A Recipe for Romance

by Lara Van Hulzen

  Sandy had loved being a mom, loved everything about the experience. She read the books at night, went to the Mommy & Me classes, did the long days at the playground and the afternoons under tents made out of sheets and couch cushions. Every conversation Carolyn had with her sister had been about Emma, as if everything else in Sandy’s life disappeared the minute she gave birth. It was a concept so foreign to Carolyn, it might as well have been another language.

  So now she stood in the sunny yellow kitchen of Sandy’s house, missing her sister with an ache that ran deep and sharp, and wondered what the hell she was going to do.

  “I love my puppy,” Emma said and wrapped her arms around Roscoe’s neck. “Please, Aunt Carolyn?”

  It was the please that got her in the end. Emma had lost her family and was now having to leave the only home she’d ever known. Carolyn looked down at the little blond girl, bouncy ringlets surrounding a cherubic face and big blue eyes. Ever since Sandy had died, Emma had taken to carrying around one of Sandy’s sweaters. She held it now, clutched between her and the dog, the red knit standing out like a beacon. Emma’s eyes welled and her lower lip trembled.

  Carolyn thought of the suitcases in the hall, all of Emma’s life reduced to two wheeled bags. Once Carolyn had figured out a permanent solution, she’d come back and deal with the house and the furniture, but for now, all Emma had was two suitcases, a thick sweater, and Roscoe. How could Carolyn possibly ask her to leave her dog behind, too?

  How bad could it be, right? Besides, she’d be at her parents’ house in Marietta. Surely they could help with Emma and with the dog. Do whatever it was that a dog needed. She was going to have to figure out how to get a dog from Wyoming to Montana, along with her niece and all the luggage in the same car, but surely it was doable.

  She bent down to Emma’s level, but stayed a little to the right of the dog. He looked like he wanted to lick Carolyn’s face or crawl into her lap. “Okay, Emma, we’ll take him with us.”

  Emma’s smile spread wide and fast. She jumped forward, wrapping Carolyn in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “You’re...” Carolyn drew back a bit, awkward with this whole kid thing, a kid she barely knew, a kid who hugged everything from the dog to the sofa, “...welcome.”

  “And then when Mommy comes home, I can tell her all about Roscoe going to Grandma’s house,” Emma said.

  “Your mom...” Carolyn struggled to find the words. Hadn’t Bob’s parents had this talk with Emma already? How could Emma still not know, all this time later? Were they just waiting for Carolyn to have this talk? Carolyn, the last person on earth who knew how to comfort a grieving child? “Your mom...isn’t coming home, Emma.”

  “Yes, she is.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop saying she’s not.”

  Carolyn had talked to a friend who was a psychologist last week, when she’d found out about Emma. Carolyn had never had to deal with a kid, and needed advice on how to handle the whole transition thing. She’ll accept the truth when she’s ready, the psychologist had said. Don’t push it.

  “We need to finish packing for your trip to Grandma Marilyn’s,” Carolyn said. Maybe if she distracted Emma with something to do, it would erase that sad but defiant look in her eyes. Carolyn only had a couple hours before they needed to get on the road—which meant Carolyn needed to find a way to transport that puppy to Montana.

  More and more, it looked like the most likely option was putting Roscoe in the back of her SUV and driving him. Carolyn could only picture her seats shredded and gnawed. Was there some kind of state-to-state dog delivery service? “So, what do you want to take for food in the car?”

  “Spaghetti.”

  “Uh, we can’t take that in the car. It’s pretty messy.”

  “Spaghetti is my favorite. Roscoe likes it too.”

  Carolyn let out a breath. “How about we have something else? Like a sandwich. Do you want a sandwich?”

  “Mommy makes me san-wiches,” Emma said. “I want Mommy’s san-wich.”

  “She...she can’t do that right now,” Carolyn said. “Just tell me what your mommy puts in the sandwich and I’ll make the same thing.”

  Emma shook her head. “I want Mommy to do it.” Then her cheeks reddened, tears filled her eyes and ran down her face in fast rivers. “I don’t want you to do it. I want Mommy to.”

  Carolyn stood there, feeling helpless, wishing Emma’s grandparents were here or Sandy was here, or anyone at all, to help explain the situation to Emma. She got down to Emma’s level again. Change the subject, reroute Emma back to something else. “We’re going to Grandma Marilyn’s house today. Isn’t that going to be fun?”

  Emma’s lower lip trembled. She held Carolyn’s gaze for one long second, then glanced at the floor. She clutched the sweater close to her chest. “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay here.”

  Carolyn sighed. She had no idea how to make this better, how to help Emma. Except to take her to Montana where hopefully Carolyn’s parents could handle her better than Carolyn could. She kept her eye on that destination. “We can’t do that, Emma. But we’re going to take your dog, and we’re going to see Grandma, and it’s going to be fun. I promise.”

  Although Carolyn had no idea what made for fun with a four-year-old, or how all these changes in the little girl’s life could possibly be labeled as fun. It just sounded like the right thing to say.

  “I don’t wanna go!” Emma turned on her heel and ran out of the room. A second later, there was the slam of a door.

  Or maybe “it’s going to be fun” was the absolutely wrong thing to say. Carolyn sighed.

  Just when she thought she’d escape unscathed, the dog leaned over and licked Carolyn’s face, leaving a trail of slobber from her chin to her temple. It was going to be one long trip to Montana.

  Matthew West had seen three pregnant cats before lunch. Was there some kind of pregnant cat epidemic in Marietta that he had missed? Or more likely, Mrs. George’s randy tomcat had had one hell of a night on the town a few months ago. The frisky orange tiger was known for being a busy bachelor cat. Matt cradled the gray tabby in his arms, then headed out to his front office. He’d set up his veterinary practice in Marietta six years ago, after going away for college, an experience that confirmed there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than this quaint, warm town. His office faced the Java Café, the two of them on opposite sides of 3rd Street, which meant he always had the scent of fresh coffee and baked muffins wafting in through the windows. Between him and Emory Bishop, the large-animal vet, creatures great and small were covered in Marietta.

  “And who belongs to this little girl?” he said, giving the tabby a tender rub on the head.

  Brooklyn Murphy popped to her feet. She was eight years old, dressed head to toe in pink, her long brown hair held in place by a sparkly pink headband. Her mother, Meg, sat beside her on the orange vinyl chair. “Me!” Brooklyn said. “That’s my cat Milly.”

  “Well,” Matt said, bending down to Brooklyn’s level, “Miss Milly here isn’t sick. She’s actually going to...” he glanced up at Meg, “...be a mom.”

  Brooklyn’s eyes widened. “She’s gonna have kittens?”

  Meg gasped. “Wait, she’s pregnant?”

  “Yup. And in about four weeks, you’re going to have a few little ones. I counted four, but sometimes there’s one hiding back there.” He always loved this moment, the adventure and excitement of a new life. It made up for all the days when he had to deliver sad news to a pet lover, and the stressful days when it seemed he had more patients than time.

  “Kittens.” Meg sighed. Matt could see her already calculating the extra chaos a bunch of kittens would bring to her house. Meg was already involved in an animal rescue program that had placed a lot of strays in town with good families. This particular stray, Milly, had stolen Brooklyn’s heart and become part of the family.

  “I can take care of them,” Brooklyn said. “I’ll love them and feed them.�
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  “Their mom is going to do a lot of that, Brooklyn,” Matt said. “When they’re big enough, you can bring them here and your mom and I can find them some great homes.”

  Brooklyn pouted. “But I don’t wanna give them away.”

  “Whoever adopts one of these kittens—when they’re old enough—is going to love them as much as you do and treat them extra special. Do you remember how happy people are when they adopt from your rescue program? That’s how they’re going to feel about these kittens. Plus, I bet you’re going to be able to visit them and play with them whenever you want,” Matt said. That was the good thing about a small town. People here all knew each other, and treated each other like family.

  Relief filled Meg’s features. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Dr. West.”

  “Anytime.” He handed the cat to Brooklyn, and gave the tabby one more pat. “Take good care of her and make sure she gets plenty of rest.”

  “I will! I promise!” They crossed to the counter, paid the bill, then headed out the door, Brooklyn chatting the whole way about the new kittens and what she wanted to name them. Matt chuckled. Yup, it was a good day in the office.

  Matt crossed to the small window beside the receptionist’s desk. “What’s next, Sheryl?”

  “Just one more for the day, and then we’re done.” She handed him a chart. Brunette and stout, Sheryl was organized, efficient and friendly, and a total pushover for anything with four paws. She’d been his receptionist since day one, and he couldn’t imagine running his office without her. “Oh, and Jane McCullough dropped this off this morning. Don’t forget the Bake-Off is next weekend.”

  Matt groaned. He had forgotten about that, even though he’d signed up as one of the sponsors, and then gotten talked into signing up as one of the bachelors who had to bake on stage. A marketing ploy, Jane had assured him, to get more attention from the media and a friendly amount of bidding from the single women in town. All for a good cause, too—to benefit the drive to fund something to memorialize Harry Monroe, who’d died back in September.

  Matt had known first responder Harry Monroe pretty well. The twenty-seven-year-old had been killed on Highway 89 a few months ago, after he’d stopped to help an elderly couple change a flat tire. His family, who owned the grocery store in town, were well respected, but also grieving over the loss of their son, as was the rest of the town.

  The Chamber of Commerce had the idea of turning an empty house in town into a community center for kids and teens—a cause dear to Harry’s heart—and they’d come up with the Bachelor Bake-Off as a way to raise money to renovate the house. There was a time crunch, too, since an investment company was looking at buying the property. Pretty much everyone in Crawford County wanted to see Harry memorialized with a boys’ and girls’ center, hence the Bake-Off, part of a series of fundraisers.

  Matt hadn’t hesitated when Jane, who worked for the Chamber of Commerce, proposed the idea. In 1914, the town had done something similar to draw attention to the reopening of the Graff Hotel. The Bake-Off was part of what Matt loved about Marietta—how the town worked like a big hug—and what had made him insanely agree to participate in a bachelor bake-off fundraiser.

  Problem? He couldn’t bake. The last time he’d bought one of those ready-made tubes of cookie dough, he’d ended up with an oozing burnt glob on the bottom of his stove. Six months later, and he could still catch the scent of burned chocolate chips whenever he opened the oven to warm up a pizza.

  “So, what are you going to bake?” Sheryl asked.

  “Cookies from the supermarket.” He grinned. “Think I can get away with that?”

  “Uh, considering it’s a live, on a stage baking contest...no.” Sheryl shook her head and smirked. “All I can say is good luck and I’m going to be in the front row, watching you crash and burn. Because I’m a good friend like that.”

  “Gee, thanks. Remind me to dock your pay next week.”

  Sheryl laughed. “Go ahead. Maybe you can put it toward a lucky charm for the Bake-Off.”

  “I don’t need luck. I have skills.” He grinned again, then turned his attention to the chart. One more patient and his day was done. He flipped through the sheets, a quick scan of the facts about his patient, a dog—mutt, fifty pounds, with a complaint of him acting out and not eating. Matt came around the corner and entered the waiting room. “Roscoe?”

  A blonde in the corner looked up from the magazine she was reading, and when her green eyes connected with his, his heart did a familiar skip-beat. He knew those eyes. Knew that blonde. Even in a thick winter coat, he could recognize her from ten miles away. Holy hell. What was she doing back in town? “Carolyn?”

  The dog popped up, as did a little girl, maybe four years old, with blond ringlets and big green eyes. Carolyn’s daughter? Was she married?

  And why did that thought disappoint him? He hadn’t seen her in ten years, since senior year of high school, since the day she left him in her rearview mirror. I want more than this small-town life, she’d said. I want more than...

  Us. That was the word she had left unsaid. The word that had stung.

  He cleared his throat. Went for cool, casual, you-didn’t-break-my-heart. “Hey, Carolyn.”

  She gave him a little nod. Also going for cool and casual, but more in the we-hardly-knew-each-other way. “Hey, Matt.”

  From the exchange, no one would know that he had once been wildly in love with her. That his entire world had centered around her, and her smile. And how the day of graduation, their paths had diverged and he had realized he had never really known the girl he had loved. Ancient history. Which was where his thoughts about her should stay.

  The dog—a boxer mix with a friendly tail, lunged as far forward as the leash would allow, nosing into Matt’s pant leg. Carolyn let out an oomph, and stood, trying to rein the dog back in, but he was stronger than her and she skidded several steps forward, while the dog plowed into Matt’s legs.

  “Sorry.” Carolyn let out a gust. “That dog is...disobedient. And stubborn.”

  Matt grinned. “Sometimes the dog takes his cue from the owner.”

  “I’m not his owner. Well, I am, but...” She let out another gust and brushed her bangs back. “It’s complicated.”

  Complicated. What did that mean and why was he spending any mental energy trying to figure that out? Ancient history, he reminded himself again.

  Matt bent down and gave the dog an ear rub. The dog’s tail went into happy frenzy mode, and he gave Matt’s hand a lick. “Hey there, buddy. What’s the problem?”

  Much easier to deal with the dog than whatever history still existed between him and Carolyn.

  The little girl stood next to her dog, a protective hand on his collar. “Roscoe’s sick. He doesn’t want to eat. I think he has a tummy-ache.”

  “And he’s about as obedient as a two-year-old,” Carolyn muttered. She was still trying to wrangle the dog, but Roscoe pulled away, twining his leash around Matt’s legs.

  Matt glanced at the little girl. Worry filled her face and furrowed her brow. “I’m sure Roscoe’s just fine, but I’m gonna take a look at him and make sure. Okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” the little girl said. “My name is Emma and I’m four.”

  Matt chuckled. He put out his hand. “I’m Dr. West, but you can call me Dr. Matt. Nice to meet you, Emma.” She gave him a serious little handshake. Cute kid.

  He was still shocked Carolyn had a child. Matt had always wanted kids. Wendy, his ex-wife, had talked about having them, too, then a year into their marriage she’d changed her mind. The divorce was two years in the past, and although Matt was relieved the marriage had ended, he still wished he’d become a father.

  Given how polite and well-mannered Emma was, Carolyn must be a good mother. He’d always thought she was more driven by her career than by family, and that she had been clear she never wanted to settle down and have kids. Maybe he hadn’t known her as well as he thought. Or maybe she just hadn’t wanted to settle
down with him.

  “All right, Roscoe, let’s get started.” Matt stepped deftly out of the leash loop, then opened the door that led to the exam rooms and ushered Carolyn, the dog, and Carolyn’s daughter into the hall. “Exam Room One, the first door on your right.”

  Roscoe led the way, dragging Carolyn behind him. When the dog found the rear second exit of the exam room blocked by a closed door, he stood in the center of the small exam space, panting and wagging his tail. Carolyn put a hand on Emma’s shoulder and steered her into a seat. “Emma, you need to sit down and be quiet, okay? So the doctor can look at that dog.”

  “But...but...I got questions. About Roscoe.”

  “Questions are great, Emma,” Matt said. “They help you learn.”

  “My mommy says I’m smart.” Emma beamed.

  “Emma, please sit down,” Carolyn said. “Let the doctor do his job.”

  Strange. He’d expected Carolyn to brag about Emma or agree that she was smart.

  “Okay.” Emma sank onto the bench, and propped her chin up on her hands. Carolyn took off her winter coat, and set it on the bench beside Emma. Matt did his best not to check Carolyn out.

  And failed.

  “All right, Emma. Let’s see how Roscoe is doing.” Matt bent down, and hoisted the dog up and onto the stainless steel table. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice Carolyn’s legs: long and lean, defined by a pair of blue jeans that still hugged all the right places. She had on short black leather boots with a little bit of a heel. Hot and sexy. Damn.

  The dog scrambled a bit against the cool, slippery surface, but Matt ran a hand down his neck and whispered a few soothing words. “It’s okay, buddy, just chill.” Roscoe quieted into complacency, not entirely happy about the foreign surface below his paws, but not fighting it anymore either.

  “How do you do that?” Carolyn said. “I haven’t been able to get that dog to sit still for a week.”

  “You just gotta know how to handle him. How to send out the vibes that it’s okay to relax, and that you’re the boss.”

  Carolyn scoffed. “Easier said than done, apparently, because he doesn’t listen to me. At all.”