by Meg Benjamin
Dr. Gorgeous. He gave every indication of being just as nice as he looked. If he saved Nico, she might have to re-evaluate some of her opinions about men, Donnie Branscombe notwithstanding.
Or not. Docia shook her head. This was no time to think about men, not even nice ones.
She sighed. Really, there was only one person she could call at a time like this. She dialed the phone and waited out the rings until the rich caramel voice said, “Yes?”
“Mama?” Her voice sounded tight even to her own ears. Lord only knew what it sounded like to her mother.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Docia could hear a TV voice in the background. “Baby? What’s wrong? You’re crying, aren’t you?”
Her chest tightened. Hearing Mama’s voice almost set her off again. “Somebody shot my cat, Mama.” Docia grimaced at herself. She sounded like a five-year-old. Whining. Don’t whine.
“Oh, honey-bun, how terrible!” Mama’s voice gained volume. “What an awful thing to do. That sweet little kitten. I can be there in a couple of hours. I’ll get Jorge to drive me.”
“No, Mama,” Docia said quickly. “I don’t need you to do that. I just…needed to tell someone.”
“Of course you did, sweetheart.” The TV sounds cut off abruptly. “Tell me about it now. What happened?”
Docia told her. Given the little she knew, it didn’t take long. She omitted any detailed description of Dr. Gorgeous.
Her mother, however, had eligible-male ESP. “You say he’s a vet? What clinic is that? You mean that animal hospital over on West?”
“Yes, Mama.” Docia tried to make herself sound disinterested. “He’s a new vet. Dr. Rankin’s partner. He knew what he was doing, though.”
Her mother’s voice flowed over her like warm honey. “I’m sure he does.”
Docia could picture Mama’s smile. “I’ll call you back tomorrow, Mama. I’ll let you know how everything turns out.”
“Docia, I think you need someone to be up there with you. Are you sure you don’t want me to come up tomorrow?”
Docia’s shoulders tensed. She forced herself to circle them until they relaxed. “I’m okay, Mama. I can take care of it myself, really. I don’t need anyone to come help me. It was probably just some kid with an air rifle or something.”
She heard Mama’s sigh. “You know your father’s at Buckhorn right now. He could be there in a half hour or so.”
“No,” Docia snapped, then rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to snarl. But no, I don’t need him to come. Nobody knows about Daddy in Konigsburg—that I’m related to him. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Why should you be ashamed of your father?” She could hear the disapproval in Mama’s voice.
“I’m not ashamed of him, Mama, honestly. But I’d just as soon people judge me on my own without knowing we’re related. I’m all right here. I just need to get some sleep.”
“You do that, darlin’.” Mama’s voice was altogether too chipper all of a sudden. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye, now.”
Docia disconnected with a dull ache in her stomach signaling the absolute certainty that her daddy, Billy Kent, would be darkening her door sometime within the next forty-eight hours. Probably with the Seventh Cavalry in tow.
—
At midnight, Cal finally left the clinic. He wanted to make sure the little cat was stabilized and relatively comfortable, then that Armando knew what to look for when he checked on the animal and when to call him if something went wrong.
Konigsburg was closed down tight—no cars, no noise, just a distant Texas moon silvering the black velvet sky. Cal had never seen the town looking quite so sedate before, the darkened shop windows like closed eyes. Far down Main he heard a distant guitar twang, meaning the Silver Spur was having some live music. Other than that, the town could easily have been Lander, Iowa at midnight.
Bite your tongue. You’re in Texas now.
Grinning to himself, he cut west on Milam, still feeling the after-effects of the adrenaline rush he always got from dealing with a crisis at the clinic. And he had dealt with it. Docia Kent’s cat had been sleeping peacefully when he left.
Cal had gotten her address from the cat’s file—he cut down Spicewood, heading her way. If he saw a light, he’d ring her doorbell, so he could give her the news in person. Otherwise, he’d call her in the morning. He had a feeling she’d be up, though.
She was. A light burned in a window above the darkened bookstore. Cal hadn’t ever realized someone lived upstairs before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been inside the shop.
There was a door at the side of the building with a doorbell button. Cal shrugged and pushed it. Either she’d hear him or she wouldn’t, but he didn’t feel like pounding on the door and raising a ruckus at this hour of the night. Not after what she’d been through already that evening.
After a moment, he saw the curtain covering the glass panel in the door move slightly to the left. Then the door swung open.
She wore a white cotton nightgown, without a robe. The neckline was trimmed in lace. Prim pleats stretched across her amazing bosom, almost concealing the shadowy outline of her nipples against the fabric. She was barefoot, her riotous hair pulled back in a clip. Her toenails were bright red in the hallway light. All in all, she was the most sensuous vision he’d encountered since he’d discovered girls at age eleven.
Cal felt all the blood in his body flow directly to his groin.
“Is he all right?” Her voice shook. “Is he alive?”
It took Cal a moment to remember what she was talking about, given that no blood remained in his brain. “Yes, sure,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…I wanted to tell you that everything turned out all right.”
“Please come in.” Venus—no, what was her name? Docia—turned back up a flight of stairs behind her. “I’ll make coffee or something.”
Cal watched her splendid calves climb the stairs until his better nature kicked in and he dropped his gaze. He followed her up and through the door of her apartment.
“Please sit down.” She gestured vaguely toward the sofa. “I probably have some wine somewhere.”
Cal had an impression of antique furniture and a glowing green lampshade near the window. He couldn’t take his eyes off the goddess in the doorway.
“That’s okay.” He surreptitiously took a few deep breaths. “I need to get on home. I just wanted to tell you your cat made it through the surgery all right.”
Docia blew out a breath, ruffling the ringlets on her forehead. “So you did have to operate?”
Cal nodded. “There were bullet fragments in his jaw. I think we got them all. He’s sleeping it off at the clinic and we’ve got him on antibiotics and saline. He’s still not a hundred percent clear, but he’s looking a lot better than he did when you first brought him in.”
She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the doorway into the dining room. “Thanks. I don’t know why I went all nutsy on you at the clinic. I’m usually much more rational than that.”
“That’s okay.” Cal shrugged. “Pets do that to you. They’re sneaky sometimes. They worm their way into your heart when you’re not looking.”
“I don’t…this is the first time I ever had a cat,” Docia murmured, her eyes still closed. “We had dogs when I was a kid.” She opened her eyes then, smiling slightly. “That is, my daddy had dogs when I was a kid. I didn’t have one of my own. They were his hunting dogs, not pets exactly. He never let me get too close to them.”
Cal tried to get his unruly body back under some kind of control. At least his scrubs didn’t show much. “Well, like I say, Nico made it okay. Now I need to get home.” He smiled at her. “Drop by the clinic tomorrow if you can. I’ll let you see him if he’s awake.”
He turned toward the door, only to feel her hand on his arm. “Thank you so much,” she said softly. “Thank you for looking after him, Doctor.”
�
�It’s Cal,” he mumbled, “Cal Toleffson. I should have introduced myself. Sorry.”
Oh, you moron. Way to impress her.
Docia smiled. “Then thank you, Cal Toleffson, for saving my cat’s life.”
“Anytime.” He grinned back. “Anytime at all.”
—
Docia leaned beside the window, watching him stride down Spicewood toward the intersection at Second Street. She wondered where he lived. She wondered where he came from. She wondered if there was any way she could invite him to Brenner’s without looking like she was trying to reward him for his services.
That sounded more like Donnie Branscombe than Cal Toleffson. He might not even want to go out with her. Probably wouldn’t, in fact. Probably had all the action he could handle from the other women in Konigsburg without taking on a Konigsburg untouchable.
She sighed and let the curtain drop back in place. Even though he might come across as the nicest guy in town, he could still turn out to be a loser. Somehow she’d always been able to magically transform Mr. Right into Mr. Oh My God without half trying.
She glanced out the window again. A shadow moved across the pool of light from the streetlight on the corner. Somewhere out there was the person who had shot her cat.
And her father was going to head over from Buckhorn to check things out any minute now.
Docia started toward the bedroom, shaking her head. Maybe she could find a nice nunnery to retire to for a couple of weeks.
Chapter Four
It took Margaret Hastings more than twenty minutes to get Señor Pepe ready to go for the day. The dog was really a trial—not nearly as adorable as those she’d seen in magazine pictures and on television before she’d bought him. He didn’t seem to like his wicker carrier, which she’d spent hours picking out. He wasn’t happy at the shop—he kept wanting to get up and walk around rather than sit on his velvet cushion and charm the customers as Margaret had originally envisioned. And he hadn’t made much of an impression on her friends, thanks to that peeing-on-the-floor incident at Rhonda Ruckelshaus’s salon last week.
Margaret sighed as she stepped briskly up the walk to the Konigsburg Merchants Association offices. Señor Pepe shot her a doleful glance from beneath his eyelashes. The dog always looked like he was on the verge of tears no matter what she did. She was absolutely certain the Hollywood stars who toted their Chihuahuas around in carriers didn’t have to put up with this kind of insubordination.
Fortunately, Arthur Craven, the president of the association, was standing next to the reception desk when Margaret opened the door. She had a feeling he’d have hidden in his office if he’d known she was coming up the walk. Arthur hated conflict, and Margaret was about to drop a very large load of conflict into his lap.
“Margaret.” Arthur smoothed back his thinning gray hair. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to find out what happened with the wine and cheese question.” Margaret gave him her most innocent look, widening her eyes slightly and turning up the corners of her mouth in the faintest of smiles. It always had a calming effect on recalcitrant males, and Arthur was definitely in that category.
Arthur sighed, scratching his bald spot. “I don’t have much more to tell you, Margaret. We’ve looked into it of course…”
“Well, I know you have, Arthur.” Margaret touched his arm, lightly, modulating her expression into Concerned Sympathy—wide eyes but serious mouth. “Perhaps we could go into your office to discuss it.”
From the corner of her eye, Margaret saw the receptionist, Midge Torres, roll her eyes. Probably a friend of Allie Maldonado, one of Docia Kent’s supporters. What did she expect? Flashy people always attracted a certain element.
Margaret tightened her hold on Arthur’s arm, just enough to let him know that she wouldn’t be letting go any time soon.
Arthur’s mouth turned down slightly. “All right. I think I’ve got a little time.”
“Don’t forget your ten o’clock,” Midge piped in behind him.
Arthur’s smile broadened noticeably. “Right. My ten o’clock. We’ll be done by then.” He turned and opened the door so that Margaret could walk in, narrowing his eyes at Señor Pepe’s woeful expression.
“Now, as I said, Margaret, we did look into the question of…well…statute violations.” Arthur waved her into the chair in front of his desk.
“Selling liquor without a license.” Margaret raised her chin to battle status. “That’s what she’s going to do.”
“No, no. It’s a benefit for the library. Music and dancing and a poetry reading as I understand it. The wine and cheese are the refreshments.”
“But people have to pay to get in.” Margaret’s lips thinned. “It’s not a party. It’s a paid event.”
“They’re buying tickets to the benefit, just like you’d buy a ticket to a charity banquet where they served wine.” Arthur spread his hands, leaning forward. “All the proceeds go to the library fund. We did have Hank Mossburg look into it…”
“Hank Mossburg is the attorney for the Kramer County Winemakers Association.” Margaret’s throat felt tight. “He wouldn’t be concerned about liquor violations.”
She didn’t even bother trying to look innocent anymore. Clearly, no one was on her side in this. If it was up to them, Docia Kent was going to win. Damn her anyway.
Arthur dropped his gaze to the desk in front of him, then looked back up again. “Hank knows his job. I know Docia Kent hasn’t been a member of the association for long…”
“A year,” Margaret snapped. “Less than that, really.”
Arthur took a breath, then shrugged. “Yes, well, she’s volunteered to do this. It’s another event for the festival, potentially good publicity for us all. The other members of the association I’ve spoken with all seem to be in favor of it. I appreciate your feelings, Margaret, but…”
Margaret bit her lip, trying to keep herself from saying anything unladylike. Tears of rage gathered against her eyelashes. This was almost as bad as the time the principal had refused to undertake a recount in the student council vice president election. Margaret knew she would have won then too.
Life was just not fair.
Arthur leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “Margaret, dear, I’m sorry. Please don’t distress yourself.”
Margaret took a breath, mentally counting to ten. It would never do to shriek something rude at the president of the Konigsburg Merchants Association, and it would ruin the impression of suffering womanhood she was trying to convey. “That’s all right, Arthur,” she sniffed. “I’m sure you did your best. And as for letting Docia Kent get involved in our festival… Well, I just hope we don’t all live to regret this.”
She gathered up Señor Pepe in his carrier and headed out the door again, smiling brightly at Midge on her way by. Let her think she’d managed to talk Arthur around to her point of view. At least Margaret could enjoy a sense of victory for a few minutes, fleeting though it might be.
She contemplated strategy as she walked back down Main toward her shop. What she needed right now was something to rock Ms. Kent back on her heels a bit. Maybe Docia had won this round, but Margaret wasn’t out of the fight yet. Wine and cheese were just a minor skirmish in the battle for the soul of Konigsburg, which, after all, was what this fight was about. Outsiders were not going to move in on Margaret’s town.
Ever since Docia Kent had arrived in Konigsburg, Margaret had sensed a rival in the making. It didn’t matter that Docia hadn’t made any moves toward taking over the Merchants Association yet. Margaret knew they were coming. If she’d learned anything from her marketing classes, it was the importance of heading off competitors before they became serious threats. The wine and cheese party was just the beginning, and Margaret had no intention of letting Docia get a foothold in her territory.
Too bad Cal Toleffson had proven to be such a disappointment. She’d had high hopes for last night. Landing him would have been a major coup, something people would have talk
ed about. Walking into the Liddy Brenner Festival street dance on Toleffson’s arm would have put her right back at the apex of Konigsburg’s social life, where she belonged, as well as reminding Docia Kent just who was in charge here.
But Toleffson had turned out to be, well, weird. A vegetarian! Of course, Margaret’s mental image of vegetarians looked a lot more like Barney Fife than Cal Toleffson. She’d always thought vegetarians weren’t really…virile. Not eating red meat was supposed to make a man puny. But, well, Cal Toleffson had seemed pretty virile to her, even if he didn’t eat steak, and he definitely wasn’t puny.
Margaret gave her shop assistant one of her beatific smiles as she headed for the cash register.
A slightly plump woman in a lime green pantsuit smiled at Señor Pepe as Margaret passed the greeting card display. “What a cute little dog,” she cooed. “I’ll bet he’s a sweetie.”
“Oh, yes,” Margaret said, absently. “He’s my Precious.”
But Precious wasn’t exactly what she needed in her battle with Docia Kent. Virile would definitely be better. Maybe she should give Dr. Toleffson another chance.
—
Cal called the clinic as soon as he got back from his run that morning. One of the best things about living in the converted barn he’d found on the edge of town was the dirt roads leading off toward the hills. As long as he stayed out of the way of the pickup trucks that came barreling around the curves without slowing down, he’d had some of the best runs he’d had in years. This morning he’d seen three whitetail deer and a roadrunner within a half-mile of his place. Yet another reason Cal hoped he could actually afford to buy the barn at some point.
According to Bethany, the day attendant, Nico was still hanging in there. He’d even taken a faint swipe at her when she’d opened the cage to look at him.
“Game little bugger,” she chuckled. “When he gets back on his feet, I’m leaving him to Armando.”
Cal breathed a sigh of relief. He really hadn’t known if Nico would make it through the night or not, and he hadn’t relished the thought of telling Docia Kent her cat hadn’t survived after all.
