Читать книгу Tennessee Vet - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 15

CHAPTER FIVE

“AN EAGLE? REALLY?” Emma Logan swiveled as much as she could to look at Stephen in the passenger seat of her SUV. It was clearly a challenge to get the distance she needed between her stomach and the steering wheel while still being able to keep her feet on the pedals. “Have you talked to Barbara this morning? How is he?”

“I called at six thirty this morning. That was as late as I could wait. She told me she’s calling in one of her colleagues from the raptor center in Memphis to give her a hand in case she has to pin the wing. I’m glad she decided to bring in another vet. She seemed excellent, but it never hurts to have a second opinion.”

“She’s a gem, but she’s going to kill herself unless she can hire another vet to take some of the pressure off her. There is a vet south of Williamston, but he’s only interested in small animals. The closest large animal vet is in Somerville, twenty-five miles away. Seth says she and John picked this location because nobody else was practicing here. And now the locals love her, so everybody calls or just shows up when they have a problem. Some days when I’m working for her I can barely find a place to park.”

“I suspect you need earplugs.”

She laughed. “The big fancy kind. The dogs and cats aren’t the worst. It’s the pigs. Ever hear a pig squeal when it’s being restrained?”

“Probably the way that eagle screamed last night.”

“Oh, I’ll bet Little Oinky can top that eagle’s decibel level. Pigs have no defense mechanisms except flight and noise.”

“Not Olympic sprint speed, right?”

“Right, although under pressure even a full-grown domestic pig can put on a surprising turn of speed for a short distance. When anything or anyone tries to restrain them, their instinct is to squeal and run. Preferably knocking you down and stomping on you in the process.”

“I thought they ate people.”

“I think that’s an old wives’ tale. I do know, however, that hogs keep growing until they die. I rode along with Barbara to see a pig with an abscessed hoof the other day. I swear the hog, Arnold, was the size of a camping tent—and not for one person, either.’’ She looked down at her belly and sighed. “I know how he feels.”

“I didn’t ask last night,” Stephen said, “but if it’s not a rude question...”

“When am I due? First week in December. Perfect time. After Thanksgiving and before Christmas. Assuming good ol’ Kicks here can read schedules.” She patted her tummy. “Actually, I have tons of energy, unlike the first three months, when all I wanted to do was sleep and eat. Barbara says all mammals tend to do that. She’s warned me that when I start rearranging the linen closet and cleaning out the kitchen cabinets I need to watch out for labor. Sometimes I wish I was a sea horse. The daddy has full responsibility for the offspring.

“Here we are at the café. Prepare to be checked out.” She turned into the parking lot of the brick building. A small sign over the door read Café, and a sign on the window said Open. Other than that and the large number of cars in the lot at seven thirty in the morning, nothing shouted that this was the place everyone in town came for meals, if they ate out at all.

The minute Stephen opened the glass front door for Emma the noise poured out. People noise. Not jukebox or even radio. “Ah,” he said with a grin. “Nothing but conversation and cutlery.”

“Oooh,” Emma said. “I’ll have to remember that the next time my sometime boss Nathan wants me to come up with a title for a new restaurant.”

“You’re still working for Nathan? I assumed you quit when you married Seth and moved up here from Memphis.”

“Long distance via computer and cell phone. I’m not leaving the county again until Kicks is a separate entity. Between doing special projects for Nathan and running the appointment scheduling for Barbara three half days a week and supervising the addition to the house and—”

“Having a baby.”

“It’s crazy, but what would I do if I stayed home? Play video games? Listen to the men who are working on the addition to the house? They all speak Spanish, so our conversations consist mostly of smiles and charades. I’ll be glad when they are finished, so I can have my house back. Hey, my word! Here’s Barbara.”

Stephen felt his heart stop for a moment as he swiveled to look at her. He assumed she’d come to tell him the bird had not survived the night. Well, she’d warned him his rescue was unlikely to survive. He grabbed a deep breath and prepared for some new psychic pain.

She waved at them and wound her way through the restaurant to their table, speaking to nearly everyone she passed. She slipped into the seat across from him and said, “Morning, Emma, Stephen. Mind if I join you?”

“You already have,” Emma said, though she nodded and smiled. She raised a hand to catch the eye of Velma, the waitress.

“I had to come tell you personally,” Barbara said to Stephen.

“You don’t have to tell me. He didn’t make it, did he?”

Her eyes opened wide. “No, no. I should have realized you’d think... He made it through the night and swallowed a mouse whole an hour ago. Tried to devour my fingers, too. He hated the mouse, because we had to give him one of the frozen ones we keep for emergencies. I did thaw it. He grumped a bit, but he ate it eventually. At the moment, he’s trying to figure out how to remove his neck collar so he can tear off his bandages.”

“But he’s alive?”

“So far. One of my best vet buds from Land Between the Lakes park is driving over his morning. We may have to pin the wing, although checking the X-rays, I don’t think we’ll need to. If he survives that, we start the healing. Then, if that works, we start rehabilitating him—if we can figure out where to do it.”

“How can you do that without a flight cage?” Emma asked.

“We can’t. We may have to move him up to Reelfoot Lake before he heals. It’s crazy that we can’t have one closer than that. We desperately need it for all the birds we rehabilitate. In the meantime, Stephen, since he’s your responsibility...”

“I should have mentioned that last night. I’ll be totally responsible for your charges. I do have a book to write. I intend, however, to monitor his progress closely. Anything you need, I will attempt to provide for him. I plan to see him fly away without a backward glance.”

“No charges. He’s part of my work with the animal rehabilitators group. If we could clean up the outdoor cage Seth and his team built for Emma at The Hovel when she first moved here and was raising her abandoned skunk babies, we could move the bird down there once he’s out of the woods and ready to rehabilitate... It’s not adequate for a flight cage, but it will do to start off with once we dare to give him that much space. But as to responsibilities, if you want to avoid a big fine for hitting him...”

Stephen started to protest.

“I know, I know. He hit you. Tough to prove it. If you work with me on him, the law will probably cut you some slack. Killing an eagle could mean not only incurring a massive fine, but—if it could be proved it was done on purpose—you could get jail time as well. There are even restrictions about possessing an eagle feather.”

“I would hope you could testify on my behalf.”

She cut her eyes at him. “I believe you, but I did not actually witness the accident. Let’s hope the eagle heals completely and is released back into the wild. We’ll give him the best possible care.”

He hastened to assure her that he appreciated her professional skills. Although, he had only last night’s experience to rely on. He had the feeling she was not used to being questioned.

“Emma’s cage won’t be adequate for long, but we have time before a larger cage is a necessity. You could look after him between writing chapters of your book.” She turned a beatific smile on Stephen.

He felt himself being dragged into her aura. Then he caught Emma staring at him.

He stopped short of agreeing to babysit the eagle 24/7 and picked up on Barbara’s remark. “Emma has a cage? Where?”

“Quite a nice one. Didn’t you see it around the corner of your porch under the trees? Seth and his buds built it for the baby skunks Emma raised.”

“I heard about those in Memphis. The tale of Emma and her baby skunks was a seven-day wonder. Her old boss Nathan is still disgruntled because she wouldn’t allow him to bring them to town for a photo shoot for one of his public-relations projects. Why can’t it be used as a flight cage?”

“It’s tall enough, but not nearly long enough. It would have to be extended twenty feet at least.”

“Isn’t there enough room to extend it?”

“Oh, there’s enough room, but somebody has to do the work. Nobody has time or money or interest.”

Stephen realized he had all three—money, time and interest. With the eagle right around the edge of the porch from where he lived, he actually could watch out for him most of the time.

What he did not have was the physical capability to build a cage. With his leg, he would be unlikely ever to climb a ladder again and could hardly drive a nail with one hand if he held on to his cane with the other.

Velma laid down heaping breakfast plates before them, then hovered, obviously waiting for an introduction.

“Velma, this is Dr. Stephen MacDonald. Stephen, this is Velma. She will remember your breakfast order and give it to you whether you order it or not, so don’t try to change it.” She turned to Velma. “He’s moving into The Hovel for six months.”

Stephen stood and shook her hand. Hers felt rough and strong, although her nails were nearly as long as the eagle’s talons and painted bright turquoise. Her smile, however, was nearly as brilliant as Barbara’s. “I will too let you change your order. Just tell me when you come in. Otherwise you’re stuck with your usual, whatever you decide that is. I’m glad you’re gonna be across the street from Emma and Seth, Doctor. Half the time Seth’s gone way into the night and out of cell-phone range. Emma needs somebody close by to get her to the hospital.”

“Not that kind of doctor, I’m afraid,” Stephen told her. “I teach history at the university.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself,” Emma said with a grin. “I’m just having a baby. My OB-GYN says first babies take a long time to come.”

“Huh. I got three, Miss Emma. Didn’t none of ’em take but a little minute. Near about didn’t get to the hospital with any of ’em.” Velma turned to Stephen. “You give her your cell-phone number, and don’t go wandering off anywhere without it, you hear.”

She whirled toward the back of the café. “All right, Darrell, hold your horses. I’ve got the coffeepot in my hand.”

Turning back to their table, she said, “Nice to meet you, Stephen. Next time I might even be willing to give you an actual menu, but don’t count on it.” She wended her way through the tables and back to the counter.

“I’d never try to go on a diet with Velma around,” Barbara said.

“The way you work,” Emma said as she buttered a piece of toast, “you need the calories or you’d pass out.”

“Velma,” Barbara called, “has the mayor been in yet this morning?”

Velma nodded toward the wide front window. “That’s his truck pulling in now. He’s late.”

“Here comes the purveyor of rental cars and everything automotive in Williamston,” Barbara said.

The man who toddled in was a couple of inches shorter than Stephen and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. The bib overalls he wore were immaculate and looked as though they had been tailored for him, then starched and ironed. Stephen glanced at his boots. A marine in boot camp would be proud of the spit shine on the cordovan leather. He’d be willing to bet they also had been made for him.

“Mornin’, you all,” the mayor boomed from the doorway. “Velma, honey...”

“I got it, Mayor,” she said and reached a gigantic coffee mug across the counter to him.

“Mayor,” Barbara called to him. “Come meet Emma’s new tenant. This is Dr. Stephen MacDonald.”

Again, Stephen stood and shook hands, then sat down again.

“Another doctor?”

“Not that kind. I teach at the university.”

Stephen saw him eye the cane beside his seat, but he didn’t comment.

“Stephen pretty much murdered his car last night,” Barbara said.

“You want us to fix it?”

“It’s a vintage Triumph,” Stephen said. “The parts will have to come off the internet or out of some salvage yard. I have a guy in Memphis who can do it. He’s going to tow it in this afternoon and try to find everything he needs. In the meantime, I can’t keep catching rides with Emma.”

“I can’t rent you a car, but a truck—sure. Little bitty or big honkin’?”

“I’ve never owned a truck. I have no idea.”

“Well, Steve, how ’bout you come on down to the place after breakfast, and I will flat out sell you one? You can’t make do with a sports car up here.” He clapped a hand on Stephen’s shoulder and came close to knocking him out of his chair.

Steve? Nobody called him Steve, Stephen thought. Not even Nina when she was furious with him. It suddenly hit him that he had crossed the threshold into another universe. He didn’t know the language or the customs. Thank God for Barbara—and Emma, of course. Why had he put Barbara first? He’d known her less than twenty-four hours. But then maybe wallowing in blood together, or something approximating wallowing, gave them a kind of kinship he didn’t have with his daughter’s friends or even his academic friends.

“Join us, Mr. Mayor?” Emma asked.

“No, darlin’, I got to get on down to the showroom. Just came in to pick up my coffee and a couple of sweet rolls.” He turned to Stephen. “You let Emma drop you down at the showroom. I’ll rent or sell you wheels. And if I don’t, I’ll have one of my people run you back to your house.”

“Thank you.”

Sonny took the sack Velma handed him in one hand and his mug in the other, did a 360-degree wave to the patrons and staff with the sack hand, then toddled back out the door.

Interested to see what the major drove, Stephen stood, then nearly fell over again at the decibel level of the horn that blasted as the man drove out of the parking lot.

“That thing has more chrome on it than an eighteen-wheeler,” Stephen said. “And it’s nearly as big.”

“He owns the dealership,” Emma said.

“As well as the feed store, most of the rental property in Williamston and heaven knows how much more,” Barbara added. “In the country, Stephen, a man’s truck is a symbol of his place in the community.”

“Like a knight’s armor or the caparison of his warhorse?” Stephen asked.

“Pretty much. I’ve got to get back to open the clinic,” Barbara said. She reached for her check, but Stephen got there first.

“This is for the pimento cheese last night and for keeping Orville alive.”

“Orville?”

“Better than Wilbur.”

Barbara said over her shoulder, “Emma, explain to him about naming rescues, will you? Don’t do it, Stephen. If you don’t keep your distance, keep your objectivity about your rescues, it’s a disservice both to the animals and yourself. Besides, it can break your heart.”

He felt as though Barbara had taken a tiny bit of peace with her when the door shut behind her. Ridiculous. But he made a mental note to call her in the afternoon and offer to drive back to Williamston in whatever new vehicle he would be driving to pick up a pizza for their dinner. After all, he needed to check on Orville. Orville? When had the blasted bird become Orville? Just happened. But Orville he was, for better or worse alive or, heaven forbid, dead. So much for not naming your rescues. Please, let Orville not break his heart.

“Stephen,” Emma said and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Everybody hates advice, but I’m going to give you some anyway. Barbara is a wonderful person and a great veterinarian. She is also a one-man woman, and that man died five years ago.”

He felt as though she’d slapped him. “And that has to do with me how?”

“Come on. I saw the way you looked at her. If you’d been a puppy, you’d have rolled over to have your tummy scratched.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was impressed at the way she handled Orville.”

“There is not an unattached—or in some cases attached—male in the county or beyond who has not tried to court Barbara since John died. She ignores them. She works too hard, and when she relaxes, it’s with friends like Seth and me. She’s never moved on from John and has never shown the slightest interest in doing it. She says she’s comfortable with the life she has and hasn’t room for any complications.”

“Fine. We should do well together, then. She has her John. I have my Nina. Never the twain shall meet. Shall we go? I need wheels. Then I need to go check on Orville.”

As he climbed into Emma’s SUV, he admitted that he didn’t want to lose touch with Barbara even if Orville died. She didn’t want to move on from her John, just as he wouldn’t ever move on from Nina. Nothing wrong with a friendship.

Maybe offering to build an extension to Emma’s cage, making it suitable for Orville’s flight training, might lift his credit with Barbara a hair.

Two hours later, he drove out of the mayor’s automobile dealership in a bright red crew cab pickup with every bell and whistle the mayor could cram into it. Remembering their discussion about status and trucks at breakfast, he figured this particular truck would qualify as “honkin’” and give him the status of a knight in the good-ol’-boy hierarchy.

He was used to sitting in the confined quarters of his Triumph, freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer. This particular truck could no doubt reverse that—it was capable of freezing him in the summer and roasting him in the winter. For the first time since his accident, however, he could actually stretch out his bum leg and not have to stop every twenty miles or so to rub the pain out of it.

Silly to pay so much attention to a truck, but he felt as though he’d stepped through a portal into a weird new era in his life. How Nina would have laughed! She’d have presented him with a straw farmer’s hat and a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

God, how he missed her! All those years she had kept him on an even keel whenever he was exasperated about his students’ lack of interest or annoyed at the frequent idiocy of his colleagues. His former dean had once warned him that the smaller the academic fiefdom, the harder the faculty fought for control of it.

Until Nina had died he’d been right up there on the front lines, battling as hard as his colleagues for the optimum teaching schedule, the best teaching assistants, the most lucrative contracts for writing textbooks. Even the closest parking space to his office.

Since she’d died, none of it meant anything. He understood for the first time what it meant to want to swap places to save a loved one. He’d always thought Sydney Carton in Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities was an idiot to go to the guillotine to save someone else. To save Nina, however, he’d have chased that tumbrel down the Champs-Élysées and jumped on board.

Rather than drive straight back home, he decided to wander along the back roads. He and Nina used to enjoy driving out and getting hopelessly lost on Sunday afternoons. Not so easy to do in the familiar environs around his house in Memphis. Here, however, every road was new to him. And beautiful. In southern fall, the trees were finally changing colors. He drove past his new house without turning into the driveway and on down past Barbara’s clinic. He hadn’t seen it in daylight and had not expected to see the parking lot filled with trucks and vans.

The mayor’s advice had been right on. The Triumph would have stood out like a Roman chariot. He wanted to turn in and told himself it was to check on Orville, but Barbara would be working, possibly saving some other animal’s life. Without Emma’s holding down the phones, he had no idea how Barbara coped. From the number of vehicles in the lot he could see her need for an additional vet.

He would certainly need a break from his writing. Maybe he could offer to walk down—emphasis on the walk part—to add his volunteer efforts to Emma’s.

Down the road a bit farther he caught the sparkle of water off to his left. Seth had said there was a good-sized lake over there that emptied into the Tennessee River. Maybe he should see if he could rent a canoe.

He drove for over an hour without crossing the same path twice. For him driving was a method of getting from one place to another, but in this behemoth he was actually having a pleasant time.

He stopped at the convenience store that he’d been headed to last evening and discovered it also served takeout. Not what he was used to in the drive-throughs in town, but fried chicken, barbecue, fried catfish and steamed vegetables. Heavy on the fried, but it all looked delicious. He left with enough supplies to provide lunch, dinner and tomorrow morning’s breakfast. Dinner for Barbara as well, if she’d agree to join him. It would be better than pizza. If Emma was correct, Barbara probably would not agree to have dinner with him unless he could convince her that he wasn’t intruding on her solitary lifestyle. Both of them had to eat. Why not together?

He turned off the main road by a sign that read Marina, found the lake and ate lunch at a picnic bench in the trees.

How many meals had he eaten alone since Nina’s death? How much of it had been tasteless hospital food, eaten while staring at blank walls in rehab?

Here he didn’t feel alone. A cheeky crow landed two feet from him and, after alerting every creature in the vicinity that there was a human being around, stalked back and forth demanding that Stephen share.

He did.

He was preparing to toss his last morsel of biscuit to the raven when he heard a voice behind him.

“Better watch it. He’ll mug you for that biscuit.”

“He’s getting up his nerve to attack,” Stephen said as he turned. “Well, Seth Logan. Won’t you join me? I have an extra ham-and-cheese sandwich, some potato chips and a couple of sodas.”

“Already had lunch, thanks,” Seth said as he took the seat along the other side of the picnic table. “I’ll take one of those sodas, however. Diet, if you have one.”

“Yep, diet, and no longer terribly cold. My fancy new truck has a built-in cooler, but I have no idea how it works. I may actually have to read the manual—something I avoid doing if possible.”

“There speaks a college professor,” Seth said as he popped the top on his soda. He took a long swig. “So, this is your replacement for the Triumph? Rented or bought? And before you tell me, remember I know our esteemed mayor.”

“If you guessed bought, you’d be correct. Isn’t it outrageous? I do not have an ‘ooga’ horn like the mayor’s, although he lobbied long and hard to add one. My next stop is the local boot shop. These very expensive trainers don’t seem appropriate.”

“You can’t do all that walking you’re supposed to do in cowboy boots, my friend. You’ll be back in rehab in a week.”

“Ah, but there is method in my madness. The boots will live in the truck for when I want to show off the new good-ol’-boy Stephen. Or, according to the mayor, ‘Steve.’ I will break them in slowly.”

“Don’t use neat’s-foot compound, use the oil.”

“Amazingly enough, I know that. My youngest daughter, Anne, is a horse trainer. I have scrubbed my share of tack.

“Anne reminds me of Barbara. She has the same sort of connection with animals. They are more important to her than people. She can get annoyed when anyone interferes in her relationship with them. I suspect that’s why there are no current men in her life. Not that I am aware of, at any rate.”

“Speaking of relationships, how’s your eagle?”

“Alive. In a permanent state of fury at his confinement. Last night when I saw him, he had already perfected the guilt-inducing glare. I never considered that human doctors have one set of anatomy to learn, while Barbara treats everything from a bald eagle to somebody’s pet Gila monster with dermatitis.”

Seth laughed. “Somebody around here owns a Gila monster?”

“I have no idea. The example is sound, however. She seems to have constructed a way of life that only works if nothing except an animal emergency interferes and throws off her schedule.”

“Nothing?” Seth asked. “Or no one?” Seth tossed his empty drink can at an open trash container some distance away. The can landed precisely in the center without touching the sides. “Three points,” he said and stood. “Back to work.”

“What are you doing out here anyway?”

“Never-ending checking. Sam, who runs this marina, keeps an eye out for suspicious characters. Couple of the big marinas down on Kentucky Lake have had some break-ins lately. I need to see if he’s had any trouble or noticed anything suspicious.” He picked up his clipboard. “Thanks for the soda. Emma says you’re coming for dinner this evening, correct?”

He’d completely forgotten. So much for asking Barbara to join him for dinner. He considered asking Seth whether Emma had invited Barbara, but he didn’t want to show untoward interest in someone else’s guest list.

“Barbara’s supposed to show up if she gets finished at the clinic and doesn’t get called out on an emergency. She doesn’t often go out except to our house,” Seth said. “She’s usually worn out at the end of the day.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Stephen said, with a shiver of pleasure that he tried to ignore. No big deal. Just friends. “Should I bring something?”

“Not a thing. Emma is a great arranger. Just show up.” He walked down toward the marina office at the end of the small pier.

Stephen collected, bagged and deposited his trash into the bin. Interesting that Seth had not said his wife was a great cook.

The crow flew off with a final caw that expressed its disappointment at not being given more treats.

Stephen watched the main and jib sails being raised on a small cruising sailboat in the cove. It was late afternoon. The wind was almost nonexistent, but the boat managed to glide through the water toward the exit from the inlet and out into the lake beyond. A man stood at the helm while a woman lounged beside him.

He and Nina had owned and sailed a twenty-four-foot boat when the girls were young, but they’d sold it once the girls grew to the age where they resented being away from their friends and their preferred activities on the weekends. Maybe he should invest in a small day sailer while he stayed up here close to the water. Compared to ski boats, day sailers were relatively inexpensive and didn’t need a slip at a marina. They could be towed back and forth to a house.

As he watched the pair on their small boat relaxing together, content with one another, he felt one of those sudden pangs of grief that hit him like a boxer’s jab in the gut. What did any of it matter without Nina?

He would hate sailing alone. How could he thrill to a coral-and-peach Southern sunset without being able to share the experience with her? He’d always considered himself a loner, a man who enjoyed his own company. His writing and research were a solitary occupation. He’d been surprised to discover how lonely he was.

Working alone in his study while Nina read a book in the den—when he could share some arcane factoid he had just discovered simply by calling out to her—was different from working alone and knowing that no one would answer or care.

Did everyone who had lost a partner find that the little things brought his loss home to him most poignantly? The odor of peaches from her shampoo in the shower; knowing that the special orange marmalade for his toast would be sitting on the breakfast-room table; reaching for a clean shirt and feeling the extra starch she always had the cleaners iron into his collars; the way she rolled his socks—a million small things she did for him he’d taken for granted as a part of his life. The small things he’d done for her in return, he’d often griped about. When he was forced to drive her car, he invariably had to fill up the gas tank or risk running out of gas on his way to the college. Every morning he continued to make their king-size bed because a made-up bed had been important to her. How he wished she was still around to fuss at him if he left it a tangle of sheets.

This was no way to live.

Is that the way Barbara felt about the loss of her husband? Was she as lonely as he was?

He loved his children, but they were building their own memories. He wasn’t building any new ones with anyone at all. Well, he supposed he had built a new memory last night with Barbara.

But for her, professional challenges seemed sufficient. Clients, not friends—except for Emma and Seth. But was that enough to base a life on? There was more to life than work. More than being alone at the end of the day.

Deep within him something stirred.

“Enough with the pity party,” he said as he climbed into his new truck. “I’ve got a life to live, and by God, it is not going to be made up of leftovers.

* * *

BARBARA STRIPPED, DROPPED her bloody overalls into the hamper, jumped into the shower and scrubbed her whole body with the face soap with the exfoliator in it. It scratched a little, but it would remove the lingering scent of cow’s blood she’d gotten covered with when she’d pulled out that doggone oversize Brahman calf. He would have killed himself and his mother if he’d stayed in her womb much longer.

She could live on a diet of miracles like this. It was enough fulfillment for one lifetime. It had to be.

She badly needed a big miracle to get Orville up in the air again. Orville? At least it was better than Wilbur. And the Wright brothers did finally get up in the air.

She leaned against the wall of the shower and realized she was sobbing. Miracles were no longer enough. She was desperately lonely for someone to share a high five with after a win, like she’d had with that healthy calf. And just as lonely for someone to share the grief and pain of losing against her old enemy, death.

She told herself she was simply exhausted. Pure release of tension. But it was more than that. The way the cow had licked her wet, new baby so gently, she could nearly touch the love. She couldn’t go on making do with secondhand love. But could there ever be anything else for her? Did she dare to reach for it?

She had never been as frightened in her life. Staying the same, protecting the borders of her life and her heart was safe. Did she even know how to change? Did she want to?

This was Stephen’s fault. Before he strode into her life, she’d thought she was content with the status quo.

She finished drying off and ran a comb through her wet hair. Then she raced into her bedroom to don clean underwear, a red polo shirt and ironed jeans. No time for makeup—just moisturizer and lipstick. She had to go to dinner with wet hair. She ran a comb through it again, plumped it up with her fingers, put on clean sneakers, grabbed her handbag and ran down the barn aisle to the parking lot. She refused to think. She hardened her heart against the soft, pleading eyes of the latest crop of abandoned fawns she was fostering. They hung their heads over the stall door. Hard to resist, but she knew they’d already been fed.

“You have been fed, knock it off,” she said as she ran by. “You, too, Mabel. Don’t you hiss at me, you goose. I’ll smoke you for Christmas, see if I don’t.”

Mabel, used to empty threats, hissed and flapped her wings but retreated. Her goslings fluttered back under their mother.

* * *

SHE PULLED INTO Seth’s driveway only twenty minutes late. An animal emergency always trumped dinner plans, but she tried to keep to a polite schedule. Across the street, in front of the house Stephen MacDonald was renting, sat a shiny red truck. Even from here, she could tell it was an outrageously overdressed monster. So, Mayor Sonny had seduced the good professor into a sale. He’d never allow anyone to rent that chariot.

Seth opened the door to her. She was surprised to hear two voices from the living room—Emma’s voice and a baritone male.

Her heart gave a lurch. Stephen MacDonald. And here she looked like she’d been rode hard and put away wet. Which she had. He would probably be dressed as though he’d helicoptered in from Savile Row in London, where the bespoke tailors hung out. No woman liked looking like a rag doll with a strange man around. All that emotion that had hit her so unexpectedly while she was in the shower did not mean she wanted to open the gates and let him or anyone else into her life. She had no intention of taking so much as a baby step outside her comfort zone.

Face it—she was scared. Better not to care than to care and lose again, the way she’d lost John. But she was finding it difficult to remain cool and detached around Stephen. He definitely made her heart speed up.

What on earth could interest a man like Stephen in a woman like her? Okay, so they had shared a life-and-death moment with the eagle. They had a connection, but only as doctor and client.

Her defenses were thin at the moment. High time she beefed them up.

When she came in to the living room, Emma turned to smile at her, but made no attempt to climb out of the leather recliner where she sat with her feet up. Twisting even that far didn’t look easy.

Stephen stood. He was nearly as tall as Seth, but thinner. He wore pristine chinos, a gray polo shirt and a pair of cordovan loafers that looked downright burnished. Not Savile Row, but not from a discount store, either. A dark wood cane topped by a wolf’s head leaned against the arm of the sofa. Not the plain aluminum cane he’d used at the café. A formal cane? Maybe he had one to go with every outfit.

“White or red?” Seth called from the kitchen.

“White, thanks,” Barbara said as she came forward to shake Stephen’s hand. It felt smooth, unlike her hands, eternally rough from too much soaking in horse liniment and antiseptic. “Remember I warned you about naming him, but I find myself calling him Orville, too, so I guess Orville he is. He’s settling down, although he is still irate and blaming you,” she said to Stephen.

“I am innocent, Your Honor,” he said. “How come you escape the blame?”

“Oh, he’d probably tear a strip off me, too, if he could reach me. But maybe he’s smart enough to know who hit him.”

“I keep telling you...”

She grinned.

After a second, he grinned back at her. “Is he doing all right? I’ve been worried, but I hesitated to keep calling your office for updates.”

“He’s holding his own. Thank you for not calling back every five minutes the way some of my clients do. We’re just too busy to field all the calls. Things do slow down a bit in the fall and winter. Breeding season is over for many species, like horses, and dogs and cats seem to stick closer to home, so they don’t get hit by cars quite as often.”

“How is the search for Mr. Right coming?” Emma asked. She turned to Stephen. “Barbara is finally on the hunt for another vet to help share the load. She’s needed one for donkey’s years.”

“Dr. Right, please. I’m open to somebody fresh out of vet school, to either a male or female associate veterinarian. And, yes, I’ve had several inquiries, but I haven’t scheduled any interviews yet. This is quite a ways to drive for an interview, so I’m trying to take care on the front end. I don’t want to interview somebody that doesn’t look good on paper.” She held up a hand. “But—and this is a good but—I’ve had a promising answer to my ad for an office assistant. I’m seeing her tomorrow morning. You can help interview and choose if she’ll do.”

“Yeah!” Emma said. “I don’t know how long I can keep working without having someone trundle me around in a wheelbarrow. I really can’t manage anything but paperwork without help. I’m so ready to have this baby I’m considering driving down bumpy roads to hurry things up a tad.”

“You still have two months left, tiger,” Seth said.

“And first babies frequently come late,” Stephen added.

“The bumpy-road thing is an old wives’ tale,” Barbara said. “My first was three weeks late, and I hit all the potholes I could find. They come when they want to. You will never be more out of control. Relax and put up with it.”

“Ooh, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” Emma said with a grin. “No more baby talk. Tell us about Orville. How’s he doing?”

“As well as can be expected. Maybe a little better,” Barbara answered. “We ended up not having to pin his break, just immobilize it.”

“At some point I have to take a statement from you, Stephen. It’s the responsibility of us fish-and-wildlife game wardens,” Seth said. “I have to write up the incident and fill out a bunch of forms. It’s a good thing you drove straight to Barbara’s and got help.”

“I’m willing to stipulate in my professional opinion it was an unavoidable accident, in which Dr. MacDonald was in no way at fault,” Barbara said. She lifted her glass to Stephen and took a sip, then winked at him.

* * *

SO SHE HAD decided to back him up. Stephen would thank her later when they were alone.

“Good. Otherwise, Stephen, you might wind up before a judge. The fine can be up to five thousand dollars with possible jail time.”

“But wouldn’t that be if you shot it?” Emma asked.

“I’ve already volunteered to pay any vet charges associated with the incident,” Stephen said.

“And he’s going to help with the rehabilitation,” Barbara said.

“I am?” Stephen glanced at her quizzically. “I haven’t any idea how to do something like that.”

“You’ll learn. There really isn’t anyone else available without interfering with the work at the clinic. Write that as part of your report, Seth. And you, Stephen, smile and say ‘of course I am.’”

Seth laughed. “My friend, I think you have just been expertly sandbagged.”

“The main problem is that I don’t have a flight cage,” Barbara said. “The closest one is in Kentucky, and I don’t want to move Orville out of Tennessee.”

“Then you shouldn’t,” Stephen said. “We’d have no way of tracking his progress, knowing if he was getting the proper care...”

“It may be the only solution to the lack of a flight cage. In my professional opinion, he’s better off where he is for the moment, but that could change. Dealing with the federal government over an accident involving a protected species and dealing with the state of Tennessee, too—I do not even want to think about adding another state’s regulations and bureaucrats. More red tape that might interfere with Orville’s healing, not good for Orville’s recovery. I know what I’m dealing with in Tennessee, and I trust myself.”

“With you he’s getting the best possible care,” Stephen said. “Why would anyone purposely hurt a bald eagle?”

“Men and their trophies,” Barbara said.

“I have a theory that the only reason we have survived to evolve this far is because we taste bad.” The others began to laugh. She held up her hands. “No, listen. Most young, healthy predators avoid killing human beings in favor of yummier meals for themselves and their young. When the hunters take out a man-eater, they generally find that it’s old or diseased and too slow to run away.”

“How about grizzlies?” Stephen asked.

“Animals basically want to assure their DNA is passed on to the next generation,” Stephen said. “The same thing Orville wants.”

“Orville probably has mated for life,” Barbara said. “For tough birds, they can seem to be extremely romantic. When they mate, they lock their talons together high up in the atmosphere and fall and fall until you think they’re going to plummet to the ground, before they break apart and soar again.”

“We’re going to send Orville soaring again to find his lady,” Stephen said and patted her hand.

She withdrew it quickly. “Talk about counting chickens! Don’t say things like that—it’s bad luck.”

“Then let’s talk about you instead.” He grinned at her. “Why did you become a veterinarian? And don’t most women gravitate to small-animal practices? Dogs and cats?”

Barbara looked away and shrugged. She seemed casual, but Stephen had noticed that when she talked about something important to her, her earlobes turned pink. He thought it endearing and wondered what she’d do if he nibbled one.

Smack him, probably, or give him a what-on-earth? stare. Even the way she sat slightly turned away from him said “Keep your distance.”

Fine. He intended to, but he rather enjoyed looking at her pink earlobes.

“I like animals,” she said simply. “Even when I was little, if it breathed, I wanted to keep it.” She turned the palm of her hand toward him. “See that little scar?” She pointed to a raised place beside the thumb. “When I was about five I tried to catch a baby raccoon. Its mother was opposed and bit me.”

“Did you have to take rabies shots?” Emma asked.

“The old-fashioned kind in the stomach,” Barbara said. “That should have cured me, but it didn’t. More and more women are going in for large-animal practices. I met John at orientation the first day of classes. Neither of us ever looked at anyone else again.” She stared into the fireplace, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Stephen caught the glint of tears in the firelight. He’d done his crying where no one could see or hear him, but he knew what she felt. That big open hole that seemed unfillable. He would’ve liked to put his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder.

If he no longer wanted a leftover life to live, maybe he could convince her she didn’t want one, either. He knew Nina would have been furious at him for wallowing in grief for so long. From the little he had heard about the man, he strongly suspected John would have been just as annoyed at Barbara.

From the kitchen came a ding. Emma rocked her chair back into place. “Seth, darling, where have you hidden the forklift?”

The dinner was simple but tasty. Spaghetti Bolognese, a big salad, French bread and cheesecake. “The cheesecake is from the café in Williamston,” Emma admitted. “Seth knows I am no great shakes as a cook. But I’m trying.”

They all made appropriate complimentary noises. Without being asked, Barbara took over cleaning duties so that Emma could enjoy the company.

“May I help?” Stephen asked.

Emma shook her head. “I count as family. You still count as company. Go sit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go. How’s the addition coming?” she called to the living room. “From here the kitchen looks pretty much finished.”

“Nearly,” Emma called back. “Seth’s mother, Laila, is going to try to come over this weekend to help get it all put back in order. Seth, why don’t you give them the grand tour?”

* * *

STEPHEN WAS SURPRISED how much of the construction had been finished fast. The nursery—buttercup-yellow, as Emma had said—was finished, complete with a crib and a roomy, plush rocking chair.

Barbara joined them as soon as she put the dishes into the dishwasher and scrubbed the counters.

“I never had a rocking chair that luxurious when John and I had our two,” Barbara said. “There was no way I could breast-feed and set up a new practice at the same time, let alone build the clinic and the barn with our apartment. John and I split feeding duties, and our old rocking chair felt comforting to the babies whoever was on bottle duty.”

“Where are your kids now?” Stephen asked. They clearly didn’t live with her. He would have noticed the signs during their shared meal.

“They both live in Nashville,” she said. “Mark works part-time as a sound engineer for some of the smaller groups that play there. It’s a crazy job, but he loves it. He wants to travel before he thinks about settling down, though. My daughter is in sales at a boutique hotel in Nashville and very much one of the young social set. She shows no sign of settling down, either.”

“Then we have something in common,” Stephen said. “My elder daughter, Elaine, worked in sales at The Peabody until she married. My younger daughter, Anne, works as a waitress and bartender to make enough money to support her horse. She’d love to make a full-time career as a horse trainer eventually...”

“But very few people can,” Barbara said. “My condolences. Horse-crazy daughters generally have fewer problems in adolescence, but speaking from experience, anything to do with horses is hard, expensive and time-consuming, and isolates you from the non-horse-crazy.”

When they came back from the short house tour, Barbara took one look at Emma and whispered, “She’s sound asleep. Time for us to go, Seth. Come on, Stephen.” Seth followed them out onto the front porch. Barbara stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss. “I hope this new girl will work out for me. It’s time for Emma to cut her hours. And how about your hours?” she asked Seth. “Are you taking any more time off?”

“As much as I can, and I’m giving Earl most of the tough jobs that require traveling all over the county. Stephen, Earl’s my partner,” Seth explained. “We’re heading into black-powder season for deer hunting. That means more, rather than less, work. I’m like you, Barbara, pretty much on call all the time.”

Stephen waited on the porch while Seth helped Emma to move from the recliner to the bedroom, then walked across the street to his own little house. He’d considered inviting Barbara in for a final cup of coffee. But he assumed she’d decline.

He climbed into his truck and backed out of his driveway to follow her home. He’d never allowed a woman to reach her door unaccompanied in his life. His mother would have killed him.

He’d forgotten the motion-sensor lights. The moment he pulled his truck behind the clinic, the area was flooded with enough light to curtail a prison break.

An instant later, Barbara’s door flew open.

“Stephen, what on earth?” she said as he climbed out.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. May I say good night to Orville?” And maybe garner an invitation to come in for a cup of coffee?

Unlikely.

“Fine. Now that he’s in a cage in the barn, you don’t have to go into the clinic to visit him. Thank you, Stephen, for following me home. If you don’t mind, I’m off to bed.”

And she was.

He found Orville, who waked instantly and made a sleepy attempt at a squeal before tucking his head under his sound wing and subsiding back into sleep.

“Good night, big guy. May you dream of field mice scampering around just waiting to be gobbled up. I, on the other hand, will dream about being invited to Barbara’s for coffee one day.”