Second Chance Spring

by Delancey Stewart

  Leslie looked shocked, her mouth dropping open slightly and her dark eyes widening in her heart-shaped face. “Of course not! Pregnant women don’t get fat, they get beautiful. Paige, it’s a gift!”

  “I’m not preggo,” I informed her, laughing at her persistence. “I haven’t dated anyone in years. Your sixth sense is more like a fourth sense. Missing a few things.”

  “Oh.” Leslie shrugged and pulled another chip from the bag.

  “I was going to tell you that I’ve been offered another job.”

  Leslie’s ever-shifting expression morphed to sadness. “What? You’re leaving us?”

  I dropped my friend’s gaze, hoping to appear more sure than I felt. “Maybe. Not for sure. It’s in Baltimore.”

  “What? You’re leaving Singletree?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Lottie must be freaking. I’m freaking!” Leslie slumped in her chair. “I’ll be so lonely.”

  “You do have that family at home,” I reminded her, a hint of sarcasm coloring my voice. “The small people who call you ‘mommy’ and that handsome guy, Todd?”

  “Oh him. Right. Yeah, I like him. The littles too.” Leslie grinned. “But I’ll miss my best friend.” She recovered her smile and her straight-backed posture. “Tell me all about it.”

  It was my turn to slump. “I don’t know a ton. It’s a bigger practice, four doctors, three nurse practitioners and a PA.”

  “In the city?”

  “Right. So I’d definitely have to get an apartment. But it’d be a bigger opportunity, better money, more exposure to different kinds of cases. Hospital affiliation.”

  “Yep. I’m tracking. Wider horizons, just like you’ve been saying you want. No more small-town, small-minded junk.”

  They sounded judgmental and trite when Leslie repeated my words back to me. “Right. That.”

  “You don’t seem very excited. When do you have to go?”

  “I just haven’t decided officially, that’s all. I’d have to be there by the end of April. And I haven’t told Lottie, and you’re right—she’ll freak.” I dreaded telling my mother. I worried she’d launch into some kind of drama that could potentially last for years. “My sister knows.”

  Leslie nodded. “Jeez, that’s like a month away. My Spidey senses are pinging again. There’s something else … something you’re not telling me.”

  “I thought you had a sixth sense. Now it’s a Spidey Sense?”

  “I’m very talented. The universe whispers to me in many ways.” Leslie wiggled her eyebrows like she was making a joke, but I knew she half-believed she was actually psychic.

  A deep sigh escaped me and I gathered up the remains of my sandwich, collecting the bag from my chips and hoping that the motion would distract Leslie from the fact that I hadn’t actually answered. How could I tell my friend that I was nursing a strange crush on the widower who lived across the street? It wasn’t even a crush exactly, more like … an awareness. I’d become more aware of him, that was all. And that awareness was making me think of him more often.

  Because awareness totally made you stand at your front window to watch your neighbor shepherd his tiny daughters into the car every day and hope to see him return before you headed out for work. Awareness definitely kept you awake with strange fantasies about taking more cookies across the street under the pretense of checking on the adopted dog.

  “Fine, don’t tell me. But your aura is kind of muddy. I think you’d better get this worked out before you go,” Leslie said, standing and adjusting her scrub shirt.

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “The universe,” Leslie said mystically, with a grin. “Whispering to me …”

  “Right.”

  Muffins and Matchmaking

  Cormac

  The first week with Luke at our house was … interesting.

  The girls were over the moon. They spent every spare minute lavishing the dog with love and attention, and when I saw them both snuggled up next to his big furry body, watching cartoons happily with contented smiles on their faces, I knew getting Luke had been a good thing.

  But when the girls were at school and I spent the bulk of what was supposed to be a workday sneezing and rubbing at swollen eyes, gasping for a clear breath, I knew I had a real problem.

  I couldn’t go on like this, and there was no way I could take Luke from the girls now.

  I drove them to school that Friday, my eyes more swollen and red than ever.

  “Daddy, have you been crying?” Taylor asked as we followed the winding two-lane road to her school. She was looking at me in the rear-view mirror, her eyes full of concern.

  “No sweetheart. My eyes are red and itchy so they just look like I’ve been crying.”

  “You’re kind of a mess,” she offered after I sneezed yet again. I was a little worried I was going to pull a muscle with all the sneezing.

  “I know,” I told her. “My allergies are worse than I remember them being.”

  “You got the ‘lergy?” Maddie said, sounding concerned.

  I tried to smile reassuringly, but ended up sneezing again. I was a mess. “Yep, buddy. I’m allergic to Luke.”

  Madison’s smile dropped as I looked over a shoulder at her, and she shook her head. “Yuke is a good boy.”

  I pulled into the parent drop-off line. “He is a good dog. It’s not his fault I’m allergic to him. I just need to figure out a way we can live together and get along.”

  After I dropped the girls off, I decided to take some action. First, I took a long hot shower, trying to scrub off any trace of Luke I could, and then I put on clean clothes from the back of the closet—the ones least likely to have accumulated any dander or fur. Then I quickly swept through the office, grabbing the laptop and phone, and went out to the car. I dumped my stuff onto the backseat between the girls’ seats, which I eyed dubiously. Taylor’s was coated with dog fur.

  I sneezed. There was no place safe.

  Still, I had to try. I drove to the only place I could think of to work besides the library, which definitely wouldn’t do if I was going to keep sneezing. It was a little cafe on the town square called The Muffin Tin.

  I’d been to this place a few times before. It was set right on the historic town square, where legend had it one of the great Confederate Army generals actually surrendered to a Union battalion before being taken off to the prisoner of war camp that once stood at the far tip of the peninsula at Point Lookout. There was no sign of surrender now, the square occupied by a few mothers with strollers sitting on the long benches or enjoying the green grass as the sun seemed to gain strength overhead. The Muffin Tin wasn’t large, but there were plenty of tables and a bar that ran along inside the plate-glass windows, where you could pull up a stool and watch the world go by outside. And the woman who owned the place, Lottie, was always friendly and cheerful.

  “Hello there,” she called from behind the counter as I walked in.

  “Hi,” I managed just before a sneeze. I put the laptop down on a nearby table and pulled a tissue from my pocket. “Excuse me. Sorry.” It was pointless. I sneezed again.

  “Bless you,” Lottie said, sounding worried. “Are you okay? There is a little sniffle going around town, I hear.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. It’s just allergies.” I tried for a reassuring smile as I wiped red eyes and sniffed. “We just got a dog.”

  Lottie’s face broke into a wide grin and she made a little ‘tsk tsk’ sound. “You poor thing. Allergies can be awful.” Something in her look made me think she had more thoughts on the topic of my allergies, but she turned the conversation to coffee and pie. “What can I get you? The apple crumb is fresh this morning and if you want to wait, I’ve got cinnamon rolls out in a jif!”

  Despite feeling lousy, I smiled. It felt impossible to be less than cheerful around this woman. “How about black coffee and a slice of that pie?”

  “Coming right up.” After I’d paid at the counter, Lottie handed me my coffee and
told me she’d bring the pie right out.

  There were a couple other people set up around the small space with laptops, and I didn’t sneeze for a full five minutes as I settled in. I was beginning to think this might work out well.

  An hour later I’d been through an entire pack of Kleenex and had lost the will to live. There was no chance I could maintain my business in this state, and the allergy medicine I had made me too sleepy to even try to work. I’d picked up a non-drowsy formula the day before, but that one had me too wired to sleep. I dropped my head into my hands, imagining the faces of my children when I told them Luke would have to go.

  “It can’t be that bad.” Lottie’s calm voice came from the table across from me. “Tell me what’s wrong, Mr. Whitewood.”

  I looked up into Lottie’s concerned blue eyes. Everyone else had left—probably chased away by my incessant sneezing—and she’d silently seated herself across from me. “Oh, no,” I smiled, trying to play off my desperation.

  “Don’t you tell me it’s nothing. I can see there is something wrong. Is it these allergies?”

  “I appreciate the concern,” I started to make another excuse, but then I realized it might be nice to have someone to talk to. It had been a long time.

  Callan was around, but the guy had never been much for conversation—not when he’d been a big important soccer star, and not now that he was engaged to April, the only woman on earth who could tolerate his moodiness. Our parents were gone, and I hadn’t been the most social guy after I’d gotten married and moved, so I found myself somewhat alone now. It hadn’t really bothered me, but Lottie’s open encouragement felt good, and I found myself opening up. “It’s just that I have two little girls,” I began.

  Lottie nodded encouragingly.

  “They’re seven and four, and … I know we don’t really know each other, but you probably know my wife Linda died a couple years ago. Small town …” I trailed off.

  “I know dear, I’m so sorry. How are those precious little girls?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I got them a dog this week, and it’s like the sun is finally shining for them again. It’s like Luke—that’s the dog—has made them forget their sadness, or he’s helping them find a way to deal with it. They’ve both changed, even in just a week.” I shook my head sadly, thinking about saying goodbye to Luke, to the girls’ newfound happiness.

  “And you have allergies,” Lottie declared triumphantly, as if she’d solved a puzzle.

  “I have really bad allergies. I knew I was allergic to animals. I’d just forgotten how allergic …”

  “This is not a problem,” Lottie said, standing and heading behind the counter. She ducked down and returned with a card between her fingers. “There is a wonderful doctor in town, and she is an expert in pets and pet-related concerns.”

  “A vet?” I asked.

  “Oh, heavens no. A people doctor, silly. And she takes walk-ins, so you better hustle right over there this minute if you want to enjoy your weekend with those little girls and Luke.” She handed me the card.

  “Paige Tanner.” My neighbor? It had to be. “Does she work at the dog shelter too?”

  Lottie grinned widely. “Sometimes. She’s a very kind soul,” she added, and something in her look told me she wanted me to agree with her. “Shall I call and tell her you’re on your way?”

  I sneezed in response.

  “It’s just down Larimer Street,” she said, pointing outside. “Off you go.”

  And I was in my car, heading for the clinic before I’d really had a chance to think about it.

  Prepare to be Shot

  Paige

  The clinic had been relatively quiet right after lunch, but there were a few people with appointments and a few others waiting to be seen as the afternoon went on. I had been going through the motions a little bit, my mind on so many things besides the repetitive runny noses and late-spring coughs that folks around town wanted to check in about. Besides one infant with a very high fever, there hadn’t been much of note, and I was glad. Singletree was a pretty healthy town.

  “Room two,” Angela called from behind the nurse’s station as I stepped out of my office where I’d just filed notes for the last patient I’d seen. I rubbed some sanitizer into my hands and knocked lightly on the door to room two, stepping inside after a man’s voice called out, “Come on in.”

  For a moment, I froze. Cormac Whitewood sat on the exam table, a pair of dark jeans covering his long legs and a plaid button-down shirt with tones of green making the golden eyes spark. The dark hair set off his tanned skin, and his very physical presence made me take a deep breath. “Hello again,” I finally managed.

  “It is you,” he said, a warm smile covering his face just before he ducked his head into his elbow and sneezed.

  “It’s me,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “And I’m guessing you’re here about some dog-related allergies.”

  “You’re a detective and a doctor.”

  “Let’s see, swollen eyes, sneezing, runny nose, and I did see you at the shelter Monday,” I pointed out. My heart was beating faster than usual and my words came out a little rushed. I tried to force myself to breathe, to slow down. Cormac Whitewood had a very strange effect on me. “Not hard to figure out. Looking for some allergy medicine then?”

  He sighed, and a sadness filled those golden eyes that made me feel immediately sad myself. “I guess so,” he said. “I’ve taken everything they’ve got at the drug store. I’ve got to find something though. I don’t think I can live like this, and I can’t take the dog away from the girls now. It would break their hearts …” He trailed off, and I sensed the unspoken word, “again.”

  “Let’s see what we can do,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll just need to do a quick exam,” I said, though the thought of actually touching this man sent something giddy racing around in my stomach. I took a steadying breath. I was a doctor. I could do this. “Just give me a couple deep breaths,” I said, and put my stethoscope to Cormac’s very solid back to listen to his lungs. I repeated this several times, finishing on his chest, and standing near enough to him to catch the scent of soap and sandalwood. I was trying desperately not to think about him boxing in his garage.

  We talked a bit about his history, about the allergies he’d had as a kid, and I found I needed to stand a step or two farther away from him than I normally did with patients, just to keep myself out of the range of his intoxicating masculinity. There was something I liked about Cormac Whitewood—I could admit that to myself. In fact, there were an awful lot of things I liked about him, and my thoughts about my neighbor as he sat in my exam room, all muscles and warm dancing eyes, were somewhat less than professional.

  “I can prescribe medicine,” I said, finishing things up. “But if what you got at the drug store didn’t help, I can’t imagine this will do much better.”

  His face fell, and I felt the weight of his disappointment like a physical blow. I wanted to help him, and was glad to have one more weapon at my disposal.

  “Or we can do a full allergy workup and then once we confirm what exactly you’re reacting to, we can start a regimen of shots.”

  “Shots.”

  “Immunotherapy,” I said. “It’s a pretty common treatment for pet allergies, where we expose you to the thing you’re allergic to a little bit at a time, and eventually your body builds up a resistance on its own.”

  “I’m exposed pretty regularly now,” Cormac pointed out.

  “Right. But the shots are usually more effective.” I raised an eyebrow. Was this big strong man reluctant to see a needle? “Do you have an issue with needles?” I asked.

  “Don’t most people have an issue with being repeatedly stabbed with a sharp object?”

  I laughed. “When you put it that way,” I agreed.

  “Worth a try,” he said. “Can we get started right away?”

  “Let’s go ahead with the skin scratch test,” I said. “Can you hang out fo
r a half hour or so?” Since there were not a lot of specialists in town, my family practice clinic treated a wide variety of basic concerns.

  “I can,” Cormac said. “I just need to be out the door by two-thirty to pick up the girls.”

  I went back out to get the things I’d need.

  “Should I take my shirt off?” Cormac asked when I returned. “Are you going to stab me in the back?”

  “You don’t need to,” I managed to say, though the thought of this handsome man taking his shirt off had me a little light-headed for some reason. “And I’m not going to stab you at all. I’m going to prick you a few times on the forearm.”

  Cormac rolled up the sleeve of his button down, exposing his arm.

  Thirty minutes later, the red and inflamed spot on Cormac’s arm confirmed that pet dander was the issue. And when I prepared his first allergy shot, I also confirmed that Cormac had some very muscular biceps, though I was trying to ignore this particular observation. I administered the shot, wrapping my fingers around the strong muscle and trying to quell the nerves racing through me as I touched Cormac. I pressed a cotton pad to the injection site and then fastened a Band-Aid over the spot. “Okay?” I asked him, standing much closer to him than I had before.

  His golden eyes met mine and it was like a physical touch. I shivered. “I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks.” His voice was soft, intimate, and it sent another warren of shivers skittering over me.

  I took a step back and a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s watch that site for any reaction. A little redness is normal, but much else and I’ll want to hear about it.”

  “Okay,” Cormac said, rolling his sleeve back down and then getting to his feet.

  I tried not to stare. “We’ll see you again on Tuesday for the next shot.”

  “Great,” he said. “When do you think they’ll start working?”

  “Different for everyone.” I lifted a shoulder. “For some people, it’s as soon as a month or so. For others it takes as long as a year.” I cringed as I delivered this bad news.