the chair in front of her. At least she wasn’t asleep. There was a chance she was listening.

  Not that her opinion of his work mattered at all.

  He and Cassie had met opposition on more than one occasion, but opposition didn’t intimidate him in the slightest. The success of their work spoke for itself.

  He returned his attention to the eager faces before him. “We’ll be working strictly with the elderly,” he told them, briefly describing the different homes they’d visit.

  Sammie stood, realized she was still on her leash and sat down again.

  “Are we going to be working with these dogs?” One of the girls, a short slightly heavy girl with long dark hair, asked.

  Zack nodded. “These and others. Sammie’s been a therapist for almost three years now.”

  The dog, hearing her name, turned in a circle and barked, her leash getting tangled around one front paw.

  Laughter erupted, and Sammie, as if sensing the interest directed at her, barked again.

  Randi was still studying her shoes.

  “What does he do?” A long-haired young man asked curiously, pointing at Bear.

  “Gives people someone to identify with,” Zack said with a smile, although he was absolutely serious.

  “He shows them how to grow old without fear.”

  A couple of girls in the front row nodded.

  “You’ll be working in pairs,” Zack continued. “We’ll have a total of five dogs, one for each pair of you. The dogs have all been through obedience classes and rigorous health screenings. They’re all veteran therapists.”

  “Do we get training, too?” A young man with a blond crewcut asked.

  Zack shook his head, looking up as his peripheral vision caught movement in the back of the classroom. Randi was doing some kind of stretching thing, her right arm bent and pulled behind her head, her left hand grasping the elbow and pushing it farther.

  Her breasts, as firm as everything else about her, were thrown into prominence, garnering a reaction from Zack that he didn’t appreciate. Dammit, why couldn’t the woman just pay attention?

  “Uh, no,” he said slowly, forcing himself to focus on the job at hand. “You’re basically escorts. You take the animals into the predetermined rooms and then stand back while the animals do their jobs. There may be times when you need to participate, perhaps talk to the patients, but that would entail no more than casual conversation.”

  Randi was looking down again, studying her kneecaps, as far as Zack could tell. He felt a twinge of envy that she could study those legs any time she pleased.

  “One visit last semester, we had a woman who refused to take her pills. She wouldn’t let any one of the staff near her. After half an hour with Sammie, she’d relaxed enough to let Sammie’s escort hand her the pills and a cup of water and she took every one of them without complaint.”

  “Cool.” The long-haired fellow nodded his head.

  “These dogs do a lot of cool things,” Zack said.

  “Scientific studies have proved that petting a dog can lower blood pressure. Dogs have been successfully used to alleviate depression. Pets have even been shown to lengthen the life span of their owners.

  “For our patients, they often provide comfort and companionship in days that are otherwise relentlessly the same.”

  At the back of the room, there was movement again. Randi was now sitting on her hands, and her attention seemed to be moving up. Her gaze was set on the back of the heavy girl’s head.

  “We’ve also had success with patients who are struggling with memory deficiencies. In several cases, an individual hasn’t remembered a dog’s escort or his own caregivers’ names, but he’s always remembered the dog’s name.”

  After another fifteen minutes, Zack wrapped up his introduction and turned the meeting back to Randi to schedule the dates of their visits. These kids all seemed eager, receptive. But then, they usually were at Montford.

  He’d call the nursing homes in the morning to let them know when they’d be coming. And he’d check on the other dogs’ availability, as well. Sammie and Bear were a given, but the other dogs he used had owners whose schedules he had to accommodate.

  They were going to have a great semester.

  “If we can’t fit in all five visits…”

  Amend that. They were going to have a great semester—maybe.

  Zack stepped forward, Sammie stood, turned two circles and barked.

  “We’re completely open on the dates,” he said, “subject to your availability and that of the dogs. Weekdays, weekends, evenings. That’s the thing about old folks in nursing homes. They’re pretty much always there.”

  Looking annoyed, Randi nodded. “So, I know you all have busy schedules. Some of you are graduating in May. Most of you will have projects and other activities that take up your time.” She paused to let that sink in while Zack bored a hole in her head with his eyes.

  He’d love to get his hands on that sleek neck of hers.

  Actually, he’d like to get his hands anywhere on that body of hers….

  “So, how many of you think you’ll actually be able to handle five visits?”

  Zack was happy to note a unanimous show of hands.

  “Or we could try for three or four,” Randi said.

  Could the woman not count?

  “No, five’s good,” someone said.

  “Five’s not a problem.”

  “I’d like to do more than five. Could we talk about that?” another student asked.

  “Five it is, then,” Randi interrupted quickly. She stared down at her leather-bound day planner. Mesmerized by the pulse beating in her neck, Zack listened while the dates were agreed upon. He didn’t smile. Not once.

  At least not so anyone could see.

  As each date was confirmed, she fidgeted a little more. A finger tapping the page of her planner. One foot tapping silently on the floor. Finally she began chewing on her lower lip in a way that Zack found rather disconcerting.

  He no longer felt like smiling.

  “YOU BUSY?”

  Randi looked up from the scouting report she was reading in her office to see Zack Foster standing there.

  The very person she’d been trying to avoid thinking about. She certainly didn’t want to see him. Especially in her private sanctum. The room was too small for both of them.

  “You left the meeting last night before I had a chance to give you these,” he said, setting some pamphlets and a book on the corner of her paper-littered desk.

  “You were surrounded by admirers,” she said, trying not to notice how firm his pecs looked in the polo shirt he was wearing. Didn’t the man know it was winter outside?

  So what if it was supposed to hit the mid-seventies all week? He could still acknowledge the season with a long-sleeved shirt. Or even a coat. Something big and bulky that would leave everything to the imagination.

  Or would it?

  She glanced down at the stuff he’d brought.

  If she had to guess, she’d say a coat wouldn’t do a damn thing to hide the man’s impressive physique.

  Not that she was guessing.

  “What are these?” she asked, pretending to take an interest in the pamphlet
s. They had pictures of dogs on the front.

  Boring.

  How could she be reacting so strongly to a man who spent his whole life thinking about something that bored her to tears? His obsession with animals was worse than her youngest brother’s obsession with cars.

  “They’re a pet-therapy crash-training course for you,” Zack answered her. He commanded the space around him as though the office was his, not hers.

  “It was obvious last night that you’d done your homework on Cassie and me, and on what we do. Now it’s time to learn a little more about pet therapy generally.”

  “You said last night the kids don’t need training.”

  “They don’t. You do.”

  “Why?” she demanded. She wasn’t going to be handling any pets. She was merely supervising—along for the ride.

  “How can you be an adviser for something you don’t understand?” he asked, gazing at her narrowly.

  Her stomach quivered.

  “What’s to understand?” she muttered.

  “My point exactly,” Zack said, flicking the edge of the pamphlet she held. “You’ll find the answer to that question right there.”

  Randi wasn’t used to failure. Didn’t like it a bit. And she’d failed utterly to convince him that he should call the whole thing off.

  “You sure you aren’t too busy to do this?” She shot him an engaging grin that almost always worked on Will.

  “Positive.”

  So much for the grin. Randi shifted, put her feet up on her desk. And then, noticing his appreciative look at the long bare expanse of leg, dropped them again.

  “Why is this so important to you?” she asked, frustrated.

  He shrugged those impressive shoulders. “Why are sports important to you?”

  She opened her mouth, ready with a smart reply. And then closed it again, frowning.

  Somehow, in her view, handling a dog just didn’t compare with handling a golf club—or even a basketball.

  “Sports give people—a huge percentage of the population—pleasure.”

  “So do pets.” He crossed his arms.