A Stone Creek Collection, Volume 2

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Ginger lives next door, with Olivia,” Tanner reminded Sophie. “If she wants to go home, she can get there on her own.”

  “I hope she isn’t depressed, like Butterpie was,” Sophie fretted.

  Tanner grinned, gave her ponytail a light tug. “She and Butterpie are buddies,” he said, recalling finding the dog in the pony’s stall. “Olivia will take her home after supper tonight, most likely.”

  “You like Olivia, don’t you?” Sophie asked, with a touch of slyness, as she climbed back into the truck.

  Tanner got behind the wheel, started the engine. Olivia was right. The rig was too clean—it had stood out like the proverbial sore thumb back in town, at the tree lot. Maybe he could find a creek to run it through or something. With the ground frozen hard, it wouldn’t be easy to come up with mud.

  So where were the other guys getting all that macho dirt streaking their rigs and clogging their grilles?

  “Of course I like her,” he said. “She’s a friend.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “I’ll grant you that one, shorty. She’s very pretty.”

  “You could marry her.”

  Tanner, in the process of turning the truck around, stopped it instead. “Don’t go there, Soph. Olivia’s a hometown girl, with a family and a veterinary practice. I’ll be moving on to a new place after Stone Creek. And neither one of us is looking for a serious relationship.”

  Sophie sighed, and her shoulders sloped as though the weight of the world had just been laid on them. “I almost wish that Kris Kringle guy really was Santa Claus,” she said. “Then I could tell him I want a mom for Christmas.”

  Tanner knew he was being played, but his eyes burned and his throat tightened just the same. No accounting for visceral reactions. “That was pretty underhanded, Soph,” he said. “It was blatant manipulation. And guilt isn’t going to work with me. You should know that by now.”

  Sophie folded her arms and sulked. Only twelve and already she’d mastered the you’re-too-stupid-to-live look teenage girls were so good at. Tessa had been world champ, but clearly the torch had been passed. “Whatever.”

  “I know you’d like to have a mother, Sophie.”

  “You know, but you don’t care.”

  “I do care.”

  A tear slid down Sophie’s left cheek, and Tanner knew it wasn’t orchestrated to win his sympathy, because she turned her head quickly, so he wouldn’t see.

  “I do care, Sophie,” he repeated.

  She merely nodded. Gave a sniffle that tore at his insides.

  Maybe someday she’d understand that he was only trying to protect her. Maybe she wouldn’t.

  He wondered if he could deal with the latter possibility. Suppose, even as a grown woman, Sophie still resented him?

  Well, he thought grimly, this wasn’t about him. It was about keeping Sophie safe, whether she liked it or not.

  He took the turnoff for Flagstaff, bypassing Stone Creek completely. Sophie was female. Shopping would make her feel better, and if that didn’t work, there was still the Christmas tree to set up, and Olivia coming over for supper.

  They’d get through this, he and Sophie.

  “The time’s going to go by really fast,” Sophie lamented, breaking the difficult silence and still not looking at him. “Before I know it, I’ll be right back at Briarwood. Square one.”

  Tanner waited a beat to answer, so he wouldn’t snap at the kid. God knew, being twelve years old in this day and age couldn’t be easy, what with all the drugs and the underground Web sites and the movement to rename Valentine’s Day, for God’s sake. No, it would be difficult with two ordinary parents and a mortgaged house, and Sophie didn’t have two parents.

  She didn’t even have one, really.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Soph,” he said. Was he trying to convince her, or himself? Both, probably.

  “I could live with Aunt Tessa on Starcross—couldn’t I? And go to Stone Creek Middle School, like a regular kid?”

  Tanner nearly had to pull over to the side of the road. Instead, he clamped his jaw down tight and concentrated harder on navigating the slick high-country road curving ever upward into the timbered area around Flagstaff.

  He should have seen this coming, after the way Sophie had made him stop at the school in town so she could look in the windows, but the kid had a gift for blindsiding him.

  “Aunt Tessa,” he said evenly, “is only visiting for the holidays.”

  “She’s bringing her horses.”

  “Okay, a few months at most. Can we not talk about this for a little while, Soph? Because it’s a fast track to nowhere.”

  That was when she brought out the big guns. “They have drugs at Briarwood, you know,” she said with a combination of defiance and bravado. “It’s not an ivory tower, no matter how good the security is.”

  That time he did pull over, with a screech of tires and a lot of flying slush. “What?” he rasped.

  “Meth,” Sophie said. “Ice. That’s—”

  “I know what ice is,” Tanner snapped. “So help me God, Sophie, if you’re messing with me—”

  “It’s true, Dad.”

  He believed her. That was the worst thing of all. His stomach rolled, and for a moment he thought he might have to shove open the door and get sick, right then and there.

  “It’s a pervasive problem,” Sophie said, sounding like a venerable news commentator instead of a preadolescent girl.

  “Has anyone offered you drugs? Have you taken any?” He kept his hand on the door handle, just in case.

  “I’m not stupid, Dad,” she answered. “Drugs are for losers, people who can’t cope unless their brains have been chemically altered.”

  “Would you talk like a twelve-year-old for a few minutes? Just to humor me?”

  “I don’t take drugs, Dad,” Sophie reiterated quietly.

  “How are they getting in? The drugs, I mean?”

  “Kids bring them from home. I think they mostly steal them from their parents.”

  Tanner laid his forehead on the steering wheel and drew slow, deep breaths. From their parents. In his mind, he started drawing up blueprints for an ivory tower. Not that he’d use ivory, even if he could get it from a legitimate supplier.

  Sophie touched his arm. “Dad, I’m trying to make a point here. Are you okay? Because you look kind of…gray. You’re not having a heart attack or anything, are you?”

  “Not the kind you’re thinking of,” Tanner said, straightening. Pulling himself together. He was a father. He needed to act like one.

  When he was sure he wasn’t a menace to Sophie, himself and the general driving public, he pulled back out onto the highway. Sophie fiddled with the radio until she found a station she liked, and a rap beat filled the truck cab.

  Tanner adjusted the dial. Brad O’Ballivan’s voice poured out of the speakers. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

  It figured. Tessa was practically being stalked by the song, according to her, and now he probably would be, too.

  “Is that the guy who hired you to build the animal shelter?” Sophie asked.

  Beyond relieved at the change of subject, Tanner said, “Yes.”

  “He has a nice voice.”

  “That’s the word on the street.”

  “Even if the song is kind of hokey.”

  Tanner laughed. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  After that they talked about ordinary things—not drugs at Briarwood, not Sophie’s longing for a mother, destined to be unrequited, not weird Kris Kringle, the reindeer man. No, they discussed a new saddle for Butterpie, and what to get Tessa for Christmas, and the pros and cons of nuking a package of frozen lasagna for supper.

  Reaching the mall, Tanner parked the truck and the two of them waded in. They bought ornaments and lights and tinsel. They cleaned out the “young juniors” department in an upscale store, and chose a yellow cashmere sweater for Tessa’s gift. They had a late lunch in the fo
od court, watching as the early shoppers rushed by with their treasures.

  On the way out of town they stopped at a Western supply store for the new saddle, and after that, a supermarket, where they filled two carts. When they left the store, Tanner almost tripped over a kid in ragged jeans, a T-shirt and a thin jacket, trying to give away squirmy puppies from a big box. The words “Good Xmas Presents” had been scrawled on the side in black marker.

  Tanner lengthened his stride, making the shopping cart wheels rattle.

  Sophie stopped her cart.

  “Oh, they’re so cute,” she said.

  “Only two left,” the kid pointed out unnecessarily. There were holes in the toes of his sneakers. Had he dressed for the part?

  “Sophie,” Tanner said in warning.

  But she’d picked up one of the puppies—a little golden-brown one of indeterminate breed, with floppy ears and big, hopeful eyes. Then the other, a black-and-white version of the dog Tanner remembered from his first-grade reader.

  “Dad,” she whispered, drawing up close to his side, the full cart she’d been pushing left behind by the boy and the box, to show him the puppies. “Look at that kid. He probably needs the money, and who knows what might happen to these poor little things if they don’t get sold?”

  Tanner couldn’t bring himself to say the obvious—that Sophie would be leaving for a new school in a few weeks, since Briarwood was definitely out of the question now that he knew about the drugs. He’d just have to buy the dogs and hope that Olivia would be able to find them good homes when the time came.

  At the moment, turning Sophie down wasn’t an option, even if it was the right thing to do. He’d had to say no to one too many things already.

  So Tanner gave the boy a ridiculous amount of money for the puppies, and Sophie scared them half to death with a squeal of delight, and they loaded up the grub and the dogs and headed back to Starcross Ranch.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Olivia hadn’t been able to track Ashley down, even after hunting all over town, and no emergency veterinary calls came in, either. She had her hair cut at the Curly-Q, bought some groceries and cleaning supplies at the supermarket, then she and Charlie Brown went home.

  Ginger was waiting on the back porch when she arrived, balls of snow clinging to her legs and haunches from the walk across the very white field between Olivia’s place and Tanner’s.

  “It’s about time you got here,” the dog said, rising off her nest of blankets next to the drier.

  Freezing, Olivia hustled through the kitchen door and set Charlie Brown on the table, root-bound in his bulky plastic pot. “You’re the one who insisted on staying at Starcross,” she said before going back out for the bags from the hardware store and supermarket.

  A pool of melted snow surrounded Ginger when Olivia finished carrying everything inside. After setting the last of the bags on the counter, she threw an old towel into the drier to warm it up and adjusted the thermostat for the temperamental old furnace. She started a pot of coffee—darn, she should have picked up a new brewing apparatus at the hardware store—and filled Ginger’s kibble bowl.

  While the dog ate and the coffee brewed, Olivia fished the towel out of the drier and knelt on the scuffed and peeling linoleum floor to give Ginger a rubdown.

  “Were they out of good Christmas trees?” Ginger asked, eyeing Charlie Brown, whose sparse branches seemed to droop a little at the insult.

  “Be nice,” Olivia whispered. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  “I suppose I should be happy that you’re decorating this year,” Ginger answered, giving Olivia’s face an affectionate lick as thanks for the warm towel. “Since you’re so Christmas-challenged and all.”

  Olivia stood, chuckling. “I saw these stick-on reindeer antlers for dogs at the hardware store,” she said. “They have jingle bells and they light up. Treat me right or I’ll buy you a pair, take your picture and post it on the Internet.”

  Ginger sighed. She hated costumes.

  A glance at the clock told Olivia she had an hour before she was due at Starcross for supper. After her shower, she decided, she’d dig through her closet and bureau drawers again, and find something presentable to wear, so Sophie wouldn’t think she was a rube.

  Ginger padded after her, jumped up onto her unmade bed and curled up in the middle. Olivia laid out clean underwear, her second-best pair of jeans and a red sweatshirt from two years ago, when Ashley had been on a fabric-painting kick. It had a cutesy snowman on the front, with light-up eyes, though the battery was long dead.

  Toweling off after her shower and pulling on her clothes quickly, since even with the thermostat up, the house was drafty, Olivia told Ginger about the invitation to Starcross.

  “I’ll stay here,” Ginger said. “Reinforcements have arrived.”

  “What kind of reinforcements?” Olivia asked, peering at Ginger through the neck hole as she tugged the sweatshirt on over her head.

  “You’ll see,” Ginger answered, her eyes already at half-mast as she drifted toward sleep. “Take your kit with you.”

  “Is Butterpie sick?” Olivia asked, alarmed.

  “No,” came the canine reply. “I would have told you right away if she was. But you’ll need the kit.”

  “Okay,” Olivia said.

  Ginger’s snore covered an octave, somewhere in the alto range.

  Olivia wasn’t musical.

  * * *

  At six o’clock, straight up, she drove up in front of the ranch house at Starcross. Colored lights glowed through the big picture window, a cheering sight in the snow-flecked twilight.

  Bringing her medical kit as far as the porch, Olivia set it down and knocked.

  Sophie opened the door, her small face as bright as the tree lights. The scents of piney sap and something savory cooking or cooling added to the ambience.

  “Wait till you see what we got at the supermarket!” Sophie whooped, half dragging Olivia over the threshold.

  Tanner stood framed in the entrance to the living room, one shoulder braced against the woodwork. He wore a blue Henley shirt, with a band around the neck instead of a collar, open at the throat, and jeans that looked as though they’d seen some decent wear. “Yeah,” he drawled with an almost imperceptible roll of his eyes, “wait till you see.”

  A puppy bark sounded from behind him.

  “You didn’t,” Olivia said, secretly thrilled.

  “There are two of them!” Sophie exulted as the pair gamboled around Tanner to squirm and yip at Olivia’s feet.

  She crouched immediately, laughing and ruffling small, warm ears. So this was the reason Ginger had wanted her to bring the kit. These were mongrels, not purebreds, up to date on their vaccinations before they left the kennel, and they’d need their shots.

  “I named them Snidely and Whiplash,” Sophie said. “After the villain in The Dudley Do-Right Show.”

  “I suggested Going and Gone,” Tanner interjected humorously, “but the kid wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Which is which?” Olivia asked Sophie, ignoring Tanner’s remark. Her heart was beating fast—did this mean he was thinking of staying on at Starcross after the shelter was finished?

  “That’s Snidely,” Sophie said, pointing to the puppy with gold fur. They looked like some kind of collie-shepherd-retriever mix. “The spotted one is Whiplash.”

  “Let’s just have a quick look at them,” Olivia suggested. “My kit is on the porch. Would you get it for me, please?”

  Sophie rushed to comply.

  “Going and Gone?” Olivia asked very softly, watching Tanner. Now that she’d shifted, she could see the blue spruce behind him, in front of the snow-laced picture window.

  But Sophie was back before he could answer.

  “Later,” he mouthed, and his eyes looked so serious that some of the spontaneous Christmas magic drifted to the floor like tired fairy dust.

  Olivia examined the puppies, pronounced them healthy and gave them each their first round
of shots. They were “box” puppies, giveaways, and that invariably meant they’d had no veterinary care at all.

  “Does that hurt them?” Sophie asked, her blue eyes wide as she watched Olivia inject serum into the bunched-up scruffs of their necks with a very small needle. They’d all gathered in the living room, near the fragrant tree and the fire dancing on the hearth, Olivia employing the couch as an examining table.

  “No,” she said gently, putting away her doctor gear. “The injections will prevent distemper and parvo, among other things. The diseases would hurt, and these girls will need to be spayed as soon as they’re a little older.”

  Sophie nodded solemnly. “They wet on the floor,” she said, “but I promised Dad I’d clean up after them myself.”

  “Good girl,” Olivia said. “If you take them outside every couple of hours, they’ll get the idea.” Her gaze was drawn to Tanner, but she resisted. Going and Gone? The names didn’t bode well. Had he actually brought these puppies home intending to get rid of them as soon as Sophie went back to school?

  No, she thought. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t be that cold.

  There was lasagna for supper, and salad. Sophie talked the whole time they were eating, fairly bouncing in her chair while the puppies tumbled and played under the table, convinced they had a home.

  Even though she was hungry, Olivia couldn’t eat much.

  When the meal was over, Sophie and Olivia put on coats and went out to the barn to see Butterpie and Shiloh while Tanner, strangely quiet, stayed behind to clean up the kitchen.

  “We bought a new saddle for Butterpie,” Sophie said excitedly as they entered the hay-scented warmth of the barn. “And Dad’s having all the stalls fixed up so Aunt Tessa’s horses will be comfortable here.”

  “Aunt Tessa?” Olivia asked, admiring the saddle. She’d had one much like it as a young girl; Big John had bought it for her thirteenth birthday, probably secondhand and at considerable sacrifice to the budget.

  Now, she thought sadly, she didn’t even own a horse.

  “Tessa’s my dad’s sister. She has a whole bunch of horses, and she’s getting a divorce, so Dad sent her money to come out here to Arizona.” Sophie drew a breath and rushed on. “Maybe you saw her on TV. She starred in California Women for years—and a whole bunch of shows before that.”