Thinking of something she forgot to put down, she opened the folder she’d been writing in previously and made another notation. Finished, she left the folder neatly lying on top of the others. She intended to file them all away the first chance she got.
Joe was still standing there. Why? “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“Pete McKay tried to lodge a formal complaint against Doc,” he told her.
She’d been working here with Doc since the day after she’d arrived in Forever. That was a little over two weeks ago. And in that time, she’d noticed McKay standing in his yard, glaring over toward the clinic several times. Each time he wore an angry expression on his face.
“That grumpy old man would lodge a complaint against Mother Teresa if he got it into his head that he didn’t like what she was doing,” she said in disgust. His words replayed themselves in her head. She looked at Joe, confused. “Hey, wait a minute. You said ‘tried.’”
“I did,” he agreed, his voice giving nothing away.
“So why didn’t he?” Mona asked.
He wasn’t about to go into details, explaining that he’d suggested that McKay see the new owner of the hardware store and offer to give customers the benefit of his years of experience. Instead, Joe gave her a quick summary.
“Long story, but part of it is that I said I’d talk to Doc about seeing what he could do to keep the dogs from barking.” Joe looked at her pointedly. “I figure now that you’re around, that might not be such a problem anymore.”
“And why is that? You think I’m going to gag the dogs?”
The image of her rushing about, slipping multicolored bandanas over the dogs’ muzzles amused him, although he kept that image to himself. No sense in getting her annoyed. “I think that you’re going to do whatever it is you do that makes them obey you and you’re going to get them to keep quiet.”
Her grandmother had called her an animal whisperer, but that had been just between the two of them. She doubted that Joe knew about that. “You’re giving me a lot of credit.”
“Only where it’s due,” he answered. She was good at getting animals to do what she wanted and they both knew it.
Joe took a look around, noticing the outer office for the first time since he’d gotten there. Scattered about the walls were framed photographs of a variety of animals, most of them with Doc standing beside them. He didn’t recall ever seeing the photographs before. Not that he frequented the place all that much, but he’d been here a couple of times with Rick on business. The walls had been bare then.
“This your work?” he asked, turning back to her.
Over the years, as she’d worked with and learned from Doc, Mona had brought her camera along. It was an inexpensive, simple one but it accomplished what she wanted. It took pictures and captured memories. At the time, the photographs had been for her album. But recently, she decided that they also made good decorations.
“You might say that,” she answered evasively.
“You took them?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
“You framed them and hung them?” he continued.
“Yes,” she answered, observing him carefully.
“Then, yeah, I ‘might say that.’” He looked around again, taking in the whole effect. “Nice touch,” he told her.
She had no idea why his approval pleased her. Granted he was her friend, but she had always done her own thing without needing a seal of approval from anyone. Why did his create this warm glow inside of her?
“Thanks.” She did her best to sound blasé. “I like it.” She had to get back to work. There was a dog in back she needed to prepare to be neutered. Mona looked at him. “You want me to give Doc a message for you?”
She was telling him to leave, he thought. Just as well. He needed to get going. There was a patrol around town to make.
“No, I’ll be back.” One hand on the doorknob, he looked at her, reluctant to leave just yet. “How’s Apache doing?” he asked.
The mention of her new pet brought a smile to the corners of her mouth. “Well, he didn’t like getting a bath.”
“Wouldn’t think so.” Although, the thought suddenly occurred to him, if he was the one being bathed by her, it wouldn’t exactly qualify as a hardship.
He slanted a look in her direction, more than a little relieved that even though Mona was pretty intuitive, she didn’t have the ability to read minds.
Mona had brought her new pet with her to the clinic, not wanting to leave him alone his first full day in new surroundings. For a moment, she thought about inviting Joe to come to the back and see the dog for himself. But he looked as if he wanted to get going and she did have a patient waiting for her, so she just told him about Apache rather than showed him.
“And he looks even thinner right now with all that dirt off, but he’s eating,” she said with affection.
Joe had no doubt of that. “Probably like the starving dog he is.”
“Was,” Mona corrected. “He can’t possibly be starving after all the food he consumed between last night and this morning.”
The dog had jumped up to reach the counter in the kitchen and wound up capturing what was left of a pot roast she’d made earlier in the week. She’d taken it out of the refrigerator to make a sandwich to take to work for lunch. She had to physically separate Apache from his “prey.”
What amazed her was that the dog had allowed her to take the food away from him. It was proof that at bottom, Apache had a gentle nature. It also told her that she’d guessed right, he’d been abused and was fearful of punishment.
“The trick was to get him to stop eating before he exploded or ruptured something,” she concluded.
“Not much of a trick for you,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “Getting animals to behave and listen is right up your alley.”
As far as she was concerned, getting animals to behave was just a given so she took no credit for it. “Thanks for bringing him to me.” She had no doubt that the poor dog would have starved to death if Joe hadn’t had the presence of mind to bring the animal to her.
Joe shrugged as if what he’d done was a no-brainer. As if he’d been thinking only of the dog and not her when he decided to unite the two of them. “You’re the town vet. Or one of them.”
Mona had a strong suspicion that it had been more than that simple fact that made him decide to bring the poor thing to her, but she also felt that neither she nor Joe was comfortable exploring what had prompted him to do what he did. So she left his statement alone.
Instead, she cut the conversation short with words meant to send him on his way. “I’ll tell Doc you were looking for him when he gets back.”
He nodded. “No hurry.” Joe opened the door. “I just wanted to let him know that Pete was complaining, but I think I handled it.”
Now he had succeeded in arousing her curiosity. The dog awaiting surgery could wait another couple of minutes. “Oh? How?”
“Pete sold his business a short while ago. He’s got more time on his hands than he’s used to and nowhere to go now that he doesn’t have to work. I got him to offer his services to Jim now that Phelps owns the hardware store. This way, he’s got something to do and isn’t hanging around his house, listening for the next dog to bark.”
She nodded, impressed that Joe actually put himself in someone else’s shoes. He was more intuitive than she remembered. “Doc’ll be relieved to hear that. He doesn’t like dealing with complaints.”
Joe was about so say something else, but any further conversation was curtailed by the arrival of a frantic Dana Richards who clutched what sounded like an asthmatic cat to her more than ample bosom.
“Mr. Boots stopped breathing twice this morning,” she cried. The Siamese cat seemed to have great difficulty getting in air.
It looked like Dakota, the mixed-breed dog in the back, had just gotten a stay of execution for his manhood, Mona thought.
“I’ll see you, Joe,” she said, before turn
ing to the distraught woman. “Let’s go to exam one,” she coaxed Dana, placing a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulders.
Joe left then. As he closed the door, the same unbidden thought he’d had earlier flashed through his mind. Mona, in the white lab coat, wearing high heels and nothing else but a smile.
He felt his blood heating as he walked back to the sheriff’s office to get his Jeep. The fast pace he’d assumed had nothing to do with it.
He made a mental note to start taking cold showers instead of warm ones.
Chapter Eleven
“There she is,” Miss Joan declared with a broad, satisfied smile as Mona came into the diner. The unofficial town psychologist beckoned her over and then pointed to the only empty table in the place. “Pull up a booth and sit down,” she coaxed, tendering the invitation as if she hadn’t said the exact same thing last night, and the night before that.
Mona had shown up at the diner for dinner that first Monday that Rick and Olivia had left for their honeymoon. Her appearance had been prompted by her decision that she preferred grabbing a bite to eat at the diner and listening to the snatches of various conversations around her to going directly home. The house still mocked her with its emptiness.
Although it wasn’t exactly empty. Apache did come home with her every night after spending the day at the animal clinic. And once across the threshold, the scrappy dog made enough noise for three. It was obvious that he was happy to be away from the animals that were brought to the clinic. She’d quickly learned that Apache preferred humans to his four-footed brethren.
When she came into the diner, initially Miss Joan had told her to leave Apache outside, tethered to the first handy stable item she could find. But that was because Miss Joan was accustomed to dogs behaving like her own pet, an enormous dog who had an appetite for the convertible tops of sports cars and whatever else he could sink his teeth into—literally.
But Apache, with his desperate need to be loved, had won Miss Joan over within the space of an hour. By day two, he was allowed—invited, really—to come inside the diner with no hesitation.
“So, what can I get for you and your fierce guard dog today?” Miss Joan asked, abandoning the cloth she used to massage her clean counter.
Mona spared a glance at the dog who followed her like a short, fuzzy shadow, running her hand over his head affectionately.
“Just some soup for me and the usual for Apache,” Mona told the woman.
Miss Joan smiled. “The usual it is.”
“The usual” was the biggest bone that was available to gnaw on. Miss Joan took it upon herself to serve the dog personally, amused by the way the animal first licked her hand when she set the bone in front of him before settling in to enjoy his feast.
After bringing today’s offering to the pet, the woman chuckled to herself as she rose again to her feet.
“If my first husband, Clyde, had reacted that way when I gave him dinner, we’d still be married.” About to go back behind the counter, Miss Joan paused as she scrutinized Mona. “Not feeling well, honey?” the woman asked, lowering her voice as she put the question to her. When Mona eyed her quizzically, the woman explained, “Most folks don’t ask for soup unless they’re feeling kind of under the weather.”
“No, I’m fine.” Mona deliberately put a little bounce in her voice. “I just felt like having some of your chicken soup. It really is good.”
Miss Joan beamed, pleased despite the fact that she wasn’t fooled. “Flattery’ll get you everywhere,” she said, and went back to the kitchen to bring out a bowl of the soup.
Mona watched the older woman go through the swinging door into the kitchen and slowly sighed. She wasn’t being strictly honest with Miss Joan. She wasn’t ill, but it was more than just good taste that prompted her to order soup for dinner. She hoped that the warmth of the soup would somehow ease the emptiness that she felt inside.
She’d thought—hoped—that she had finally conquered the feeling, because it had disappeared for several days. But then, just like that, the emptiness returned, coming out of nowhere and threatening to swallow her up whole if she didn’t find a way to beat it back again.
In the midst of work—and today had been a particularly hectic day—she felt alone. Even here, in the diner, she felt the emptiness eating away at her despite the fact that this was dinnertime and a great many people, travelers as well as town citizens, were clustered here, filling every available seat in the place except for her table.
She had a feeling that Miss Joan had saved the booth for her and she was grateful. She knew if she said anything, or made any mention of her gratitude, Miss Joan would tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about.
Miss Joan was like that.
The woman returned with her soup, steam curling from the bowl and melding with the air above it, and placed it on the table in front of her.
Mona smiled as brightly as she could as she fought back the crippling ache. What was the matter with her? she silently demanded, annoyed with herself. “Thank you, Miss Joan.”
The woman nodded, sweeping away the thanks. “Anything else, honey?” she wanted to know.
Mona shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.” After all, Miss Joan could do nothing about this feeling eating away at her the way Apache was eating away at his bone.
But rather than make her way back behind the counter and other customers, Miss Joan looked at her for a long moment. Looking, it felt, right through her.
“You sure about that, honey?” Miss Joan finally asked her.
Mona forced a very worn smile to her lips, doing her very best to make it seem spontaneous and natural. “I’m sure.”
Just then, the door to the diner opened and Joe walked in. He removed his hat the moment he crossed the threshold, then slowly looked around, searching for a seat. All the stools that lined the counter were taken and so were, it appeared, all the booths.
With a resigned sigh, Joe began to put his hat back on. But before he could leave again, Miss Joan saw him and picked up her voice by several decibels.
Raising her hand to catch his attention, she called out, “Over here, Joe.” Miss Joan shifted her glance toward Mona and asked what anyone could easily see was a rhetorical question as far as she was concerned. “You don’t mind sharing a table with Joe, do you, honey?”
Actually, she did. Right now, Mona wasn’t feeling at her best. She felt dull tonight and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what had triggered this feeling, but she felt that she would make awful company.
However, she knew that it would do no good to protest or worse, take exception to Miss Joan’s seating plan. Miss Joan was one of those people who always knew best, or so the older woman liked to believe.
As for her, Mona had too much regard for the diner owner to even make an attempt at refusing her.
“No, I don’t mind,” Mona murmured, more to herself than to Miss Joan.
“Here, boy, take a load off,” Miss Joan instructed, gesturing him into the booth seat opposite Mona. “So what can I get you, Joe?” As she had done with Mona, Miss Joan peered closer at his face. “You look tired, Joe. Some kind of crime wave hit Forever?” the woman asked, an amused glimmer in her eyes.
“Not tonight,” he told her, deliberately not going into any details regarding why he looked as if he hadn’t slept much the past few days.
The woman was, among other things, not just the owner of the diner and a budding psychologist, but what amounted to the town crier, as well. A person with that many so-called hats to wear had no need to know that the woman she just sat him with was the one responsible for his sleeplessness.
Things were getting worse in that respect, not better. Rather than taking her presence in stride the way he thought he would, having Mona around like this, interacting with her a little almost every day, just made him acutely aware of the fact that he wanted her. A great deal.
And Mona, undoubtedly, had other plans for herself. There wasn’t an en
dless supply of men in Forever, but there were enough and he’d seen several coming by the clinic with pets or borrowed animals, obtained from helpful friends or well-meaning relatives, just to have an excuse to confer with the sexiest veterinarian east of California.
It was only a matter of time before one of those guys put a lock on her affections, and then that would be the end of it. He would have to terminate his own longing at that point. Hell, maybe then he’d start getting a decent night’s sleep.
Or, if not by then, he definitely would by the time Mona became Mrs. Somebody-or-Other because then he would go on being just Joe, good at his job and undistracted by extraneous things—like the laugh of a beautiful veterinarian who popped up in his fantasies with frustrating regularity.
“Just get me a ham and cheese on rye, black coffee and a piece of that cherry pie of yours,” Joe requested in response to Miss Joan’s query.
Mona glanced toward the counter and saw the empty cake container where the cherry pie was usually kept on display for the customers.
“Looks like they’re out of cherry pie, Joe,” she commented.
Miss Joan placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you worry that handsome head of yours,” she told Joe. “I figured you’d be coming in tonight and I set a piece aside for you.” She looked at Mona. “He orders the same dessert every night. I’d do the same for you if you were predictable—or ate dessert,” Miss Joan threw in over her shoulder as she walked away from them and toward the counter again.
“If you’d rather eat alone,” Joe began, “I can just get mine to go.”
“And disappoint Miss Joan?” Mona asked. “I don’t think so. The woman looked as if she was a fairy godmother at loose ends, doing her best to make something ‘happen’ between us,” Mona said with the first smile she felt like offering today.
He did that for her, she thought. Joe made her smile for no reason at all. To counterbalance that, he could also arouse her temper faster than anyone else, a temper whose magnitude she wasn’t even aware of until Joe popped into the picture.
A Baby on the Ranch: A Baby on the RanchRamona and the Renegade Page 26
