Читать книгу Tennessee Rescue - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 17

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I WASN’T SURE you’d show up.” Seth opened the driver’s door of Emma’s SUV, then stood back. Sweet of him not to loom over her.

“I said I would.”

“Ever been to the co-op?” he asked. “It’s the farmer’s answer to the big-box hardware stores. Little bit of everything from two-by-fours to horse feed.”

She shook her head.

“Hey, Seth,” a voice from the shadowy depths of the store said. “And who’s this pretty lady?” The man who came to meet them wasn’t quite as tall as Seth but outweighed him by a factor of two or possibly three. Somewhere under the thick layers of fat could be glimpsed layers of muscle. He wore actual bib overalls that stuck out in front.

“Hey, hon.” He engulfed her hand in a rough sunburned paw as gently as though he was holding a butterfly. “Seth giving you the grand tour of our fair city?”

His grin was broad, gleaming, but with something of a mountain lion behind it. A man who could handle himself, Emma thought, and probably Seth, as well.

“Shoot, you’re the biggest tourist attraction we got,” Seth said. “Emma French, meet the mayor of Williamston, Sonny Prather. Sonny, this is Emma French. She’s Miss Martha’s niece. She just moved in across the street from me.”

“And you figured you’d introduce her to old Sonny. ’Cause you gonna need to buy out the store to get that place all fixed up after the last people. Friendly enough folks, but didn’t do much to take care of the place that I could see.”

“I’m afraid I can’t afford to buy more than a tiny piece of all this,” Emma said and waved a hand at the shelves around her.

“Sure you can. We gonna open an account for you like everybody else in the county. That way, you can send your contractor in to buy whatever you need.”

“As for the contractor, you’re looking at him,” Seth said. “This morning, all we need is stuff to build an outdoor run. Emma here is thinking about bringing her dog up from Memphis to stay. He’s a city dog.”

Emma gaped at Seth. She now knew that he could lie like a rug. Good information for the future. She had to admit, however, that he’d sounded plausible. And not a word about skunks either.

“Lord, yes. Miss Emma, you got to have a kennel for a city dog around here ’less you want him running off after the coyotes or getting hisself snakebit.” He turned to Seth. “You know what you want, or you want me to work it out for you? Is it a large dog?” he asked Emma.

“Uh...”

Seth stepped in. “Large enough. Long as we’re building, might as well do a decent job of it.”

“You got you a new dog yet, Seth?” Sonny asked over his shoulder as he walked off down the store and through a wide doorway at the back. “Know you miss Rambler. He was a good ol’ dog.”

A fine epitaph, Emma thought. Interesting that Sonny knew the particulars about Seth’s dog. But then he probably knew the names of the dogs and horses owned by all his customers. Maybe sheep and goats, too. Certainly bulls. Possibly even cats, although she doubted it. Men tended to ignore felines, but from where she stood, she could see a pair of yellow tabbies curled up in a ray of sunshine beside the front door. No doubt if she mentioned them, Sonny would blush and tell her they were good ratters.

“Barbara’s looking out for a rescue for me,” Seth said as he followed Sonny. Emma trailed along in their wake, feeling like a third wheel.

The same thing had happened when she first started working for Nathan Savage. Once a prospective older client sat down at their conference table, turned to her and said, “Get coffee.”

Not even a “please.” She didn’t hit him, but that was because Nathan intervened, explained that Emma was one of their top marketing executives and thus did not act as a waitress. The man never so much as looked at her throughout the meeting. But then he signed a contract for more money than anyone had expected. Guilt, probably. That worked. After she’d engineered the launch of his metal-roofing company with more media coverage than he’d expected for such a specialized top-of-the-line niche product, he became a friend. Who would work with him now that she no longer worked for Nathan?

She glanced over at Seth and Sonny. They weren’t cutting her out. They’d simply forgotten she was there. She left them to it.

By the time they’d worked out everything that would be needed for the so-called kennel, she had accumulated a wicker basket full of little cans of cat food, a bag of dry food and several small cat toys.

Sonny said, “Thought it was a big dog.”

“We’ve seen a couple of feral cats around,” Seth said. “If they have kittens, Emma may domesticate a few to keep down the mice.”

Saved again. She looked at the length of the invoice Sonny held and groaned. She might have to borrow money from her father, after all, if she didn’t get a job soon. When she reached for her credit card, however, Sonny waved her away.

“Don’t you know the old saying about farmers, hon? A farmer’s solvent one day a year.” He grinned up at Seth. “Tell her.”

Seth shrugged. “From the afternoon of the day he sells his crop until the next morning when he buys his seed.”

“The rest of the time, everybody keeps paying on their accounts,” Sonny said. “You gonna move up here, you got to do like everybody else.”

“Don’t I have to fill out some paperwork? Give you a credit card?”

“Shoot, I know where to find you if I need to. And Seth can track you down, can’t you?” He flashed that smile at Seth. “Not that you’ll be considered a native, except through Miss Martha. Have to live here a minimum of three generations for that. Now, since Seth has to go to work, and you don’t have a pickup, my boys’ll be up late this afternoon to deliver your stuff.”

“But where?”

“Sonny and I worked it out,” Seth told her.

“Got the perfect place up under that big water oak. Plenty of shade, good drainage, close to the house. Sonny, you can put the tools and concrete bags on the front porch.”

“Shouldn’t they be locked up?” Tools? Emma thought. Shades of enormous hammers and four-inch nails! And concrete? What were they building, the Brooklyn Bridge?

“Nobody’ll bother ’em,” Sonny said. “Now, Seth, when you gonna bring your riding lawn mower and your four-wheeler down for a checkup? You already need to be mowing that little place you got.”

Emma waved at them and started out of the store.

“Hey, sweet thing, wait up!” Sonny said. “We’re right glad you moved in. Don’t you worry. Anything you need, we’ll fix you up.”

“I’ll come by after work,” Seth said to her retreating back.

She climbed into her SUV. It was nearly nine o’clock. She’d had one cup of coffee, and she was absolutely starving. Two hours to go before she had to feed the skunks. Must be someplace around here she could get some breakfast. Someplace where she could be a stranger and not the absolute most worthless out-of-her-element female in this universe. She considered she had a fairly good skill set. For the city. Out here she didn’t understand the language, much less the customs.

It definitely was another universe. Oh, the endearments were the same as in town. She never minded being called “sugar” or “honey” or “sweet thing.” There was a wide gap between sexual harassment like the casual hand on her rear end—which she recognized instantly and took care of even faster—and the complimentary appellations from good ol’ boys of a certain age.

But it was all too obvious that she didn’t belong here. Sonny was right. She’d be a stranger for the next three generations, if it was possible to live that long.

She could make an attempt to slide into the culture, but it would never work. She knew where she belonged, and it wasn’t in Williamston. And definitely not across the street from Seth Logan.

* * *

“WHOO-EE!” SONNY SAID. He hooked his thumbs into his tarpaulin-size overalls and grinned at Seth. “Yum, yum! She lives right across the street from you?”

“Put your eyes back in your head, Mr. Mayor, before I blacken both of them for you.”

“Now, Seth, I didn’t mean a thing by it. I’m a happily married man. Besides, Nadine would tear my head off at the shoulders if I so much as looked at another woman. And no way would I give up Nadine’s beaten biscuits for a roll in the hay with somebody else. But you—” he pointed at Seth “—are no longer a married man and that—” he pointed to Emma’s SUV as it pulled out of the parking lot “—is therefore fair game.”

Seth didn’t feel like discussing Emma as though she were a side of beef with a man who looked as though he could eat one at a single sitting. “She’s in a committed relationship.” He very nearly bit his tongue. Committed relationship? Not if Emma stuck to her guns after that phone call last night, not to mention her response to that wholly inappropriate kiss he’d planted on her.

Still, she’d been clear that living in Aunt Martha’s house was a stopgap measure for a woman who was intended for mansions and French wine. All he knew about French wine was that he couldn’t afford it. Mansions? Out of the question.

“I’m late for work,” he said. “Thanks, Sonny.”

“No thanks needed.” Sonny clapped Seth on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “You get that kennel up, and then you pay some attention to that young lady.”

Seth decided to stop by the café and pick up a couple of egg sandwiches and a large coffee. When he was close to the turn for the parking lot, however, he saw Emma’s SUV already there with no one in it. Darn! If he went inside now, she really would think he was stalking her. He drove by and stopped at the drive-in. The food wasn’t half as good as at the café, but the coffee was hot and the sausage biscuits sufficiently greasy. He should’ve felt good about this morning. Instead, he felt as though he was in way over his head, and not just with the construction.

* * *

THE MINUTE EMMA walked into the café, conversation stopped and every eye swiveled to stare at her. Oh, great. Apparently a stranger was sufficiently rare to count as a treat. She put on her coolest expression, noted the sign at the cash register that said, “Y’all seat yourself,” looked around and spotted Barbara, the vet, waving at her. She pasted on a smile and walked over.

“Join me, please,” Barbara said.

Emma couldn’t very well refuse. Besides, not only did she like Barbara, but the vet was a conduit to Seth Logan. Emma needed somebody to clue her in on the man. She couldn’t figure him out at all. He obviously had the education and the cultural skills to move up whatever career ladder he chose. Yet here he was, catching poachers and checking fishing licenses—or she supposed that was what he did. He didn’t seem to be lazy, not if he planned to help her build the kennel.

“The café’s about the only decent restaurant in Williamston,” Barbara said.

The waitress laid a menu on the table and, without asking, set down a mug of coffee. “You want cream?” It came out like an accusation.

Emma shook her head. “No, thanks. Just a couple of poached eggs, bacon and wheat toast, please.”

“Huh. We don’t do much egg poaching. Hard or soft?”

“Uh, medium?”

“Grits or hash browns?”

“No thank you.”

“Velma,” Barbara said, “this is Emma French. She’s Miss Martha’s niece and has moved into her old house.”

Emma felt her ears redden. She was certain everyone in the place had heard Barbara’s introduction. She might as well be wearing a sign on her back that said “outsider.”

“Nice to see somebody fixing up that place,” a man in a business suit said from the next table. “Welcome to Williamston.” He swung his chair around and held out his hand. “Doug Eldridge.”

“How do you do?”

“He’s the local doctor,” Barbara said.

“Yeah. Barbara heals the animals. I try to heal the humans. She’s better at her job than I am at mine. At least to hear her tell it. But if you need me, I’m in the book. And unless you want to drive to Memphis, I’m your best bet.”

“More like your only bet,” Velma said and walked behind the counter to hang the order for Emma’s breakfast on one of the clips by the kitchen.

“How are the you-know-whos?” Barbara asked Emma.

“Fine, I guess. Lively, at any rate. Seth says I need an outside cage for them. We came into town to get stuff to build it. He says he’s going to help, but I don’t see how he has the time. What does he actually do at his job? I don’t know a thing about him.”

Barbara held out her mug. Velma filled it on her way by the table.

“The first thing you want to know is whether or not he’s married. He’s divorced, and just as well. No children. Married to his job. Great guy as long as you stay on his good side.”

“And if you don’t?”

“He’ll make you wish you had.”

“How come it’s better that he’s divorced?”

“Clare was a rip-snorting spoiled brat who absolutely hated living in the country, where she had to drive thirty miles for a mani-pedi up to her high standards.” Barbara glanced down at Emma’s disintegrating fingernails. “She used to drive into Memphis to get her hair cut.”

Emma reddened. “I know my hands look awful. I need to at least take the polish off. I just haven’t had time what with the you-know-whos to find my polish remover. If Seth does build the cage, how do I pay him?”

“Don’t you dare! Talk about getting on his bad side! Fix him a good dinner. That’s assuming you can cook. This is the first time since Clare divorced him, moved to Nashville and remarried that he’s shown any interest in doing anything other than his job. He’s developing a reputation as a real hardnose. His dog, Rambler, died six months ago and he still doesn’t have another. I haven’t found the perfect one for him yet, but I will. Anyway, he’ll probably ask Earl—that’s his partner—and maybe a couple of the other guys to help him. So you’re really interested in this fostering animals thing?”

“I have no idea. I’m stuck with it now, but I don’t know how it works. Obviously I screwed up with my first attempt by picking the you-know-whos instead of a baby rabbit.”

“You had the right instincts. We don’t judge on a cuteness quotient. I’ve fostered baby turkey buzzards. Cute they are not, except to a mother turkey buzzard. But we need them. We’d be up to our ears in roadkill otherwise. I call ’em God’s garbagemen.”

Velma set Emma’s breakfast plate down just a little harder than necessary. Emma assumed she didn’t approve of poached eggs, although these looked perfect.

“You want to find out what fostering animal work is like,” Barbara said, “you go home, feed the you-knows and drive on down to my clinic. I’ve got a menagerie to oversee and no one to work with me, so I need to get back. You know where my clinic is? Just down the road a couple of miles past your house. Can’t miss it. There’s a big parking lot in front and one behind it, and four horse trailers on the side.”

Emma’s day was imploding fast. She’d intended to set up her workspace, start sending out résumés and make some telephone calls to friends and former colleagues. Networking always worked better than cold calls. At this point she wasn’t looking for a position that paid as well or carried as much prestige as her job with Nathan. Just some way to pay the bills without borrowing money from her dad.

Barbara slid out of the banquette, dropped a couple of dollars on the table for Velma and went off to pay her bill at the front.

Seeing Barbara’s clinic and her animals sounded like a bunch more fun than résumés. She’d work on those this afternoon while the babies were napping.

Several people nodded to her as they walked up to the cash register, but no one actually spoke. They obviously knew who she was...heck, they probably knew her shoe size. She didn’t dawdle over her breakfast. The babies were waiting for their breakfast, too.

At home, she was astonished by how fast they were gaining control of their legs. They marched around their playpen like animated stuffed toys and squeaked at her for not meeting their needs earlier. She fed them, cleaned them and their playpen, then went out to call on Barbara with a couple of pats on the head for each one before she left. Peony stood on her hind legs and begged to be picked up, but Emma hardened her heart. “Later, little child. I promise I’ll love on you.”

She’d been aware of the vet clinic, but she’d never had a reason to stop there.

The clinic building looked as though it had started life as a fancy pole barn and been converted to a business with real walls sometime later. Emma was surprised that the waiting room was empty, without even a receptionist behind the desk. Barbara had said she had no help at the moment, but Emma hadn’t realized that no help meant exactly that. Maybe her receptionist was off for some reason or worked only part-time. From down the hall Barbara’s voice called, “Emma, come on back, unless you faint at the sight of blood.”

Lovely. Just what she needed after a big breakfast. Still, she followed Barbara’s voice through an open door halfway down the hall.

Inside, in her signature electric-blue scrubs, Barbara stood over an unconscious tricolored hound with a four-inch gash along its flank. The flank had been shaved, and bits of hair stuck to the globs of blood that had run from the wound onto the table.