Читать книгу Daddy's Little Matchmakers - Kathleen Y'Barbo - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Amy shifted her purse off her shoulder then opened it to stuff her sunglasses inside. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

Bev swiveled around in her chair to give Amy her full attention. “Other than the earth-shattering news that the Vine Beach Washateria will be slashing their prices on the Sit and Spin special? No, nothing.”

“Wow,” Amy said with a half grin. “I’m going to miss working where the big news happens.”

Shrugging, Bev pressed her glasses up a notch. “So, the classifieds emergency. How’d it turn out? Everything okay with the lady who wouldn’t answer her phone?”

Amy groaned. “Turned out there was no emergency, after all. It was a misunderstanding. Though I did meet three adorable little girls and their grandmother. Oh, and their Springer Spaniel named Skipper. Whom I saved from running headlong into Elm Street. The girls had a little help in dialing the phone, and were calling to put an ad in the paper for a wife for their father. Not a girlfriend. Their father isn’t interested in one of those. Their grandmother Susan thinks he’s afraid to move on after his wife’s death. So she paid for the ad, which will run in the next edition. I’m going to email her the receipt.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she turned toward her cubicle. “All right, then. Back to the classifieds I go to watch the phone not ring.”

“No, you don’t.” Bev followed Amy into her office and leaned against the door frame. In one hand she held a legal pad, and in the other, a pen. “You can’t just leave me like that. I’m a reporter and this sounds like quite a story. Spill it, girl.”

“Spill what?” Amy settled back into her chair.

“The dad. What’s his name?”

Amy stowed her purse in the bottom drawer. “Dr. Eric Wilson.”

“That yummy new vet?” She scribbled another note. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Yes, that’s the guy.”

“Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

So she did, starting with the phone call and ending with the conversation she had over iced tea and peach pie with Susan Wilson, or “Grammy” as the girls called her. She did, however, skip the part where she’d spent a few minutes speaking to the vet in the park during her lunch hour. That, Amy decided, was off the record and definitely not pertinent to the story.

“I did get ad copy while I was there, but I’ll work longer this evening to make up for the time I was gone,” she added.

Bev waved away her statement. “You might not have realized it, but you were working, Amy. Even when you weren’t getting ad copy.”

“I was?”

“Yes, you were.” She scanned her notes then glanced back at Amy. “This is a great story. Definitely a human-interest angle.”

“It is?”

“Plus, we haven’t done anything on the new businesses in town in quite a while. What with Dr. Wilson taking over the practice, that’s newsworthy in itself. Then there’s the side story of his girls and their search for their new mama. All to draw attention to the ad, of course.” She giggled. “Why, this is practically going to write itself. What did you say the name of the Cocker Spaniel is?”

“Skipper. And he’s a Springer Spaniel.” She peered over at Bev’s notepad. “Are you really thinking about writing a story on this?”

“Why not?” Bev said. “Sure beats the article on the Sit and Spin special.”

Amy laughed. “I suppose so.”

“So, what does the ad say?”

Amy fished the paper from her purse. “‘Best daddy in the world needs a wife. Must love dogs and little girls and sailboats and want to be married forever. Ask for Dr. Eric Wilson at Wilson Vet Clinic. Tell him Daddy’s little matchmakers sent you.’” She paused to laugh at the memory of how long it took them to get the wording just right. “That’s it. The girls came up with the ad and their grandmother paid for it. Susan assured me that Eric wouldn’t mind the extra attention, what with the vet clinic being in need of new clients.”

Bev nodded. “So this could be a PR stunt.”

“I thought of that, actually,” Amy said. “But if it is, the girls and their grandmother aren’t showing any signs of it. They really appear to want Eric to find someone. Nothing more. I promise I asked a whole lot of questions before I agreed to take the ad.”

“All right, then. I’ll need a couple of quotes from you.” She waited, pen poised.

“What kind of quotes?” Amy shook her head. “Hold that thought while I put my purse away.”

“I’ll get started on the article.” Bev turned to head back down the hall. “Come into my office when you’re done and we’ll talk about it.”

For all the interest this story might generate, it seemed a bit presumptuous to think this family might want this kind of publicity. In fact, given the tragedy surrounding Dr. Wilson’s status as a widower, they might want just the opposite.

“Hey, Bev, do you really think this is worth writing about?” she called as she opened her desk drawer. “The Wilsons seem like nice people. And I haven’t even spoken to Dr. Wilson.” She paused to reconsider the statement. “At least not about the girls and this ad. Don’t you want his side of the story? To make it more balanced?”

“No need,” Bev called from around the corner. “He’s well represented by his mother and daughters. Besides, it’s the women’s point of view that really makes this interesting, don’t you think?”

“Well, okay,” Amy said slowly as she found Bev’s office and spied her jotting more notes on the almost-full page. “You’re the reporter. But I’d hate to have their personal tragedy made so public.”

Bev scribbled a second more then looked up. “Triumph over tragedy, Amy,” she said. “That is definitely worth writing about. And I promise I’ll be nice.” She shrugged. “I’ve already got the headline all planned out. Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

Eric Wilson slumped against the back of his chair and shook his head. “Mother, how in the world did they…”

Words escaped him. Between trying to make a success of the vet clinic and navigating the deep waters of grief over Christy’s loss, he’d obviously found precious little time to attend to the needs of the girls. Why else would they have done something so ridiculous?

And of course they would find the one woman in town who didn’t look at him as if he were the daily special at the Bachelor Buffet. He thought of Amy Spencer’s easy smile and the way he enjoyed speaking to her earlier today and stifled a groan. What must she be thinking of him now? Had his girls really called her and caused a commotion?

“Hailey mentioned that you were considering putting the boat up for sale,” his mother said, one brow lifted. “I assume one classified-ad idea led to another. Did you place yours?”

A shaft of guilt sliced at him. Perhaps he should have mentioned something about parting with the boat before making the call.

“No, I was interrupted. I’m still considering it, actually.” Eric gave his mother a level look. “But back to this ridiculous ad. Whose phone did the girls use?” he continued. “I haven’t gotten around to putting in a home phone yet.”

Eric watched a look he couldn’t quite explain cross his mother’s face. Slowly, she shrugged. “Does it matter?” He was about to answer when she continued. “By the way, Skipper got the remainder of the sandwiches so there’ll be no leftovers.” Mom chuckled. “You also need a new platter. He got that, too.”

He groaned. What next?

“It’s just about time to pick the girls up from ballet, so I should go. Please don’t be too harsh with them tonight. They love you so.” His mother reached for her car keys but made no further move to leave. “And by the way, Amy is a beautiful girl. Long blond curls and the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen. No ring on her left hand, either.”

“Mother, seriously.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk and sighed. Even now the gaping wound of Christy’s death felt fresh. “You know I’m not interested in dating anyone. It’s just too soon, no matter what my daughters seem to think.”

“Son,” his mother said gently, “it’s been almost four years. Christy would never have wanted you to grieve so long when—”

“I can count.” Eric exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry. Coming here to take over Doc Simmons’s practice was a good move. I’ll never doubt the Lord led us to Vine Beach, and I know the girls love being back here so close to you. So do I.”

“And you know it’s an answered prayer for me, dear. This grandma’s heart was breaking with you and those girls so far away.”

Eric exhaled slowly. Leaving the home in Dallas that he’d shared with Christy had been the hardest thing he’d done since the funeral. And yet it did feel good to be with people who didn’t constantly ask him how he was doing.

“While I’m sure you’re right about why the girls and I are here, I’m also certain His immediate purpose was not to make me wealthy.” He gave his mother a second to take that in. “So, yes, I did have the paper open to the classifieds section. I figured what I could get from the sailboat would cover the bills for a few months. That ought to give God enough time to do a miracle.”

To Eric’s surprise, his mother actually laughed. “Sweetheart, do you think God needs your help doing anything, miracles or otherwise?”

“I suppose not.” His vet tech knocked then slid the door open to indicate his next patient had arrived. “But while I’m waiting for Him, the bills won’t wait for me.”

“All right.” Mom stood and clutched her purse. “But might I suggest you pray about selling that boat? I can’t help but think God has another way of filling this need.”

“I already have,” Eric said. “I suppose if He wants me to keep the boat, He’ll handle the details.”

“Oh, He’s certainly in the detail-handling business,” she said. “And just one more suggestion before I let you get back to work.”

“All right.” Eric pushed a button to activate the speakerphone then set the receiver back on the cradle and rose to reach for his lab coat.

“Your daughters didn’t call the classifieds for no reason, Eric. Amy told me they were quite specific. They wanted a wife for you, not a girlfriend. Said you weren’t interested in girlfriends. Wonder where they heard that? The comment about girlfriends, I mean.”

How many times had he responded to his girls’ pleas with that statement? And yet even now Eric could testify to the truth of it. The last thing he needed right now was a romantic relationship causing further complications in his life. If only his mother and daughters would understand this.

“Eric, look at me.” When he complied, Mother’s expression softened. “Honey, you need to let this go.” Before he could protest, her grip tightened again. “I mean it, Eric. And don’t tell me I have no idea what you’re talking about because I do. I lost my spouse, too. Not in the same way as you, but I do know what it is to lose the one you love, and you know it.”

He did. Eric nodded and covered his mother’s hand with his own.

“So let me give you some unsolicited advice. If you don’t get out there and start living again, you’re going to die inside and have nothing to offer anyone. Not your daughters or me or anyone else. Is that what you want?” She released her grip to wrap her arms around her waist. “Is this what Christy would have wanted?”

Eric’s temper sparked. “That’s not fair, Mother. You cannot know what she would have wanted, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother to try.”

“Yes, I can, Eric, and so can you. She told you she didn’t want you to grieve her.”

His heart thudded against his chest. “How did you know?”

“Because she told me,” his mother said gently. “She knew you wouldn’t listen to her, I suppose. Or maybe she wanted me to be sure of it. Anyway, Christy loved you enough to ask that you get on with your life in her memory. And that her memory didn’t consume you. She lives on through those girls, Eric. But are you really living?”

“I am,” he said with more than a little irritation in his voice.

Her expression softened. “No, sweetheart,” she said as her eyes misted with unshed tears, “you’re not.”

“Mom,” he said as he gathered her into an embrace. “Don’t. I’ll get this figured out. I promise.” He held her a moment longer then patted her back and held her at arm’s length. “For the girls’ sake, I will.”

She nodded, her eyes shining. “Would you do one more thing for me?” At Eric’s skeptical glance, his mother continued. “Hold off on selling the boat. At least for a little while. You all loved sailing, and I’d hate to see it go.”

“I would hate to see it go, as well, but I’ll do what I have to do to provide for my family.” He paused only long enough to offer his mother a smile. “However, I haven’t placed the ad yet.”

“And I hope you don’t have to.” She held up her hand to wave off any response from him. “But before any of that, you still need to speak to your daughters.”

“I plan to, Mother,” he said wearily.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Right after I call the Gazette to stop the ad then ground the girls for using your cell phone without permission.”

“It’s too late to call. The paper closes at four. And who said they didn’t have permission, Eric?” she said as she slipped out into the hall.

“Mother, come back here,” he called as he started to follow her.

“Sorry, darling,” his mother said sweetly as she waved over her shoulder. “The girls will be wondering where I am, and you’ve got patients to see.”

He cast a glance at his watch and then back at the lone file on his desk. “Patient,” Eric corrected under his breath. “At least I’ll be home early tonight, and I can sleep late.”

This thought kept him going through the remainder of the afternoon and got him through the bedtime routine that sometimes derailed his patience. Tonight, however, the older two girls were unusually compliant, taking their baths and climbing under the covers without a single complaint.

That in itself was suspicious. But when Brooke, the baby girl who was growing up far too fast, kissed him good-night and marched off to bed without a single request for water or a second story to be read, Eric suspected something was up.

He loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher and reset the coffeepot for tomorrow then waited a full five minutes longer before tiptoeing down the hall to see if he could catch the trio at whatever trouble they’d planned. Instead, he found his girls sound asleep, bathed in the pale yellow glow of the night-light.

Eric padded back to the kitchen and turned off the lights. Standing in the darkened room, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the spice-scented candle his mother insisted made a suitable centerpiece for the table. What she couldn’t have known is the smell reminded him of Christy. Cinnamon and spice had always been her favorite scent.

Opening his eyes, Eric scooped the candle off the table and marched outside. The warm night air fell around him like a salt-tinged blanket as he walked barefoot to the trash can behind the garage. Lifting the lid, he hesitated only a moment before throwing the candle into the deep recesses of the empty can then slamming the lid back down tightly.

He returned inside and fell into the recliner. Reaching for the remote, Eric turned on the television but after realizing he’d heard nothing of what the talking head on the sports channel had said, he shut off the television and went to bed.

Tomorrow would be another day, he reminded himself as his head hit the pillow. Fridays were generally slow at the clinic—slower than even the snail’s pace of the other weekdays—so he’d decided starting today he wouldn’t go in until noon unless there was an emergency.

Maybe he’d set the alarm and make pancakes. Eric smiled. Yes, pancakes. A reward for the girls’ good behavior in going to bed so nicely. And just maybe, a chance to see what in the world they were up to. Also, a way to have a nice family meeting regarding why they would not be placing any more ads.

“The ad.” Eric scribbled a note to remind himself to call the Gazette first thing. Perhaps he could stop the ad before it went to print.

After a fitful night of mostly missed sleep, Eric rolled over and reached for his phone as soon as the alarm went off. “Classifieds, please,” he said when the call was answered.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one in yet. May I take a message?”

Stifling a yawn, Eric laid back against the pillows. “Yes, please. This is for Amy Spencer or whoever has the power to pull an ad before it goes to press. Please call Eric Wilson at—”

“The Eric Wilson? From Daddy’s Little Matchmakers?”

He groaned. “Yes.”

“What a great story. We’ve already had inquiries on it.”

Sitting bolt upright, Eric gripped the phone. “Wait. You’re saying the ad has already gone to print? But it was just placed yesterday afternoon. I thought there was a lag time of a day or two. Your paper only comes out once a week.”

“All the more reason to get such a great story in quickly,” the woman said with a lilt in her voice. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“No, nothing,” he managed.

“Amy’s last day was yesterday but I’m sure someone can call you back if you’d like. I’ll have to check and see who’s handling classifieds now that the temp job is finished. Would you like me to do that?”

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. But you could do me one favor.”

“What’s that, Dr. Wilson?”

“Could you tell whoever’s inquiring that there’s no story here? Its just three little girls and one nosy grandmother trying to run my life. I love them but I certainly don’t want to encourage them.”

A giggle and then she said, “Can I quote you on that, Dr. Wilson?”

“No,” he said a bit too harshly before hanging up.

Later that morning Eric scooped the last pancake off the griddle and added it to the stack. With summer upon them, that meant he could spend the morning with the girls before his mother came to take up her babysitting duties. Even as he grumbled over the embarrassment of the ad, he gave a quick thanks for Mom—whose home was a short three blocks away—as he reached into the pantry for the syrup. Maple for Ella and Hailey, and strawberry for Brooke.

“Girls,” he called as he said a prayer for guidance before their family meeting. “Breakfast.”

Down the hall they came, a scampering herd of pink-clad girls whose giggles and squeals were forever imprinted on his heart. One by one he greeted them and then, with a great show of mock formality, he set their glasses of juice and milk before them.

“Look, Daddy’s using the stick glasses.”

Hailey lifted the glass, a piece of wedding crystal that had been woefully hidden away for special occasions—until this last move. Since Christy’s death, Eric had learned that any day he woke up and put both feet on the floor was a special occasion.

He slid his Bible out of the way and sat the milk carton on the counter. Tucked into the pages of the well-worn book was a neon-green flyer for Starting Over—the new men’s group for widowers that the church advertised last Sunday.

Wincing, Eric recalled sitting through the clever basketball-themed video the pastor had shown last Sunday. While he loved the sport, the idea of getting together with a bunch of guys on Saturday morning to shoot hoops and talk about their grief certainly did not appeal. And even if it did, Saturday mornings were always spent with the girls.

It was their time, and nothing would come between him and his girls. Not even a group that purported to offer help to men stuck in the cycle of grief. If the Lord wanted him at that group, He’d just have to clear the time.

Which Eric knew He wouldn’t.

So he turned his back on the thought and joined the girls at the table. He was doing just fine, and anyone who told him otherwise was just wrong.

“Look, Daddy, my pancakes are pink.”

Eric glanced over at Brooke’s plate and found she’d mixed her milk with the syrup to form a gooey glob of her favorite color. “Nice, Brookie” was all he could manage. No sense in correcting what could become a budding culinary career. “Now tell me how pink tastes.”

“Daddy, Hailey’s making flowers with the syrup again.”

A glance at his middle daughter’s plate confirmed Ella’s complaint. Rather than pour syrup over her pancakes, his artistic child was making elaborate swirls and tiny leaves to decorate what was a garden of floral delights. All while her older sister waited for her turn at the syrup bottle.

“I’m just getting it right, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t want to mess up the flowers.”

“Enough, Hailey,” Eric said. “Let Ella have—” His cell phone rang, and Eric debated a moment before he reached for it. The clinic. “Dr. Wilson,” he said as he rose to step away from the now-chattering females.

“Hey, Doc,” his receptionist said. “Things have gotten kind of busy and it might be a good idea if you come in earlier than you planned.”

Skipper came bounding in the dog door shaking his wet coat all over the cabinets, the walls and the newly refinished wood floor. “Sure, soon as I talk to the girls and clean up this mess,” he said as he hurried to end the call.

A glance around the room told Eric that the conversation with the girls would have to wait until tonight. Cleaning up the dog’s mess soon turned into cleaning up the girls’ mess and then, after that, to turning on the sprinklers in the backyard and creating a make-do Slip’n Slide out of the leftover plastic tarps the painters left behind. By the time his mother arrived, Eric was covered in pieces of grass and soaked head to toe.

“Well, now,” she said as she wisely stood out of the range of the girls’ splashes. “Is this any way for the town’s most eligible bachelor to behave?”

“Mother, really.” He grabbed a towel off the fence and began to dry off. “Not in front of the girls.”

“What do you mean ‘not in front of the girls’?”

“I mean we’re having a good time.” He looked back to note three sets of eyes staring in their direction. “So leave off with the eligible-bachelor stuff, okay?” he added in a much quieter voice.

“They look awfully happy. You didn’t punish them, did you?” She gave him one of those “Mom” looks.

“Actually I haven’t had a chance to speak to them.” He shook his head. “But no, they won’t be punished. Not since they had you egging them on.”

His mother lifted a silver brow. “Egging them on? Really, Eric, you act as if I’m the only one who wants you to find someone to love.”

“Grammy, come swim with us,” Brooke called.

“Grammy didn’t bring her suit,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow morning I can take you all to the pool at the community center. Or maybe to the beach. If it’s all right with your daddy.” His mother turned her attention to Eric. “You didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow morning, did you?”

“Tomorrow morning?” His heart sank. “No,” he replied weakly. “Just spending time with the girls like we do every Saturday. I suppose we could go to the pool.”

“Looks like you just spent the morning with them, Eric.” Mom gave him her most radiant grin. “And no offense, but I was hoping to make this a girls-only morning. Maybe go get our nails done and our toes painted afterward. Is that awful?”

“No, it’s fine,” he said as three girls began to cheer. “Great.” His mother clapped her hands. “I had hoped to take them to breakfast, too. So, I’ll be here around seven-thirty. Is that too early?”

“Too early? No, I don’t suppose.” Especially since the men’s group meeting began at eight.

“Well, go on and get ready for work, then,” she said brightly as Hailey called for her. “Grammy’s got it covered out here.”

Eric reluctantly complied, grumbling his way through his shower, getting dressed and then making the short commute to the clinic. As was his custom, he pulled around to the back only to find there were no empty parking spaces.

“That’s strange,” he said as he drove around to the front of the building only to see the parking spaces on Main Street filled, as well. Across the way, the Gazette’s parking lot was also at capacity. “Must be a sale going on over at the shoe store.”

He finally found a parking spot down at the Vine Beach Public Library some three blocks away. By the time Eric reached the front door, the Texas sun had begun to toast the back of his neck and his shirt was soaked. He was, quite literally, hot under the collar and beginning to steam.

Before he could wrap his fingers around the knob, the door flew open. “Thank goodness you’re here, Doc,” his receptionist said. “I didn’t have a clue what to do with all the calls for appointments.”

“Appointments?” Eric walked in to find the tiny office filled with pets and their owners, the great majority of whom were women. All chairs were occupied and a woman in tight jeans holding a mewling cat in a hot-pink cage leaned against the opposite wall.

“Hello, Eric,” she said when she met his gaze.

Eric? He nodded in greeting then stepped around her. The phones were ringing and the crowd at the front desk was three deep. A teacup Chihuahua shivered violently, it’s diamond-studded collar sending rainbow sparks across the worn floorboards while a Yorkie with blue hair bows relieved herself behind the lone plant.

Nancy, his vet tech, was pulling files and adding them to a thick stack. Rather than working in the back at her grooming table, Cassie Jo seemed to be busy printing what appeared to be new-client forms. Dee had one phone to her ear and another resting in the crook of her arm. It was not immediately apparent whether she was speaking to the caller or the dark-haired matron at the front of the line.

“Follow me,” Eric said to Nancy as he stepped over a pet carrier and hurried to the solitude of his office. “All right,” he said when she shut the door behind her. “What’s going on?”

Her smile was inappropriate to the stress of the situation. “My guess is they’re all here to see you.”

“Me?” Eric shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look,” he said with what he hoped would be a calmer voice, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but I’m usually a guy who can laugh right along with the rest of them. The catch is, I need to be in on the joke. So, why don’t you tell all those people to go home so I can have my parking place and my office back?”

Nancy gestured to the folded copy of the Gazette that topped the stack of periodicals on the corner of his desk. “See for yourself.” She paused. “You might want to sit down.”

“Surely all of this insanity wasn’t caused by that ridiculous ad in the classifieds. Who reads that section, anyway?”

His vet tech shook her head. “Don’t know about that but I’m pretty sure everyone reads the headlines.” She shrugged. “See for yourself. If you don’t need me for anything else, though, I probably should get out there and help.”

“No, go ahead.” He waited until Nancy left then carefully opened the paper to read the headline. “Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

Before he could read past the first paragraph, the intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Phone’s for you, hon,” the receptionist said. “And you’ll probably want to take this one.”

“What?” He shook his head. “Not right now.”

“No, seriously,” she repeated. “You want to take this.”

Eric leaned back, exasperated. “And why would that be?” he managed.

“Well, it’s some reporter from the Houston Chronicle. Said she read the most interesting story about you on the newswire this morning. Wants to know if you have any comments she can put in the story she’s writing.”

“Great,” he said weakly.

“Line three.” Nancy’s voice dissolved into a giggle as she skittered out of the room and left him alone with the red light blinking on line three and a Houston Chronicle reporter asking for details of his search for a bride.