Helen brought them coffee, took their order then left again.
"So, how was dear Anthony?" Tracy asked as she settled into the comfortable predictability of Monday evening with her friend. Anthony was Danielle's boyfriend, an accountant who lived in Edmonton. Tracy had met him a couple of times. She liked him, but always thought him rather bland. Which was probably one of the reasons Danielle was dating him. He was the complete opposite of Danielle's wild and crazy brothers, three guys who had never settled down or saw any reason to. "Your brothers said you went to visit him this weekend. They didn't sound impressed."
"They wouldn't be unless he wears blue jeans and rides broncs or drives a truck with a hemi," Danielle said with an unladylike snort of disgust.
"Hemi being?"
"A kind of motor, as good as a Cummin's diesel apparently, now that it's been upgraded, but it does have a broad torque curve. And don't I know way too much about that kind of stuff." She rolled her eyes as she dismissed the subject with a wave of her well-manicured hand. She shook her head and added a heavy sigh. "Ask David. I would guess he's enough of a guy to know this stuff. Besides, it would give you and your broodingly handsome boss something else to talk about besides spays and neuters."
Tracy's neck grew warm at the implications inherent in Danielle's comment, and she tried to laugh her reaction off. "I don't know if I have time for something as deeply emotional as truck motors." In spite of her flippant words, Tracy's renegade mind conjured up the image of David's large fingers gently touching the helpless kitten. The dimple hovering around the edge of his smile. The casual wink he'd given her just before he left.
"Not all guys are like Art, Tracy. You know that."
"I know. But David is my boss, so leave it, please?"
To her surprise, Danielle's grin softened to an understanding smile. "But if he asks you out, just make sure you give him a chance, okay? You deserve some happiness."
"Well, for now, my happiness is tied up in getting my acreage. Edgar Stinson called."
Danielle's mouth fell open. "Really. And? Is he going to sell?" Danielle rotated her hand, encouraging more information.
"He is. But he wants two thousand bucks to pay subdividing costs."
"Two thousand dollars? Surely that's not your responsibility?"
"Nope. But it could be a deal breaker if I don't."
"Are you sure you want to negotiate anything with him? He's so uncompromising."
Tracy lifted her hands in a gesture of defeat. "If I want that acreage, I don't have much choice. And I want that acreage."
"And the twelve chickens, the milk cow, and the clothesline you told our grade-five teacher were your big dream in life," Danielle said with a soft smile, pulling out a memory.
"Don't forget the malamute."
"That was a more recent acquisition. Grade seven?"
"Six. Seven was the horse."
They chatted about Tracy's dream. Tracy pulled a pen and paper out of her purse, and they spent the next few minutes laying out plans for pens, possibly a house to replace the one that burned down years ago on the yard site. They drew out where she could plant trees, decided on perennials.
Tracy was smiling when she looked up, and then she wasn't smiling anymore.
"What's the matter?" Danielle asked, following Tracy's glowering expression. Then she sat back with a sigh. "Oh. I see."
Misty Bredo sat at a table close to them, languidly toying with her hair, her bored expression saying more than words ever could.
"How long has she been back in town?" Tracy asked, tapping her pencil on the table.
"According to my brothers, only a couple of weeks."
"They would know." Tracy rapped the table once more and then turned back to her friend. "It's been three years since I caught her and Art together, yet seeing her can still make my blood boil."
"It wasn't pretty."
"And my mother's little episode didn't help things either." Tracy shivered. "In a way, I don't blame Art for picking Misty over me. He sure wouldn't have wanted to be grafted on to my scraggly family tree."
Tracy clamped her lips together as Helen set their drinks in front of them. Thankfully she didn't linger, and Tracy hoped she hadn't heard her last few comments.
"Well, at least he and Misty didn't last that long," Danielle assured her.
"A couple of weeks. The word faithful didn't seem to be in Art's dictionary."
"Well, if Art was half the man he should have been, he would have realized that he was dating you, not your mother. I've said it before. I'll say it again—you're better off without him if that's all it took for him to break up with you."
"I know, I know. But I'll just have to make sure to keep any future boyfriend far away from my mom, that's all." Tracy gave her friend a smile. "Not that that's been any huge problem lately. Mother dearest has been keeping a low profile, and men aren't in my future."
But Danielle didn't return her smile.
"What's up, Dani? You're wearing your resolved expression."
Danielle sighed lightly, giving her coffee another stir. "I thought I would wait until after we ate."
A stillness drifted into Tracy's heart. "This sounds serious."
Danielle hunched her shoulders and then looked directly at Tracy. "I may as well tell you. Your mom called the office this afternoon."
The words dropped, one at a time, like cold stones into Tracy's midsection, distressing the fragile fabric of her life. Nothing from her for so many years and now she decides to resurrect via her friend?
Tracy swallowed a very unwelcome knot of sorrow. Her mother didn't deserve even the smallest emotion. "And what did my long-lost mother want?" she asked, striving to keep her tone light. "Why didn't she call me herself?"
"She said she wanted to see you again." Danielle gave Tracy a sympathetic smile. "But that she was afraid to call you."
This didn't surprise Tracy. The last time she saw her mother was when Velma decided to have a drunken meltdown in front of her and Art in the middle of his parents’ store.
After years of disappointments and a slow wearing of a relationship worn thin from broken promises, Tracy had lost her temper. In the ensuing fight, she told Velma to stay out of her life and never call or write her again.
At least she had listened to Tracy. She had left Holmes Crossing, and as far as Tracy knew, she hadn't ever come back.
"She wanted to tell you that she's sorry and that she's changed. She left me her number."
Tracy willed her heart to stop its heavy beating as Danielle spoke. Willed her thoughts back to the constants in her life. Work. Church. Her friends. Memories of her mother still held claws that clung and hurt, and she resented the need they created.
"I've heard that little ditty too often to believe it." Tracy pushed aside the unwelcome thoughts and memories.
"When was the last time you saw her?" Danielle asked, cradling her cup between her hands.
"Two and a half years ago." Tracy swirled her drink around her glass, almost spilling it. "When I yelled at her after the Art fiasco. She stayed for about an hour, borrowed two hundred bucks, got drunk, and was gone again."
So hard not to sound bitter, to keep the anger out of her voice. Tracy thought she had conquered those insidious feelings of yearning and abandonment.
"I know what it's been like for you," Danielle said. "But I also know that she still means something to you. She's reached out to you. It wouldn't hurt to give her a call. Just make it casual."
"There's never been 'casual' with Velma. Never ordinary. People have to be around more often for that to happen. And my mother wasn't and isn't." She clamped her lips together. If she kept talking, she would sound as though she felt sorry for herself, and she wasn't going there. Her mother had left her alone too many times, and Tracy didn't trust her.
Which made her think of Kent.
"Subject switch," she said quickly, sitting up, gladly focusing on a concrete situation. "A little boy named Kent, about six or seven
years old. Do you have any reports on him? Any complaints against his mother?"
"Are you going to call Velma?" Danielle persisted.
"No promises, Danielle. That subject is closed." Tracy held up her hand, forestalling the next comment she could already see forming on Danielle's lips. "Little boy. Kent."
Danielle sighed, guessing she wasn't going to get anywhere with her friend. "Okay, okay. What's his last name?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me."
Danielle slowly shook her head, her lips pursed in thought. "Doesn't hit any notes with me. Why?"
"I've seen him walking by the clinic the past few weeks on his way to school. This morning I caught him hanging around the clinic. He was poorly dressed, grubby, and quite defensive for such a little scrap of a kid."
"You want me to start a file?" Danielle reached for her purse and ever-present notebook, but Tracy shook her head. She wasn't sure she wanted to take it that far yet.
"Just keep him in mind. I'll be watching out for him, and I'll let you know if I find anything else out. I'm worried about him."
"Okay. I'll keep my ear to the ground."
"In that narrow skirt?" Tracy said, aiming for a light tone. "You won't be doing any bending over, that I can tell you."
"It's very flexible," Danielle returned with a saucy lift of her shoulder, thankfully picking up on Tracy's mood. "And I'm very agile."
"You'd have to be, living with your brothers. I don't know how many times they chased you and me up trees. I can still see you clambering up that old poplar in your backyard, wearing that long pink skirt you always had on."
"My female version of rebellion against brothers and blue jeans and testosterone," Danielle retorted. Then her expression grew serious, and Tracy knew the light-hearted moment had passed and her friend was returning to the previous topic. "I know how hard your life has been with your mother, but I also know that, on one level, you miss her."
Tracy glanced away from Danielle, forcing her attention off the topic Danielle insisted on coming back to. Thankfully Danielle was quiet as Tracy looked around the café.
Cor DeWindt, an older heavyset man, dropped into a chair, heaving a sigh, his bright orange suspenders straining against his plaid shirt.
Father Sam, his graying hair neatly combed, wearing his perpetual sandals and blue jeans, sat down across from Cor, teasing him about something. Tracy couldn't hear what it was, but from the blustery frown on Cor's face, Tracy guessed it was a continuation of the theological discussions they liked to indulge in. Terra, the café's owner and Cor's daughter in law, took some time to stop and chat with them.
While she was talking, Duncan and Katy Tiemstra came into the café, sharing a laugh, Celia skipping a few paces behind them.
A few other people she knew were eating or just having coffee at the other tables in the café.
"I think I know most of the people here," she said to Danielle, apropos of nothing, a melancholy note in her voice.
"Yeah, so do I," Danielle said with a sigh. "I'm not sure that's such a positive, though."
"Remember when I first moved here?"
"Of course I do. You were wearing a pink T-shirt that said Girl Power, and I saw a soul sister."
"Except I never wore a dress."
"I don't believe I ever held that against you."
Tracy chuckled, and then grew serious. "My mother promised me this would be our forever home, and it was. But mostly because she couldn't afford to move again." She looked over at Danielle, giving her dear friend a gentle smile. "Your family became my family, and your mother helped me through some tough times."
They were both quiet a moment, remembering Danielle's dear mother. "I miss her," Danielle said, holding Tracy's gaze. "And I would give anything to see her again."
Tracy easily heard the sub-text in her friend's comments and pulled in a deep breath. "Give me some time on this, okay?" she asked.
Danielle nodded, and for now, Tracy sensed she was off the hook.
"And please, keep an eye out for that little guy, Kent. I'm worried about him."
"I will," Danielle promised.
Chapter 3
“The cow was beyond my help, Edgar." David moved the phone to his other ear and closed the door of Dr. Harvey's office to give himself some privacy. "I should've been there an hour sooner to do any good." He kept his voice neutral, his tone careful, as he spoke to this very irate client.
"I want that bill ripped up," Mr. Stinson snapped, his tone harsh with latent fury. "I already talked to your worker Tracy about it yesterday. It's a crazy amount of money. I'm not paying for treatment on a dead cow."
The easiest solution would be to simply write off the expense, but a cursory check on previous bills to Edgar Stinson brought up a disturbing pattern. Constant complaints, bills reduced and at times nullified.
"I'm sorry the cow died, Edgar," he said firmly, "but I can only work with what I'm given. I did what you wanted when you called me out. I have to charge you for that."
Deafening silence greeted this declaration. Then a harsh click resounded in his ear, and a dial tone.
Score one for diplomacy, David thought, putting the handset down. He dragged his hands over his face and blew out his breath. He knew how precarious his place in this new community was. The meticulous building of a reputation happened by slowly gaining trust one case at a time. Coffee-shop complaints carried a lot of weight in a small town.
He pushed himself away from the desk. He'd done the right thing. He just had to hold his ground and hope that Dr. Harvey would have his back.
Voices caught his attention, and with a faint lifting of his spirits, he followed the sounds.
Kent and Tracy were in the kennel room. Tracy was crouched down in front of the cage holding Kent's kitten. "Why can't he get up?" Kent asked, his hands tucked in the pockets of the same worn jeans he'd had on yesterday. His T-shirt looked a little newer than the one he had on yesterday, though not much warmer against the chill of the day.
"See, we keep him lying down like that so his bones can heal," Tracy said. And, as David watched, her fingers feathered the boy's hair away from his forehead in a motherly gesture. To his surprise, the little boy allowed it.
As if sensing his presence, Tracy glanced back over her shoulder.
Her unexpected smile cancelled some of the negative energy Edgar Stinson had pressed into his day. At least with Tracy things were looking up.
"The kitten is looking good this morning," Tracy said, pushing herself to her feet. "I was just telling Kent what we did."
Kent spun around, and David was disappointed to see his wary look edge back. Kent looked down at the floor, shifting closer to Tracy. "Tracy says you fixed my kitty real good and I'm s'posed to say thank you," he mumbled.
"You're welcome," David said. "I know Tracy will take good care of it for you."
"I forgot to tell you," Tracy said, "but Mr. Stinson phoned yesterday. He was unhappy about his dead cow."
Unhappy didn't cover the fury that Edgar just spilled out over the phone.
"I just finished talking to him," David said. "Tried to tell him that calcium alone wouldn't have saved that cow. Only going back in time would have."
"Not your specialty?"
"Didn't do too well in Time Travel 220," he said with a grin, responding to the teasing note in her voice. "Spent too much time in Overcharging the Customer 101."
Tracy's laugh lifted his heart from its steady beat.
As their eyes met and held, he felt poised on the brink of deeper emotions. And behind that, he recognized a wedge of guilt when he thought of Heather's family and what was coming up.
How shallow was he?
"I hafta go," Kent said, tugging on Tracy's lab coat.
She blinked, looked down, and the moment was whisked away.
"I can take—"
"I'll walk—"
David and Tracy spoke at once, and then both stopped.
"I'll walk him to school," Tracy said,
slipping off her coat.
But Kent shook his head wildly. "No. You can't come with me." He took a step away, and then before either of them could say or do anything, he bolted out the door and tore down the hall.
"Kent. Wait." David went after him, but the little boy ran even faster. When David stepped out of the clinic, he saw Kent's tiny figure dashing down the road toward the school.
The boy's panic was unnatural. Disturbing. As was his constant wariness around him. "Flighty little guy, isn't he?" he said to Tracy, who had followed him. "Hope he's not too scared to come back."
"He'll be back. He's particularly attached to that kitten." Tracy hunched her shoulders against the chill breeze swirling around the front of the clinic. "Though I'm not sure he can take it home. He can barely take care of himself."
"You might end up the proud owner of a purebred mongrel," David said, stepping back into the warmth of the clinic.
"I'll have to move if that's the case. No pets allowed in my apartment." Tracy gave him a wistful smile as they walked back to her desk.
Then why had she offered to pay for the kitten's care?
Which reminded him of another thorny issue.
"I need to talk to you about Edgar Stinson's account," he said.
Tracy sent a defensive glance his way.
He couldn't think of a diplomatic way to say what he had to, so he plunged right in. "I noticed he gets quite a few discounts."
"You've been checking the bookkeeping?"
Definitely defensive.
"I'm a partner in this business, Tracy. The finances are just as important as the vet work," he said, hoping his soothing voice would smooth things over.
"You could have asked me what you needed to know." Not hard to hear the resentment in her voice, but he couldn't let that stop him.
"I thought that was what I was doing."
"Mr. Stinson has quite a bit of influence in this town."
"In other words, don't buck him?" David didn't like what he was hearing. "That makes Holmes Crossing sound like a grade-B Western with Edgar Stinson the local land baron."
"Life imitates art," Tracy said dryly. "I'd be just a bit careful around him."
A Silence in the Heart (Holmes Crossing Book 4) Page 3
