by Lexi Eddings
“I can’t catch a break,” he muttered as Mrs. Evans turned off the vehicle and climbed out.
“Oh, good! You’re both here. You can help me unload.”
Shirley’s color was high. Heather figured she must be almost a week away from her last treatment. As long as her white blood cell count held, she could keep up the rigorous chemo schedule. Heather hoped she wasn’t taking on too much with Lacy’s shower and wedding plans.
“I thought this trip to the store was just going to be a quick run, but Piggly Wiggly was having such a good sale, I decided to stock up the pantry a bit.”
Shirley went around, opened the rear hatch, and handed the first two bags to Michael. Then Heather and she gathered up a bag apiece and carried them inside. It took several trips before the back of the van was empty and the pantry was full to bursting.
“Oh, wait a minute!” Mrs. Evans looked down around her ankles, her face a mask of worry. “Where’s Fergus? Has anyone seen him?”
“He’s not in the house?” Mike asked.
“No. He whined so much when I started to leave, I took him with me to the store,” Shirley Evans said as she hurried out the front door to check for him in the van. “I do that sometimes. Fergus is a good traveler. He usually just curls up in the backseat and goes to sleep, but he’s not there now.” She made a megaphone with her palms and called his name, but no furry ball of fluff came running. “Did either of you see him when I arrived?”
Heather shook her head.
“There’s nothing in the van, Mom,” Michael said after checking under the seats.
“Oh, no.” She sank down onto the back bumper. “He must have hopped out at the store when I wasn’t looking. Your father will never forgive me if I lose him. I’ve got to go look for him.”
Visibly shaking, she started to climb into the van.
“No, Mom. Let us go. You’re too upset,” Mike said. “Besides, someone needs to stay here in case Fergus comes home on his own.”
“How can he do that?” she asked as Michael led her toward the front door. “He wouldn’t know the way. Besides, it’s a good three miles to the store.”
“Dogs have been known to cross continents to get home,” Heather offered with hope. Of course, those dogs don’t generally have legs that are only three inches long.
“We’ll find him,” Michael promised. He grabbed Heather’s hand and started toward the motorcycle. “Come on.”
“No, let’s take my car. It’s less noisy.”
“You’re right. The hog might scare him off.” He went around to the driver’s side and held the door open for her.
“I didn’t think guys did that anymore.”
“You’re not going to go all commando feminist on me, are you?”
“No.” Of course, she was perfectly capable of opening her car door herself. She was as independent as they came, but it was a nice gesture all the same. “Being polite isn’t sexist.”
Wonder if he only did it because his mom is right there.
No, it had seemed natural.
Next thing you know, he’ll be putting a hand to the small of my back to guide me across a room.
That spot at the base of her spine, just above her bottom, tingled a bit, and she wished they were back in the high school gym for the reunion dance. If they were a regular couple, he’d probably touch her like that. It was a subtly intimate gesture. It sort of said, “See, this is my girl. I can touch her like this in public and you can’t.”
No one had ever touched Heather like that. She wasn’t the fragile sort that encouraged guys to offer that kind of gentlemanly shepherding. Girls who were nearly six feet tall didn’t get to feel soft and feminine that often. But Michael made her feel that way.
And she didn’t know why in the world she was thinking about it now when they were supposed to be looking for a lost dog. It was probably because Michael had been so close to kissing her. She was sure of it. All her nerve endings were still firing with pent-up frustration.
She floored the Taurus as she pulled away from the Evanses’ drive.
“Hey,” Michael said, pumping imaginary brakes on his side of the vehicle. “I’ve got nothing against fast chicks, but at this speed, we could zoom right by Fergus and not see him.”
“You’re right.” She let up on the accelerator. “We could use some extra eyes, too. Got a phone?”
He pulled a slim one from his pocket.
“Bet that thing is loaded with all the bells and whistles,” she said.
“It does everything but take out the trash.”
“Funny. I just use mine to call people,” she told him. “For example, call 911.”
“For a lost dog?”
“Remember where you are, Michael. A lost dog may well be the most exciting thing that happens in Coldwater Cove all day long.”
He punched in the numbers and hit speaker.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“Valentina? It’s Heather.”
“That’s an out-of-state number you’re calling from,” the dispatcher said. “Who you with, chica?”
“Michael Evans.”
“Ah! As in ‘take my brother, please’ Michael Evans?”
What? Michael mouthed silently.
“Never mind,” she told him with a shake of her head. “Look, Valentina, Mrs. Evans’s dog is missing. Yorkshire terrier, probably got a collar, answers to Fergus, last seen at the Piggly Wiggly. Have you gotten any calls about a stray?”
“Matter of fact, there was a report of a little dog nosing around the Dumpster behind the store, but the stock boy couldn’t catch him. Said he ran down the alley, making for the Square.”
“We’ll head there now,” Heather told her. “Let me know if you get an update on his twenty.”
“His twenty?” Michael said incredulously. “What? Have you got a CB handle or something?”
Valentina’s laughter crackled over the phone. Heather grimaced at him.
And to think I was mooning around about wanting him to put his hand on my back!
“I’ll let you know if someone sights him again,” Valentina sang out. “Gotta go. The switchboard is starting to light up.”
As they neared the Square, they rolled down their windows and called out for Fergus every few yards. Michael put two fingers between his teeth and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Several big dogs started yapping from backyards as they passed, but there was no sign of Fergus.
Once they entered the Square around the courthouse, Heather spotted Jake standing outside the Green Apple Grill. He waved his arms to flag them down. Heather slowed to a stop.
“Heard you were looking for Fergus.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It’s on the radio,” Jake said. “They interrupted Swap Shop to put out a public announcement about it.”
“Only in Coldwater Cove,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“Valentina said Fergus was seen on the Square.” Heather leaned out the window.
Jake nodded. “Lester spotted him when he was taking out the trash and tried to catch him, but that little devil is fast. He lit out heading north on Maple.”
“Thanks.” Michael thumped the side of the car twice to signal they should go.
“Good luck,” Jake called after them.
“We’re gonna need it,” Heather said. “If the dog doesn’t want to be caught, this could go all day.”
“Well, I can think of worse ways to spend a day. After all, I was ready to be up to my elbows in cake batter for a chance to spend time with you.”
And the tingle at the base of her spine was back.
But she couldn’t indulge the feeling just then. She was still calling for Fergus and driving like a turtle to avoid missing him.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Michael’s phone rang. It was Valentina.
“OK, here’s the rundown,” the dispatcher said. “Fergus was seen playing with some kids at the gazebo down by the lake. Then he allegedly wandered into Mr. Coo
per’s hardware.”
“Allegedly?” Michael said.
“Hey! Innocent until proven guilty, chico. It’s the American way.”
“Well, good,” Heather said. “We can pick him up at the hardware store.”
“No, you can’t. He beelined out the back door when they tried to slip a feed bag over him.” The phone crackled as Valentina seemed to be flipping through some papers. “Then a small dog was seen doing tricks for bites of churro from folks in the take-out line at Hair Today Gone Tamale. Oh, wait a minute. Daniel just handed me a report of another sighting. Are you sure there’s only one dog missing?”
“As far as we know,” Mike said. “Where was Fergus seen last?”
“The Heart of the Ozarks Motel.”
“Thanks, Valentina,” Heather said, and Michael clicked off. “Shall we head out there?”
“No, he’ll probably be gone by the time we get there.” Michael drew a circle in the air in front of him and made little checks for each sighting. “Piggly Wiggly, Town Square, the park, Mr. Cooper’s, the Mexican take-out place—”
“And beauty salon,” Heather interrupted. “Don’t forget the hair part of Hair Today Gone Tamale.”
“Noted. Anyway, Fergus seems to be making a loop,” Michael said. “He’s working his way back to Piggly Wiggly.”
“So we’ll head him off at the pass.” Heather took the first left turn and wound through the tree-lined streets to the grocery store. They still called out in every block, but if Fergus was crouching under a juniper bush or behind a picket fence, he didn’t respond.
When they reached the store parking lot, Heather slowed the car to a crawl. She drove up and down each lane as Michael called and whistled.
“Fergus!” She added her voice to his. “Here, Fergus!”
Just as she started down the last aisle of cars, Mr. Mundy, who’d been watching them from the door to the store, waved her to a stop. He was an avid fisherman who didn’t like spending money on equipment. Fortunately, as the husband of the town librarian, he had easy and pretty much unlimited access to all the rods, reels, and lures that had been donated to the Coldwater Cove Library and Repository of Useful Items. When he wasn’t checking out the fishing tackle to use in the latest bass tournament, he was making a surprise visit to the emergency room for a fish hook caught on some unpleasant part of himself.
Heather sent a quick thank-you heavenward that the town fathers hadn’t allowed Junior Bugtussle to donate his old set of filleting knives. Mr. Mundy surely would have chopped off something important by now.
“Who’s Fergus?” Mr. Mundy wanted to know.
“My mom’s little dog,” Mike said.
“Is it that little dog?” The man pointed behind them. “’Cuz if it is, you can stop casting and reel him in. Poor little guy’s been following your car since you pulled into the lot.”
Mike hopped out, and Fergus limped up to him, tongue lolling. His chest was heaving, and he smelled of churro, all cinnamon and sugar and flour and grease, but he was unhurt. When Michael bent to scoop him up, he didn’t try to run away. Once they climbed back into the car, the Yorkie collapsed in a puppy heap on his lap.
“Looks like he’s had enough adventures for one day,” Michael said.
“He’ll perk up. Just wait until he smells those little cakes your mom and I are going to bake,” Heather said with a laugh. “Fergus will find his second wind.”
“Speaking of a second wind, we need one, you and me. Sort of a reboot.” He reached over and took her hand. “Now that all my cards are on the table, can we start over?”
Now that he wasn’t trying to hide his wealth, maybe he wanted to do something outlandish like spirit her off to Paris for a weekend. Michael Evans had his own jet. She hadn’t believed him when he told her, but now that it had been confirmed on the Methodist prayer chain as “additional information” to aid the prayer warriors in lifting up Mike’s mother in particular and the Evans family in general, Michael’s high net worth was an established fact.
No, she didn’t want to go to Paris even if he offered, she decided. He had nothing to prove. Whether he had money or not made no difference. But she wished he hadn’t felt the need to hide so much from her.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Now that I’m going to be in town for a while, it seems I’m expected to take part in family things,” he said. “Mom’s orders.”
“I know how those ‘command performances’ are. My mom can turn on the guilt tap at the drop of a hat and before I know it, I’m agreeing to do lots of things I’d rather not.What does your mom want from you?”
“My niece, Riley—that’s Crystal’s daughter—has a dance recital on Thursday. If you come with me,” he said, “I think I can sit through it without disgracing the family much.”
“Well, that’s not exactly a weekend in Paris.” She pulled her hand away from him and clapped it over her mouth. What had gotten into her?
“You want to go to Paris?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Well, maybe someday, but no, forget it. I’m being silly. I can’t get away from the hospital anyway. We’re too short staffed.”
Ah, the safe haven of a job where I’m needed!
“So, ‘no’ on the recital?” he asked.
“No. I mean yes, I’ll go with you.” A weekend in Paris might be world shaking. A kids’ recital in the refurbished Coldwater Cove theater should be safe enough. “It’ll be fun.”
“Oh, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be. It’s a bunch of little kids hopping around in tights. We’re talking strictly parental consumption here. But I can promise you one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Riley’s recital will be better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, well, if I set the bar low, I have a better chance of exceeding your expectations.”
“That’s the way to tempt me.” She laughed as she pulled into the Evanses’ driveway. “Bet you use that one on all the girls.”
“There are no other girls, Heather. Never have been.” He climbed out of the car and set Fergus down so he could mark the front yard. Michael came around and opened Heather’s door for her. “There’s just you.”
She didn’t know what to say. She wished she could believe him, but he’d been so good at keeping secrets.
It made her wonder what else he hadn’t told her.
Chapter 21
Whoever suggested someone should “Dance
like nobody’s watching” ought to be strapped
to a chair with their eyes taped open
and forced to sit through a ballet recital.
—Noah Addleberry, after he learned how
much Crystal had spent on Riley’s dance lessons
“Uncah Mike!” A blurry froth of pink came skittering across the lobby of the old theater and nearly knocked Heather over in its haste to clasp Michael’s knees.
“Hey, you!” Even though he was wearing a suit so well tailored it must be bespoke, Mike reached down and hefted up his niece, sending her momentarily airborne. Riley squealed with delight before he caught her again. Heather moved back a step so she could watch him with her.
Dang, the guy is good with kids, too. Could he be any more perfect?
“How’s my Riley-girl?” he said as he set her back down on her tiny slippered feet.
“I’m not Riley today.” She pronounced her name “Ri-wee” because she couldn’t say her l’s.
Crystal is such a perfectionist. I bet that small speech impediment must rub her raw.
“Today, I’m a princess, Uncah Mike. See my crown.” She pointed to the sparkly tiara held in place with half a dozen bobby pins.
“Of course, you are. My mistake.” He gave her a mock-serious bow. “You’re a princess every day in my book. A thousand pardons, Your Highness.”
Riley giggled again as Crystal and her husband Noah caught up to them. Perfect little Ethan followed behind
them, his hair slicked down and his bow tie rigidly horizontal. Once he stopped walking, he pulled an iPad mini from his cargo pants pocket and resumed a game, ignoring his parents, his sister, and virtually every other human on the planet.
Heather could read stress in a person’s body language. She had to since her patients seldom admitted how they really felt. From Crystal’s tense posture to her darting gaze, she had all the signs of someone being held together with duct tape.
“Don’t encourage her, Mike.” Crystal crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s not a princess and she knows it.”
“Lighten up, sis. Let the kid have some fun. It’s only pretend.”
“I’m just saying she needs to be a team player today, not a princess. Moving in perfect synchronicity is everything in a dance ensemble. She has to fit in.”
“And yet there are those who find fitting in boring.”
Shut up, Mike. You’re making it worse. Heather gave his bicep a squeeze.
“Besides, Riley doesn’t need you making her feel like she’s something special.” Crystal bent down, licked the pad of her thumb, and wiped a smudge off her daughter’s cheek. “It’ll spoil her.”
“She could use a little spoiling,” Mike said. “Besides, she is something special.”
Heather agreed with him. Crystal was being more unpleasant than usual. It wasn’t wise to poke this particular bear.
Certainly not in public.
“Heather, it’s good to see you.” Noah stuck out his hand, and she shook it, realizing he was trying to change the subject. “What did this ugly mug have to promise you to get you to come to this thing?”
“I’m taking her to Paris afterward,” Mike said, straight-faced.
“Oh!” Crystal blinked in surprise.
“He’s kidding,” Heather said quickly. “I’m looking forward to seeing Riley dance.”
“You’d be the only one,” Noah muttered under his breath. “Don’t expect the Bolshoi.”
Crystal shot her husband a glare that ought to have immolated him.
Riley tugged on her mother’s hem. “You haf to tell Miss Bartwett. Tell her, Mommy.”
Because of the lisp, “tell” came out “tewah,” and the way Riley pronounced Miss Bartlett sounded like someone’s dog had had an accident on the floor. Crystal winced.
