The Dashing Doc Next Door Page 4

  Her aunt was still a pretty woman, despite the dark shadows that remained under her eyes. Her slender face showed few wrinkles for a woman who loved spending her free time away working in her yard. They shared the same large, doe-shaped brown eyes and petite build—as had Brooke’s mother. Brooke often wondered if this was what her mother would be starting to look like if she’d lived. Unfortunately, Marsha had long been taking her health for granted, and her doctor had cited concern over her low blood pressure and anemia, as much as the osteoporosis.

  “Don’t worry about me. You’re supposed to build up your blood as well as your strength,” Brooke said, and set to work opening the silverware packet, then pulled off the foil lid on the juice cup. “Take a sip of this apple juice. I’ll bet you haven’t taken enough liquids today to help dissolve all of those vitamins and medications they’re giving you.”

  “Please. The other half of my exercise is reaching for the call button to get a nurse in to empty my bag,” her aunt muttered. “At any rate, I don’t like juice, you know that. Too icky sweet. If I promise to drink some water, will you pour this down the sink?”

  “Fair enough.” Once Brooke returned, she said, “I was so eager to tell you about how good business was at the shop today that I forgot to tell you that I met the older gentlemen who spend the day at Gage’s clinic. They all asked about you and sent their best.”

  “How sweet. They can be such a bunch of characters.” Marsha halfheartedly broke off a bit of muffin and nibbled on it. “Isn’t it kind of Gage to let them roost there? That’s how I think of them—a motley group of roosters trying to still strut their stuff.”

  “Having come from a rather large family, I guess Gage misses having more people around,” Brooke replied without thinking. Belatedly intercepting her aunt’s look of amusement and unabashed satisfaction, she quickly regretted the comment.

  “You two have been visiting more,” Marsha said with a satisfied nod.

  “Not really. There’s been no time.”

  Looking unconvinced, her aunt pointed out, “You’ve been sharing details about family.”

  Brooke took great pains in cutting chicken off the bone. “I felt I had to make polite conversation while walking through the neighborhood with him to find Humphrey. It would have been rude not to, what with him donating his time and showing so much interest in how we’re doing.”

  “Yes, it would, and I’m proud of you,” Marsha replied. “Because, although I adore you, you can be a bit—”

  Brooke’s breath all but locked in her throat. “A bit what?” Her aunt was never anything but complimentary and supportive. Was she about to get criticized?

  “Insular.”

  “That’s an awful thing to say.”

  “I’m not being judgmental. It’s the place you’ve found yourself at this point in time. The sad thing will be if you stay like that.”

  Her aunt’s opinion stung because Brooke wasn’t stuck in any mode of behavior; she was unemployed, and that had happened because of decisions out of her control. She hated feeling like just another piece of flotsam as a result of “government regulation”—and her helplessness and the injustice of it made her all the less eager to talk about it. How did she explain this to her aunt when Marsha could barely balance a checkbook, let alone do quarterly reports for Newman’s Florist and Gifts? She was that clueless about how the financial world operated; never mind what it meant to be a young, single woman holding her own in such a male-dominated cutthroat world. Why, if Brooke wasn’t handling the accounting side of her aunt’s business, Marsha wouldn’t still be open today! What seemed “insular” to her was savvy and self-protective to Brooke.

  “Anyway,” Brooke said, forcing herself to put her aunt’s need for calm first, “Gage told me that he left Montana because he didn’t like freezing for that much of the year.”

  Marsha looked a bit dazed for a moment and then caught up with their conversation. “That’s what I remember, too. Having emergency calls in blizzards can’t be any fun.”

  As her aunt reached for the muffin again, Brooke sighed, scooped a bit of rice and chicken up with the fork, and held it up to Marsha’s mouth. “Try this.”

  “Oh, Brooke, I’m not totally incapacitated. You don’t need to feed me.”

  “Well, you don’t seem to want to do more than pluck at crumbs like a finch. Cooperate—and then I’ll let you hold the fork.” After her aunt obliged, Brooke set the fork on her side of the plate. “Now that I have your attention, there’s something else we really should discuss.”

  “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

  Able to smile at her aunt’s childlike tone, Brooke launched into news she was sure her relative would like. “It’s about the store’s windows. Kiki offered to spruce them up and put in some Fourth of July decorations.” What Kiki had actually said was that it was embarrassing to still have the spring/Easter decorations up, and that even customers were asking when they were going to catch up with the calendar—and the rest of the shops on Main Street.

  “It’s still spring,” Marsha protested. She suddenly looked smaller and weaker as she sank deeper into the pile of pillows behind her. “This whole acceleration of holidays is getting out of hand. You watch, in August, they’ll have Halloween decorations on the same aisle as school supplies. Tell her to wait until after the fifteenth. By then I should be able to help her.”

  Incredulous, Brooke said gently, “Aunt Marsha...dear...you’ll be lucky if you’re moved to the rehab facility by then. Now, Kiki is more than capable of doing this. You taught her well, and she’s had good schooling in marketing and design. At least let her draft an idea for you about what she’d like to do.”

  “That sounds expensive. For once I’m taking your advice, Ms. Financial Expert. There shouldn’t be any spending on new things. There are plenty of decorations up in the loft.”

  Years ago, Newman’s Florist and Gifts was the site of Sweet Springs Farm Supply, and the upstairs—still accessible by the back steps—was still a good second-story storage place for inventory, decorations and supplies. But after talking to Kiki and jointly taking a look up there, Brooke had agreed with the younger woman’s perspective.

  “Most of what’s up there is showing its age and should be thrown out, Aunt Marsha,” Brooke reported, combining both her and Kiki’s conclusions. “Why not let us do a real renovation and scrap what isn’t up to the store’s standards?”

  “But people always look forward to the displays I do.”

  “And next year, they’ll enjoy it again. But in the meantime, there’s another good reason to do some purging. If—Heaven forbid—there was a fire, there’s enough clutter up there to burn down the whole block.”

  Marsha suddenly moaned. Seconds later, she pressed one hand to her hip, then the other to her chest.

  “What is it?” Immediately concerned, Brooke was on her feet. “Is the pain worse?” She knew her aunt’s chart as well as the nurses and remembered Aunt Marsha wasn’t due another pain pill until ten o’clock. “I’ll get a nurse.”

  “Just give me a minute.” Marsha’s voice was all tight, the words clipped, as though she was enduring a cramp or spasm of some kind.

  Finally sighing with relief, her aunt shifted her gaze out at the pretty landscaping. Amid decades-old pines, there were beds of azalea and rosebushes providing blossoms three seasons of the year.

  “Whew. It’s moments like this that you realize you’re getting old.” She slid an apologetic glance at Brooke. “It’s not that I’ve intentionally neglected taking care of things upstairs. There just never seems to be enough time to do the serious cleaning out that it deserves.”

  “Oh, Aunt Marsha, we know,” Brooke declared. “Look, I’m here. There’s no reason not to make good use of that. What’s more, Kiki has a strong affection and devotion to you, too. We can do a little work upstai
rs every day, and before you know it, we’ll have things refreshed and the inventory in good shape.” “Kiki,” as Kimberly Katherine Webb was known around town, had just graduated from the community college nearby and had worked at the shop since high school.

  “She’s been a good girl,” Marsha admitted.

  “She’s twenty-one,” Brooke reminded her patiently. “A young woman, and if the economy wasn’t so challenging, she would probably already be gone trying to make better use of that business and marketing expertise. You have to let me give her more responsibility or she might yet take the gamble and fly off on her own. I promise you, Aunt Marsha, gifts like Kiki don’t come every day.”

  As Marsha opened her mouth to reply, Brooke’s phone buzzed. She rose to take it out of her pocket and saw the caller was Gage. He’d given her his cell phone number upon her arrival in town last Sunday.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, certain that he wouldn’t have intruded on her time with her aunt if something hadn’t happened.

  “Humph is howling. It’s not a complaining type of cry. This sounds serious. Could he have gotten into something that could hurt him?”

  That dog, Brooke thought. “I can’t see how. Hold on.” To her aunt, Brooke said, “Humphrey seems to be in distress.”

  “Is he choking? Could there be smoke coming from the air conditioner? Did you leave the oven on?” Marsha asked with growing concern. “I don’t remember when I last gave it a good cleaning. Oh, go, Brooke. I won’t be able to live with myself if my little boy gets hurt.”

  Was her aunt tearing up? Disconcerted by the idea, as well as the thought that she might have done something she couldn’t remember that was endangering Humph, Brooke said into the phone, “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  Minutes later Brooke pulled into the driveway at her aunt’s house. Gage stood at the gate using the time to do some texting. What’s more, he’d been home long enough to shower—his wet hair was a clear giveaway—and to change into a clean white T-shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. Although she couldn’t ignore the little flutter inside from noticing how good he looked—wide shoulders, flat stomach and strong legs—she wondered why he wasn’t at the door or windows peering into Aunt Marsha’s house to see if the fire department or sheriff’s office needed to be called, too.

  “I’m so sorry for the noise,” she said, as she got out of her BMW and used her remote to lock up. Almost immediately she heard Humphrey’s wails coming from inside. That stopped her from asking the countless questions that had flooded her mind between the hospital and here. Humphrey was so loud it was a miracle the neighbors across the street hadn’t yet complained. Then again, they were much older than Aunt Marsha and liked to watch TV in their sunroom in the back of their house. No doubt the volume was set high, too. “I didn’t realize you would make it home this early,” she added as Gage opened the back gate for her.

  With a grimace, he said, “The owner had waited too long before calling me. The only humane thing to do was to put down the cow.”

  The jarring news sent Brooke stumbling over a concrete step stone. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the waist and steadied her. She cast him an apologetic look over her shoulder. “And now I’m making you listen to this. I’m so sorry.”

  “No need. But I’ll come with you if you don’t mind, in case Humph needs medical attention.”

  Brooke had already sent up a quick prayer that wouldn’t be the case. She didn’t want to think about having to bring bad news to her aunt.

  Her hands weren’t quite steady as she unlocked and opened the door. Then she saw Humphrey sitting a few yards away. When he gave her a toothy grin and wagged his tail in welcome, she thought, What on earth?

  After glancing around to see that nothing seemed amiss, she muttered, “Devious dog.” Both she and Gage had been played for fools. “I should have known you were a born con artist.”

  As Humphrey hung his head and eyed her sheepishly, Gage tried but failed at subduing his laughter. That had the basset hound trotting to him and woofing as though in total agreement that what he’d pulled was great fun.

  “Stop that!” Brooke protested as Gage stooped to rub the dog’s extra rolls of skin. “You know this is all because of your bright idea about him being lonely and in need of companionship. Now you’ve made things worse with all of that dog-sitting psychology.”

  She set her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and returned, hands on hips, to confront the four-legged conniver. As Humphrey raised his paw toward her, she muttered, “Don’t even pretend that you’re experiencing separation anxiety from me. I left Aunt Marsha near tears. She thinks that you were somehow injured or in danger.”

  With one more reassuring pat for Humphrey, Gage rose. “What you need is a glass of wine. Do you mind?”

  Before Brooke could respond, he headed for the refrigerator, which quickly had her narrowing her eyes with growing speculation. Sure enough, he brought out an open bottle and then took two glasses from the china hutch in the breakfast nook.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you know your way around here?”

  “I was waiting for the right moment. Would this be the time to tell you that I know where the spare key is hidden?” Gage’s look held no less appeal than Humph’s had.

  Meaning that he could have come inside and checked on Humphrey himself if there had really been an emergency. The stinker...and so was her aunt! Marsha had to have surmised quickly that there had been no crisis. She’d just wanted to escape finishing a conversation she didn’t want to have and, too, eating a dinner she had no interest in.

  “So much for thinking Humphrey’s the only conniving one,” she began.

  “I had hoped that Marsha would have told you by now.” As he poured the red wine, Gage did manage to look uncomfortable at finding himself in this position.

  Able to appreciate he’d been caught in an unenviable position, Brooke wearily rubbed at her brow. “There’s been too many other things going on.”

  Nodding, Gage said, “If it will reassure you, move the key until she’s out of the hospital. The last thing I want is for you to have doubts about me.”

  He was as sensitive as he was a gentleman, and she’d been around him enough to gauge he was sincere. “What I should do is go back and make Aunt Marsha eat every bite of her dinner. I just know she feigned angst to force us to spend more time together, too.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her.” Gage handed her a glass, his smile coaxing. “She means well. She probably could see that you’re burning the proverbial candle on all sides and could use an early night. Beautiful as ever,” he assured her, as she self-consciously rubbed at nonexistent mascara under her eyes, “but in need of a break from being a perfectionist.”

  Was she that? Disciplined and devoted, maybe; however, accepting that to argue would only prove Gage right, Brooke gestured to the back porch. “Would you like to sit outside?”

  “Don’t you want to call your aunt just in case?”

  “She showed you where the extra key was hidden,” was all Brooke replied. It struck her that was how Gage had gained entrance on Sunday to help Marsha after her fall. In all that had been happening since Sunday, she’d overlooked that critical detail. “If we turn on the ceiling fan, it should be pleasant,” she added, trying to suppress her annoyance with her relative. “And the breeze will help keep the mosquitoes away.”

  “Perfect.” Gage whistled to Humphrey. “Come on, old man. You get a reprieve. Go roll in the grass and maybe a dragonfly or two will come by to entertain you.”

  Humphrey waddled outside and eased himself down the three stairs. Then, with a deep sigh of relief—or contentment—he plopped himself on to the grass and gazed at his domain with satisfaction.

  Brooke and Gage settled on the glider and tasted their wine. The flavor was lush and fr
uity with a teasing peppery finish—exactly what the end of a hot summer day called for. Brooke couldn’t remember when she’d last given herself an evening to just...unwind.

  “I wish I could understand him half as well as you do,” Brooke said, nodding toward the hound.

  “I have an added edge—I see him more often than you do, and I’ve been around animals all my life.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You have a gift. Aunt Marsha calls you a dog whisperer.”

  Gage uttered a dismissive sound. “There’s no magic. All the old guy—or any animal for that matter—wants is food, security and companionship.”

  “That sounds fairly universal for humans, as well. It’s the quantity and timing that seems to cause the problems.” Realizing that she could well be discussing her own life, she said abruptly, “So tell me, how was your day?”

  “You’ve heard enough. It doesn’t get better.”

  “How awful.”

  “Well, you’re saving me from dwelling too much over it.”

  That pleased her. “You really have a tough job for someone who’s so easygoing and good-natured,” she said. “I guess I’ve never thought about all that goes into being a veterinarian.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for sympathy...but I’ll take the compliments.” After Brooke’s soft laugh, he grew philosophical. “There’s a downside to every occupation. What would you be doing in Dallas on a gorgeous evening like this?”

  “Not enjoying it, that’s for sure. Before my department was shut down, I’d probably be taking a meeting or eating takeout while studying client portfolios.” That sounded as dry to her as the actual work could be.

  “If you have to work late, you should at least eat well.”

  “And I do. Did. I have to confess, I’m not much of a cook. Besides, it’s always seemed a waste of time to go through so much trouble for just myself.” That earned her a concerned frown from Gage, and she concluded that he thought her boring. With a twinge, she thought he hadn’t been the only one.