“I expected it. I knew after what happened to Mr. Van Zandt, you’d never look back.”
Having Paul stir up painful old memories made Claire long for the comfort of Willow, but she didn’t want to leave her sister alone. As she drove Holly through town, inspiration struck. “Let’s grab some grilled-cheese sandwiches at Joe’s and eat them at Healing Springs Stable, if you feel up to it. Maybe Sharon can find you a whisper horse too.”
“A what?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
“Well, I was thinking of picking up the girls for lunch,” Holly said, looking at her watch, “but all right. I wouldn’t mind some french fries.”
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Sharon’s office, tearing into hot sandwiches that almost dripped butter and slurping extra-thick milk shakes through wide straws.
“Christ, I can feel my arteries clogging,” Sharon said as she wadded up her greasy sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the tin trash can.
“But it’s worth it,” Claire said. “I used to dream of Joe’s milk shakes when I was in New York.”
“Sharon, what’s a whisper horse?” Holly asked, pushing away the remaining half of her sandwich.
“I’ll show you.” Claire stood up and pulled Holly to her feet and toward the door. “Come on, sis. I have to warn you that Willow’s not pretty. She was abused and starved by her former owner. But she has a kind spirit.”
Holly had taken riding lessons for a year before she had decided she would rather play with smaller, less scary things, like dolls and puppies. Her tone was dubious when she said, “A horse with a kind spirit.”
“It’s in her eyes and the way she rested her head against me. You’ll see.”
When they arrived at the stall, it was empty, though. “Oh dear,” Claire said, “where do you suppose she is?”
“If you’re looking for Willow, Dr. Tim took her out for a stroll,” a young woman lugging a hay bale down the aisle volunteered.
Claire’s disappointment flipped to anticipation mixed with worry. Sharon hadn’t mentioned Willow having any new problems, so hopefully the vet was just checking up on her.
She grimaced as she remembered that she needed to cancel their dinner date. However, she didn’t want to do it in front of Holly, so she would put that unpleasant chore off until later.
Turning toward the barn’s back door, she saw the silhouette of a man leading a horse, recognizing Tim by his long, steady stride.
“Is Willow all right?” she asked as he came closer.
“She’s fine, all things considered.” He pulled up the mare a few feet away and ran his hand down her neck. “I wanted to see if she showed any active pain when she was moving.”
Claire watched his square hand glide soothingly over the horse’s dull coat. “So how does she seem?” She stepped forward to greet her whisper horse. “Hey, girl. How’s it going?”
Willow butted her head gently against Claire’s chest, just as she’d done before.
“She’s not in any pain, but she can’t handle much more than a slow trot. Those old injuries give her trouble if she goes any faster.”
“You poor girl! Do you think she misses being able to gallop?” she asked, looking up at Tim and feeling a little zing of awareness when she met his eyes. “Sharon says she’s a Thoroughbred, so she’s got speed in her genes.”
“Well, right now, I’d guess she’s happy just to be fed. Once she’s stronger, she may have the luxury of wishing she could gallop again.”
“That breaks my heart. We should all be able to do what we’re meant to.” Claire rested her forehead against the mare’s. “I’ll take you for lots of walks, sweet girl, I promise.”
“Being cared about should more than make up for the loss of a gallop or two,” Tim said.
She glanced up to find sadness in his eyes. What on earth had she said to make him look that way? Oh God, was it something about his wife?
Holly cleared her throat loudly.
“Oh goodness, I’m sorry,” Claire said. “Holly, this is Dr. Tim Arbuckle. Tim, my sister, Holly Snedegar.”
Holly hesitated a moment before she put her hand in Tim’s. “I heard you’d come back to town and bought Dr. Messer’s practice. My neighbor Janet Bostic says you took real good care of her cat Chuck.”
“Glad to hear she was happy. Was that the calico who swallowed the squeaker from his cat toy?”
“Wow, you have a good memory!” Holly said.
“Well, to be honest, it stuck in my mind because it was kind of funny. Every time the poor cat moved, he set off the squeaker. Then he would spin around to see where the noise had come from, which made it squeak again. He was pretty exhausted by the time Mrs. Bostic brought him in.”
Claire stifled a laugh. “Poor fellow. I assume the story had a happy ending.”
“I’m only telling it because it had a happy ending. First, I removed the squeaker.” The humorous gleam in his eyes winked out. “Then I contacted the toy’s manufacturer and read them the riot act about putting such a small part in a cat toy.”
“Did anyone seem to care?”
“Well, with a little persistence, I got transferred to the CEO, so at least he heard my complaint.”
“I know you can be very persistent,” Claire said, harking back to their conversation at the gallery.
She enjoyed the deep bass of his chuckle. Then she glanced at Holly and found her watching the two of them intently. Claire was embarrassed to realize that she’d almost forgotten her sister’s presence. Tim seemed to fill her entire field of vision.
She looked back at Willow, only to see the vet’s fingers absently combing through the horse’s scraggly mane. His touch was so gentle it barely moved the loose skin at the crest of the mare’s neck.
“Tim came into the gallery to inquire about buying the Castillo,” Claire explained, both to distract herself and to include Holly in the conversation.
“It’s a pretty picture,” her sister said in a colorless tone.
“Definitely pretty,” Tim said, “and it matches my sofa, so I’m planning to purchase it.”
Holly looked startled. “Claire hates it when people say that about her art.”
“I imagine so,” Tim said.
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“You caught me,” he said with a glinting smile that invited her to join his joke.
That won an answering smile from Holly. “Shame on you.”
Claire was delighted to see her sister shed the dazed look she’d been wearing since the night before. Evidently, Dr. Tim hadn’t become a vet because he couldn’t deal with humans.
“I—” Tim began and then reached into his jeans pocket to pull out a cell phone. “Excuse me, my office is calling.”
Claire signaled that she would take Willow. Tim nodded his thanks before he turned and walked away, holding the phone to his ear.
“Can I be honest?” Holly asked, her eyes tracking Tim as he moved away.
“About what?” Claire braced herself for a comment on the subject of Tim.
“This horse. She looks terrible. She’s all skin and bones. What does it mean that she’s your whisper horse?”
“It means I can whisper my troubles into her ear and she’ll share them with me.”
“Why would you pick her?”
“I didn’t. She picked me.” Claire turned Willow’s head toward Holly. “Look at her eyes. After all that she’s suffered, there’s no meanness, no bitterness there. And she trusted me the first day she arrived. Me! I have no idea why.”
“Horses have good instincts.” Tim’s deep voice startled her. She spun around to find her nose almost touching one of his shirt buttons. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you. Generally, folks hear me coming,” he said, moving toward the horse. “I’ve got an emergency call, so I’ll say good-bye. See you Friday at six thirty.”
He gave Willow a scratch behind the ears and, with a polite nod, strode off toward the oppo
site end of the barn.
“He’s scary,” Holly said as Tim vanished through the barn door. “And what did he mean about Friday?”
“Tim? Scary? Why would you say that?” Claire ignored her sister’s question.
“Did you see his face when he was talking about the cat toy manufacturer? His eyes got all flinty, and his jaw muscles were twitching. You have to watch the quiet ones. They hold in a lot and then blow up. You don’t want a boyfriend who goes ballistic.”
“This is only the third time I’ve talked to him, so he’s not even close to a boyfriend,” Claire said. “Come on, Willow, let’s put you in your stall.”
As she swung the door open, she warned Holly to step back to avoid any new bruises. When the mare didn’t immediately follow her, Claire tugged gently on the halter.
“She wants to know what the vet meant about Friday too,” Holly said. “A whisper horse needs to know all your secrets.”
“I’ll explain it to her another time.”
“No, you go ahead and talk to her. I’ll wait in Sharon’s office. It’s nice and cool in there.”
“Are you sure?” Claire was torn. She wanted to give Willow some attention, but her sister was her first priority.
Holly nodded. “It’s nice to be out of the house, but I need to sit down for a minute or two. Go!” She flapped her hands at Claire and walked away.
“Thanks, Holl!” Claire led the mare into the stall. “Let me grab a brush and give you a little TLC.”
She jogged to the tack room and back, picking up a brush and some soft horse treats. When she began to run the stiff bristles over the horse’s scruffy coat, the mare gave a deep sigh and dropped her head, eyelids fluttering closed. “I guess you like this, girl,” Claire said, feeling the horse’s contentment seeping into her own body. The rhythmic motion freed her mind to wander, and it veered toward Tim Arbuckle.
“Guess what? Dr. Tim reported your rotten owner to the racing association. Let’s hope the creep never sets foot in a stable again.” That reminded her of Tim’s story about Chuck the cat. “He yelled at a CEO about a cat toy too. You have to admire a man who goes to all that trouble to defend you and Chuck.”
She worked the brush up behind Willow’s ears, and the mare’s head dipped even farther toward the ground as she gave a low grunt of pleasure. “You also have to like him for appreciating the Castillo so much he wants to buy it.” Her pleasure at Tim’s reaction seemed out of proportion, and she frowned. Was she thrilled because Dr. Tim collected horse art, giving his opinion the weight to counterbalance Milo’s dismissal?
Willow reached around to nudge Claire’s motionless elbow with her velvety nose. “Oh, sorry, girl, I got distracted,” she said, resuming her sweep along the mare’s neck. She glanced at her watch. “I really have to take my sister home.”
She dug in her pocket for the treats, holding them out on her palm. Willow lipped them up and chewed contentedly. “Wonderful!” Claire said, wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck and laying her face against her cheek. “You’re feeling better. Dr. Tim said he’d take care of you, didn’t he?”
She drew back and smiled into the depths of Willow’s eyes. “Your vet seems to succeed in whatever he sets his mind to. Maybe I should worry about hanging on to my painting.”
After returning the brush to the tack room, Claire found her sister reading Blood Horse in Sharon’s office. “Are you taking up a new career in breeding racehorses?” Claire teased.
Holly’s smile was faint, but it was a smile. “It has pretty pictures, and besides, there wasn’t anything else to read in here.”
“Sorry to leave you alone, but Willow thanks you for letting me brush her. She was so relaxed she nearly fell asleep.”
“I hope the grooming made her look a little better too.” As they walked toward the parking lot, Holly said, “So tell me about when Dr. Tim first came to the gallery.”
Claire almost deflected the question, but then she remembered their heart-to-hearts about boys in the rhododendron thicket behind their house. Maybe some girl talk would bring her sister closer.
“He came in yesterday, and I showed him the Castillo.”
“You told me the painting wasn’t for sale, that you just exhibited it at the gallery.”
“I told him that too, but he was, well, persistent.” Claire took a deep breath and confessed, “He asked me out to dinner for Friday.”
“I knew it!”
“Not what you think. He was trying to soften me up to get the painting.”
“Uh-huh,” Holly said in the tone of voice that meant she thought the opposite.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going.”
“He doesn’t seem to know that.”
Claire blew out a sigh. “Yeah, I need to tell him.”
Holly leveled a look at her sister. “You’re going to cancel because of me, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t want to go anyway. He surprised me, and I couldn’t come up with a good excuse to say no.”
Her sister fiddled with the hem of her floral shirt. “I don’t want to stop you from going, but there are things about Dr. Tim you should know.”
“You mean about his wife?”
Holly’s gaze jerked upward. “You’ve already heard that she killed herself?”
Claire nodded.
“And you still want to go out with him?”
Anger tightened the muscles of Claire’s jaw. “Yes.”
“I think you should be real careful. You don’t know what drove her to it.”
“No, and neither do you.”
Holly sighed. “Don’t get all huffy. I’m just concerned.”
Now Claire felt like a heel. “I know, but it seems wrong to pass judgment on someone without knowing all the facts.”
“Do you like him?”
Like wasn’t the right word. She was strongly aware of him. “Yes, and he cares a lot about Willow.”
“Well, Lord knows I’m not the best judge of men,” Holly said with another sigh. “Anyway, please don’t cancel your dinner. I’d feel horrible knowing you’d missed out on it because of me.”
“It’s no big—”
“Go! The girls and I will watch Disney movies. It’s our favorite Friday-night date.”
Although she knew that was true, Claire was still torn when an idea struck her. “Will you and the girls help me pick out what to wear?”
THE NEXT DAY, Claire stood in front of the Castillo painting, letting the color and light and movement flood through her and wash away the ugliness of the last couple of days.
“Earth to Claire?”
She jumped and turned at the same time. “Paul! You scared the heck out of me.”
“I called from the front gallery, but obviously you were farther away than just this room.” He stood in the doorway of the secure room, a seersucker jacket hooked on his finger and slung over one shoulder. “What has you so fascinated?”
He strolled up to stand beside her, his lanky frame so similar and yet so different from the teenaged boy she remembered.
“This painting by Julia Castillo. Are you familiar with her work?”
He shook his head as he examined the painting. “It’s nice. Very scenic. Could I afford it?”
“It’s not for sale,” she said, disappointed by his lukewarm appreciation of her treasure. “It belongs to me. Davis says it adds cachet to have it in his gallery. And frankly, it’s gotten so valuable that I don’t want to keep it in my house. There’s a state-of-the-art alarm system here.”
“So I couldn’t afford it.”
“I’d have to see your Form 1040 before I could answer that.”
He grinned. “My accountant tells me I can afford lunch at Food and Folks. Join me?”
“I have an appointment in forty-five minutes,” she said, glancing at her watch, “but that should give us enough time for a sandwich.”
“If that’s all you’ve got, we’ll make it work,” he said.
As they walked the four
blocks to the restaurant, Claire felt a smile curve her lips as virtually everyone they passed said hello to her companion.
He deftly avoided being buttonholed by two older men, but made a little boy giggle by producing a quarter from behind the child’s ear. She remembered that Paul had always been good at sleight of hand, hiring himself out as a magician at kids’ parties to earn some extra cash. Some things hadn’t changed.
The café’s hostess knew Paul too and escorted them to a quiet corner table covered with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth.
“I think you should run for mayor,” Claire said after they had placed their orders.
“Been there, done that.”
“Seriously?”
“Two terms. It was good for business, but bad for my social life. Too many committee meetings at night.” Paul was twirling a spoon through his fingers at lightning speed. “I know you weren’t a big fan of Mayor Wickline, so you’ll be happy to know I defeated him when he was running for his fifth consecutive term.”
“Mayor Wickline,” Claire said slowly. “I’d forgotten he became mayor.”
The name sent her back to the high school classroom, where she watched the only person who understood her love for art packing up his belongings. As Mr. Van Zandt taped his last box closed, her art teacher had looked up at her and said, “This place destroys people like you and me. If you want to survive, get out of Sanctuary.”
It took years before she found out why he had left so suddenly; George Wickline had been the cause.
“Claire? Do you want another glass of iced tea?”
“Oh, sorry!” She shook her head apologetically at the hovering waitress. “I got caught in a time warp for a minute there.”
“My fault.” Paul’s smile was rueful. “I shouldn’t have brought up such an unpleasant memory at our reunion lunch.”
“Don’t apologize. Sometimes it’s useful to be reminded of harsh reality.”
“Not today, though,” Paul said. “This meal is about happy times.”
Shaking off her dark mood, she pointed the conversation back to him. “I didn’t see any family photos in your office. Why hasn’t some smart woman snapped you up?”
Take Me Home Page 5
