Holiday Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  Spencer pulls away and leaves me gasping for breath on the porch. "Frankie," he yells into the darkness. "Well…"

  "Well…" The excitement of the kiss evaporates, and I'm left with a horrible case of nerves. I just kissed a cute guy. On my porch. I hope my neighbors didn’t see. I’d hate to be the subject of the phone tree so quickly.

  Frankie barks in the distance and Spencer turns. "I need to get her in the truck. Can I call you tomorrow?"

  "Uh-huh." Smooth, Joslin. Real smooth.

  Spencer opens the door to his truck and Frankie jumps in. I wait on the porch until he’s out of the driveway and turned onto the road. My expression stays normal and level-headed until the door closes behind me. Then I lose it with a little scream into the empty room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I’ve either fallen into a case of extremely bad luck or Spencer is the absolute worst at dating. Is there a test to determine if someone has bad luck? If I search the Internet long enough, I bet I’ll find something. You can find everything on the Internet.

  "I really appreciate you coming along," he says from somewhere on his side of the truck.

  I tilt my head back and forth to try and get a clear view of his face before I answer, but Frankie’s head fills the space, so it’s no use. “Of course.”

  "This is probably not what you had in mind when I asked you for a date."

  "Not exactly, no." I'm willing to bet money no girl in the history of the world would have imagined this scenario.

  Frankie leans over and with her big, wet, prickly tongue, licks all the way up my cheek.

  "Frankie."

  I wipe her slobber away with the back my hands. "How could I say no?"

  "We'll get Frankie’s shot taken care of, drop her off at home, and then you and I can have the entire night together. I just couldn’t miss this opportunity.”

  “Uh-huh."

  Spencer parks his truck in one of the open spaces at the vet’s office parking lot. "He came in on a Sunday." The lot is filled with fresh snow from last night’s mini storm. It won’t get really cold in this part of Maine until January, but it begins ramping up in December.

  "Spencer, it's okay." We’re halfway out of town, between Pelican Bay proper and the new development area. If I had a problem with bringing Frankie to the vet on Sunday, I would've spoken up before we passed the welcome to Pelican Bay sign.

  I lean up against the heavy door and open it with my back, a chime announcing our entrance. Spencer struggles with Frankie, who pulls on her leash, not wanting to go anywhere near the office. She obviously has experience here and remembers.

  "You made it in!" An older gentleman, Dr. Pike, the only veterinarian in Pelican Bay, steps out from behind the receptionist desk.

  I’ve seen the Dr. around town once or twice, but his presence is still startling at first glance. I always forget he’s a giant. Spencer is over six feet and towers over my five-and-a-half-foot frame, but the doctor is humongous. I don’t have to lift my head to look at him, I have to throw it all the way back, my skull resting on the space between my shoulders. His patches of white hair styled on top of his head are barely visible from my angle.

  "The delivery came in first thing this morning, but I’m unboxing it now.” The doctor flips open the flap of the brown shipping box sitting on the top of the receptionist desk and pulls out a small Styrofoam cooler.

  The insides rattle, little tinkering of glasses hitting each other. He selects a slim glass vile with clear liquid inside.

  "Just what the doctor ordered, right Frankie?" he says, leading us into an exam room on the first half of the office.

  Frankie does not seem to agree. I don’t know what this man did to the poor dog the first time she was here, but from the way she pulls her leash taunt against Spencer's hand, she is not anxious to relive it.

  "Are you sure about this?" I ask Spencer quietly as he drags Frankie into the exam room.

  He stops walking to give a good tug on the leash. "Of course. She needs her vaccine."

  I almost didn't believe him when Spencer asked me out on another date and then showed up with Frankie. He explained the vet called on his way out the door and said the vaccine he was short on two weeks ago had been delivered. With a full roster of clients—who knew there were so many pets in Pelican Bay—he asked Spencer to stop by as soon as possible.

  "Come on in, Frankie." The doctor carries on like he doesn't realize Frankie thinks she's walking to her execution. "My secretary had all the offices outfitted with these paintings from an artist in New York. They're supposedly very calming for the dogs.

  "Aha." There's been talk in town Dr. Pike is a bit crazy, but as I stand to the side of the exam room waiting for Spencer to talk Frankie in, I'm turning more and more to her side.

  How much does the dog need this vaccine, anyway?

  Okay, probably a lot.

  Spencer steps into the room with Frankie in his arms and sets her on the examining table, but she's having none of it. Her little feet scurry on the metal as her back paws scratch on the hard surface. Spencer tightens his grip, and I rub behind her ears until she’s relatively calm.

  Rather than sticking her with the vaccine and rushing to get us in and out, Dr. Pike takes his time. He looks Frankie over, giving her an exam. She growls when he lifts her top and bottom lips to check her teeth and closes her eyes when he shines the light in them.

  “The painting must be working. Look how calm she is,” Spencer says, a little too cheerful for what’s actually going on in this room. This is calm?

  Just when I figure he’s done, the doctor pulls up one of Frankie's flopped over ears and looks inside.

  "Have you decided what breed she is yet?"

  Spencer's head turns to me, but he never takes his eyes off Frankie. "No. No one else seems to know either."

  "Have you considered she may have some poodle in her?" the doctor asks, completely serious.

  My head snaps up, and I give Spencer a what-the-hell look. It's hard to determine what kind of dog Frankie is. With her short black hair and tall-framed body, there is no way she's anything poodle. Maybe Mastiff.

  "From the amount of hair she leaves behind on everything, I don’t think that's a possibility,” Spencer is quick to answer.

  The doctor taps his finger on his chin twice. "Well, some poodles shed. Especially when you start mixing them with other breeds."

  Frankie was right all along. This guy is a quack.

  Spencer laughs and pets Frankie on the head a few times. "I'm not sure how many poodles are running around in the woods of Kentucky, Doc."

  My hand stills behind Frankie's ear and I think back to the article I read taped to the door of the pet store. "You're the guy from the article? The bachelor party puppies?"

  Spencer’s lips pucker, and the left side of his face pinches up. "I thought you knew."

  I reach across the table and smack him on the shoulder. "I didn't." Men are so ridiculous. How would I have any clue the Spencer mentioned in the article was this Spencer?

  On second thought, Pelican Bay is not a large city. I probably should've had a guess.

  "Found her with a bunch of my buddies on Halloween. You didn't get your name just because you like to destroy things, huh Frankenstein?" Spencer gets right into Frankie's face and rubs the top of her nose. As much as he complains she destroys his stuff, he obviously loves his dog.

  "Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor’s name." Dr. Pike punctuates the end of his sentence by jabbing Frankie with the vaccination needle.

  For all his craziness, he does get it over quickly. The needle is in and out before Frankie has a complete panic attack and jumps into Spencer's waiting arms.

  Dr. Pike reaches into his lab coat pocket and pulls out a handful of deep red, little balls. He sticks his hand up to Frankie's nose and lets her lick a few from his palm. When she's eaten three or four of them, he pulls his hand back and then pops two into his own mouth.

  I stop scratching Frankie's ea
r.

  Spencer stops patting her on the top of her head.

  Dr. Pike shrugs and then eats the third and last treat from his hand. "Dog treats these days are pretty delicious."

  I hold my look of disbelief while not speaking as Spencer pays the doctor for the vaccine. It stays steadily hidden as we walk through the lot. I even get the door closed before I make a comment.

  “You do realize your vet is crazy, right?” I ask while Spencer starts up the truck.

  He nods. “He is. Now smile and wave at the crazy man.”

  Dr. Pike steps onto the front porch of the vet’s office, and I immediately raise my hand, nod, and wave as we pull away.

  “I live over in Kensington Place.” Spencer mentions the brand-new fancy apartments Pierce finished construction on last year. “Can I make up for this adventurous morning by cooking lunch?”

  “I don’t know. I just witnessed a grown man eat dog treats as a snack. It needs to be a really delicious lunch.”

  Spencer makes a left and chuckles once. “I’d better order out then.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Thanks for serving me dinner." Spencer cuts off another large bite of his chicken.

  I shrug while looking down at my plate. It's a chicken breast with some broccoli from a frozen bag on the side. "After the lunch you made, this is no big deal."

  Spencer takes another bite of his chicken and moans while chewing. I’ve never had a man moan about my cooking before.

  We ate lunch in his apartment, and while it was only a sub, it was a delicious sub. All the ingredients were there: tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, cucumbers, and olives. Total perfection. One of those subs you could make at home yourself but are always too lazy.

  "That's where you're wrong. I didn't make lunch. I pulled out what Anessa sent me home with last night."

  "Oh." One million thoughts run through my head as my fork stops its projections to my mouth. Have I spent the last two days hanging out with someone dating the new town baker? What about Bennett?

  Spencer crams another bite of chicken into his mouth like he’s not concerned that he’s cheating on his girlfriend—who makes really awesome subs.

  He finishes chewing and takes a large swallow. "She's dating one of the guys at Pelican Bay Security. Whenever one of us is on Anessa guard duty, she feels bad and supplies the food."

  "You have to guard Bennett’s girlfriends? Is running a bakery dangerous?"

  Spencer laughs and stabs a piece of broccoli with his fork. "It's a long story."

  From the way he slowly chews his bite of food, I gather that he doesn't plan to share it. Unfortunately for him, I’m ready with more questions. Hundreds more. “What exactly is your job title at Pelican Bay Security? I thought Ridge installed alarms?"

  That’s only partially true. With as many of his guys who visit the ER and the other people he sends there himself, most of us know more is going on than meets the eye. But we all turn our heads and pretend it’s not anything out of the ordinary.

  "You don't really know what Ridge does until you need his services." Spencer pauses dramatically until I meet his eyes. "And you need to hope you never need his services."

  "Okay… That doesn’t tell me much but sounds quite scary."

  He finishes the last bite of food on his plate and leaves me staring at my half of a chicken. Maybe he doesn't get home-cooked food often. "Sorry, I don’t mean to be scary, but Ridge employees half a dozen former military men on either a full salary base or contract terms. He's doing a lot more than installing security alarms."

  "But what is it that you do exactly?"

  Spencer leans back in his chair with his eyes cast to the ceiling like he's thinking deeply about what and how he plans to answer me.

  “You’ve heard about the bakery?”

  I don’t mean to cock my head to the side in a snotty expression, but I do. “Really? Yes. It’s Pelican Bay. Everyone has heard about the bakery.” I wasn’t in town when everything went down, but they reported it in the paper. We all know.

  Spencer laughs. “Well, it’s not all like that. I have experience in surveillance. I really do spend most my time installing cameras and watching feeds. I practically lived the first few months in the surveillance room, watching various cameras we have set up for customers. It was only recently I started working with the regular crew."

  Does he think that answers anything? There are a hundred thousand other questions I want to ask but ultimately stick to the important ones. "When did you meet Ridge?" I grew up in Pelican Bay. I've known Ridge and his family for years. Spencer is not from this area.

  "I transferred into his team the last two years of my service. He left a few years before I did, but about three months after I left, Ridge stopped by and offered me a job in Pelican Bay. He made big promises of a nice, quiet military retirement."

  I laugh.

  "I know. We’re not allowed to talk about cases, but Pelican Bay has been anything but quiet since I arrived."

  Don't I know it. The hospital has seen more people brought in by one of Ridge’s employees over the last two years than since I graduated college.

  "The hospital has never seen so much excitement."

  "I thought you worked in pediatrics?" he asks.

  Spencer must not come from a small town.

  "Yeah, but in Pelican Bay, news travels up the elevators fast. What I don’t hear at work, I learn from the phone tree later.”

  He shakes his head. "Do I want to know what a phone tree is?"

  "No."

  Pelican Bay has seen an influx of young people over the last two years. Pierce and his developments have worked to draw in a younger crowd. It leaves the shop owners happy but the older, long-term residents pissed. While new growth has increased on the outside portion of town, those of us who live in Pelican Bay proper are stuck somewhere between 1975 and 1985. Cell phone service is shaky at best, and any news the paper won’t print, we learn from the seven-p.m. phone call each night.

  Frankie barks from the backyard, and Spencer opens my sliding glass door to let her inside. "She sure does love having your fenced-in backyard to run around in."

  "She does. Feel free to bring her over whenever you want and let her run. Maybe the extra activity will wear her out so she doesn’t get in so much trouble."

  There's a loud rustle followed by a bark from my kitchen as Frankie sticks her nose in the trash can, intending to knock it over.

  "Or it could make her extra hungry."

  "Frankie!" Spencer yells. "You cannot make a mess in Joslin's house." He continues to shout at Frankie like only a father could.

  I settle our dirty plates in the sink. "Don't worry about it."

  Spencer bends over and uses his bare hand to push the garbage back into the can. "I've got to find her an obedience class somewhere."

  Frankie picks a spot on the floor next to me and sits down, looking as innocent as ever. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe she was one who knocked over the trash.

  “I’d planned to ask you if you wanted to watch another movie tonight—something without dead dogs—but I worry if we stay longer, we’ll wear out our welcome.”

  I laugh and cast a look at the microwave. The digital readout shows a few minutes past nine. My five-a.m. wake-up call will come bright and early. For some reason, women don’t wait to have their children between the convenient hours of nine and five. “I have to work tomorrow morning.”

  “What time is it?” Spencer’s eyes find the same time readout I did. “Oh shit. It’s after nine. Where did the day go?”

  Where did the day go? It feels like he picked me up for our date a few short hours ago, but before I realized it, we’ve spent the entire day together.

  “I didn’t mean to stay so long. I hope I haven’t kept you from anything important.”

  Like there can be anything as important as getting the opportunity to stare at him all day long.

  “Nope. Nothing planned except a lot of sitti
ng around.” I twist my fingers around each other behind my back.

  I leave out the part where being with him was much better than my plan to watch tv alone. With a bag of chips. Maybe some dip.

  Spencer clips his bright pink leash to Frankie’s matching collar and tugs her to the door. He stops at the entryway but doesn’t say anything.

  The silence freaks me out. What are we supposed to do right now? Kiss? Make out? Ask him to stay the night? All of them might be activity I'd like to do, but none of them are things I actually would.

  "I already have Frankie out the door, so if you want to keep her out of your house, you need to come over here for a good-night kiss.”

  Oh.

  Well then.

  I slowly make my way from the kitchen to where he leans against the doorframe. If only I had a cell phone so I could text him something funny at this moment, rather than the nonsense blabber that will exit my mouth should I open it right now.

  "You made it." Spencer says.

  "Well…you know." See! I’m worthless.

  He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes my body tight in anticipation.

  "Well, are you going to kiss me or just talk about it all night?" I gasp and my eyes widen. Holy shit. I made a witty comment at an opportune time in front of a cute guy.

  Spencer doesn't need any additional coaxing. His arm latches around my middle, and he pulls me to him until we’re chest to chest. With me on my tippy toes, his lips smash against mine in a frantic movement, but he pulls back enough for the second kiss to be smooth and slow.

  My eyes close, but Spencer surrounds me. His cologne soaks into my clothing and assaults my nose with his heavenly, manly, musky scent. His tongue caresses my upper lip, and I open, allowing him entrance into my mouth. Our tongues duel, and Spencer tugs his fingers through my long blonde hair.

  It's a kiss I want to go on forever, but eventually, he pulls back slowly, taking my bottom lip with him for a few millimeters, continuing to lavish me with small, sweet, short kisses. Both of us are reluctant to let go. Our current kiss begins to deepen, and I tighten my grip on the hem of Spencer's polo shirt, but his lips are ripped away from me in one quick jerk. My eyes follow his, looking at his outstretched arm where Frankie pulls on the end of her leash.