The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade

by Virginia Smith

  But whenever she reached for the phone something stopped her, and the call to Daddy never got made. Instead, she ran home during a lull in the schedule to grab a change of clothes. Leggings instead of a skirt, since Justin made a point of saying he intended to wear jeans, but she could at least wear heels and a pretty top. And makeup.

  At 4:10 she said goodbye to Mrs. Pennyweather and her tabby cat—with only five toes on each foot, imagine that!—and closed herself in the bathroom. She studied the image in the vanity mirror. Goodness, was the light dim in here or did she really look that washed-out? She should start wearing makeup every day. And her hair…she pulled the ponytail holder out and shook her head. What a limp, mousy mess. She rummaged in the bag she’d brought from home and extracted a long-ignored curling iron. Hopefully she could remember how to use the thing.

  Twenty minutes later she stepped back and examined the transformation. Not bad. Decent, in fact. Gentle curls falling around her face definitely softened the sharp angles of her jaw. And her skin took on a silky appearance with a touch of powder. Yes, a definite improvement from the shoulders up. If only the mirror showed the rest of her. She whirled once, enjoying the silky feel of the swirling gossamer fabric. The long top settled around her trim thighs. Looking down, the effect was flattering. Hopefully Justin thought so.

  She emerged, the heels of her strappy sandals clicking on the hallway floor when she stowed the bag in the office. The sound of the clinic’s front door closing and the rumble of a deep male voice set off a violent flutter in her stomach. For a moment her confidence failed and she sagged against the edge of her desk. What was she doing? She hadn’t had a date since her freshman year in college. Her studies were too important, Daddy advised, and he’d been right. Then veterinary school absorbed every spare minute. The effort had been worth it. She’d emerged at the top of her class.

  I’m stalling.

  Stiffening her spine, she strode toward the reception area.

  If she’d had any doubts about her looks, they evaporated when she came through the clinic door. Justin stopped his conversation with Millie mid-sentence. His gaze swept her from head to foot and back again, coming to a stop on her eyes. Admiration radiated from him in nearly palpable waves.

  “Wow. You look…” He finished his sentence with a long whistle.

  Heart pounding, she lowered her gaze. “Thank you.”

  “What a beautiful tunic, dear.” Millie’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “So flattering. And that hairstyle really suits you.” The receptionist gazed at her with something approaching maternal pride, which brought a pleasurable warmth to Susan’s cheeks.

  “Uh, there’s only one problem,” Justin said.

  Her gaze flew upward. “Problem?”

  “Do you have anything sturdier that covers your toes?” A frown gathered on his forehead as he peered at her sandals. “Leather boots, or even tennis shoes would be better than those.”

  “You don’t like them?” Horrified, she heard a quiver in her voice.

  “Sure I do.” He took two giant strides forward and touched her arm. “They’re great, really. But they’re not safe on a motorcycle.”

  Now it was her turn to stand with her mouth gaping.

  “You’re on your motorcycle?” Millie stood to look out the window. Consternation creased her brow. “You can’t take a date on a motorcycle.”

  His head cocked sideways. “Why not? I brought an extra helmet.”

  Millie heaved an exasperated sigh. “A motorcycle isn’t appropriate for a first date.”

  Justin looked truly perplexed. “But it’s a Harley.”

  The answer was so outlandish Susan couldn’t hold back a laugh. She’d heard that Harley Davidson owners were proud, but she’d never actually met one. The bewildered expression he turned on her made her laugh even harder.

  “What’s funny about a Harley?” he asked, sounding slightly offended.

  She answered with more laughter. The situation really wasn’t that funny, but her mirth was fed by pent-up nerves, and she couldn’t stop. What would Daddy say when he found out she’d gone on a date with a biker? And that she’d ridden on his motorcycle? She bent double, laughing, and then recovered enough to say, “Just give me a minute to change shoes.”

  “If you have any sturdier pants you might want to put them on too.” At her questioning glance, he explained, “If a bug hits your leg at sixty miles an hour, it’s gonna hurt like heck unless you have some sort of protection.”

  Her lips twitched at the idea of projectile insects, but she controlled herself as she returned to her office to change back into the slacks and T-shirt she’d worn beneath her lab coat.

  “That little guy was born at the beginning of February.” Susan followed Justin’s nod to a nursing colt at the far end of the pasture. “I was driving by the day they turned him out for the first time, so I pulled off to watch and struck up a conversation with the breeder. They say he has the look of his sire, who was a Derby winner. Sometimes I come out here just to watch him.”

  When they left the animal clinic Justin took her to a roadside diner down a tree-lined country road, the kind of place she would never have the nerve to visit on her own. The tiny building could use a good painting, and the sign hung slightly lopsided. Inside they’d sat at one of the five tables, where Susan was served the best burger she’d ever eaten, smothered in grilled onions and dripping with cheese. They talked for almost two hours, the server refilling their glasses with sugary sweet tea more times than she could count. Then he drove her down the narrow country lane beneath a canopy of tender spring leaves that seemed somehow closer and more alive from the back of a motorcycle than they ever did in a car.

  Now they stood in the grass at a white plank fence surrounding a peaceful green pasture where a half-dozen foals and mares grazed in the deep green Kentucky grass. On the horizon sat a gigantic white barn with blue trim, covered in cross-hatched doorways and topped with a trio of spire-style cupolas. Though the farms around her home in southwestern Kentucky had their share of traditional horse barns, she had never seen so many gorgeous and extravagant thoroughbred barns as graced the central part of the state.

  The colt lifted its head and stood for a moment beside the mare, then took off across the grass with the frolicking gait of a foal that has not yet grown into its long legs. Susan climbed up onto the bottom plank and hung her arms over the top of the fence to get a better look. “He’s going to be a runner.”

  “You know it. I’m not a betting man, but if he makes it to the Derby in a couple of years I might have to make an exception.” His expression as his gaze followed the colt held a paternalistic touch of pride.

  A few minutes later Justin held out a hand to help Susan down. When she stood firmly on the grass, he did not release her but instead entwined his fingers in hers, which set off a delicious tickle in her stomach as they covered the few steps back to the waiting motorcycle. When they arrived, it was with obvious reluctance that he let go so he could help her shrug into the bulky leather jacket he insisted she wear. His hands lingered on her shoulders a minute longer than absolutely necessary, and she didn’t mind in the least.

  “What do you think of your first ride on a motorcycle?”

  “I love it. It feels so…” She threw her arms wide as though to embrace the countryside. “So freeing.”

  “You’re a convert.” Approval sparkled in his eyes. “Before you know it you’ll be shopping for your own.”

  A laugh emerged at the idea. Daddy would have a conniption. She shook her head. “I’d much rather be a passenger. That way I don’t have to worry about shifting gears or traffic or all that stuff. I can sit back and enjoy the view.”

  He grinned. “When I was little and rode on the back of my dad’s bike I used to sing at the top of my lungs. Inside the helmet nobody could hear me.”

  Speaking of helmets—which Justin insisted were mandatory—reminded Susan of her hair. In the restroom of the diner she’d been horrified
at the image that stared back at her from the mirror. So much for her efforts with the curling iron. Her hair plastered against her skull, the ends that hung beneath the full-face helmet ratty with tangles from being whipped by the wind. A comb took care of the snarls but could do nothing to coax body into the lifeless locks.

  She raked her fingers through her hair. “Next time I think I’ll bring a baseball cap. When the helmet comes off, the cap goes on.”

  His fingers paused in the act of zipping his jacket and his eyes locked on to hers. Her breath lodged in her chest. Completely unable to look away, she stood still as his hand rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Next time.” His deep voice rumbled just above a whisper. “Lady, I like the way you think.”

  Susan’s heart was still tap-dancing when she climbed onto the motorcycle behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  The sun had almost set when they turned the corner onto Susan’s street to find a commotion in progress. Her first thought was that Saturday’s demonstration had resurged, but why would anyone want to picket Walnut Street? Flashing blue lights reflected off houses and the faces of a dozen or so onlookers gathered on the sidewalk. A second later she identified the house where the commotion took place, and her pulse accelerated. The police car was parked in the Hunsakers’ driveway, the crowd gathered beside their mailbox.

  Oh no! Has something happened to Mr. or Mrs. Hunsaker?

  Her arms tightened around Justin as he steered the bike down the street. Heads turned, and every eye fixed on them as he rolled to a stop by the curb. Justin hopped off and turned to help her.

  She jerked the helmet off. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to the Hunsakers?”

  As the question left her tongue she noticed a trio on the front porch. A deputy sheriff holding a clipboard and pen stood beside her worried-looking landlords.

  Mrs. Hunsaker caught sight of her. Concern fled her face and she pointed at Susan. “There she is!”

  The woman bounded down the porch steps and practically ran across the lawn to gather Susan in a bone-crushing embrace. “Thank the Lord you’re okay. We’ve been so worried.”

  Stunned, Susan endured the hug with her arms hanging at her side. She looked at Justin, who appeared as clueless as she.

  “I’m fine,” she told her landlady. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The deputy and Mr. Hunsaker arrived then, the crowd retreating a few yards at their approach.

  “Are you Susan Margaret Jeffries?” the officer asked.

  What in the world had she done wrong? Her mind skipped across the last few days and came up empty. She’d done nothing illegal. Always drove the speed limit, came to a full stop at intersections, used her turn signals faithfully.

  Swallowing, she nodded as Justin stepped to her side and placed a supportive arm around her shoulders. “I’m Susan Jeffries. Is there a problem?”

  The deputy’s gaze shifted to Justin and his eyes narrowed. “Are you all right, ma’am? Not being held against your wishes, or compelled to do anything you don’t want to do?”

  Now it was Justin’s turn to look shocked. A flicker of suspicion erupted in her brain.

  No. He wouldn’t.

  “I’m fine,” she told the officer. “Why would you ask that?”

  “You’ve been reported as missing, ma’am. Possibly kidnapped.”

  An excited rumble erupted among the onlookers. Mrs. Hunsaker sagged against her husband.

  “Kidnapped?” Justin choked on the word. “I didn’t kidnap her. We’ve been on a date.”

  Humiliation blazing in her face, Susan could only nod in agreement. Not the slightest doubt who was responsible. I can’t believe he did this.

  The officer expelled a breath. “We’re all relieved to hear that, Miss Jeffries.”

  “Dr. Jeffries,” Mr. Hunsaker corrected. “She’s a veterinarian.”

  Several of the spectators gazed at her with renewed interest.

  “Dr. Jeffries.” The deputy addressed the observers. “Everything’s fine here, folks. Dr. Jeffries has been on date.”

  A smattering of applause met the announcement and a groan rose in Susan’s throat. Her first date in years, and the event earned her a standing ovation. And this after a lunatic dash down Main Street in pursuit of an escaped patient.

  The officer raised his clipboard and clicked open his pen. “I’ll need a statement from the both of you. Shouldn’t take but a minute or two. After that you might want to call your father, ma’am. Let him know you’re okay.”

  Completely mortified, Susan could only nod.

  She paced the length of her tiny combination living and bedroom, gripping her phone in a hand that still trembled with humiliation. “Why would you do that, Daddy?”

  “Because I was worried. Here I am, two hundred fifty miles away, and my little girl stops answering her phone. Texts too. You always answer when I call. What am I supposed to think?”

  He did sound worried. Guilt stabbed at her, dulling the edge of her frustration. He had a point. Even when she was working, if she couldn’t take a call she would send a text saying she’d get back to him when she could.

  “I would have called as soon as I saw your missed calls.” Twelve of them, and twice as many texts with messages of escalating panic. The guilt knife twisted in her gut.

  “How was I to know that? You never forget your phone. It’s completely out of character.”

  True. She even kept her cell phone in her lab coat pocket while she worked. As soon as she realized she’d left it at the clinic she should have asked Justin to turn around so she could retrieve it, but talking was impossible while zooming down a country road on the back of a motorcycle. She’d run over to the clinic to retrieve it after the police left.

  “Something else that’s out of character is your behavior tonight. I thought we’d decided that you weren’t going out with this boy.”

  Not a boy. Justin is all man. She indulged in a dreamy smile and kept the comment to herself. “It wasn’t planned. He came to the clinic this afternoon and offered to buy me a hamburger.”

  “And that took three and a half hours?”

  “We went for a ride in the country afterward.” She allowed a touch of defiance to creep into her voice. “I had a good time. Is that so bad?”

  “Of course not. Everyone’s entitled to a little enjoyment in life.” A pause, and when he continued his tone held a note of resignation. “Tell me about him. Where did he go to school?”

  “The University of Kentucky.” A truthful answer. No need to tell Daddy that Justin dropped out during his sophomore year to work construction.

  “Good school.” His voice was guarded. “What’s his profession?”

  Though she adored her father, Susan knew he tended to be something of a white collar snob. She paced to the corner and peered into Puff’s aquarium. “He, uh, owns his own business.”

  “Doing what?”

  She hesitated. Justin’s business name, Hinkle the Handyman, would put her father off for sure. “He’s a subcontractor, and licensed in several areas.”

  “A subcontractor? Do you mean he’s a construction worker?” Disbelief colored his tone.

  “More like a builder,” she hurried to say. “He specializes in repairs, and has an electrician’s license too.”

  A long pause ensued, during which Daddy drew in a slow breath. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are. You’ve got to keep your head about you, now more than ever.”

  “I will.” She turned at the window and paced four long steps in the opposite direction, ending at the dinette table. “It was only a hamburger. One date can’t possibly pose a threat to my future.”

  “Our future,” he commented. “After all, if you become distracted to the point that your business fails, I’ll be forced to pick up the bank note.”

  Deflated, she dropped onto the futon that did double duty as sofa and bed. She must never forget Daddy’s r
ole as principle financier in the Goose Creek Animal Clinic. Without him, she could never have bought her business.

  Nor could she ignore his warning, not with a good conscience. Justin Hinkle could definitely become a dangerous distraction.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday arrived, but not a tranquil Saturday of days gone by. The house had been transformed, and Al didn’t like it one bit. The contents of his once-peaceful abode had exploded off the walls and shelves and drawers to lie in cluttered piles all over the house, waiting to be packed into the collapsed boxes that had taken over his garage. Moving day loomed on the horizon, a mere two weeks away. Correction. Thirteen days. Millie had created a countdown with red ink on the kitchen calendar, so there was no ignoring the fact. He wandered from room to room, scuffling in his slippers around the chaos. Perhaps he might go to the office for a few hours of order and solitude.

  Heavens, what had he come to, actually considering working on a Saturday?

  Millie emerged from the kitchen, her head wrapped in a red checkered scarf, and deposited a stack of newspapers on the floor beside the knickknack shelf. “There you are. Did you find the packing tape yet?”

  “On the bed.” He sank into his recliner and stared at the black television screen.

  His wife crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Heavens, you look positively morose. Are you getting sick?”

  Yes, he almost cried. Sick of this whole business. Of crates and piles and eating off paper plates because you’ve packed the dishes.

  “I’m fine.” He slumped further in his chair.

  “Hmm.” She placed a cool hand on his forehead. “No fever, except maybe cabin fever. Why don’t you walk over to the Manor and see what progress Justin has made on the roof?”

  Sunlight streamed through the front window, beckoning Al outside. Yes, perhaps a walk would cheer him up. The weatherman predicted a high of sixty-eight, beautiful weather for late April. “Maybe I will.”