That Holiday Feeling

by Debbie Macomber, Sherryl Woods

  Before she could ponder that for long, that Arcata woman found her, looked her up, informed her they weren’t the only two. Ed, as it happened, was quite the dabbler. He had at least one other steady girlfriend to spend the nights with.

  Her tears had turned to fumes. She threw out everything that reminded her of him. She bought all new bedding and towels. Went to the doctor and got a clean bill of health. But at the end of the day when she grieved, it wasn’t so much for Ed as for the idea of Ed; she had invested a year in a man she thought would give her the stability of marriage and family, a settled life. The dependence of love. Security. When she thought about Ed, she wanted to dismember him. She wanted her brothers to go after him and beat him senseless. But not only would she never take him back, she’d cross the street to avoid him. So maybe Rose was right—maybe they both really knew all along he just wasn’t the one.

  But neither was anyone else. She hadn’t been out on five dates since the breakup a little more than six months ago, and the number of boyfriends she’d had before Ed had come along were too few to count. She went out with her girlfriends regularly, but the best part of her life was spending a couple of days on the farm, riding, cooking or baking or putting up preserves with her mom.

  The farmhouse had a wide porch that stretched the length of the house, and from that porch you could watch the seasons come and go. The brightness of spring, the lushness of summer, the burnt color of fall, the white of winter. She watched the year pass from that porch, as she had since she was a little girl. But lately it seemed as though the years were passing way too quickly and she wondered if she’d ever find the right partner to sit there with rather than alone.

  A Hollywood woman? A fancy Hollywood woman? That would explain things like Caribbean vacations. Nate was drawn to flashy, sexy women. Or maybe the kind of women found in the private boxes at races or horse shows; Annie had seen enough of those televised events to know the type—model gorgeous, decked out in designer clothes, hand-stitched boots, lots of fringe and bling. Or the type seen at the fund-raisers and society events attended by the wives, daughters and sisters of Thoroughbred breeders, the kind of women whose horses were entered in the Preakness. Or perhaps he preferred medically educated women, like another vet who could appreciate his professional interests—the kind of women who also rubbed elbows with the well-to-do because of their profession.

  But probably ordinary, sensible-shoes farm girls didn’t do anything special for a man like Nate.

  Annie’s thoughts were broken when her father walked into the kitchen and refilled his coffee cup. He put a hand on the small of his back and stretched, leaning back, rolling his shoulders.

  “Are you limping, Dad?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Got a little hitch in my giddy-up is all.”

  “As soon as I’m through with this puppy project, I’ll make it a point to get out here more often to help.”

  “The doctor says the best thing is for him to keep moving,” Rose said. “You do enough to help already.”

  “You don’t remember that fancy Hollywood woman?” Hank asked, going back to the conversation he had overheard. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Breeze woulda blown her away. Skinny thing. Could see her bones. Not at all right for Nathaniel.” He took a sip of coffee and lifted his bushy brows, looking at her over the rim of his mug. “You’da been more his speed, I think. Yeah, better Nathaniel than that son of a so-and-so you got yourself mixed up with.”

  “I didn’t even know Nate Jensen was here until a few days ago, remember?” Annie pointed out. “And before that, I was with the so-and-so, and Nate was taken.”

  “Yeah, you’da had to kill that skinny thing, but she looked near death, anyhow.” Then he grinned at her and left the kitchen.

  “Will Nathaniel have his family for Christmas?” Rose asked.

  “Actually, he said his parents, sisters and their families are going on a cruise. I gathered, from the way he said it, he’d throw himself off the boat if he were along. He said something sarcastic, like it would be hell to give up all that shuffleboard, but he’d manage.”

  “Oh, you must invite him to join us for the holiday dinners, Annie. As I recall, he was friendly with one of your brothers when they were kids.”

  “Mom, he’s not hanging around. He’s going on some highfalutin Caribbean vacation, meeting up with some old classmates from veterinary college, hoping to get lost in a sea of very tiny bikinis on the beach. Apparently his taste in women hasn’t changed much.”

  “Really?” Rose asked. “Now to me, that sounds dull.”

  “Not if you’re a single guy in your thirties, Mom.”

  “Oh. Well, then take him some of these cookies.”

  “I’m sure he couldn’t care less about home-baked cookies.” Not if what he prefers is some fancy, skinny, rich girl, she thought.

  “Nonsense. I don’t know the man who doesn’t like home-baked cookies. Reminds them of their mothers.”

  “Just the image I’d most like to aspire to,” Annie said.

  Three

  Rose McKenzie insisted that Annie take a plate of Christmas cookies to Dr. Jensen, but it made Annie feel silly, farm girlish, so she left them in the car when she went into Jack’s bar later that afternoon.

  She gasped in pleasure when she walked in—the place had been decorated for Christmas. A tree stood in the corner opposite the hearth, garlands were strung along the bar and walls, small evergreen centerpieces sat on the tables, and the buck over the door wore a wreath on his antlers. It was festive and homey, and the fresh pine scent mingled with wood smoke and good cooking from the kitchen to complete the holiday mood.

  It took her less than two seconds to see that Nate wasn’t there, which made her doubly glad she hadn’t trotted in her plate of baked goods. Maybe this was the day he wasn’t going to show. It wasn’t as though he had any obligation here. In fact, besides giving the puppies a cursory look and asking Annie if there was anything wrong with any of them, he didn’t do anything at all.

  She gave Jack a wave and went directly to the puppies, which, in the past week, had gotten surprisingly big. Boy, if those weren’t all border collies, she was no judge of canines. Out of the eight, two were solid black with maybe a little silver or gray or perhaps a mere touch of white—the only indication another breed might’ve been involved. But they had grown so much! And they were doing so beautifully—plump and fluffy and adorable. Just like everyone else who passed by that box, she couldn’t resist immediately picking a puppy up and cuddling it against her chin.

  Jack came over to the hearth and she grinned at him. “The bar looks wonderful, Jack. All ready for Santa.”

  “Yeah, the women got it ready for their hen party. Cookie exchange tomorrow at noon—you should come.”

  “Nuts, I’ll be at work. But tell them the decorations are beautiful.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Annie, we’ve got a situation. We’re going to have to come up with another plan here.”

  Instinctively she picked up Comet to judge his size and strength; he wriggled nicely. “Why’s that, Jack?” she asked.

  He was shaking his head. “This isn’t going to work much longer. I can go another day, two at the most, while you figure something out, but the puppies have to find a new home. They’re getting bigger, more energetic, and giving off the kind of odor reminiscent of a box full of puppy shit. This is an eating-and-drinking establishment, Annie.”

  “Are people complaining?” she asked.

  “Just the opposite,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re drawing a nice crowd on account of the big tree and the cute little puppies. But you know puppies, Annie. They’re wetting on a lot of laps while they’re being held and snuggled. This is going to go from cute and fun to a big problem real soon.”

  “Oh,” she said, helpless. “Oh.” Well, it wasn’t as though she had trouble understanding. It was different when the litter was in your downstairs bathroom or under the laundry sink in a home, or when
there was a mother dog around tending the nursery. You just didn’t realize how hard that mother dog worked unless you had to care for the puppies yourself. Even when there were eight of them, as long as they were nursing, good old Mom licked them from head to toe, keeping them clean and dry. The second you started giving them solid food, Mom stopped cleaning up after them and it took no time at all for them to get a little stinky and messy. But under normal circumstances, that came at about six weeks, right about the time they were ready to leave the nursery anyway.

  In this case, there’d been no mom, and the formula and cereal that went in one end came out the other. Their bedding couldn’t be changed fast enough or their cute little bottoms washed often enough to avoid a smell.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked herself.

  “We’ve got homes for some of them figured out,” Jack said. “I’m not sure any of them are ready to be out of the box yet, but we’ve got a few adoptions worked out. There’s Christopher, of course. He’s not letting Comet get away.”

  “Comet’s not ready to be the responsibility of a six-year-old. He needs a couple more weeks. And good as Chris is with him, he’ll have to be supervised,” Annie said.

  “I know. And I’m sunk,” Jack said. “David keeps babbling about his ‘boppie.’ I’ve been thinking about getting a dog, anyway, something to clean up the spills around my place. But…”

  “And, Jack, you can’t turn a puppy this size over to a three-year-old boy any more than you can put him in charge of eggs and ripe tomatoes.”

  “Yeah, yeah, when it’s time, we’ll be careful. And Buck Anderson, sheep rancher, says it’s about time to get a couple of new herders ready. He’s got a little child of his own and seven grandchildren. He can speak for two—his sons can help get ’em grown before they turn them over to the other dogs and the sheep. He’d like them to be Christmas dogs, though. Now, I know you don’t trust people looking for puppies as Christmas gifts, but you can count on Buck. He knows the score.” Jack took a breath. “I don’t like their chances if they won’t herd sheep, however.”

  “Okay, that’s four taken care of,” she said.

  “Couple of other people have been thinking about it, but that’s the progress so far. Did you realize everyone in town has named them after the reindeer?”

  “Yeah, cute, huh? Jack, I don’t have a place for them. I guess I could take them to my house and run home between haircuts to make sure they’re fed and watered, but to tell the truth, I don’t have that kind of time. At Christmastime, everyone wants to be beautiful. And I try to spend as much time at the farm as I can—the whole family’s coming.”

  “Maybe we need to rethink that shelter idea. Couldn’t they just look after them for a couple of weeks? Then we’ll take at least a few off their hands….”

  Just then Nathaniel blew in with a gust of wind. He pulled off his gloves and slapped them in his palm. He looked around the recently decorated bar and whistled approvingly. “Hey,” he said to Annie and Jack. “How’s everything?” Silence answered him. “Something wrong?”

  Annie stepped toward him. “Jack can’t keep the puppies here anymore, Nate. They’re starting to smell like dogs. It is a restaurant, after all.”

  Nate laughed. “I think you’ve hung in there pretty well, Jack. Lasted longer than I predicted.”

  “Sorry, Nate. If Annie hadn’t been so convincing, these guys would have gone to a shelter right off the bat. Or someplace way worse. At least we’ve figured out homes for a few—when they’re old enough and strong enough to leave the litter.”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Nate said good-naturedly. “Well, if Annie promises not to bail on me, I’ll take ’em home. I’m pretty busy most days, but I have a vet tech at the clinic to help. And they don’t need quite as much hands-on care as they did a week ago—at least they can all lap up their meals without an eyedropper now. I can put ’em in the laundry room and close the door so they don’t keep me up all night.”

  “Will they be warm enough?” Annie asked. “Are they strong enough?”

  “They’ll be fine, Annie. Jack—what’s for dinner?”

  “Chili. Corn bread. Really? You’ll take them out of here?”

  Nate laughed. “Can we mooch one more meal before we cart them away? I’m a bachelor—there’s hardly ever any food in the house.” He draped an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “This one is spoiled now—she’s used to getting fed for her efforts. And two beers.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said, lifting a curious eyebrow. “Coming right up.”

  “After we eat, you can follow me home,” he said to Annie, as if the matter was settled.

  Annie knew approximately where the Jensen clinic, stable and house were, but she couldn’t remember ever going there. You might take your poodle or spaniel to the small-animal vet, but the large-animal vet came to you, unless you had a big animal in need of surgery or with some condition that required long-term and frequent care. His stable also provided occasional short-term boarding for horses. And he had breeding facilities, but that also was most often done at the farm or ranch by the farmers and ranchers. Some owners of very valuable horses preferred to leave their prefoaling mares with the vet.

  Nate transported the puppy box in the covered bed of his truck. They were bundled up with extra blankets and wouldn’t get too cold on the short ride. Annie followed in her own truck. They made a left off the main road at the sign that said Jensen Stables, Dr. Nathaniel Jensen, DVM. The road was paved, which was high cotton in this part of the world. It was tree-lined and the snow-covered brush was cut back from the edge. The road had to be at least half a mile long. Then it opened into a well-lit compound. The stable was on the left of a large open area, with a corral surrounding it on the side and back. The clinic itself was attached to the stable. There were Christmas lights twinkling in one of the windows. On the right was a sprawling, modern one-story house with a brick sidewalk that led up to double front doors of dark wood set with beveled-glass windows. Not a single Christmas light or ornament on the house at all. Annie wondered if the vet tech had decorated the clinic.

  Between the house and stable were two horse trailers. One could hold six horses, the other two, and both were so fancy they probably came with a bar and cabin attendants.

  The garage door at one end of the house opened automatically, and Nate pulled in. Annie parked outside and walked through the garage. She carried the formula and baby cereal while he carried the box, managing to open the door into the house and flick on lights with his elbow as he walked through the kitchen and then disappeared. The kitchen was the kind Annie’s mother would have died for—large new appliances, six-burner stove, double oven, work island with a sink. It was gorgeous. It looked newly remodeled.

  Annie moved more slowly, peering past a long breakfast bar into a spacious family room with big, comfy-looking furniture and a beautiful fireplace. On each side of the fireplace were floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes.

  “Annie? Where are you?”

  She stopped gawking and followed the voice. She passed a very long, old oak table in a large breakfast nook inside bay windows that looked out on the back of the property. A sharp left and down a short hall took her past a bathroom, a bedroom and into a laundry room. In addition to cabinets, there was a stainless-steel washer and dryer, along with a deep sink. This was not an old farmhouse, that was for sure.

  “I’ll use linens from the clinic to line their box,” Nate said. “They’ll be fine in here. Listen, I know you signed on for this duty, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to rearrange your schedule to get out here the first minute you can escape work every day. Virginia, my tech, can help during the day and I get called out sometimes, but this time of year, no one’s breeding or birthing, so it’s not usually too hectic. But—”

  “Okay,” she said. “I won’t come. I’ll leave a number. If you need me.”

  “Well, could you still come sometimes?” he asked with a laugh. “If yo
u give me a hand feeding and cleaning up, I’ll thaw a hunk of meat to throw in the broiler or something. Nothing like Preacher’s, but edible. Just let me know when you can be here.”

  “You have your tech….”

  “I don’t like to ask Virginia to stay after five unless we have special patients—she wants to get home, have dinner with her husband. I’ll fix you up with a key, in case I’m tied up on a case and you beat me home.”

  “Sure. Tell me exactly what you want,” she said.

  He put his hands on his hips. “I want to know what’s wrong. Why are you frowning like that? You’ve been frowning since I walked into Jack’s.”

  Mentally, she tried to smooth out her eyebrows, but she could still feel the wrinkle. She’d been trying to picture him with a trophy girl on his arm, that was what. Or with an equestrienne from a high-muck-a-muck ranch who raced or showed horses all over the world. Or maybe a mature and attractive woman his age who was as smart and successful as he was. And he was so damn handsome it wasn’t hard to imagine all this. But she said, “You’re downright chipper. This is exactly what you didn’t want, but you’re almost thrilled about having the puppies here. What’s up with that?”

  He laughed. “Nah. I knew it was going to come to this. I’m glad Jack and Preacher handled them for that first week for two reasons—they had to be fed, dried and checked frequently, and I enjoyed stopping by the bar on the way home every day. Don’t know when I’ve eaten so well,” he added, rubbing a flat belly. “Now that it’s apparent they’re all going to make it, they only have to be checked and fed every few hours, something Virginia and I can handle during the day. I agree with you about the shelter. They’d probably be just fine—those folks are devoted, and they interview and screen efficiently before they let a tiny, orphaned animal out of there. But why take chances? If we have to use the shelter, we’ll just do so after Christmas.”