Velma miraculously reappeared with four jars of iced tea that no one had ordered, but apparently didn’t have to. Emma suspected she’d been peering around the edge of the kitchen waiting for the fireworks. Of course she’d know Laila Logan, but she couldn’t have a clue where Nathan fit into the picture. Emma was sitting with her back to the room and suspected that every eye in the place was once more checking them out. “I’d love to come to see your babies,” Mrs. Logan said to Emma. “Seth tells me they’re nearly ready to leave home. But if there’s any danger of getting sprayed...”
“Not yet, but any day,” Emma said. “They’re almost completely independent now. I still have to provide the food, because their hunting preserve is only as big as the kennel, but what I give them, they discover and scarf up. You’re welcome anytime. I’m working for Barbara Carew tomorrow morning, but I should be there after two in the afternoon.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Laila asked.
“I love showing off my babies. I don’t have much longer to do that. I might even run to a glass of wine.”
“Sounds wonderful, but won’t you be exhausted? I know what that clinic is like. Barbara absolutely has to hire some people and find a partner to take up some of the slack. Since her husband died, she’s been essentially trying to do everything herself and work with the rehabilitators, too. I’ve helped out a time or two at the clinic, but frankly, I don’t have the stamina.” She squeezed lemon into her tea. “I’m retired and intend to stay that way.”
Neither Laila nor Seth had given Velma an order for lunch. Again, apparently they didn’t have to.
Laila took the lead in the conversation by eliciting Nathan’s life history. Seth watched the exchange in silence. Then Laila said to Emma, “Seth’s been staying with me the last couple of days.” She pulled up the sleeve of her silk shirt to reveal a bandaged wrist. “I fell off a ladder.” She laughed and held up her unbandaged hand. “A very short ladder, but I hit the edge of the counter. I wasn’t really hurt, but I needed a couple of stitches, and some pain meds the first night. Seth decided to stay over until I was back in my right mind.”
“You shouldn’t have been on that ladder, Mom,” Seth said. “Those people at the condos are supposed to change lightbulbs.”
“They will, but not necessarily the first day you call them. I’m not totally helpless, dear. With your schedule, I certainly do not need you to come over to change a lightbulb.”
Seth glanced at Emma and shook his head. “See, she won’t wait for me to help her either. Must be genetic.”
“Emma and I don’t share genes, darling,” Laila said. “Only gender. If you want to look after us, I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it on our schedule, not when you get around to it. You and I both seem to have a sense of urgency, don’t we, Emma?”
“He’s been wonderfully helpful to me,” Emma said. “But you’re right. I hate to rely on anyone. Did he tell you about yanking me out of the azaleas?”
Velma, obviously all ears, delivered their food just then.
“I can vouch for Emma’s sense of urgency,” Nathan said. “She wants everything done, checked and rechecked well ahead of time. It’s one of the reasons I value her.” He tucked into his lunch with happy whimpering sounds.
Emma found her appetite had deserted her. Looking across the table at Seth, she saw he was only pushing food around on his plate.
Sounded as though Nathan was making noises to explore rehiring her. She had loved working with Nathan, but now, instead of the relief and joy she should be feeling, Emma felt a sense of loss so deep she nearly burst into tears. She wanted to stay here, but there was no real place for her. Even though this cougar was his mother, there might be a dozen other women in Seth’s life. She’d never be told. She was an outsider. Nobody would surreptitiously let her know if he was dating half the town. Velma, for one, would never say.
* * *
IN THE PARKING lot after lunch, Laila made an appointment to view the babies Thursday afternoon about four. They said their goodbyes and walked to their respective cars. “I like your Emma,” Laila said to Seth. “Charming. Seems to have her head on straight.”
“Damnation, Mom, she is not my Emma. She never will be.”
“You’re stomping,” Laila said. “Leave some gravel on the parking lot. And I wouldn’t be too sure of that. The way you avoided looking at each other was pure farce. Right out of a bad French play. I’ve never known you to pay for a lunch you barely touched.” Laila giggled.
“She never planned to stay up here. It was always a stopgap, a place to lick her wounds. That Nathan guy fired her. He obviously came up here because he wants her back. There’s nothing to hold her here.”
“There’s you.”
“Fasten your seat belt. I’ll drop you at your condo. I have to go back to work. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to do, then Earl and I have to check some fishing licenses. Whoopee. An exciting afternoon.”
“Sarcasm does not become you. If you get down to the far end of the lake, would you go see that the cabin’s all right? I had the cleaning team in a couple of weeks ago to get ready for the summer, but I haven’t checked it out myself.”
“Sure, although I may not get that far south.” Seth parked in the visitors’ spot outside his mother’s cottage inside the complex, then went around and opened her door.
“Thank you, dear, I did teach you good manners.” She kissed him and started up the walk to her front door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned. “The two of you are obviously what we used to call ‘smitten.’ About time you sealed the deal. It’s harder to leave a lover than it is a casual beau. Remember that.” Then she was gone.
Leaving him gawking. His mother had just suggested—strongly suggested—that he take Emma to bed. That was what he wanted, too, but to hear it from his mother?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMMA AND SETH both rolled into Barbara’s parking lot at seven in the morning. Barbara had already hooked her stock trailer to her big truck and backed it up into the aisle of the little barn. The fawns watched from their stall, curious, apprehensive, aware that something different was happening in their lives. All six of them clustered together as though to take comfort from one another.
Barbara had spread a deep bed of hay in the trailer. “Right on time,” she told Seth and Emma.
“How on earth do we get them to go in that trailer?” Emma asked.
“The first thing you learn about deer is to be sneaky. I built this barn to make it easier. When we open the back trailer doors, they just fit in the center aisle and close it off. Seth, help me pull the doors back against the wall and brace them open. No escape route out the front of the barn.”
The rear door of the barn was closed, so no exit that way either.
“The only way out will be into the trailer.”
“Or back into their stall,” Seth said.
“You stand in there and block them,” Barbara told him.
She opened the door to their stall. “All righty, then, here we go.”
For several seconds, the deer merely stood inside as though they had no plans to leave. Then one of the young stags put a tentative hoof into the aisle. The other five followed carefully, ready to bolt.
One young doe came over to Emma and butted noses with her. So far everyone was calm.
The young stag, the obvious leader, stepped onto the ramp leading into the trailer. And backed out, snorting. He then backed into one of the does and she backed up into another doe. From one second to the next, calm collapsed into chaos. Seth kept them from running into their sanctuary. After a minute or so, they settled back to milling in the aisle. Emma took refuge behind the door of the stall across from theirs.
“Okay,” Barbara said. “Now to the old tried-and-true paper-sack loader.” She handed Emma a wadded-up paper sack tied onto the end of a long riding cro
p. “Whatever you do, don’t hit anybody. Just shake it behind them. It makes a racket that they hate. We want them to think the inside of that trailer is sanctuary.”
It worked. And quickly. After a couple of forays to try to go across Seth and back into their stall, they all walked straight up into the trailer. Seth and Barbara closed the doors and latched them. Once inside the dark trailer, the little deer settled immediately. The stag even began to nibble the hay at his feet.
“Let’s head out,” Barbara said. “We can all ride together. I’ll bring you back after we set them free. See? Easy.”
* * *
THE TRIP TOOK most of an hour, before they came to six bar gates heavily posted with Privacy and no-hunting signs. Emma noticed one that said, “All hunters will be stuffed and used for target practice.”
There was no sign of any building, but the land was beautiful, a perfect mixture of woods and rolling fields. Half a dozen deer grazed in lush spring grass on the edge of hardwood forests. They didn’t even lift their heads when the truck rolled by. As soon as the perimeter fence was out of sight, the land looked as it might have before the first trappers showed up in the nineteenth century.
Barbara pulled into a gravel turnaround large enough to turn the trailer without backing. “Now, we open the doors and stand behind them so we don’t get run over. We wait until the deer discover they’re free. Then we watch until they disappear into the trees, which should take about a minute. God, I love this part.”
Emma watched around the edge of the door as the little stag, the leader as usual, took one step down the ramp, then jumped to land on the grass. He peered around on full alert, perhaps to spot the trick in letting them go. A minute later, all six were taking off into the trees, the white tips on their tails marking their progress.
Another minute and they were gone.
Seth shouted, a pure rebel yell. Emma jumped up and down, and Barbara punched the air and echoed Seth’s yell.
They closed the doors to the trailer and climbed back in the truck.
“Will they be all right?” Emma asked.
“That is no longer in our hands,” Barbara said. “We’ve done our best to let them go in a safe place. Would they be all right if they’d never been raised by human beings? If they’d been left on the road beside their dead mothers? Humans are so dangerous. I hope they’re still afraid of us. I think they will be. But it’s their world, now, not mine or yours or Seth’s. Or even the man who owns this property.”
“Who is he?”
“Our good friend Mr. Anonymous. He lives in Memphis, but he’s dedicated this whole property as his own private preserve protected by a trust. It’s safe from development for a hundred years.” She put the truck in gear. “In a hundred years, who knows if there’ll be any animals at all, let alone human beings. Come on, y’all. Emma and I have patients waiting at the clinic.”
They did. A dozen clients with dogs on leashes and cats in carriers waited in the parking lot.
“Thank you, Seth,” Barbara said as he walked to his SUV.
“You really didn’t need me.”
“Yeah, but I would have if anything had gone wrong. You’re the designated rescuer.”
“Your mother’s coming by to look at my babies this afternoon,” Emma called to him. “If you get off in time, you’re welcome to a glass of wine.”
“Can I have beer instead?”
“Sure.”
He nodded and drove away. Emma headed for the clinic and the madhouse she was walking into.
Would she feel the same sense of joy when she turned her babies loose?
Just so long as she didn’t dissolve in tears of grief and loss. Or have hysterics with Seth watching. Men did not deal with hysterics well.
Around the corner of the building came a flash of wings and a loud squawk. “Oh, Mabel, knock it off.” She shoved by the big Canada goose. “You’re worse than a Rottweiler.”
She still hadn’t figured out how Mabel knew the difference between staff, whom she felt free to terrorize, nonclients, ditto, and clients. She never terrorized clients. Maybe she terrorized anyone who didn’t show up with an animal or smelling of an animal. Emma would have to ask Barbara.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“THANK YOU FOR inviting me,” Mrs. Logan said. “I haven’t been in this house since Martha died, but I did help her when she redid the downstairs. The ceiling was sagging. They had to put in a steel beam to carry the weight of the house. If it was built to any sort of code, it was a hundred years out of date.” She patted the back of the old leather recliner beside the brick fireplace.
“It’s a good house,” Emma said. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit more often after I became a teenager. I got caught up in other things. Right now it’s been a godsend having someplace to get away from my family. My father’s bound and determined to find me a job whether it’s one I want or not. Red or white?”
“White, please.” Mrs. Logan accepted a glass of Chardonnay. “Fathers are like that.” She took a sip of the wine. “The older I get, the less I like really acidic wines with masses of tannins,” she said. “Merlot puckers my mouth. This is lovely.”
“Are you a connoisseur?” Emma asked. “I’m not, but I do try to listen to the guy who owns the shop in Memphis where I buy my wine. Then I get credit for being knowledgeable.”
“I’m happy if it doesn’t come in a box,” Mrs. Logan said. “When can I see the babies? Seth says that’s what you call them.”
“Right now. Bring your glass.”
Emma picked up a bag of apple slices and led Mrs. Logan around the house to the kennel. In late afternoon and after their nap, the little skunks were searching for an overlooked caterpillar or beetle and trundled happily around their enclosure. Peony fell into the wading pool and had to squirm herself out.
Mrs. Logan laughed. “They are precious! I’ve never been this close to a skunk before, but I’ve heard people make pets of them.”
“After they’ve been neutered and had their scent glands removed,” Emma said. “I don’t think you’d want one in your house otherwise. But these, at least, are very loving to the people they know.”
“Of whom I am not one. Am I standing too close?”
“Not yet. They’re very straightforward about warning people away. First they bounce on their front paws and threaten you. If that doesn’t clue you in, they turn around and spray. Of course, they aren’t spraying yet, so you’re good however close you are. For the time being, at least. Here, toss them a few apple slices.” She held the door to the kennel open while Mrs. Logan tossed slices in. The skunks were off on the hunt immediately.
“Seth says they’re supposed to be a secret,” Mrs. Logan said. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t leaked. He’s usually such a stickler for rules, but he’s always a pushover when it comes to the little ones. I never knew what I’d find in the carport or the kitchen when I got home from school in the afternoons.” She paused. “I used to be a teacher before I retired.”
Barbara had mentioned this. Emma nodded, as Mrs. Logan threw the remaining apple slices into the kennel, far enough out so the skunks would have to chase them. The two women meandered back toward Emma’s front porch.
“I finally had to draw the line when Seth came home after school and put a couple of water snakes in his wading pool. I do not like snakes, poisonous or nonpoisonous.” She sat on the porch swing, while Emma took one of the chairs across from her.
“You have no idea how startling it is to discover a baby beaver in your bathtub at six in the morning. They can only poop in water. That’s when I changed to showers, although Seth was very good about scrubbing up after his menagerie.” She walked her feet back and forth so the swing moved gently.
Emma wasn’t certain what she’d imagined Seth’s mother would be like. Her hair in a bun, glasses on a chain. Perhaps a little dumpling person in s
ensible shoes. Stereotype. Emma knew better than to expect stereotypes. Mrs. Logan’s startling white hair set off her blue eyes. Bluer than Seth’s, which were almost gray. She wore flat leather shoes, and her French manicure was immaculate. She made Emma as feel dowdy as she had at the café.
“More wine, Mrs. Logan? I’m afraid I didn’t have time to bake any goodies, but I do have some bought’en Scotch shortbread.”
“Yes to the wine, although this had better be my last glass. Having his mother up on DUI charges wouldn’t help Seth’s career. And I don’t usually eat between meals. I have never been able to understand how the British can stuff themselves with sugar at afternoon tea. Oh, and please call me Laila. Isn’t that the most awful name? Right out of the 1920s. It was my grandmother’s name, so I got stuck with it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Laila Logan. I’ve always hated it. Emma is a good, straightforward name.”
“Also my grandmother’s name,” Emma said. She topped up Mrs. Logan’s wine. “I would’ve preferred something fancier. Sounds too Jane Austen.”
“Bite your tongue. Nothing wrong with Jane Austen.”
“You taught English?”
“I taught eighth grade, which means I taught everything. Eighth-graders still tend to like their teachers, usually the last year they do. The school I taught in does not put up with rudeness or bad manners. Our students have to do the work or they don’t make the grades. We generally top the list in SAT scores in this area. It’s difficult to tell at that age which children will graduate, but three-quarters of mine went on to college.” She shrugged. “Half of them stayed to graduate from junior college at least, which is better than average. And, like Seth, a good many of them got free rides. He had both an academic scholarship and several offers of athletic scholarships.”
“To play football?”
Laila laughed. “He’s so big that coaches would take one look at him and try to turn him into a linebacker. Then they discovered he hated hitting people.”
“So he went the academic route?”
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