She glanced at the cover, and her expression became soft. “Robert Burns. You remember.”
“Of course I remember.” He turned to the page he’d marked this morning. A Red Red Rose. The poem that had defined their love so beautifully forty years before was even more perfect now. When he reached the third verse, his voice became husky.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear
While the sands o’ life shall run.
She leaned forward and pressed her fingertips to his cheek, her gaze soft. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m sorry I was so cranky last night.”
“I’m sorry too.” He looked down at the book to turn a page. When he raised his gaze again, her smile had taken on a slightly rigid look. “What?”
“Do you mean you’re sorry you were cranky last night, or you’re sorry I was cranky?”
He cocked his head, considering. “Both, I guess.”
Wrong answer. Her nostrils flared the way they did when she was angry, and the air between them dropped a frosty fifteen degrees.
A bit of backpedaling was definitely in order.
“What I mean is, we were both upset and I’m sorry that ruined our anniversary dinner.” No change in her expression. “Not that the dinner was ruined. The food was wonderful, as always. It’s the mood that was ruined, and that wasn’t your fault.” He rushed on, lest she think he was conceding his position. “Or mine either. It was because of that blasted house.”
“The blasted house that I happen to love,” she shot back.
Her tone grated on his nerves. “That house is a disaster. It’s falling apart. You saw it with your own eyes. I was afraid to walk through the place without a hardhat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Peeling wallpaper doesn’t constitute a disaster, and it certainly isn’t dangerous.”
“Rotted roof trusses are.”
“How do you know the trusses are rotten? You didn’t even go into the attic.” Her lips pressed into a hard line.
With an effort, Al managed to reply in an even, if tight, tone. “The price is eight hundred thousand dollars, Millie. We can’t afford it.”
“They would take five fifty.”
Surprised, Al’s irritation receded a fraction. That was more than thirty percent below the asking price. “Why would the Updykes let their family home go for so little?”
“I told you the other day. They need money.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Did Louise tell you what they’d settle for?” If so, the woman should have her real estate license revoked for unethical practices.
But Millie shook her head. “Louise told me the Updyke brothers would entertain any offer, but Violet heard the number from Cheryl, who got it from Laura, who is still friends with Sammy Updyke’s wife.”
A fairly reliable chain of information, he had to admit. The number had probably been reduced a few times to inflate the juiciness of the gossip, but even if the Updykes’ actual bottom price was six hundred thousand, that would be twenty-five percent lower than—
He jerked upright, causing the canoe to wobble. What was he thinking?
“The repairs would probably be at least a hundred thousand,” he told his wife.
“We could do a lot of the work ourselves.” She leaned toward him and planted her elbows on her knees. “My friends and I can strip the wallpaper, and we can certainly do the painting. You’re handy with a hammer and screwdriver, so you can do a lot of the fixing up yourself. For the bigger stuff, Laura knows a young man over in Frankfort who just started his own home repair business. She says he’s very good and his rates are reasonable.”
Good golly, she had the whole thing planned already. This was no spur-of-the-moment idea. She’d spent time looking into it.
“But Millie, we don’t need six bedrooms and seven fireplaces. And while I admit that back porch would be nice—”
“I knew you’d love that,” she put in, her tone bright with excitement.
Al continued. “The fact is we can’t afford to wipe out our savings three years before we retire.”
“It wouldn’t wipe out our savings.”
True. They had always lived frugally, and had been planning for retirement from the early years of their marriage. “It would certainly put a huge dent in them.”
She averted her gaze toward the gently rippling water beside them. “What if the house made money for us?”
“Huh?”
“Once we got it fixed up, I think the Updyke house would pay for itself.”
“You mean, fix it up and resell it? Like that TV show, Flip or Flop?”
“No.” One delicate finger trailed across the canoe’s rubber edge as she spoke. “I mean we could open a bed and breakfast.”
In the silence that followed, Al replayed the words in his mind. Individually, he understood every one, but strung together like that, they made no sense. Surely his wife, the love of his life, his levelheaded Millie, had not just suggested that they launch a new business at the time when they were finally ready to kick back and enjoy themselves.
“Excuse me.” He put a finger in his ear and shook it dramatically. “For a moment I thought you said you wanted to open a hotel.”
“Not a hotel. A bed and breakfast.” She leaned toward him, enthusiasm dancing in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to run one. You know how I love to entertain, and I have such marvelous decorating ideas. It would be tremendous fun, like having houseguests every night.”
Definitely not his idea of fun. “Who in their right mind would want to visit Goose Creek?”
“Horse race enthusiasts,” she replied. “Keeneland Race Course is just fifteen miles away, and the Kentucky Horse Park, and all the thoroughbred farms, and of course there’s the Derby. And all the wineries in the area, and the Bourbon Trail. And the state capital in Frankfort. Besides, people would love the chance to stay in a Victorian house on a beautiful property.”
Who was this woman?
He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “Millie, listen to yourself. We’re about to retire. Our house is paid for, our kids grown. We have no commitments, nothing to tie us down. I want to travel, to visit places we’ve never seen. The Grand Canyon. Florida. San Francisco. Yellowstone and Old Faithful.” He released her and waved his hands expansively. “There’s a whole country full of places we’ve never been to, just waiting for us to discover them.”
“Albert, be reasonable. Do you know how much airline tickets are these days? And hotel rooms?”
“I do. That’s why we’d buy a motor home.”
She blinked. “A what?”
“A motor home. An RV.” He poured his enthusiasm into a wide smile. “I’ve been looking into them, and I think we can pick up a really nice used one when we’re ready to buy.”
Millie sat up straight. “I refuse to spend my retirement traipsing around the country in a trailer. I gave up camping years ago.”
“It’s not like tent camping,” he explained. “It’s more like—”
“I won’t do it.” She folded her arms across her chest with a slap. “End of discussion.”
Al’s irritation returned with a vengeance. “Oh, I forgot. You’d rather bankrupt us buying an ancient money pit and turn us into servants for pampered rich people who enjoy throwing their money away on horse races.”
“At least we’d sleep in a proper bed every night,” she snapped.
A noise penetrated the angry blood pounding in Al’s ears. Voices. Someone was shouting at them. He pulled his glare away from Millie to look over his shoulder. On the shore stood Ben and his wife, along with two preteen boys. They were all waving their hands in the air, yelling his name.
“What’s wrong with them?” Millie asked in a tone only slightly less aggravated.
“I don’t know.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “What’s the problem?”
“We forgot to
tell you about the—”
His warning was drowned out by a loud noise. Al whipped around to locate the source. The canoe floated near the center of the lake, a few feet from an odd-looking pipe that protruded a foot or so from the surface.
A fountain.
Water gushed from the pipe and leaped twelve feet into the air before succumbing to gravity. The resulting shower was quite beautiful glistening in the sunlight above their heads.
It was also very cold.
Chapter Six
Susan paused for a moment on the doorstep of the Goose Creek Animal Clinic to brush at a crease in her lab coat. What was behind this unaccustomed twinge of nerves? Her education was finished, her training thorough, and her reference materials extensive. As Daddy assured her on the phone last night, there was nothing she would encounter in any Goose Creek pet that she couldn’t handle. Thus fortified, she drew in a breath and reached for the knob.
The door jerked inward. She caught a glimpse of black fur an instant before a weight slammed into her chest. Thrown backward, her foot grappled for balance but instead of the porch found only air. For a moment she was airborn and then, with a thud that knocked the breath from her lungs, she landed on her backside in the grass and lay still, gasping.
“Boomer, no! Bad dog! Baaad dog.”
A commanding female voice penetrated the fog in her oxygen-deprived brain. At the same moment, she realized why she couldn’t breathe. There was a bear on her chest.
The creature was heaved backward and, blinking to clear her vision, she struggled to sit up. Not a bear. A dog. A giant dog, straining at the end of a leash, a thick string of slime dangling from one glistening jowl.
The other end of the leash was held by a woman with a stump-shaped body and a cap of steel-gray hair. She peered over the top of the dog’s head at Susan, and then turned to yell over her shoulder in a voice that rivaled a lumberjack’s.
“Millie, you’d best get on out here. Boomer’s done kilt the new doc.”
Another woman bustled through the doorway, caught sight of Susan, and rushed forward. “Oh my goodness. Are you hurt? Should we call 911?”
Susan lay there a moment, assessing her injuries. Arms and legs all worked. Her backside had taken the brunt of her weight and she’d probably have a bruise, but nothing felt broken. Cautiously, she struggled to sit up. Thank goodness she’d landed on grass instead of the sidewalk.
“Maybe you should stay there for a minute,” the newcomer advised, her concerned gaze sweeping over Susan. “I’ll go get Doc.”
“No, I’m fine. I was just…surprised.”
How embarrassing. She hadn’t even stepped foot through the door of her new clinic and already she’d caused a scene. Moving slowly, she stood and cast a cautious eye toward her attacker, who had stopped straining at the leash and now sat calmly watching her.
“It’s a Newfoundland.” She’d never seen one in person but knew about the big dogs, of course. Prone to medial carthal pocket syndrome due to the shape of the gigantic head, though this one showed no sign of the eye condition. Also prone to hip dysplasia, like all large breeds. Judging by this creature’s agility, that wasn’t a problem either.
“Yep,” the owner replied in her gravelly voice. “Always wanted a Newfie. No sissy-pants froufrou pup for me. Gimme a real dog.” The woman cocked her head sideways and looked Susan up and down. “So you’re the new doc. Not too sturdy on your feet, are you?”
Susan resisted the urge to bristle, and instead pasted on a professionally pleasant expression. “Yes, I’m Dr. Jeffries.” She tentatively extended her fingers for the dog to sniff. “And I’ve already met Boomer. We’re going to get along fine, aren’t we, boy?”
Boomer’s owner twisted her thin lips. “We’ll think on it.” She looped the leash once more around her hand before heading down the sidewalk. “C’mon, Boomer.”
The pair marched toward the parking lot while the other lady stepped to her side.
“Don’t worry about Edith. She’ll come around.” She gave a pleasant smile. “I’m Millie Richardson, your morning receptionist. Come on inside and I’ll get the lint roller.”
Susan glanced down to find her white lab coat covered in black hair and fell into step behind the receptionist. Inside, Millie circled around the desk and rummaged in a drawer. She peeled off the outer paper of a lint roller to reveal a clean sticky layer and handed it to Susan, who began the cleanup process.
She glanced around while she rolled. The waiting rooms were empty. Not a good sign.
“Is it a slow morning?” she asked.
“Not really. Doc’s in exam room one checking on a kitty with a vomiting problem, and Larry Greely’s waiting in room two with Bella.”
Susan rolled the last piece of hair and returned the roller to Millie. “Bella?”
“His bird dog. Her first litter’s due in a few weeks, and he’s an anxious grandpa.” The woman’s grin was infectious, and Susan found herself smiling back.
“Maybe I should go introduce myself.”
She started toward the back, but Millie stepped in front of her on the pretext of swiping the roller at her left sleeve.
“It might be a good idea to let Doc introduce you.” She stepped back to examine her work, and then gave an apologetic shrug. “Doc and Larry are old friends.”
Susan saw the logic in that and nodded. She was about to head for exam room one to be introduced to the owner of the feline with the intestinal problem when the door leading to the back opened. An elderly woman carrying a white longhaired cat emerged, followed by Dr. Forsythe.
“You try that trick with the can in his bowl. That’ll force him to eat slower.”
“I will, Doc. Thank you.” She caught sight of Susan and interest flooded her features. “Is this the new veterinarian?”
“Indeed it is.” Dr. Forsythe came forward with a welcoming smile to shake her hand. “Delores Barnes, allow me to introduce Dr. Susan Jeffries.” He stroked the back of the cat. “And this fine fellow is Arnold.”
“He’s named after my late husband, who detested cats.” Mrs. Barnes’ eyes twinkled. “I wasn’t allowed to have one until he passed. Now I have four.”
Susan couldn’t come up with a safe answer, so instead she busied herself in stroking the cat’s soft fur. “He’s a beautiful feline.”
“Here.” The elderly lady thrust the animal into Susan’s arms. “You can hold him while I write the check.”
Though the fluffy double coat of fur made the cat look huge, Arnold felt light in Susan’s arms. He seemed completely unconcerned at being held by a stranger. She ran her fingers down his spine, noting the position of the vertebrae. Nothing out of place. He remained limp as she probed the hip joint and traced the bones in his leg down to his rear paw. Then she repeated the examination on his front leg, splaying his toes.
“Oh! Goodness.” She raised her gaze to Dr. Forsythe, who was grinning. “I’ve never seen one.”
Mrs. Barnes tore a check from her checkbook and handed it across the reception counter to Millie before turning an inquisitive gaze her way. “You’ve never seen a cat, dear?”
Susan chuckled. “No, ma’am, I mean I’ve never seen a polydactyl cat.”
The elderly woman looked blank.
“She means a cat with six toes,” Dr. Forsythe explained.
Mrs. Barnes’ expression cleared. “Ah.”
“I’ve studied the condition, of course.” Susan splayed Arnold’s toes, noting the position of the sixth digit. “It’s a congenital physical anomaly.”
“A what?”
“A mutation,” Susan explained, warming to the subject. “As such, some well-regarded sources strongly discourage breeding so as not to pass on the deformity. Sterilization is encouraged.”
She started to spread Arnold’s rear legs to see if the procedure had been performed, but the cat was jerked roughly from her arms. Surprised, she looked up into Mrs. Barnes’ fiery gaze.
“Arnold is not a mutant!” With a
n indignant huff, the woman whirled and stalked toward the door.
“I didn’t mean to imply he was a mutant.” Susan hurried after her. “Mrs. Barnes, all I meant was—”
Her explanation went unheard. The door slammed in her face.
She turned to find Millie giving her a pitying look.
Dr. Forsythe shook his head slowly. “We’re kind of fond of our six-toed friends around here. You might want to keep that in mind.”
Stunned, Susan could only nod.
By mid-morning Susan was almost ready to concede defeat to the extreme obduracy of Goose Creek pet owners. Larry Greely not only refused to let her touch his precious birddog, he banished her from the room when Dr. Forsythe began his examination, claiming, “Bella, she don’t cotton to strangers.” From the deeply mistrustful way the man watched her, it appeared Bella wasn’t the only one.
Mr. Greely’s reservations about newcomers were repeated time and again. Apparently the pet-owning residents of Goose Creek maintained an active communication line, and it must have been buzzing all morning. Just after noon Susan emerged from the back to the reception area in time to hear one lady inform Millie in an outraged tone, “…called Arnold a deformed mutant and wanted to cut his toe off!”
Millie corrected the misinformation, but the lady insisted that only Dr. Forsythe be allowed to trim her dachshund’s toenails.
After the third pet owner informed Susan, “Trigger doesn’t like to be touched by people he doesn’t know,” she resigned herself to watching from a corner while Doc, as everyone called him, conducted the examinations. The people clearly admired and trusted him.
He certainly did know his patients. As his fingers glided over their furry little bodies he kept up a running monologue, informing Susan of the details surrounding each animal’s history from birth all the way to last week. Not once did she see him refer to a chart. She scribbled furiously in her notepad as he spoke. By the time she went to bed tonight she vowed to commit every detail to memory. The next time these animals visited the clinic, she would not be a stranger.
That is, if any of them ever returned. She tried to ignore the tug of gloom as, one by one, they bid farewell to Doc and even Millie with words that held a note of finality. One lady even hesitated in the doorway before exiting, her gaze circling the reception area, and said wistfully, “What a shame. I’ve always liked this place.”
The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade Page 5
