by Lyn Cote
By the time Jake surreptitiously slipped in his donation, dollar bills and checks choked the clear plastic half-gallon ice cream buckets with slits in the covers. He imagined for just a moment this fundraiser had been set up for his dream: a place where unwanted animals and disabled or disadvantaged children could spend time together enjoying each other, healing each other. Someday he would build it. He had the perfect location; he just needed to get it all figured out. But his day-to-day work at his vet practice kept him too busy.
At Jake’s elbow, Mike snorted. “Why’s that woman over there looking at you like that?”
For a moment Jake thought Mike referred to Amy. Then he realized that the poodle woman hovered nearby, casting glances his way. Her manner reminded him of Sheila when they had first met.
“Like what?” Jake asked, acting as if he hadn’t noticed.
“Like you’re a…” Mike’s face twisted as he struggled with the birth of a description.
“Like Jake’s a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day?” one old-timer suggested with a sly expression.
“Like a fox eyein’ a hen house?” another offered, grinning.
“It’s ’cause you’re a doc,” one more weighed in. “They all think you got the green stuff.” The man rubbed his forefingers and thumb together and the whole eighty-five-plus group laughed.
Jake didn’t appreciate the humor at his expense. Sheila had been interested in green stuff, all right. And she’d been fooled by his father’s affluence and national reputation, thinking that Jake would be just like his dad, not a simple rural vet.
Jake tried to ignore the poodle woman without success. Maybe the men were right. Perhaps the title “Dr.” attracted a certain kind of attention. But that didn’t mean Jake had to like it. He tried to hide the steam rising inside.
One thing he did know—he’d stay at this table until she left. He wanted no chance of her getting him alone to issue an invitation for any kind of date. So he played a few hands of pinochle. When she finally gave up and exited in a bit of a huff, he breathed easier. He didn’t want to fend off any more enticing glances and practiced mannerisms like the hair tossing intended to attract a man.
He rose and scanned the faces for Amy in order to find Bummer. He found her looking for him. Their gazes connected and she smiled so differently from the woman who’d just left. Amy gave him an honest, not-asking-for-anything smile.
As more of the party started breaking up around him, Jake joined Amy in the cheerful crowd moving to the coatrack to bundle up for the winter night.
“Be sure to call my clinic for that appointment,” Jake said at Amy’s elbow.
“Thank you. I…we will.” She beamed at him.
He felt soaked in the warmth from her smile. Embarrassed, he turned his attention to the girls, who were still taking turns petting Bummer while they pulled on their jackets, mittens and boots.
People began climbing the stairs to the doors. When one man opened the door, he called out, “Snow!” A mixture of positive and negative comments greeted this announcement. But the people braced themselves and started venturing outside.
Jake pushed open the church door for Amy, her girls and the kittens. And Bummer. The strong wind tried to wrench the door from Jake’s grip and slam it shut. He used both hands to hold it open to let Amy’s group safely outside.
Another man appeared and took control of the door. Jake hurried after Amy. Bummer’s legs churned as they fought the wind and light snow to the pickup. Amy held the scarf-wrapped kittens close to her, shielding the little ones from the wind. Jake opened his pickup door and Bummer jumped inside to the space behind Jake’s driver’s seat where his basket and blanket were wedged.
A feminine voice called out, “I need a jump! Anybody got jumper cables?”
At the plea, Jake looked out. Amy, parked right beside him, waved. Opening his door, he shouted, “I’ve got them in the back.” He spent the next few minutes under his hood and the hood of Amy’s ancient minivan. After watching him connect the cables, she hurried back into the van. Her engine whimpered to life.
Jake quickly unhooked the cables, waving away her thanks and hustled into his pickup. He waited till she drove away. Why hadn’t some man volunteered to help a pretty, obviously kindhearted woman raise those two great kids? Well, he’d been blind to Sheila’s motives for marrying him, Mr. Shy Guy. So did he have a right to criticize anybody else?
Shaking off these depressing thoughts, he drove through town on the road toward home. Finally, he bumped over the rutted path to his late grandparents’ two-story farmhouse. The yard light illumined the property. A light gleamed through the frosted kitchen window.
Once inside the garage, he folded his driver’s seat forward so his basset hound could get down.
“Come on, Bummer!”
But no Bummer.
Jake bent farther inside, thinking that Bummer might have gone toward the far side of the cab or huddled under the seat. How could Bummer be comfortable squeezed in tight like that?
“Bummer!” he shouted. No Bummer.
For a moment Jake doubted his senses. Bummer rarely left his side day or night. The faithful basset hound always rode safely behind Jake’s driver’s seat. But Bummer’s large oval basket with its comfy blanket sat empty under the cab light. Jake stared at it, dumbfounded.
Chapter 2
The cutting wind gusted against Jake, penetrating to the skin. He slammed the cab door and sprinted over the shoveled track through the two-feet-plus of snow. A few of his “outside” dogs came out of their heated doghouse and barked in greeting. The wind lashed his exposed cheeks. Jake ducked inside the house and shoved the door closed, stomping the snow off his boots on the thick mat. He headed into his kitchen to the window over the sink. He didn’t take off his jacket, and the cold lingered around him. He gripped the countertop. What could have happened? Jake looked out into the night, lit by the tall yard light, which reflected on the snow. That he’d been out very late last night on an emergency didn’t help his concentration. Fatigue clung to his eyes, making him want to shut them.
“Bummer, how did you get out of the truck? And why?” Speaking out loud made the far-fetched situation feel less surreal and kept him more alert. The wind whistled around the old farmhouse, not a night for Bummer to be outside.
He slid onto a chair and said in the silence, “Start at the last time you remember seeing him tonight. When I left church, Bummer was with me.” Jake pictured Bummer at his heels, hoofing it over the packed snow toward the pickup. “I opened the cab door for Bummer. Amy needed a jump-start so I hooked up the cables. I was busy getting her car running. Then I unhooked everything, slammed the hoods. I got in and drove away.”
Jake went over the scene in his mind once more. Before I drove off, I didn’t check to see if Bummer was in his basket.
“Bummer wouldn’t have gotten out of the truck and back into the cold. It’s less than ten below out there.” But the idea that somebody must have taken him out of his truck… Ridiculous.
Jake’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It startled him. Bummer’s disappearance had his nerves on edge. He lifted the phone to his ear and said, “Dr. McClure.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to have to bother you. I was frantic, then I remembered your business card in my purse. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, sounding distressed.
He thought the woman’s voice sounded familiar. “How may I help you?”
“I didn’t know that the girls had gotten into mischief.”
The thoughts in his head ricocheted like pinballs. “Pardon?”
“Bummer’s here. While we were busy with the car batteries, my girls coaxed him into my van.”
Bummer? Girls? Van? The light finally went on in his dim bulb. The chain of events clicked into place. “Amy.”
“Yes, Amy Broussard.”
“Amy, you’ve got Bummer?” The absurdity of this development still kept him off-kilter.
“Yes, if you give me your addres
s, I’ll bring him to you. I’m just about to leave for my job at Hope Nursing Home.”
Jake thought of Amy’s battered decade-old van and its temperamental battery. “No, I’ll come and get him.”
“Dr. McClure, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be. Kids and animals are always unpredictable.” And always at the worst possible moment. All I want to do is go to bed. Yet the thought of seeing her again warmed him. “Where do you live?”
She gave him quick directions. Within minutes he was driving down the back roads to the old mobile home court outside of town. He turned in at the Shady Woods sign and drove over the speed bumps till he saw number thirty-four, surrounded by mounds of snow. In the midst of shiny new double-wides, number thirty-four looked downtrodden. Amy waited at the window, waving. Jake parked and hurried through the door.
After wiping his fogged glasses, he saw Amy in front of him, wringing her hands.
“I’m so sorry to cause you this trouble.”
Her obvious distress curbed his simmering irritation. He wished his dog hadn’t helped cause this frustrating situation. “It’s okay. Kids and dogs.” He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “They do the craziest things.” To keep from staring at Amy, he glanced around, looking for Bummer.
“Girls, bring Bummer here, please,” Amy scolded in a tone that reminded him of his mother. She turned to him. “I’m due at work soon. I don’t want to be late.”
The little blonde girls inched from the narrow hall into the living-room/kitchen area. Though scrupulously clean and neat, the interior of the trailer retained a 1980s decor. The girls kept their eyes lowered. The sound of the mewing kittens came from the hallway, too. Still, Jake didn’t see his dog.
“I asked you to bring Bummer out with you,” Amy prompted with her mother voice.
“He wouldn’t come,” one of them said.
“What do you have to say to Dr. McClure?” Amy used the mom tone again.
The two girls gave him innocent expressions of remorse. “We’re sorry, but Bummer kept jumping up so he could see me and Cassie through the window,” Rachel, the one with pigtails, said.
“So we got out just to pet him again and he kinda followed us back to our van,” Cassie, the one with braids, said, looking down.
“What do you have to say to Dr. McClure?” Amy repeated.
“We won’t do it again,” the two chorused.
Jake murmured, “That’s okay.”
Amy looked disgruntled. However, as she went past the girls, she patted their shoulders.
“Come on, Bummer,” she ordered in the hall. “Come here.”
Jake waited, looking at the girls, already in their faded pajamas and wool socks. They avoided his gaze, staring at the worn rose-colored rug. Fatigue made him feel like a scarecrow propped up against the door. Then he heard Bummer’s yodeling moan.
Amy appeared in the main room. “He won’t come out. He’s lying right beside the box I made up as a bed for the kittens. When I took his collar to get him moving, he…growled.”
Jake’s aggravation zoomed like hot air up a flue. “Let me.”
He moved past the girls and their mom. The first door off the narrow hall obviously led into the girl’s room with its pink walls and bunk beds. Bummer lay sprawled on the pink oval throw rug on the floor beside a small box. The two kittens gripped the top of the box with their little paws, peeping out. “Come on, Bummer. Time to go home.” Jake snapped his fingers. “Come on, boy.”
Bummer looked up at him with his big, brown, mellow eyes. His big, brown, mellow, stubborn eyes.
Jake’s patience snapped. Bummer was causing this woman trouble and she didn’t need it. He barged into the room, picked up the heavy dog and headed for the front door. Bummer opened his mouth and bayed loud and long. In between blasts of this, the sound of the kittens’ mewing objections came through.
“I’m so sorry!” Amy called over Bummer’s protests as she opened the door.
“Not your fault. I’m sorry.” Buffeted by the wind, he rushed to his pickup. He deposited Bummer in his basket, then looked up. Amy stood, framed by the window again. He waved, trying to reassure her. Bummer had caused this fuss. She lifted a hand in reply.
He drove down the road toward home—with Bummer still yodeling mournfully. What was with this crazy dog? And why had seeing that sweet woman in that shabby mobile home bothered Jake?
Amy stood in her trailer, still stunned by what had just taken place. And charmed by the way Dr. McClure had paused in the cold wind to wave to her. What a good man. He could have been so cross with her girls, yet he hadn’t been. She quelled the urge to linger on thoughts of the vet. He probably never sat home alone on Saturday night. Then again, neither did she. The girls were always with her. A glance at the stove clock warned her—time to hustle.
“Mom,” Rachel said, pouting, “Bummer wanted to stay with us.”
“Yeah,” Cassie agreed, twisting a braid. “He was crying.”
Amy sighed and checked her watch out of habit. “Bummer is not our dog. And I would think that after I let you keep the kittens tonight, you two would try to behave.” Amy sighed loudly. “Time to go to Aunt Ginnie’s. Get your jackets on. We’ve got to hurry.”
Still grumbling, the girls pulled on their coats and boots for the trek next door. They got the box from the bedroom and put a towel over it. Amy grabbed their lunches for tomorrow from the fridge and got dressed to face the cold herself. The three trooped over the well-worn path of packed snow to next door. In her worn blue robe and slippers, the twins’ honorary “Aunt” Ginnie opened the door wide and welcomed them all inside with her sweet voice.
While the twins hung their winter wear on low pegs by the door, Amy handed Aunt Ginnie the two brown-bag lunches, then showed her the box of kittens in case she hadn’t seen them at church.
“They will need to be fed warmed food at least once tonight. I picked up a can at the convenience store on the way home. I’m so sorry to ask you. But—” Amy lowered her voice “—since the mother cat was run over in the street and I couldn’t deny the girls—”
“Of course not. I did see what happened at the church, and I already fixed up a box with some shredded newspaper for their litter box till you get a regular one.” Ginnie lifted the kittens out, one in each hand. “Hello, you little sweeties. What are you girls going to name these kittens?”
The girls patted the kittens. “We can’t decide.”
“Well, sometimes people name kittens for what they look like,” Ginnie suggested.
Each twin looked at the kitten they held. Then a smile split Rachel’s face. “Mine’s the color of a Twinkie and that’s the best treat for lunch! Hi, Twinkie.” She kissed her mewing kitten’s head.
“And mine is goldy like peanut butter, so mine’s Peanut-Butter! My favorite!” Cassie rubbed her cheek against her kitten.
Ginnie chuckled. “And for short we can call her Peanut sometimes.”
Happy for her girls, Amy kissed them and told them to go right to sleep. “And don’t give Aunt Ginnie any trouble, okay?”
“We won’t,” the twins chorused and headed for the sofa bed where they slept the five nights that Amy worked each week.
Amy handed Ginnie an envelope with her check for watching the girls for the week. God had provided Ginnie, who had taken on the girls as babies soon after Amy had moved here from Milwaukee. “Thanks, Aunt Ginnie.”
“No problem, Amy. Happy to have the company.” The woman turned, and in her sweet voice asked the girls which bedtime video they wanted to watch before lights out. Then she sat down, still cooing over the kittens.
Amy waved and hurried out to her van. She had left it running so she knew she’d be able to get to work. Evidently the frigid temperatures were finishing off another battery. She looked forward to the new house with its garage that she’d be living in come spring. A garage. Wonderful.
As she drove away a bit faster than usual, she glanced into Aunt Ginnie’s window.
The light from the TV set flickered. A true Godsend, Ginnie usually read to the girls at bedtime, but the fundraiser potluck must have tired her out. Amy reached the county road and sped up. If she didn’t, she’d be late for sure. Jake’s face bobbed up in her mind. She sighed and pushed it away. Forgetting him would have been easier—if he hadn’t been such a nice guy.
Jake rolled over in his bed. He had wrapped his pillow around his head, but Bummer’s mournful yodeling penetrated the feathered down. Jake sat up and slammed his pillow to the floor. A glance at the bedside clock told him that this had gone on almost two hours. Not even Jake’s lack of sleep dulled the uproar. Earlier he’d looked Bummer over to see if something physical was bothering him. No dice.
“I can’t take it anymore.” He got up and pulled his clothing over his pajamas and headed down the steps to Bummer, who had refused to move from the vicinity of the back door.
As Jake passed through the kitchen, the wall phone rang. He picked up.
“What is wrong with that dog?” Mike barked. “I can hear him the quarter mile over to my place.”
“Sorry. I’ll take care of it.”
“Do that.” Mike slammed the receiver in Jake’s ear.
Jake shoved his hair back from his face, trying to think of what he could do, what he should do. Amy Broussard’s face came to mind. Did he have a choice?
Driving down the darkened highway, Jake questioned his plan. But he didn’t know what else to do. Amy Broussard had impressed him as a woman who knew kids as well as he knew animals. Maybe they could figure out why this had happened and how to handle it.
In the basket behind him, Bummer still bayed mournfully. Jake could feel a scowl controlling his face. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This midnight ride only showed how desperate a tired man could get.
He saw the lighted sign ahead for the nursing home where Amy said she worked. He lurched to a stop at the back entrance, where he figured he could get to Amy easier. He pressed the button by the door and braced himself against the icy wind. Shivering, he waited with Bummer under his arm, weighing more each moment. The door opened and he charged inside out of the blistering cold.
