by Janet Dailey
Of course, she thought as she watched Michael and Katie walk, hand in hand, up to the door. She should have thought of it herself. The Rileys were the perfect couple to adopt the new pup. The dog would do as much to heal their hearts as they would do for him.
"Good choice, Michael," she whispered as she turned her pickup down a side street.
Michael and Katie were doing a kind and generous deed on Thanksgiving Day... together... and this just wasn't the time to intrude.
Yuletide had arrived in Southern California. But, once again, Rebecca had to rely on the calendar and shop window displays to tell her so, not the weather. Houses strung with colored lights reflected their owners' personalities. Some had been carefully hung with every bulb lit and pointing in the same direction, while others had been tossed haphazardly and with gay abandon on any exterior surface of the house.
A strange weather pattern seemed to have dumped several feet of "real" snow on the rear parking lot of the local mall. Rebecca thought of the massive snows in upstate New York where she had been raised. Gladly, she would have imported a foot or so from ber past to the present so that California kids could know what it was like to build an honest-to-goodness snowman.
Four days before Christmas, she was strolling down the center of the mall, looking for those last few gifts.
Every year a plethora of goodies arrived on her doorstep from her patients and their grateful owners—everything from chocolates to bubble bath to eight-by- twelve "autographed" photos of various furry and feathered creatures. Rebecca tried to give something in return, even if it was only a new squeaky toy for a dog, a sack of catnip for a feline or a mirror for a parakeet's cage.
She had done well and was considering calling it a day. As she left the mall and walked into the parking lot where a gaggle of children were pelting one another with snowballs, she spotted Beatrice Riley, standing on the sidelines, cheering on her favorites. At her feet on the end of a bright red leash sat the black Labrador puppy. Several of the smaller children had gathered around him and were taking turns petting his glossy head.
"Dr. Rebecca," Beatrice called, waving to her. "Merry Christmas!"
"To you, too," Rebecca replied as she crossed the lot to join her. "My goodness, how that dog has grown in only a few weeks."
"I know. I think that Mr. Stafford of yours Lied to me when he said it was a puppy. I'm beginning to think it's a colt! You wouldn't believe how much he eats!"
"He isn't exactly my Mr. Stafford," Rebecca said. "He's just a friend."
"Hmm, he certainly thinks a lot of you. Talked about you the whole time he was there... the day he gave us the puppy, that is."
Rebecca bent down to pet the dog, trying not to look interested. "Really? What did he say?"
Beatrice's sly smile showed that she hadn't bought the nonchalance routine. "He said you had taught him a lot about letting go after a loss and moving ahead."
"He said that?"
Beatrice nodded. "I didn't want the puppy at first. I didn't want to go through having to put another animal down. That was so hard with Midas."
"I know. He was a member of your family."
"Yes, he was. And I told Mr. Stafford that no one could take Midas's place. But he told me that the puppy wouldn't be a replacement for Midas. He was a new little someone who needed me. Nothing could ever fill the void that Midas had left, but Mr. Stafford showed me that I had enough love in my heart to care for another dog, even if it would mean losing him, too, someday."
"I'm so glad, Beatrice," Rebecca said, patting the woman's back. "Michael was right. This little guy couldn't have found a better home."
After they had, once again, exchanged the season's greetings, Rebecca walked back to the pickup, a lightness in her step that was more than just holiday cheer.
Michael had listened to her after all. And he had heard—with his heart as well as his ears.
People could learn, grow and change. In a season of hope and love, it seemed that miracles were still happening.
· · ·
"Oh, no! Katie, what have you done to your goat?" Rebecca stood behind Casa Colina, staring at the vision before her: a Nubian nanny goat with something that resembled a small, badly pruned tree tied to her head. Her pink nose had been transformed into a red monstrosity, smeared with crimson lipstick. Around her scrawny neck hung a plastic holly wreath.
Katie stood by, grinning broadly, extremely proud of herself. "It's Christmas Eve," she explained, "and I thought Rosie would make a great reindeer. Daddy helped me make the antlers. Aren't they great?"
Rebecca gulped. "Ah.. .yes.. .wonderful!"
Rosie seemed equally delighted with her new persona. She pranced from one end of the yard to the other, tail wagging, head high.
"Rosie the Reindeer. Now I've seen everything." Rebecca turned her attention back to Katie. "It looks like you are definitely in the Christmas spirit."
"Oh, yeah. Me and Daddy—whoops, my father and I—went out the other night to one of those plaoes where you get to cut down your own Christmas tree. And we found the ornaments and lights and stuff in the garage and put them all on it." She rattled on breathlessly. "Then we went out and bought a new box of really pretty balls, four of them, and I got to pick them. They're pink and purple. And Daddy said we could buy some new ones every year because every Christmas is new and special."
Rebecca smiled. "Your father is a very wise man."
"And we're going to have turkey tomorrow, and dressing and pumpkin pie. Mrs. Bridget gave Daddy lessons on how to make it because she's going to leave tonight to go see her mom."
"Sounds great!" She glanced around, hoping to see some sign of Michael, but his Jaguar was gone. "Is your dad around?" She tried not to sound too eager.
"Nope, he had to go get a can of cranberry sauce. He forgot it the other day. And when he gets back, we're going to go down and listen to the carolers in the park, you know, the ones that hold candles and walk around like this...."
She gave a good impression of one of the dignified and somber chorale members who performed in the candlelight service every Christmas Eve in a small park downtown.
"Are you going to go, Dr. Rebecca? Are you? It's really neat."
"Yes, I had planned to. I know a lot of the people in the choir and I really enjoy hearing the old carols."
"Then maybe we could go together."
A Christmas Eve candlelight service, together, the three of them. Part of Rebecca's heart leapt at the thought, but the other part seized up, paralyzed by fear.
She couldn't do something like that. Never.
Although, at the moment she couldn't recall exactly why.
"I don't think so, Katie," she said, "but thank you for the offer. Here—" She reached into her purse and pulled out a small gift. "I just dropped by to give you something. Actually, it's for Rosie."
"For Rosie? Really?" Her eyes brightened as she unwrapped the bright gold and red paper to find a tiny silver bell.
"It's to go on her collar. All of her relatives back in Switzerland wear them, so I thought she should have one, too."
"Thank you, Dr. Rebecca," the girl said as she rang the bell and delighted in its delicate, silvery tones. "It's bea-uuu-tiful. Come here, Rosie, and see what the doctor brought for you."
A minute later, Rosie pranced by again, prouder than ever, with the tiny bell dangling from her thick, leather collar, tinkling with every step.
"I have to go now, Katie." Rebecca stooped to give her a hug. "Merry Christmas to you and your dad. I'll be thinking of you tomorrow."
"Me, too. I wish you could come over for dinner."
"Thank you, but I'd better stick around the house, in case somebody's dog decides to eat their Christmas tree."
"Ah, you're just teasing. That doesn't really hap-pen".
"You'd be surprised, Katie Stafford. At this time of year, anything could happen."
Chapter Seven
Rebecca saw them that night at the candlelight vigil. Michael and Kati
e stood almost directly across from her as the carolers filed down the road that bisected the park and led to the old mission up the hill. Katie waved furiously, bopping up and down with excitement. Michael simply smiled and mouthed the words, "Merry Christmas."
Lifting her hand, Rebecca gave a quick wave in return, but even that was a tremendous effort.
She knew she should have been touched by the attention. She should have responded with genuine warmth, rather than forced civility, affection rather than fear. What was wrong with her?
Don't do it, her heart told her. Don't get too close. You know what will happen.
Yeah, so what's going to happen? she silently asked herself. You might get to truly know and love a great guy and a fantastic kid. Wouldn't that be a tragedy?
Yes, her heart replied. It could be. It was before.
Rebecca turned and disappeared into the crowd. For the moment, she had enjoyed as much of the holiday season and its beauty, peace and love as she could stand.
· · ·
Rebecca lay in bed, dreaming that she could hear a ship's horn echoing across a foggy sea. One, two, three deep-throated blasts. Then she realized the sound wasn't that deep. In fact, it was annoyingly shrill.
It wasn't a ship at all. It was the darned telephone.
Another call in the middle of the night.
"Maybe it's Santa," she muttered as she fumbled for the phone, "and his reindeer won't fly. Yes?" she asked, trying to mentally shake herself awake.
"Rebecca, this is Michael Stafford. I know it's Christmas Eve, and I hated to call you, but I'm afraid it can't wait."
She sat up in bed, instantly alert. Even in her half- asleep state she realized that he had called her by her first name without "Doctor" preceding it. And from the worried tone of his voice, she knew that something was very wrong.
"That's okay, Michael," she said. "What's going on?"
"Rosebud is sick. I don't know what's wrong with her, but I think it's bad. Neil and Bridget left this evening for the holidays, and Katie... well... Katie is terribly upset."
"I'll be right there."
As Rebecca jumped out of bed and threw on her clothes, dread—icy and paralyzing—rose in her chest. With an effort, she pushed it down. This wasn't the time to panic.
"Not Rosie, not on Christmas Eve," she whispered as she hurried out the door and climbed into her truck. "Please, not Rosie. Katie really needs her."
The child had lost too much already. Even a heart as buoyant as hers would have a difficult time bouncing back from another tragedy so soon after the last. Rebecca was determined to do everything she could to make certain that didn't happen.
She only prayed her efforts would be enough.
The moment Rebecca entered the stable, she saw that Rosebud was even worse than she had expected. She lay on her side, bleating pitifully, Rebecca's bell still attached to her collar, smudges of lipstick still staining her nose.
As she knelt beside Michael in the straw and examined her patient, Rebecca's heart sank. The little goat's stomach was badly swollen and she was obviously in a lot of pain.
"What's wrong with her?" Katie said, as tears ran down her cheeks. "Is she going to die?"
Rebecca wanted to tell her everything was going to be fine, as she had before, but she wouldn't lie to the child. This time she wasn't sure at all. She didn't even know what was wrong.
She asked the usual questions, and Katie and Michael supplied the appropriate answers, but none of those replies gave her the information she needed.
Quickly Rebecca ran the symptoms through her head, trying to match them with an illness or injury that she had studied.
"Wait a minute," she said at last. "Do you still have avocado trees on the property? Back there behind the grape arbor?"
Katie and Michael looked at each other and nodded in unison.
"Could Rosebud have eaten any of the leaves today after I was here?" Rebecca asked Katie.
"Well...when we went to the park to hear the choir, I left her in the backyard. I guess she could have eaten some then."
"I need to know for sure," Rebecca said.
Michael jumped to his feet. "I'll check," he said.
A moment later he returned, holding a half-eaten avocado and some munched leaves. "I'm afraid you were right," he said. "Is that bad?"
Rebecca couldn't bring herself to tell them that she had lost several horses this way. Avocado leaves were deadly for animals. She felt sick with guilt. Why hadn't she warned Katie before about the avocados?
"The problem is—Rosie can't digest the leaves," she told them. "They say a goat can eat anything, and that's true... almost. But even a goat's stomach can't handle avocado leaves."
"What can we do?" Michael asked.
"We have to help her get rid of them," Rebecca said, "even if it takes all night."
"How do we do that?" Katie asked.
Rebecca smiled down at the girl. "You may think this is silly," she said, "but the old-fashioned way is the best. Do you guys have a turkey baster?"
"A turkey baster?" Michael asked. "Yes, Bridget just showed me how to use it the other day."
"Good, that's what I need."
"I'll go get it."
Rebecca rolled up her sleeves, then reached down to touch the little red nose as she waited for Michael to return. "Poor baby," she said. "I guess Santa will have to make his run without Rosie the Reindeer tonight."
"Do you really think this is going to help?" Michael asked as he watched Rebecca fill the baster again with a mixture of mineral oil and milk of magnesia. Gently he held the nanny's mouth open as Rebecca squeezed it in. Rosie swallowed weakly, then began to cry again.
For the past five hours they had been taking turns giving her the medicine. But so far, there had been no results.
"I don't know yet," Rebecca said, laying the baster aside and sitting in the straw beside the goat. "If we can just get enough into her, it may all work out... in the end," she added, pointing to Rosie's tail.
"A bad pun, Dr. Rebecca," Michael said with a tired smile as he sank onto the hay next to her.
"Hey, at six o'clock in the morning that's as good as it gets."
Rebecca looked over at Katie, who was sleeping in the corner, curled into a ball in the straw. Michael's leather jacket was draped over her small shoulders.
"She finally gave it up, huh?" Rebecca said.
"Yes, and I'm glad," Michael replied. "There was no reason for her to be up all night worrying. A hell of a way for a kid to spend Christmas Eve."
He gazed at the child for a long time, then he turned back to Rebecca. "You were right. I am afraid I'm going to lose her, too. I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, worrying about it."
Rebecca nodded. "I'm not surprised, considering all that's happened to you. I felt the same way after Tim's accident, but as time passed it got easier. It will for you, too."
"Do you think so?" He looked at her with a light of hope in his blue eyes that were so much like his daughter's.
"Yes, I promise. The first two years are the worst. Then it gets easier."
Michael ran his hand over the kid's swollen belly. Rebecca noticed that his fingers were shaking slightly, and her heart went out to him. She wondered how she could ever have considered him cold and uncaring.
"When I think of Beverly," he said, "I only remember her death... the fact that I wasn't there. I remember the last time I saw her. She was so sick and helpless—she didn't even know me. Beverly was always a strong, proud woman. She wouldn't want me to remember her that way. I don't want to think of ho- that way."
"Time will help you with that, too," Rebecca said, laying a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. "The day will come when you'll remember her life—the happy times, her strength, her laughter, her beauty- more than the sad circumstances of her death."
To her surprise, he reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. For a long time, he held her tightly against his chest, his face buried in
her hair, saying nothing.
Her arms went around his waist, and she allowed herself the wonderful luxury of melting into another human being. The embrace was the first intimate contact she had experienced since before Tim's death. And she couldn't believe how much she needed it or how good it felt to hold someone and to be held in return.
Finally, he released her and she was shocked to see the depth of emotion in his eyes. What she saw there was a mirror image of what she was feeling.
"You've done so much for us, Rebecca, for me," he said as his hand slipped lightly down her cheek. His fingertips were so warm, so gentle as he brushed a stray curl away from her temple. "In the time I've known you, you've shown me how important it is to reach out to others."
After a quick glance at his sleeping daughter, he leaned toward her and tenderly kissed her cheek. The sensations of acute desire and equally sharp fear shot
through her at the contact. Suddenly, she felt as though she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.
"I want to reach out to you, Rebecca," he said. His fingers twined in the hair at the nape of her neck, sending shivers of pleasures down her back. "If I do... if I find the courage to reach out... will you be there?"
A hundred replies raced through Rebecca's mind as she sat there in the straw, looking into the eyes of a man she could easily love. A man she already loved. Her heart could only allow her to give one reply, "Michael... I-"
Her words were cut off by a loud bleat as Rosie began to thrash around, struggling to stand.
"Hey, hey," Rebecca said, setting issues of romance aside for the moment, "this looks promising."
"Here," he said, rising from his seat on the straw, "let me help her up."
Carefully, he lifted the nanny, his arms under her belly and supported her for a minute or so. When he released her, she stood on wobbly legs, but, shaky or not, she was standing. And that was what mattered at the moment.
