Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  After only fifteen minutes of their date, he was tired of holding one-sided conversations. Wendy sat across from him, stirring guacamole with a chip and nodding at everything he said.

  Drew should be willing to put up with one-sided conversations. Wendy was his best defense against losing primary custody of Becky. He’d keep to the plan unless he met with Rupert Harper on Wednesday and heard differently. Rupert’s secretary had promised he’d come by the sheriff’s office first thing the day he returned from vacation.

  Still…Wendy’s lips didn’t entice him like Lola’s. Her conversation didn’t keep him on his toes like Lola’s. And her presence didn’t make him want to smile like Lola’s.

  Drew crumbled a chip in one hand. He needed to stop thinking about Lola.

  The door to Los Consuelos opened, and Pris walked in with Eileen. They stopped at the hostess stand and spotted him.

  Saved!

  Drew waved his sisters over.

  “You don’t mind if my sisters join us, do you?” Drew didn’t wait for Wendy’s agreement. He scooted toward the wall and indicated to his siblings that they should fill the booth.

  Pris hesitated at the table, holding Eileen back with a nearly imperceptibly placed elbow. Pris wore black boots, jeans, and a plunging blouse that she tugged higher when a teenage busboy stopped wiping a table to stare at her. She might have been looking for male attention but obviously she drew the line at jailbait.

  “Hey, guys,” Pris said casually, as if she ran into her brother with a woman every day. “Are you having dinner together?”

  “We are but we just ordered.” Drew bared his teeth in what he hoped wasn’t the smile of a man backed into a corner. “You can join us. My treat.”

  If Pris noted the desperate look in his eyes, she made no note of it. Her elbow came down and she sat next to Wendy, most likely so she could smirk at Drew, because that’s what she did immediately, as if to say, I was right about Wendy, wasn’t I? Milk toast?

  Drew signaled their waitress and latched on to a topic of conversation before Pris did. “Eileen, how is Rosie?”

  Eileen was fiddling with a set of plastic bandages on her knuckles. She put her hands under the table and out of sight. She was dressed to work at the rescue shelter in black rubber boots, stained gray sweats, and a dingy green Sunshine High School T-shirt that was so old the buffalo’s horns had worn off. “Rosie is good. She’s a gem. She’s absolutely no trouble.”

  In addition to damaging Eileen’s fingers, Rosie had probably trashed Eileen’s house down to the studs. And what would happen when Rosie lost enough weight to see again and was ready to go to a new home? Eileen would call Drew to repair the damage, just as she had that time she’d rescued a llama and it’d pawed through her backyard fence.

  “Rosie could use a dog walker.” Apparently, Pris had more than witnessing Drew’s embarrassment on her mind.

  Drew half expected her to ask him to change the oil in her car too, which, come to think of it, was probably due.

  “I think the Bodine boys could use some extra work.” Drew sat back in the booth, pushing the basket of chips toward Eileen. “They’re in shape, and they’ll have time since high school baseball is coming to a close.”

  Pris tsk-tsked. “Eileen doesn’t have the money to pay anyone.”

  Eileen nodded, confiscating Drew’s salsa bowl and digging in as if it was her first meal of the day. “I need a volunteer. Someone strong enough to hold her. Someone who can sing a good lullaby.”

  “I’m busy,” Drew grumbled.

  Wendy was watching them and smiling wanly as if happy to be sitting with them. “Is Rosalie okay?” she asked.

  “She needs to lose weight,” Eileen said, having missed the subtext of the question while cleaning out the chip basket. “It’s affecting her eyesight.”

  “Rosalie’s going blind?” Wendy’s forehead scrunched. “That’s horrible.”

  “Eileen rescued a pig called Rosie,” Drew explained patiently. “We’re not talking about Rosalie Bollinger.” He raised his beer bottle, intending to take a drink.

  “Rosie and Rosalie. I was mixed up,” Wendy said with a flash of a smile that was more than milk toast. “Have you seen Lola Williams’s window? A man riding a deer. It made me laugh.”

  The salsa Pris had loaded on her chip fell to the table. Drew set his beer down untouched.

  Shy, withdrawn Wendy had a sense of humor. Maybe things weren’t as grim as he’d thought. Maybe there was a personality to Wendy after all, buried deep down where only the most desperate of men could find it.

  “I thought her window was funny too.” Eileen signaled the waitress for more chips. “I drive by it every day. Why is she doing it?”

  “Who knows?” Drew’s sister was getting them off track. “Do you have any pets, Wendy?” Drew motioned to the waitress to bring him another beer.

  “I have a tortoise. He lives in my basement.” Wendy slid a glance Drew’s way. “He’s not as exciting as a pig. He doesn’t need walking.”

  Pris raised her brows, and Drew could almost tell what his sister was thinking: She has a pet she keeps in her basement…along with her personality.

  Drew shook his head, brushing his sister off. Wendy had just given a big speech. He continued to be heartened and waited for Wendy to say more.

  And waited…

  “What’s your turtle’s name?” Drew couldn’t stand it any longer. This was almost a conversation.

  “Archie. And he’s a tortoise,” Wendy said tolerantly.

  Pris leaned back and studied Wendy. “How old is Archie?”

  Wendy shrugged.

  “How did you find a turtle…” Even Eileen was caught up in it now. “Er…a tortoise in Colorado?”

  “I visited an animal rescue.”

  Eileen frowned. “You haven’t visited my animal rescue.”

  “I already have a pet.” Wendy took a bite of a chip.

  “There’s logic to that, I suppose,” Eileen said, oddly supportive.

  Pris’s eyebrows went higher, as if to say, Whose side is she on?

  Drew gave Pris a very brief, very dark look.

  “Have you heard anything from Jane?” Eileen asked, further proving she wasn’t with the program. She should’ve known the topic of Jane was taboo in front of Wendy.

  Wendy blinked and then stared at Drew.

  “I haven’t heard a word from her.” Drew brought the near-empty basket of chips closer and took one. “How am I going to walk a pig who can’t see?”

  “Oh, she’s very docile.” Eileen took the bait. “She heels better than any dog I’ve rescued.”

  “She has a leash,” Pris said with a superior expression, possibly imagining Drew walking her.

  “Oh, you’ve taken Rosie out, Pris?” Drew bared his teeth.

  “Nope.” Pris returned his smile in kind. “I just saw her leash.”

  “Tomorrow,” Wendy said.

  As one, the Taylors looked at her.

  “You should walk Rosie tomorrow, Drew.” Wendy brushed the few chip crumbs she’d made to the side of the table. “Since she needs to lose weight.”

  The woman he intended to marry wanted him to walk a pig? How could Drew refuse?

  Chapter Eighteen

  What are you doing here so early?” Eileen opened the door a crack on Monday morning and stared at Drew as if she hadn’t had her first cup of coffee.

  Behind Drew, the last efforts of a weak spring storm spit at the cruiser’s windshield.

  Behind Eileen, Rosie grunted in the same unwelcome tone as his sister’s greeting.

  “I’m here to walk the pig.” He usually spent the hour after dropping Becky off at school making rounds, but if walking an overweight piece of bacon helped make Eileen’s life safer, it was worth rearranging his schedule. Besides, it kept him from driving past Lola’s house.

  His sister didn’t open the door, smile, or say, Thanks for coming. Something clanked behind her. It sounded like a fork settling on c
hina.

  A breakfasting guest realizing the law was at the door?

  Drew shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to charge inside. “Is there someone in there?” Someone besides an overweight pig?

  “No.” Eileen’s cheeks flushed. She was lying.

  His sisters lied to him all the time. Little white lies about why they were short on cash. Bold-faced lies about where they’d been the night before. Brave lies told around sniffles after a breakup, reassuring him they’d be fine.

  What kind of lie was Eileen trying to get past him?

  Drew inched closer to the door and saw that the white paint on its frame was peeling. “Is it Tyrell? I told you to call me if he came back. I told you I’d take care of him.” Drew’s hands fisted.

  “No.” Eileen stuffed that one word with more sibling disgust than Pris and the twins combined. She gave the doorknob a quick turn and release, as if she were revving a motorcycle engine at a red light, preparing to leave the car in the lane beside her behind. “I changed my mind.” Her brown eyes didn’t often flare with rebellion. They were on fire now. “I don’t need your help.”

  Drew stopped listening to his sister and took stock of the situation. Eileen’s SUV and his cruiser were the only vehicles in her driveway. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders, thick and frizzing from the humidity. She wore a man’s red T-shirt that bunched over her hips (he couldn’t remember whether he’d seen it before), a pair of black sweats Drew could swear had belonged to him once, and fuzzy pink slippers with a hole revealing her big toe. Her fingers were still bandaged but there were circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there last night. If Eileen was in trouble, it came with four hooves and several hundred pounds of bacon.

  “Eileen…”

  She pursed her lips.

  It had stopped raining altogether. Inside, something cracked, something as fragile as china. The pig made an anxious sound.

  “What was that?” Drew did more than inch forward. He filled the doorway, breathing in a barnyard scent that was anything but reassuring.

  Eileen cast a worried glance behind her. “Keep your voice down.”

  Drew was done talking. He rested his hands on his duty belt and fixed Eileen with the look he gave speeders near the interstate, the look that said he had a fresh ticket book and a quota to fill. That look caused lawbreakers to confess every time.

  Eileen was caving. “If I let you in, you can’t lecture.”

  If? He was already through the door. “Me? Lecture?” And then the state of her house registered. Drew didn’t dare move, didn’t dare take his hands off his belt for fear he’d reach for his weapon and shoot Rosie.

  Every stick of furniture was smashed, except for the couch where Rosie lay. The lower kitchen-cabinet doors were cracked. The humongous litter box had been overturned and trampled. A square shovel had been used to scoop up excrement from the wood floor.

  Drew swallowed back his disgust and took shallow breaths.

  “I can explain.” Eileen stepped in front of him and whispered, “It wasn’t Rosie’s fault.”

  “You did this?” Not likely.

  “It was my fault.” Eileen kept up that desperate secret-pouring whisper. “I was asleep, and I felt a body get into bed with me. I screamed. Rosie panicked. And…” Her eyes teared up. “Before I could calm her down, she’d done all this. By the time I got her relaxed, she was in my bed, and I couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes swept the room. Her expression crumpled. “What am I going to do? It’s all ruined. Go ahead. You can say it. I’m a failure.”

  “You’re not a failure,” Drew said wearily. “You’re in trouble, that’s all.”

  The pig rolled off the couch, ambled over to Eileen, and sat on her foot the way any loyal, loving, paws-too-big-for-his-brain puppy would when he knew he’d done wrong.

  There were two ways Drew could proceed. The first was the most obvious. Read Eileen the riot act, bully her into turning over custody of the pig, and invite the family over next week for barbecued spareribs. It was so logical that he almost didn’t consider the second option at all.

  But he’d been picking up after his sisters for too long to let logic rule where they were concerned. Drew pulled his sister into his arms and gave her a hearty hug. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Her shoulders tensed and then shook as she began to cry. “How how how how ho-ow?”

  “Shhh.” Drew patted her on the back and stared down at the pig, whose eyes he could almost see. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Rosie turned her face his way and snorted, but it was an appreciative kind of snort, not a derogatory one.

  “Why don’t you open up the windows and then shower?” Drew would’ve released Eileen from the hug but she held on, still sobbing. He needed more solutions to this mess. “I’ll take Rosie to the station and put her in jail. It’s quiet in there, and she should get some rest.” Not to mention he could return to Eileen’s and clean the place out while she was at work.

  “Behave,” Drew said to Rosie a few minutes later as he walked her down the sidewalk. “We’re going to kill two birds with one stone and go on my rounds.”

  He’d walked rescue dogs for Eileen with worse manners than Rosie. The pig ambled along at his heel, most likely so she could follow him blindly.

  The streets were nearly empty. Those who drove by gave him shocked stares. Drew walked through the old residential district, passing the Victorian he’d grown up in. Thankfully, his mom wasn’t an early riser. Pris lived in a small Craftsman converted into a duplex around the corner, which was down the street from Lola’s house.

  It was trash day. Most residents had their cans on the curb already. Not Pris. Her curb was neat and her car gone, which was odd considering she didn’t have to be at work at the bank for another forty-five minutes. Drew made a mental note to swing by to take her cans out after he got Rosie settled in jail, and walked on.

  At the intersection he’d just crossed, a car took a corner too fast. Rosie stopped, dead weight behind him.

  Drew turned, half expecting to see Clarice barreling down the street in her faded blue minivan.

  Pris scraped her front end as she sailed up her driveway. She hopped out of her car and froze when she saw Drew. Her dark hair was mussed, and she wore the same clothes she’d had on last night at dinner with Wendy.

  “Really?” Drew turned around and paced the length of the leash, unable to go any farther with Rosie in anchor mode. “The walk of shame?”

  Rosie snuffled nervously.

  “Don’t judge.” Pris shook her finger at him. “And don’t lecture.”

  This time, Drew had no choice but to lecture. “Can’t you date like a normal person without…” His hand wound in circles in the air.

  “You’re just jealous because Wendy would never present the opportunity to get shameful.” Pris backed up to the porch steps, raising her voice for the neighbors to hear. “And you wouldn’t do anything if Wendy was easy, because you’re a pious…” She stomped on a step. “Boring…” She stomped on another. “Eunich!” She leaped onto the porch, landing with both feet. And then she opened the front door and slammed it behind her.

  “You were gone all night, and you didn’t lock your door?” he shouted after her.

  His sister’s reply was muffled, but Rosie squealed as if in agony.

  “Don’t you have a meltdown too.” Drew returned to her side and gave her a pat.

  Snorting nonstop, Rosie bumped her head against his knee in a love tap strong enough to bruise.

  A loud engine roared down another street, heading their way.

  Rosie’s ears twitched. She squealed again, louder this time.

  “No no, piggy.” Drew stroked her ears closed, speaking in baby talk. “It’s just a truck. A big loud truck. It’ll drive past. You’ll see.”

  A few houses down, someone dragged their trash can to the curb with a loud rumble.

  Rosie was trembling now, releasing off-key squeals like an o
pera singer struggling to hit the right high note.

  A large white truck with a lift kit and a holey muffler rounded the corner. Iggy King leaned out the open window. “Nice dog, Sheriff!” He hit his horn. A-ooo-gah! A-ooo-gah!

  Rosie bolted faster than a defensive end blitzing the quarterback, dragging Drew into a sprint behind her. Her panicked wails twined with Iggy’s hearty guffaws.

  In an effort to stop, Drew dug in his heels and leaned against the leash. He had to lean back, or he’d fall forward and be dragged, because he wasn’t letting go. Dragging was most likely how Eileen’s knuckles had gotten scraped.

  Rosie plowed on, past Joni Russell’s house, past the Bastions’ place, and toward Lola’s. Lola was dumping black towels into her trash can, which was on the sidewalk.

  Despite the pace, despite the shock of hard pavement beneath his boots, Drew didn’t panic. He shouted commands. “Lola, throw a towel on her and get out of the way.”

  Iggy gunned his truck forward and parked in Lola’s driveway, blocking the sidewalk with one oversized rear wheel in case Rosie got past Lola’s trash can.

  This is not going to end well.

  Lola shook out a towel and held it in front of her body like a reckless bullfighter. Before Drew could say anything, Iggy pushed Lola out of the way and grabbed the towel. Lola stumbled in her heels and landed on her butt on her lawn.

  Rosie crashed into Lola’s trash can. Iggy tossed the towel over her head. Together, the men tackled the pig on Lola’s grass. Not surprisingly, Rosie’s hooves kept galloping.

  “Just…like…old…times,” Iggy rasped from beneath the hog pile. They’d played defense together on the high school football team.

  “That a girl.” Drew rubbed the massive pig’s belly. “She can’t see and gets stressed out by loud noises.”

  “My…bad,” Iggy rasped.

  Lola came to stand in Drew’s line of vision. All he could see were her legs. She wore tight jeans that had red bows fastened at each ankle and black half boots with a tall heel. “You have a pet pig?”

  Drew explained Rosie’s situation to his landlady and then sang an urgent rendition of “Rock-A-Bye Baby.”