by Janet Dailey
polish. For some reason, Rebecca wasn't surprised to see that Betty Sue had dyed her own bleached, platinum blond hair the same shade of lavender. Nothing about Betty Sue shocked Rebecca anymore. But Betty had been born and raised in the heart of Hollywood, so Rebecca tried to take that into consideration. The poor girl probably couldn't help herself.
"Hi there, sweet thing," she exclaimed, hurrying over to give Rebecca a warm hug. "It's our very favorite doctor, huh, Twinkle Toes...."
"Don't give me that 'favorite doctor' bull," Rebecca said, shaking her head in mock disgust. "You're just trying to butter me up because you know I'm upset with you."
"Upset?" Betty Sue batted her false lashes. "You're upset with me? Whatever for?"
"You didn't hear a thing I said when I was here last time."
"Why, that's not true. Of course I heard you. I—"
"Then you didn't listen. I told you to stop doing weird things to this poor innocent creature."
"But...but I..." she stammered. "I'd never do anything to Twinkle Toes that I wouldn't do to myself."
Rebecca looked Betty Sue up and down, taking in the multiprocessed hair, the porcelain nails, the pounds of trowel-applied makeup. Betty wasn't what you'd call a natural beauty. That list of things she "wouldn't do" to herself or her long-suffering pet must be pretty short.
"Betty Sue, you have to stop this nonsense. I'm tired of coming over here to treat problems that you have caused. You airbrushed this dog's toenails and—"
"But she liked that. She was having fun."
"She was high, Betty Sue. Twinkle was buzzing on the fumes! And remember when you gave her corn- rows down her back with those beads and feathers?"
"Well, I thought-"
"I had to cut them out. I had to shave the poor little thing. She ran around looking like a scalped rat for an entire winter."
"But I knitted her a little sweater to wear."
"You didn't finish it until spring."
"My heart was in the right place."
Rebecca stifled a smile. "Then maybe you'd better start thinking with your head." She bent down and picked up the dog. Running her hand backward over her fur, Rebecca exposed the red, irritated skin. "Look at that! It's a reaction to that stupid purple dye you used."
"I did a patch test first, just like it said in the instructions!" Betty whined, refusing to meet Rebecca's eyes. "I really did, and it turned out fine."
"Those instructions were for a person, Betty Sue, not a Pekinese. I'm not kidding, you have to stop doing this, or I'm going to turn you in for cruelty to animals."
Betty Sue's chin began to quiver slightly, and her lower lip protruded in a pout. Rebecca felt a wave of relief; finally, she might have gotten through to her.
"I'll give you some shampoo that's medicated. It'll help stop the itching and keep the skin from getting infected. She won't smell very nice afterward, but—"
"Don't worry," Betty interjected, "I won't put perfume on her. No matter how much I want to. I'll resist."
"Attagirl."
As Rebecca took the medication from her bag and wrote her instructions on the label, Betty Sue held Twinkle and cooed into her ear.
"Does her love her mommy?" she asked the dog in a nauseatingly sweet tone. "Yes, yes, her does. Her knows Mommy was just trying to make her look beautiful. Twinkle Toes lo-o-o-oves her mommy."
Betty Sue set the dog on the floor and took the bottle from Rebecca. "By the way," she said, a smile on her perfectly outlined, carefully blotted crimson lips, "I heard something... but I don't know if it's true."
"What's that?" Rebecca asked, trying to look uninterested as she snapped her bag shut. Betty Sue was a hopeless gossip, and like most people, Rebecca found the idea of gossip appalling and the reality fascinating.
"I heard you've been spending a lot of time at Casa Colina lately... with that hunk widower, Michael Stafford."
"Then you heard wrong," Rebecca said, trying to stifle her irritation. Gossip that was about her wasn't nearly so fascinating. "I was out there one night, and it was business, not pleasure. Believe me. I had my hand
in a goat's rear end, up to my elbow. That's not what I call a good time."
"Oh...I...oh."
Rebecca was pleased to see that she had finally managed to shock even Betty Sue Wilcox. She considered it quite an accomplishment to shock someone from Hollywood.
"But, you did meet Michael Stafford, didn't you?" Betty was still trying to squeeze something juicy from the rather dry story.
"Yes, I met him. I saw him with my own two eyes. I gazed, spellbound, upon his handsome face for... heck... probably all of three or four minutes."
Betty Sue brightened. "And is it true, what they say? Is he really that good-looking?"
"He's stunning, he's breathtakingly gorgeous." She picked up her bag and slung it under her arm. "He's also very cranky, and, personally, I didn't like him...not one little bit."
Without another word, Rebecca spun around on her heel and marched out the door, leaving Betty Sue with her mouth hanging open.
But Betty soon recovered and scooped Twinkle up. "I just don't think I believes her, does you?" she asked in a singsong, baby voice. "Mommy thinks Dr. Rebecca likes Mr. Michael more than she's letting on. Don't you think so, too, Twinkle? Yes...Mommy knows true love when she sees it."
Betty Sue watched until the decrepit pickup had disappeared around the corner. "There, there, she's all gone. Now, let's go try out that new tooth-whitener stuff Mommy bought at the drugstore. Your little choppers have been looking pretty yellow lately. Yes, they have. And we can't have that, can we, sweetie pie? No, sirree. It worked really great on Mommy's teeth. See...."
Chapter Two
For the next week, Rebecca couldn't stop thinking about Katie, her father and the baby goat. Finally, she gave in to her worries and dropped by Casa Colina.
The warm sun made her feel lazy as she got out of her pickup and walked up to the house. It was the perfect morning to just sit in the sun and sip ice tea.
She sighed to herself. No such luck. The busy life of a vet didn't offer her much time to be lazy.
She found Katie and the kid romping in the backyard. Playing a game of tag, they seemed to be enjoying each other's company.
"Hi, Dr. Rebecca!" Katie shouted as she ran toward her.
"Hello, Katie." Rebecca reached down to pet the goat. It lowered its tiny head and butted against her fist. "I see you've been teaching her bad habits," Rebecca teased.
"I didn't have to teach her that," Katie said with a giggle. "She seemed to know it all by herself."
"Yes, goats are little rascals. You have to teach them to behave. How is she doing?"
"Oh, fine," Katie said. "I named her Rosebud. But I call her Rosie."
"Rosie... um..Rebecca said thoughtfully. She studied the little goat, its silky white coat, its long floppy ears, blue eyes and pink nose. "Rosebud. Yes, I like that name. It's perfect for her."
Katie beamed at the praise. "I'm out of school now for the summer," she said. "We play all the time. She's my best friend."
Rebecca looked around for any sign of another human being. In the distance, Neil was digging in the garden, and his wife, Bridget, stood in the kitchen window.
But Katie's father was nowhere in sight. And Rebecca was sorry to see that Katie had no other children to play with.
"So, it's just you and Rosie?" she asked the girl. "No people friends to play with?"
The girl looked sad for a moment, then shook her head. Her black curls bounced and shone in the sunlight. "Nope. Just me and Rosie. I don't have any other friends."
"Don't you ever invite the girls from school to come over?" Rebecca asked. She thought of all the wonderful times she had shared with the Flores girls here at the Casa.
"I used to have friends over to play," Katie said. She wouldn't look up at Rebecca as she bent to scratch behind Rosie's ear. "But that was before. You know... when we lived in Los Angeles and my mommy was still alive."
<
br /> An unexpectedly sharp pain shot through Rebecca. The pain of loss that was always so close to her heart.
About the time she dared to hope the wound might have healed a bit, something pricked it, and the pain returned as deep and searing as ever.
"I'm sony, Katie," she said. She stroked the girl's shining hair. "It's hard to lose someone you love. Believe me, I know."
Katie looked up at her with curious eyes. "Really? Did someone you love die, too?"
Closing her eyes for a moment against the memories, Rebecca found them there, playing on the screen of her mind. The emergency call in the middle of the night—a dog at the Humane Society, hit by a car, in need of immediate attention. Tim volunteering to go. "You've had a tough day, Becky. I'll take care of it. Just go back to sleep." Hours later, the other call—from the Highway Patrol.
"Yes," she said, opening her eyes. "I lost my husband. He was a veterinarian, too. We had a practice together. We'd only been married two years."
"Was he sick for a long time?" Katie asked.
So, Rebecca thought, that's how her mother died. A long illness.
"No," she said. "He was in a car accident."
"Oh..." Katie nodded in understanding. "That must have been awful. You didn't even get to say goodbye."
"No, I didn't," Rebecca agreed. "I think that was the worst part."
Katie looked away, as though remembering. "My daddy told me to tell my mommy goodbye," she said. "But I cried, and I wouldn't do it. I was just a dumb
seven-year-old. Now I'm eight, and I'm a lot more grown-up."
"Yes, I can see that," Rebecca said with a smile. "But you shouldn't blame yourself. Everyone finds it hard to tell someone they love goodbye. I don't think you were a dumb seven-year-old. I think you were just really scared, that's all."
Katie's eyes brimmed with tears, but she smiled up at Rebecca. "That's nice," she said. "Maybe that's all it was."
"I'm sure of it."
"Want to see something really neat?" Katie asked, suddenly lighthearted.
"Sure, what is it?" Rebecca said, happy to change the subject.
"Just wait until you see this. It's really funny."
The girl ran away to a nearby plum tree and picked a piece of the fruit. Rebecca had a feeling she knew what the "something" was. But she didn't say so.
"Watch this!" Katie said as she held out the plum to Rosebud.
Rebecca had seen goats eat peaches and plums before. She knew what was coming.
The goat took the fruit and rolled it around in her mouth for a couple of seconds. Then she spat out the seed...perfectly clean. As the pit sailed through the air, Katie cackled with glee.
"Did you see that?" she said. "She gets all the plum off the seed and spits it really far!"
"Most impressive/' Rebecca agreed. "A lot of boys I know would love to be able to spit like that."
Katie giggled again, and Rebecca thought what a beautiful child she was. Why didn't her father take more of an interest in her?
"So, has your dad seen this?" Rebecca asked.
Katie's smile disappeared. "No. He's almost never around. He works a lot at his car place in Los Angeles."
"Car place?"
"Yeah. He sells really expensive cars that he gets from Europe." Katie looked away, as though remembering again. "He used to be home a lot. He used to play with me and Mommy and make us pancakes in the morning. But now he just works all the time."
Rebecca recalled the months after her husband's accident, the long hours of trying to escape into her job. It hadn't worked. Sooner or later, she had to stop working and go to bed. Alone. And then she couldn't help remembering.
"I miss my mom," Katie said. "But I miss my dad, too. I wish he was around more."
Rebecca felt a rush of anger toward the man who could neglect this child. When Tim had died, she had been so lonely. If Tim had only left her with a beautiful reminder of himself.. .like Katie, she certainly wouldn't have deserted the child, no matter how much pain she had suffered.
"Have you told your father how you feel?" Rebecca asked.
"No." Katie shrugged her small shoulders. "I don't want to make him feel bad. He's sad enough already."
"Maybe you should tell him," Rebecca said gently. "Perhaps he doesn't know that you're feeling sad, too. It always helps if you have someone to feel sad with."
Katie considered her words for a moment. Thai she shook her head. "No. I'll just talk to Rosebud. She doesn't have as much to worry about as my dad does."
Rebecca glanced at her watch. She had another call to make. "I have to go now, Katie. But I'll come by again soon to check on you two."
Katie seemed disappointed, but she nodded. "Okay. Thanks for coming over." She blushed and stared down at her purple and pink sneakers. "I mean...Rosie likes you and she was glad to see you."
"I like her, too," Rebecca replied. "Very much."
Rebecca said her goodbyes and walked around to the front of the house. Just as she was about to step into her pickup, a late-model, dark green Jaguar XJ12 pulled into the drive.
Michael Stafford climbed out, looking as striking as he had the other night. He wore a charcoal designer suit and a white silk shirt. His dark hair was combed back. But one lock had escaped and bung boyishly over his forehead.
The look in his blue eyes was anything but boyish. He gave her a curt nod of his head, but no smile of greeting.
"Good morning, Mr. Stafford," Rebecca said. Her tone was much more friendly than she felt.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Has something happened to the goat?"
"No, not at all," she assured him. "I was just dropping by to say hello to Katie."
He looked relieved, but still angry. "I haven't changed my mind, Dr. Barclay. I believe it was a mistake to let her keep that mangy goat," he said. "My daughter is obsessed with the thing. If it were to get sick or..."
"Yes?" she asked, her temper rising.
"Or die, she would be crushed. And I can tell you now, Doctor, I'll blame you if it happens."
That did it. Rebecca could no longer control her tongue. She knew she was about to say things she would regret later.
"Mr. Stafford," she said, gritting her teeth, "your daughter needs a living being to love. Maybe she wouldn't be so obsessed with a goat if her father spent a little time with her."
She turned and stomped back to her truck. "And by the way," she added as she climbed in and slammed the door behind her, "Rosie isn't mangy. None of my patients have mange, thank you!"
"And/, Dr. Barclay..." he shouted back "...am not cranky!"
Oh, Lord, she thought, someone told him what I said! She only hoped they hadn't told him the rest. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she found him at all attractive. She'd get Betty Sue for this.
Tires squealing, she pulled away. In her rearview mirror she could see him standing in a cloud of dust.. .her dust, his mouth hanging open.
"So there, Mr. Stafford!" she said, still embarrassed, but satisfied with her dramatic exit. "Just put that in your pipe and smoke it!"
Michael slammed his desk drawer closed, caught the end of his thumb in the handle and yelled out a curse. Instantly, there was silence in the showroom, the conversation between his secretary and a salesman coming to an abrupt halt.
A second later, Mrs. Abernathy peeked around the corner into his office, a look of concern on her face. "Have you hurt yourself...again, Michael?" she asked in a soft, grandmotherly voice. Usually, he would have been flattered by the attention, but her words had a distinctly sarcastic undertone. And, judging by the ever- so-slight smirk she was wearing, she must have been thinking he was a child who had just injured himself while throwing a temper tantrum.
Where the hell would she have gotten an idea like that?
"I'm fine, Mrs. Abernathy," he replied with equally saccharine sweetness. "I just flattened the better part of my thumb. I had two major deals fall through before noon. My pastrami on rye was soggy and dripping with Dijon mustard. I
hate Dijon mustard. And I just had the pleasure of informing Mr. Hillman that we can't find the parts we need to repair the brakes on his Silver Ghost. He intends to sue us. But, other than that, I'm having a perfectly wonderful day. Thank you for asking."
Instead of turning around and leaving, as he was hoping she would, she walked into his office and sat on one of the overstuffed chairs beside his desk. She adjusted her glasses, cleared her throat and folded her hands demurely in her lap—the picture of feminine grace.
How deceiving, he thought. Here it comes. She's going to give it to me with both barrels.
Mrs. Abernathy had worked for Michael for the past five years, and he knew all of her maneuvers. Not that the knowledge did him any good. With Mrs. Abernathy, forewarned wasn't necessarily forearmed. She always initiated, directed and won these little debates of theirs. Sometimes he wondered who worked for whom.
"Okay, what's the matter with you?" she asked, peering at him over the top of her wire frames.
"Excuse me?"
"Don't give me that. You know exactly what I'm talking about. All day you've been acting like a cantankerous grizzly bear, hibernating here in your cave and growling at anybody who gets within ten yards of you. I'm not surprised your deals fell through, you smashed your thumb and alienated Mr. Hillman. I'd sue you, too, if I were him."
He stared at her for a moment, his mouth working up and down as he searched for a suitable retort. "And I suppose the sandwich was my fault, too?"
She shrugged. "Hey, it's karma. You're sending all that negativity out into the universe and—"
"Oh, give me a break. Do you really think that the great cosmos cares if I yell at a few people? Do you really think that some yokel at the deli smearing Dijon mustard on my sandwich is an act of divine retribution? Get real."
She shook her head sadly. "See what I mean? Negative vibes. You're radiating all this hostility and—"
"I'm tired," he snapped. "And...and maybe I'm sick. I'm just having a bad day, okay?"
