Big-Bucks Bachelor. Leah Vale
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looked like the feline equivalent of a Sumo wrestler, that was saying something.
“Well, if you’re sure…” he trailed off, hoping his pleasure over his excuse working wasn’t too obvious.
“I’m sure. Catch you later, Jack.”
“’Bye, Mary Kay, Pumpkin.”
Jack closed the door behind her and whistled low through his teeth. That had been a close one. While lying wasn’t his thing, no matter how white the lie, in this instance it had certainly been the lesser of two evils. He doubted he could have convinced Mary Kay that the only woman he would ever want in any way was already gone from his life.
That fate had already decided he would spend his life alone.
Besides, he was leaving Jester.
He turned toward the office, intent on making sure Melinda was on board with his plan, but she was already heading out into the waiting area, her coat on and her vaccination kit in hand.
“Where are you going? I want to finish our discussion.”
She stepped around him and made for the door. “Sorry, Jack. But I’m due out at Wyla Thorne’s place in fifteen minutes. At least she doesn’t mind having a woman vaccinate her pigs.”
He pulled in a deep breath and followed her. “We’ll get everything straightened out, Mel. I promise.”
The look she gave him as he held the door open for her said, yeah, right.
But he meant it.
He had no choice.
JACK HAD ALL of an hour of peace, having finally forced himself to focus on the paperwork that needed to be done, before the blinds on the door rattled again. He braced himself, wondering which supposedly love-struck lady with a mysteriously ill pet would appear next.
He sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t be the mayor’s curvaceous, blond assistant, Paula Pratt. Her newly acquired, tiny beige Chihuahua, Angel—the dog’s original owners had called him Killer—was only happy snuggled up inside the front of the woman’s coat, and whenever she drew close to someone, the dog growled. It sounded eerily like her abundant breasts were snarling. And whatever it was that little dog had wrong with him, only a truly gifted animal psychologist could cure.
Jack’s prayer was answered when much older and rounder Stella Montgomery came through the door, her platinum-blond curls protected from the weather by a clear plastic rain hat and her peacock blue, heavy winter coat brushing the tops of her sheepskin-lined boots. She caught sight of him in the office and her seemingly permanent smile widened.
He automatically smiled in return. Stella was a real sweetheart. She lived over at Gwen Tanner’s boardinghouse, and was forever seeing to everyone’s happiness and the health of their love life, where warranted. But she never went there with him.
Not minding the interruption since it was Stella, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Well, hello, Stella.” He came around his desk and went to greet her. “How are you today?”
“Oh, I’m marvelous, Jack. Just marvelous.” Her pleasantly plump cheeks held more of a rosy glow than usual. And her blue eyes positively twinkled.
“Good. Good.”
She smiled at him.
Puzzled, Jack waited, but she didn’t explain her presence. To his knowledge, Stella didn’t own any pets.
She simply smiled at him some more.
Rocking back on his heels and burying his hands in the pockets of his lab coat that he’d forgotten to take off, he asked, “So, what can I do for you? Do you need help moving something…?”
“Oh, no. Nothing, really. I just thought I’d stop by and say hello. I noticed Dr. Wood’s truck isn’t out front. Is she on a call?” She reached up and patted at very curly hair through its protective barrier in a very feminine way.
A sizzling arc of panic went to ground right through the bottoms of his feet. No. Not Stella. She had to be in her mid- to late-fifties.
But she was also single.
Then the reminder of why she was still single cooled him in a rush of relief. She had loved and lost also, though she and her young man hadn’t had the chance to marry, their engagement ending tragically with his death. Stella, along with ol’ Henry Faulkner who had lost his wife ten years ago, understood why Jack didn’t feel the necessity to move on.
Still, her obvious delight made him nervous. “Yes. Melinda is out at Wyla’s, I believe. Vaccination time. Can I get you some coffee, tea…” He was pretty sure Melinda had heated some water before she left the first time this morning and had a decent selection of instant coffee and tea bags to warm them up after being out treating livestock in the freezing weather.
“You are a dear, but no, thank you.” She found an escaped blond curl and tucked it back undercover. “Oh, you know, Irene and I thought we’d do some baking. What sort of cake do you like best, Jack?”
“Cake?”
She smiled even more sweetly and nodded encouragingly.
He shrugged. “Chocolate, I guess.”
“Chocolate. Wonderful. With raspberry filling?”
He shrugged again, wondering what his opinion had to do with anything. “That’s always good.”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” Her pleasure was amazing. “Well, I better let you get back to work. Have a wonderful day, Jack.” She wiggled her fingers at him and was back out the door before he had a chance to respond.
Wonderfully bemused, he stared at the door for a moment, then went back to his desk. That was odd. Especially considering the fact it was Gwen who usually did the baking. She made the most incredible pastries. He made a mental note to stick his nose in at the bookstore across the street, Ex-Libris, where Amanda Bradley let Gwen sell her baked goodies, and snag a muffin or two before he headed home. Perhaps Stella and Irene Caldwell, who also lived at Gwen’s boardinghouse, were helping out in the kitchen. That was very likely, since Irene treated Gwen more like a granddaughter than a landlord. He shrugged and went back to work.
Not fifteen minutes passed before Irene blew into the clinic’s waiting room, a cheery yellow scarf tied over her gray hair and a puffy, quilted black coat bundled around her. In her early sixties, Irene had really found a place to belong when she moved into the boardinghouse six years ago. Her husband had passed away four years before that, and without any children of her own, she’d been too alone.
She spied Jack and headed for him before he had time to get up. “Jack, dear! I’m so glad you’re in. I have a quick question for you, if I may?”
He set his pen down. Clearly, this was going to be one of those days. “Of course, Irene. What can I do for you?”
“Not a thing. It’s only that Stella and I are making a tape of everyone’s favorite slow songs for, ah, for the Founder’s Day celebration dance, and we were wondering what your favorite is? To dance to? Ah, slow?”
“I thought you and Stella were baking today.”
“Are we?”
He raised his brows. Doddering was one thing these older ladies were not.
“Oh, yes.” She put a hand to her cheek and laughed. “Of course we are. But we’re also making a tape. Of music. To dance slow to.”
Jack immediately thought of the song he and Caroline had danced to for the first dance at their wedding. On the sly she’d arranged for the band to start out with a traditional love song, then switch to playing a punk rock song about a white wedding. She’d laughed so hard at the look on his face. If only they could have stayed in that moment. Happy. Safe.
His thoughts must have shown in his expression, because the smile lighting Irene’s softly lined face faltered. Not wanting to distress