Scott placed the carrier on a stainless steel countertop and glanced at Emily from her loose up-do to her grass-covered sling-pumps. She blushed under his scrutiny and the humor in his smile—she should’ve at least brushed the bits of grass and weed from her tawny slacks.
He retrieved a patient ID label and smiled at her. “You’ve been in the sun. Your freckles always pop out brightest when you’ve been outside. What’ve you been up to today?”
“Nothing much. I’m just dropping off the cat before I go to the bank.” She fiddled with her purse strap. “What do you know about that house for sale up the road?”
“The ol’ Farley place?” In heavy black ink, he wrote Millie/Emily, calico stray on the label and slapped it on top of the carrier. “It’s been for sale for almost three years now. You interested?”
“Maybe.” Three years? Surely, they’d be willing to negotiate a favorable price. She mentally knocked a few thousand off her opening offer. “Do you know how much they’re asking for it?”
“They’ve been dead for a while. It belongs to the daughter now, and she lives in Oklahoma somewhere. Bet she’s pretty anxious to be rid of it.”
With that tidbit of information, she knocked a few more thousand off. The daughter might be open to a good deal. She grinned and resisted the urge to dance a jig. The prospects of owning a house and taking care of Mitchell’s medical bills were looking better all the time. “I may just take it off her hands.”
“You’ll need a contractor. Remember Roger Norris?”
“Of course I do. He married Lauren Keller right after high school. I lost touch with them about five years ago.”
“You may want to look them up again.” Scott put his pen aside and rested his hands on the carrier. “Roger’s the best there is in the construction industry around here. You couldn’t do better than him.”
Emily bit her lip. “Do you think he’d look at it with me, maybe give me an idea of what I’m in for?”
“I’m sure he would. Let me know when you go. I’ve been itching to see the inside of that place.”
“I’ll call you when I have an appointment.” Anxious to talk to the realtor, Emily waggled her fingers in farewell and started for the door.
Scott’s voice stopped her. “Hey, do you have plans Friday night? It’s the annual end-of-summer game between Dogwood and Valley View. You still like high school baseball, don’t you?”
“I do, but I can’t. Too much to do. Talk to you later.” She left before she could see the disappointment that always registered on his face with each rejection. Why hadn’t he been as persistent ten years ago?
5
Just once, Scott wished Emily would say yes. One day, he’d simply stop asking her. He should. He should’ve stopped long before now.
Last year, after a ten year absence, she’d reappeared in his life clutching a trembling golden-eyed cat against her chest. She’d wrapped the cat in a towel as much to keep from getting scratched as to protect it from the rain. All Scott could see of it were its eyes and nose. Perhaps he would’ve seen more if he’d been able to drag his attention from the drenched woman holding it. With her dark, wet tendrils dripping rivulets down her cheeks and her hazel eyes wide with concern for her bundle, she looked more like a frightened ten-year-old than a woman over thirty—a woman he’d been in love with since they were kids. Seeing her had sucked the breath from his lungs.
Still did. Which was why he hadn’t stopped asking her out.
What he wouldn’t give for her to trust him. Or to return to his youth and overcome the shyness that had kept him on the outskirts of her affections in the first place. Whatever had happened in Houston changed the carefree girl he knew into this mysterious, secretive woman who still held his heart.
But he had changed, too, and he wasn’t about to botch a second chance of winning her.
He closed the clinic and climbed into his truck for a quick trip to the feed and grain store. Ahead on the road, sixteen-year-old Spencer Milligan stood on his bicycle pedals and pumped like the devil was driving him. With his head and shoulders leaning over the handle bars, he was rolling at a good clip. The boy had strong legs. Scott tapped his horn, and Spencer pulled to a stop. Scott eased beside him and rolled down the passenger window.
“Hey, buddy. Why aren’t you in your new car?”
The smile Spencer wore in greeting soured on his freckled face. “Dad took the keys from me. The old three-strikes rule.”
“Uh-huh. What’d you do twice that was so much fun you had to risk a third time?”
“Stayed out after curfew.” A muscle knotted in his smooth jaw. “I’m too old for a curfew.”
“You’re not if your daddy says you’re not.”
That response didn’t set well with the young man.
Scott jerked his head toward the truck bed. “Put your bike in back and ride with me. The sheriff’s bringing out a rescued horse today. Maybe you can help me with him.”
Faster than the flick of a stallion’s tail, Spencer was sitting next to Scott in the front seat. No second invitation required.
If only it was that easy with Emily.
Scott eased back into the lane. “So, you ready for the baseball game Friday night? Now that you’re entering high school, you can be part of the tradition. Valley View beat us last year. We’ll need you.”
“Aw, they’re not gonna put me in. Freshmen don’t pitch when seniors are playing their last game.”
“Yeah, but I’m one of the coaches for Dogwood this year. I may have a little to say about who pitches.” He shot a glance at Spencer. “Have you and your dad been throwing the ball, giving that arm a workout?”
Spencer emitted a negative grunt.
“Is he coming to the game?”
He shrugged and slumped against the passenger door. The boy had been sullen since his parents’ divorce six years ago, and even more so since puberty. He’d certainly been giving his father fits. Maybe bringing Spencer along to see the horse would be good for him.
By the time Scott had bought the feed and returned to his place in the country, Sheriff Quint Bailey’s rig was already backed up to the paddock gate.
Scott and Spencer strode across the yard to meet him. Bailey was a lean, chisel-jawed man who made up for his short stature with a strong, straight back. Scott stretched out his hand, shook Bailey’s, and hitched a thumb toward Spencer to introduce him. Bailey nodded a greeting, but Spencer was already heading toward the trailer and the main attraction snorting inside.
“Whatcha got, Quint?” Scott asked Bailey as they walked around to the trailer gate.
“Roan mare named Scotch Bonnet. Owner’s been letting her out of the pasture so she could feed on the side of the road ’cause she’d eaten all the field hay. Problem is, there ain’t much hay on the side of the road, either. He got to where he’d leave her out there unhobbled. Traffic hazard.”
The sheriff pulled open the back gate, which dropped with a metallic thud on the packed dirt. Inside the trailer, the horse stamped a hoof and swung her backside around to warily watch the men. She yanked her head against the rope securing her to the side of the trailer and backed away as far as her restraint would allow.
“She wild?”
“Well, she ain’t tame. I don’t think the owner did much with her but let her eat.”
Scott caught a glimpse of slightly protruding ribs and hip bones. She wasn’t seriously underweight, but noticeably so. “He wasn’t paying much attention to her nutrition.”
“Nope.” Bailey climbed into the trailer, cooing softly at the horse, and caught the rope at her neck before untying the lead. She stamped and danced on her back legs, but didn’t rear up against him. Still soothing her, Bailey brought her to the edge of the trailer.
Scott nodded to Spencer to open the paddock gate, and the sheriff walked the mare just inside the fence, where he tied her to a post. Scott studied her. Then he pressed his ear against her left side for a few moments more before stepping back. “I c
an’t tell that she has any gastric distress, but I’ll keep an eye on her for a while. Get her on a high-fat diet. See what happens.”
“You want her in a stall?”
“Yeah, for now. It’ll be easier to watch her there.”
Spencer pushed toward him, brows raised in a hopeful look. “I’ll take her. Can I take her?”
Scott grinned. “Sure.”
“Just be careful,” Bailey said. “She’s a mite skittish.”
Spencer led the horse away, clucking and cooing just as Sheriff Bailey had done.
Bailey chuckled. “Great kid. You collecting ’em these days?”
Scott held his hands up in denial. “No, no. He’s a buddy’s kid.”
“Shame. I was hoping to dump a couple of my own on ya.” Bailey jerked his head toward the pickup. “Got some papers for you to sign.” He reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out a clipboard with county papers attached.
Scott clicked the ballpoint and signed his name to the top two forms, one to accept responsibility for the horse, and the other to accept the nominal stipend the county offered as compensation. He handed it back, but Bailey was watching Spencer run a brush over Scotch Bonnet’s coat.
“That’s gotta be good for a boy, ya know? Taking care of animals.” Bailey accepted the clipboard from Scott and grinned. “You sure you don’t want a couple extra kids around here?”
“Oh, someday, maybe. Wouldn’t mind having a few of my own.”
Bailey winked. “It’d help if you had a wife.”
“Yeah.” And his heart was set on Emily. He couldn’t get her to say yes to a date, so a marriage proposal seemed a bit farfetched.
Bailey loaded himself into his pickup and tossed a final wave out the window as he pulled the trailer off Scott’s property and onto the highway.
Scott focused his attention on the paddock where Spencer stroked the grooming brush down Scotch Bonnet’s neck. The horse seemed calmer with his attention, tilting her ears toward him as if listening to Spencer’s gentle voice. Which of the two was healing the other, Scott couldn’t tell, but something good transpired between them.
He entered the paddock and closed the gate behind him.
Spencer grinned at him. “She’s a great horse. Are you going to keep her?”
“Only as long as it takes to get her healthy again. Then I’ll have to find a home for her.”
“Is there something I can do to help? Man, I’d like to help her get well.”
Scott rocked on his heels. Bailey was right. Working with a horse would be good for the boy. Getting him out to the country would be another matter. Without a car, Spencer would have to pedal that bike for miles or get a ride from his dad, Parker. Of course, how he got there wasn’t Scott’s concern. If he wanted to bad enough, he’d figure out a way.
“I could use your help. On one condition—no, two.” He held up a finger. “First, your dad has to agree to it.”
“Aw, man! He’s never going to let me.”
“Won’t know if you don’t ask.”
Spencer stroked the horse’s nose and shook his head. “I’ll try. What’s the other condition?”
“You show up for baseball practice and play in the game Friday.”
“You really think they’ll put me in?”
“Won’t know if you’re not there.”
Spencer grinned. “All right, I get it. I’ll be there.”
“Even if your dad says no about the horse?”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No, but it still stands. You won’t know if you can play Friday night if you don’t show up.”
“Yeah.” Spencer shoved his hand out. “Deal.”
Scott shook with him. “Deal. Now c’mon and help me unload the truck. We’ve got a horse to feed.”
6
Friday afternoon, Emily stood on the fractured walkway in front of the Queen Anne and waited for Roger. The sunset shadows from the ancient oaks gave the place an eeriness, reminding her of a Hollywood haunted house. In the breeze and the shade, the unkempt rambling roses looked like huge, pink spiders, deliriously spinning their webs.
“Looks haunted.” Scott’s voice behind her made her jump. She hadn’t heard his truck pull up to the curb.
“I was just thinking the same thing. It didn’t look this foreboding earlier.”
“It’s going to need a lot of work. What do you want to fix first?”
“You mean besides the roof?” She pointed to the balcony. “I’d want that safe enough to sit up there and have my morning coffee.”
She glanced at him just in time to see his focus shift from her to the second floor. The idea that he’d been studying her again created a stir in the pit of her stomach that she battled away.
A white truck drove up behind them, and Emily turned to greet it. Roger Norris shoved his vehicle into park and killed the engine. She hadn’t seen him since high school, when he was a running back for the Snarling Bulldogs. He was once the catch of the county with ebony hair, tanned skin, startling cobalt-blue eyes, and a straight, regal nose. Add to that his rippling muscles and long legs, and it was a wonder girls hadn’t swooned whenever he strutted past them.
That was then.
As he walked toward them, she noticed his distinct limp, receding hairline, and love handles drooping over his waistband.
But his eyes were still startling.
“Hello, princess!” He wrapped her in a bear hug, smooched her cheek, then held her back at arm’s length. “Lauren’s on the warpath. According to Scott, you’ve been back over a year now, and she’s ticked you haven’t called her.” He shot a warning at Scott. “Not to mention ticked at him for not telling her sooner.”
“She’s pretty mad, huh?” In the ten years she’d been gone, Emily had kept up with Lauren for only the first five. After that, her business had boomed, her charity functions consumed her time, Wade Coulter entered her life—and everything else fell by the wayside. She had lost touch with everyone in Dogwood, especially after her parents died.
Now, after years of silence, seeing Lauren again would be awkward. A friend since mud pies and teeter-totters, Lauren would undoubtedly demand the details of what had happened in Houston.
Even now, Emily couldn’t talk about it—something she should’ve thought of before calling Lauren’s husband to work for her. Like a fibbing preschooler, she mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. “I’ll try and get by to see her.”
“Make it soon, will ya? I don’t want her on my back about you.” Roger laughed and then slapped Scott on the shoulder. “How ya doin’, Doc?”
“Better than gravy on a biscuit.” Scott shook his hand. “You?”
“I’m the sausage in the gravy, bud, the sausage in the gravy.” He returned his wide smile to Emily. “You got the key?”
She handed it over and followed him to the porch with Scott at her side.
Roger held a hand up to keep them from advancing.
“Let me check these steps and the porch boards before y’all come up here.”
Within moments, he deemed it safe and wrestled with the lock, muttering about rust and lubricants. The door finally moaned open, catching quickly on a warped floorboard, and a wave of dusty air greeted them from inside. They squeezed through the narrow opening.
Emily peered past Roger to the wood-paneled reception hall. A graceful stairway swept up from the entry. To the left of the stairs was the high-ceilinged parlor, to the right, a long, narrow dining room. She ignored the peeling wallpaper, musty curtains, thick dust, spider webs, and scraped hardwood floors. She visualized the rooms as they could be instead of as they were—and loved the picture. “I just have to have this house!”
“You haven’t seen the rest of it yet,” Roger warned. “May not be worth the money.”
“Did you find out what the asking price is?” Scott brushed his hand along the banister, and a dull cherry wood emerged from under the dust.
“Yes,” Emily said. �
�It’s not too bad.” Actually, it was great, but she still hoped to negotiate it down.
They moved from the dining room into the kitchen, and Emily winced. The ancient appliances told her the room hadn’t been updated in decades.
Scott tested the drawers, finding several that stuck, while Roger checked under the stainless steel sink.
“That pipe’s about to rust through. It’ll have to be replaced.”
Emily sighed as she looked at the faded gold linoleum. “It’s not the only thing.”
****
After spending as much time with Emily as she would allow, Scott followed the farm-to-market road from the Victorian, past his clinic, and around another dusty curve to his modest farmhouse. It didn’t compare to what Emily planned to purchase, but the electricity worked, the water ran, and the window unit ACs kept the place cool. Add a dozen acres of prime pastureland rimmed with a creek shaded by oaks and hickories, and a man could ask for nothing better.
Who was he kidding? Of course, he could ask for something better! A good woman to spend his life with and a crop of kids calling him Daddy and wrapping him around their pinkies. Problem was, the only woman he wanted to call “wife” was Emily, and she kept rejecting his invitations. She’d turned him down again this evening. He hadn’t asked her out for anything fancy—or even anything that would take much time, only a quick soda before the game tonight.
One of these days, he’d just quit asking.
He hefted a fifty-pound bag of high-cal horse feed from the back of his truck and hauled it to the paddock, where he loaded a metal bucket with a little over three pounds of the feed pellets. He entered Scotch Bonnet’s stall, careful to close the gate behind him. She’d bolted the first time he’d gone in.
She stretched her muzzle toward the bucket. Scott fisted a few of the pellets and stretched his hand to her, opening his palm in the hopes she’d eat from it. She didn’t, but she didn’t back away this time, either. He poured the pellets into her feed bin and backed out of the stall. The girl had a good appetite, and her system seemed to handle the increase in food without too much strain—at least, as far as he could tell without the proper medical equipment.
The Cat Lady's Secret Page 3
