“She’s doing well,” Clara answered. “My guess is she’s not handling shelter life too well. Some animals, no matter how welcoming the situation, never quite settle in. They’re usually the nervous or shy type.”
Morty was nodding as she talked. “I’ve dealt with plenty of those. I always try to give them some extra attention, do what I can to make sure they get adopted fast. Any suggestions for her?”
“I say slip her a little something extra in her dinner,” Clara answered, accepting the mug of hot cocoa. She never quite developed a taste for coffee and downed the rare cup of tea when she was ill. Clients like Morty came to know that about her and started keeping stock of cocoa. Little did they know that that one tiny gesture made Clara feel at home and accepted by the good folks of Sugarbush. “I think, during these chilly days, maybe some chicken broth poured over her kibble should be enough to entice her to eat.
“I can arrange that.” He set his mug down and gathered a much too calm Biscuit in his arms. The mutt gave him a few kisses on the chin. “Heck, it has been a hell of a winter, I think everyone can have a little something extra tonight.”
Clara sipped her drink, relishing in the warmth it provided. “How many are you up to now?”
Biscuit went sedately back in her kennel. “Twelve, the most I’ve had in over a year. Nobody seems to be adopting.”
“Shame.”
Clara stepped into the row of kennels. Before moving to Sugarbush she used to volunteer at the local humane society. Unlike Morty’s place they took the undesirables, those deemed unadoptable, and other problem critters into a back room and quietly made them disappear. Clara knew it happened all over the country, but she couldn’t handle the thought of vibrant loving lives being brushed aside; which made Morty’s shelter like heaven. He kept the doors open, taking in any animal in need—there were framed photos on the walls that showed him tending to tiny reptiles to underfed livestock—by being a stellar accountant. The cages were spacious, complete with beds, blankets, and toys. The more sociable animals were allowed to wander around freely and Clara knew Morty exercised the dogs regularly.
It was like they already had a loving home.
Most of the occupants were cats and dogs, but Morty also had a cage with three bonded cockatiels, a tortoise, a handful of guinea pigs, and a rabbit. Clara wondered how Tatters might like a long-eared companion.
“Have you tried any adoption drives? I know those are rather popular now, if the stuff I see online is anything to go by.”
Morty shrugged. “I’m not sure if that’s my type of thing, but I will certainly give it some consideration. I’d love to make sure these guys and gals get proper homes. I try to avoid pushing adoptions, especially certain times of the year. I want folks to remember that a pet is commitment, not just a gift.”
“Of course.” She finished off the cocoa and handed back the mug. “I’ll think of something, if that’s okay with you.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Morty looked genuinely worried.
“For you, for them, never,” Clara assured him as she gathered up her things. ”I’ll give you a call in a day or two, okay?”
“Okay.”
Clara stepped out. The day was surprisingly warm, which meant it was creeping toward the twenties. A good sign that the prolonged cold snap was over. Before she knew it, spring would be greeting her with sunny days and birdsong. That also meant an increase in business, what with foaling and calving season getting into full swing. Thinking about cute tiny hooves brought a soft smile to her face, an image of a nearly two-month-old colt playing through her mind. The little fella belonged to Asher and she’d been allowed to name him Candy Cane. He was a rambunctious youngster, one she wanted very much to pay a visit to. Clara checked her watch. Unless Miss Maggie gave her a call, she was free for another hour, just enough time to run by Sugarbush Ranch and see her man as well as wee Candy Cane.
Maybe she’d even stop at the café to grab a quick lunch. They did make some of the best soups and Asher was no doubt working outside. A warm meal would be nice.
With her mind made up, Clara struck off for the café, a spring in her step. Sugarbush Creek was starting to feel like home.
When she made the decision to pick up her life and move—effectively running away from her broken heart and shattered dreams—she was scared and uncertain it was the right thing to do. She left with no clear idea of where she was headed, just hitting the road in the rented moving truck with her SUV towed behind it. For a while she thought she might head out to the east coast, maybe get a little place in Washington, but as she was driving through Sugarbush one night she spied the for-sale sign outside the farmstead that would eventually become her new home. She slowed and pulled into the driveway and fell in love at first sight.
Kismet, her mother would have said.
Clara kept that silly moment to herself, after all, who bought a house on a feeling that it was to be their destiny, that it would start the ball rolling toward better days? Yet here she was, happy, having been in Sugarbush just about a year.
Entering The Range, Clara made her way up to the counter and placed an order for two bowls of bacon-cheddar potato soup with side orders of French bread for dipping. The girl assured her it would be a short wait, indicating a set of chairs lining the wall. Clara settled in one and pulled out her cell phone. No calls from Miss Maggie; which was promising. She pulled up Asher’s number and shot him a quick text. Hands resting in her lap, Clara looked around the café. She saw the mailman and waving at him.
At a nearby table she saw Esther Minnow and Dolly Winscript, known to be the town gossips. Two elderly women who, in the winter, had little more to do than sit around nursing cups of coffee and swapping seedy stories about the people of Sugarbush. In the summer, they changed locations, keeping nosy tabs by hanging out in the local park, always on the lookout for the next big story. Clara noticed they were gazing at her while attempting to pretend they weren’t and failing miserably at it. Clara frowned as Esther leaned closer to Dolly, whispering. Her eyes met Clara as she spoke and it sent a chill down Clara’s spine. She had the feeling they were talking about her. Perhaps just a silly notion? As far as she could recall she hadn’t done anything newsworthy.
Aside from managing to draw the attention of Asher, Sugarbush’s most eligible bachelor. Was that worth gossip? Unless they didn’t think she was good enough for him. Her relationship with Asher concerned her and him, no one else, and she refused to be sucked into hearsay. Clara took to studying the large mural on the far wall, a nicely done piece with cowboys out on the range.
“Clara?”
She shifted her focus to the girl behind the counter. A bag sat before her, a recipe stapled to it. Clara gathered and paid for her order, adding a little extra for the trouble.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling briefly.
She hustled to her SUV, wanting to reach the ranch while lunch was still reasonably warm. She left the bag on the passenger seat and headed out, navigating the now familiar streets. The sun played peekaboo in the clouds. A good feeling washed over Clara. As much as she adored winter the gloom could sometimes cause a downer mood. When it snowed, however, that was a different story. There was nothing more she liked to do than sit in the grayness of her house, fire crackling in the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa, and watch the little white flakes drift down. It was serene, calming, and a great way to de-stress after a long day.
Clara flipped on her blinker, turning under the arch crossing the driveway, the one informing any passersby that the property was Sugarbush Ranch, one of, if not the, oldest ranch stead in town.
Asher’s truck was parked out front of his house, a positive sign. She parked beside it and climbed out. A horse in a nearby pasture whinnied. Most of Asher’s livestock were further down the hill. The herd of cattle visible from her location with a couple of horses. Those Asher felt were more valuable or those in need of medical help, a closer watch, were kept up by the barn. That mean
t somewhere close she’d find little Candy Cane and his mom. Since she was here it wouldn’t hurt to peek in on them.
It was after lunchtime and her stomach growled loudly. Despite being in containers, the food made her car smelled like a heavenly meal. She wanted to dig in. She crossed the porch, then knocked on the door. This brought forth a bevy of barking from Asher’s three dogs. A few seconds passed and nobody answered. Clara frowned, knocking again, and glancing around at his truck. It was completely possible for him to be off with Bowie or out working in a field. He once lamented to her about the never-ending upkeep of fences. Clara knew Asher also liked to ride the lines of his property to make sure nothing nefarious was going on. Cattle rustling in this day and age, who would have thought it?
When her second knock failed to produce her beloved, Clara tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. She poked her head in, then slipped inside so the dogs couldn’t get loose.
“Asher?” she called, heading toward the kitchen. “Are you home? I brought lunch.”
She stopped at the big marble island, listening, and hearing only the excited whimpers of dogs and the tippy-tap of their nails on the floor. She sighed. Clearly, he wasn’t home. Disappointment settled in her shoulders. Clara only now realized how much she hoped to spend time with Asher. Opening the bag, she pulled out his portion of lunch and slipped it into the microwave.
She jotted down a quick note and left it tapped to the microwave door. Then she fished some cookies out of the jar atop the fridge and gave one to each dog along with a loving scratch on the head.
She was about to turn to leave, her hand already on the to-go bag, when a glass on the sink edge caught her eye. Clara went over, plucking the delicate wine glass from its place. There was lipstick on the rim. Definitely not hers, since she rarely ever wore any. Perhaps it belonged to Asher’s sister, Violet. Clara put it back, then made a beeline for the door, refusing to let her mind wander down unwanted avenues. Loving Asher was a risk.
Back outside she thought about going to see the adorable foal and started in the direction of the barn, but her phone vibrated. There was a glimmer of hope that it was Asher, so she dug it out eagerly. It was a message from Miss Maggie. She was needed at the clinic.
Chapter 7
A sense of urgency descended on Clara, causing her to drive a few miles per hour over the posted speed limit, thankful for clear roads and a lack of cops. When she stepped into The Ark, the first thing she noticed was a series of blood droplets on the carpet. The second was Miss Maggie. The middle-aged woman was usually calm, as soon as Clara stepped through the door, however, she jumped to her feet and rushed over to her. Clara barely had time to ditch her bag of soup on the reception desk before Miss Maggie grabbed her by the arm and directed her to the first exam room.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she gasped, a frantic tone to her voice. “Stewart Curtis came in with his hunting dog, Dodger.” She shook her head. “The poor thing. I hope you can help him.”
A knot formed in Clara’s stomach. Since arriving in Sugarbush she had somehow managed to avoid any emergencies, knowing all the while that at some point her luck would run out. Toady seemed to be the day. With her hand on the doorknob Clara sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t turn out to be so bad, especially since she knew how much Dodger meant to Stewart. He doted on the German shorthaired pointer the same way she did Tatters.
Please, please, please, let me be able to save Dodger, regardless of what fate has befallen the poor pooch.
She opened the door. Stewart stood there, tears marring his ruddy face, his beard scraggly, and blood on his clothes. Dodger lay on the table, panting heavily and whimpering occasionally.
Stewart sniffled. ”You’ve got to help him, Doc, please.”
* * * *
An hour and a half later Clara yawned, reaching for the can of soda she always kept on her desk and popping the top. She downed half the contents in one go. A quick glance at her cell phone revealed no missed calls or texts. Not even so much as a peep from Asher. A touch of anxiety began to wrap tendrils around her heart. Normally he got back to her within minutes, an hour at the latest if he was out riding. But here it was, the afternoon having grown into evening and nothing. After everything with Dodger and dealing with Stewart, well, a bit of loving sounded like a good idea.
Miss Maggie rapped her knuckles on the doorframe, poking her head into the office. She looked as worn out as Clara and who could blame her? Clara required her assistance in treating Dodger. It made her realize it might be worth the effort to look for an intern, perhaps a student taking vet classes at the local college. Just an extra set of hands to help.
“He’s going to be okay, right?”
That was the same question Stewart asked her a handful of times as he stood wringing his hat in his hands. The bereaved look in his eyes broke her heart. Dodger was his whole world. Clara did everything she could for the pooch, assessing the ugly wound in his side, giving him blood, and performing surgery. Thankfully the wound turned out to be more hideous looking than it actually was. What a blessing.
“If he makes it through the night without any complications I know he’ll pull through.”
Did she say it more for herself or for Miss Maggie? Technically, Dodger would be fine, but Clara always hedged because every injury was different and any number of complications could pop up.
“Well, I got Stewart out and on his way back home. Knowing him, though, he’ll be back as soon as you open in the morning.”
“That’s fine. I’ll check on Dodger once or twice throughout the night and make sure I’m in early.”
“I’m case you haven’t heard it lately, you are an amazing woman, Clara Dickens,” said Miss Maggie. “Just the kind of girl that Asher Barlow needs.”
Hearing his name brought forth a pang in her chest. Where was her beloved, what was he doing, and who owned the lipstick on the wine glass? She recalled how Esther and Dolly had been eyeing her while speaking in hushed tones. What did they know that she didn’t?
“Maggie,” she started, wondering if her dear friend kept up on town gossip. Miss Maggie knew a lot about townsfolk, but she’d also grown up in Sugarbush, it was the only home she knew. “Do you talk to Esther or Dolly?”
“Oh dear, not if I can help it.” Her cheeks turned pink. “They’re sweet ladies, yes, but they have some of the vilest tongues. They love to dog up and spread all the dirt they can get their grubby hands on. Steer clear of them.” Miss Maggie sighed, shaking her head. “Not that avoiding them will keep you free of their focus. Everyone gets sullied now and then.” As a second thought, she added, “Why? Did you hear something about yourself? Or Asher perhaps?”
All Clara do was shrug, explain the scene in the café, and how it left her feeling a smidge dirty.
“Pay them no attention. They’ve been known to make stuff up if there isn’t enough excitement to entertain them. Just about cost Quincy McDaniels a fine business deal one year, got themselves in some real hot trouble then. Did they learn their lesson, though?”
“No?”
“Precisely.” Miss Maggie checked her watch. “Your books are clear of appointments the rest of the day. So, if it’s alright with you, dear, I’d like to scrub that room down and call it a day.”
“Feel free. And I’ll get to the room. You head on out.”
“Are you sure?”
Was that a flicker of worry she spied on Miss Maggie’s face? ”Yes, I could use the time to think. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to have those Valentine’s treats for your grandkids. After today I think baking is just the thing I need.”
“Well, if you need me, you know how to reach me.” For a moment, it looked like she wanted to say something more, but thought better of it and gave Clara a little wave.
When she was gone, Clara fired up her computer, entering new information to Dodger’s file, keeping both a hard copy and electronic copy. Just in case, she always told herself, you never know when a computer might fail
or the power would go out. Once that was done, she pulled up Asher’s number and hit the call button. Leaning back in her desk chair she swirled lazily back and forth while waiting for him to pick up. It went to his voice mail. The timber of his voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and stirred desire, all while allowing her anxiety to gain more ground.
“Hey handsome, it’s Clara.” Of course, his phone would tell him that, what was she thinking? ”I brought you lunch and missed you. So how about we get together for dinner? My place? I’ll be baking so there’ll be all kinds of sweets. Give me a call back or shoot me a text and let me know. I miss you.”
Clara hung up, staring forlornly at her phone for a heartbeat. When would she get the nerve to say the ‘L’ word? Would their relationship even reach that point? Since when was she Debby Downer? A missed text and an unanswered call didn’t mean a lick. Asher was likely busy. Though having gone a few days since seeing him in person it was almost like he wanted to avoid her.
“Stop that line of thinking right now,” Clara chastised herself, shoving away from her desk. “The man is busy. He’ll get back to you. Meanwhile, there’s a mess waiting for me, so best to get to it.” Besides, washing down the exam room provided the perfect mental escape from all things Asher.
So, Clara got down to it, humming while she worked. Once she got going she developed a rhythm and the entire clinic received a touch up. During that time, she took two calls, making appointments for the next day. When all was said and done Clara had worked off some of her concern and doubt, feeling better with sparkling surfaces to greet patients. As a final touch, she stuck some paper hearts in the window, having planned to do it sooner. A strand of red lights left over from Christmas added a little festive glow. Pleased, Clara was about to close up shop, the sun having vanished hours ago, when a car pulled into the gravel lot. The sight of it made her heart skip a beat. What if it was another emergency?
Painted Petals Page 4
