Читать книгу Daddy's Little Matchmakers - Kathleen Y'Barbo - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Amy returned to her desk with the veterinarian on her mind. Absently, she swiped at the faint brown stain on her blouse, now slightly damp after a scrubbing in the ladies’ room sink, as she looked out the window across Main Street to the clinic. Settling into her chair, she spied the message light blinking and reached for the phone.

“How much is an ad?” the cutest little voice asked. A pause and then came whispering that Amy couldn’t quite decipher. “There’s no one there, Grammy.” Finally the girl gave a phone number. Twice.

Smiling, Amy wrote down the number then placed the return call. An older woman answered with a firm, “Hello?”

“Yes,” Amy said, “I received a call about placing an ad.” She paused. “But I believe it was from a child so…”

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “Of course. Just a moment and I’ll put Hailey on.”

“All right,” Amy said as she wondered what was going on.

“Hello” came the voice from the answering machine message. “I, that is, we would like to place an ad. How much will that cost?”

“It depends.” Amy clicked over to the proper screen on her computer. “What sort of ad would you like to place?”

A moment of silence followed, and then the shared whispers of several other voices came across the line. Apparently this would be a group effort.

“Hello?” Amy said. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, ma’am” came the shaky response.

“All right, then.” Amy placed her fingers on the keyboard. “First I need your full name and address so I can set up the account.” When the girl complied, Amy said, “All right, then, Hailey Wilson, go ahead and tell me what you’d like the ad to say.”

“We would like to place an ad for our daddy, Dr. Wilson.” Someone with a similar girlish voice shouted a correction. “No, I mean for someone,” the child amended.

Another voice, also quite young, added, “For someone for our daddy.”

Dr. Wilson. Amy grinned. Eric Wilson’s girls were setting him up? Interesting. She checked the caller ID. The number came up as belonging to Susan Wilson, likely the woman who answered the phone.

A squeal from the other end of the line drew Amy’s attention back to the situation at hand. “Before I can process your request, you’ll need to put your daddy on,” Amy said.

“Well, I can’t exactly do that.” A pause, this time without any background noise beyond a barking dog. “My daddy is unable to come to the phone. He just went back to work. But he’s the best daddy in the world,” she added. “He braids our hair and bakes cookies with us. He’s gonna teach me to sail someday when I’m bigger.”

Something in the sincerity in their voices softened Amy’s heart. While there wasn’t a chance she could possibly place such an ad, she’d begun to think the idea of it was the sweetest thing she’d heard all day. “I see. He sounds like a wonderful daddy. Now why don’t you put your babysitter on the phone and she can have your wonderful daddy call back when he gets home?”

“We don’t have a babysitter. Just our Grammy.”

Amy let out a long breath. This must be Susan. “Then might I speak to your grammy?”

“No, don’t do that!” was quickly followed by a crash that sounded like breaking glass. Then came a dog’s excited yip.

A scream, and then the line went dead.

Amy held on to the receiver for a moment then slowly returned it to its cradle. What had just happened?

She reached to return her computer screen to the home page and tried to shrug off the sense that something just wasn’t right. What if the elderly woman who answered the phone was in distress? Amy thought of her grandmother’s fall and how blessed she was to have neighbors who checked on her.

What if Susan Wilson had fallen and now lay helpless with only Eric’s little girls to assist? Would they know what to do? The thought sent her into action. Quickly she hit redial and listened as the phone rang repeatedly then went to an automated voice mail.

Amy jotted down the address the girl had given her and snagged her purse. If anyone in Vine Beach needed to place a classified, they’d just have to wait. Besides, what could the managing editor do, fire her? She had only a few more hours of work left, anyway.

“I’ll be right back,” Amy said as she passed Bev Calloway’s open door.

The city reporter looked up from her computer, her glasses dangling precariously on the end of her nose. “Emergency?”

“I hope not.” Amy hitched her purse up higher on her shoulder. “I got a call I’d like to check out. Older lady and some kids. Heard a crash that sounded like glass breaking and now I can’t get anyone to answer.”

She thought about mentioning the identity of the woman, maybe telling Bev to call the vet clinic, then decided against it. If she was wrong, she’d look like a fool. Better to check things out first and apologize later if need be.

Bev’s dark brows rose. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. The address is just around the corner.” Her fingers found the keys. “Might want to say a little prayer, though. I’m hoping it’s nothing, but you never know.”

“Will do,” Bev called as Amy hurried out the building to her car.

A few minutes later, she made the turn and soon found herself in front of a tidy redbrick home trimmed in white and marked by a front door of glossy dark green. An empty driveway ended at a matching garage with a basketball goal hung just over the center of the double-size door.

Pulling to the curb across the street, Amy shifted the car into Park. The black mailbox at the curb had the name Wilson emblazoned in slightly mismatched alphabet stickers, the only sign of imperfection in what was an otherwise perfect abode.

Amy spied a black-and-white Springer Spaniel bounding down the driveway toward her followed in quick succession by a stair-stepped trio of fair-haired girls—the same ones she remembered from church. Eric Wilson’s daughters.

The tallest of the three carried a leash as if she might use it to lasso the spaniel while the other two, lagging behind their sister by a few paces, seemed to have assumed a supporting role in the drama. All were headed toward the street.

“Stop right there!” Amy called as she turned off the engine and fumbled for the door handle. “Do not follow that dog into the street!”

Throwing open the door, Amy jumped out and looked both ways across the empty street. Then she hurried to head off the oncoming parade of fair-haired children by snagging the dog’s collar and guiding him back onto the lawn.

“Hand me the leash, please,” she said to the eldest of the trio.

The child complied while her sisters waited at the edge of the driveway. Only after she had the animal safely corralled did Amy consider that the pup might not have taken kindly to her intervention.

After giving the dog a pat on the head, Amy glanced over at the girls who stood very still on the edge of the driveway. The little one, a vision of cuteness in some sort of princess garb complete with tiara, fidgeted with her ponytail while the middle child, Amy now noticed, held pen and paper and wore yet another outfit—this time shorts and a top—covered in flowers.

The side door opened and a familiar-looking woman with spiky silver-colored hair peered out. Apparently Susan Wilson was fine.

“Girls, where are you?” she called

“Over here, Grammy,” the little princess called. “With the lady who caught Skipper.”

“The lady who…” She met Amy’s stare. “Oh, my goodness. What is that dog doing out in the front yard?”

Amy smiled at the trim figure in white capri pants, sandals and a pale blue button-down shirt heading their way. “He was running toward the street with the girls close behind.” She offered the dog’s leash to the older woman. “I’m Amy,” she said. “Amy Spencer. I work at the Gazette.”

The grandmother gave Dr. Wilson’s girls a look of relief before she turned her attention to Amy. “Pleased to meet you, Amy Spencer. I’m Susan Wilson and these are my granddaughters. This one’s Ella. She’ll be ten soon. Then comes eight-year-old Hailey.”

“Hello, Ella and Hailey,” Amy said when the eldest girl reached to shake her hand. Hailey offered a smile but made no move forward.

“And last but certainly not least,” the vet’s mother said, “this is Brooke. She just turned five and will start big-girl school in the fall.” The little one rolled her eyes and tugged on her shorts. Apparently big-girl school was a sore subject for the youngest Wilson girl. “Say hello, Brooke,” Mrs. Wilson urged.

The little one met Amy’s gaze and grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Hello,” she said before ducking behind her grandmother. Amy returned the greeting when the girl peered out from under the older lady’s arm.

“And of course, you’ve met Skipper.” Susan Wilson’s brown eyes twinkled. “I’d say the Lord had you in just the right spot this afternoon. Thank you for saving Skipper and the girls from what might have been a whole lot of trouble.”

“You’re welcome,” Amy said quickly. “I’m glad I could help.”

Behind her, the girls wore stricken looks. Obviously their grandmother had no idea a whole lot of trouble had already occurred.

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be standing in our driveway? I thought the girls had just phoned you to—” A car sped past and the dog made to follow. “Oh, no, you don’t.” When the car had safely disappeared around the corner, Mrs. Wilson turned the leash over to the eldest of the girls. “Ella, go on and take Skipper back inside the fence. Don’t let him in the house just yet, though. I haven’t finished cleaning up the remains of that platter he knocked off the counter.”

“So that was what caused the crash I heard.”

Mrs. Wilson returned her attention to Amy as the girls reluctantly hauled the Springer Spaniel back up the driveway. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh.” Amy tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I was on the phone with the girls and I heard an awful noise that sounded like breaking glass. Of course, when I couldn’t get an answer on the phone, I hurried over to check. You see, my grandmother fell a few months ago and…” She paused.

Had she said too much? Perhaps insinuated that Mrs. Wilson wasn’t properly looking after her granddaughters?

The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and appeared to be considering something. Her smile settled Amy’s concerns. “It takes a special person to find that level of concern for children.” A pause. “And for me. I do appreciate what you’ve done today.”

“I feel a little silly,” Amy said. “And I’m terribly sorry for assuming.”

“Don’t you dare.” The older woman waved away her concerns then winked. “So, did the girls manage to place the ad before the chaos began?” When Amy told her no, Mrs. Wilson’s grin reappeared. “Come on inside and let me get my purse.”

“Mrs. Wilson,” Amy said carefully, “you do understand the girls were—”

“Playing matchmaker for their daddy?” Her smile broadened. “Yes, of course, dear. Who do you think dialed the phone for them? Now won’t you come in and let me offer you some sweet tea and a slice of pie while I write a check for whatever this ad’s going to cost?”