Beauty & the Beasts (7 page)

A few minutes later, loaded down with food, Eric suggested they go in and sit down while they ate. “We can watch a few classes, see what’s coming up, then wander through the barns.”

Madeline smiled happily. “This was such a good idea.”

She wasn’t sure why coming to a horse show at the Evergreen State Fairgrounds in Monroe hadn’t inspired the same anxiety in her that a dinner date would have. It just seemed so much more relaxed. More like something friends would do together. And they didn’t have to stare at each other across a candlelit table and think of witty things to say.

Even the topics they’d covered on the drive here had been uncomplicated. Jess Kerrigan was showing
one of her Arabians later this afternoon in a class for amateur owners. Teresa Hughes and her kids planned to come. That subject exhausted, Eric talked about doctoring horses, more his specialty than Teresa’s, although she’d become increasingly interested, he said, as the whole family got involved with 4-H and cow penning.

“I wish barbed-wire fences would go the way of bell-bottoms,” he’d said, shaking his head. “I treat more cuts than anything else, it seems. A horse will paw at the fence and rip his foreleg open, even get the damned wire wrapped all the way around the pastern.”

“I hate to tell you this, but bell-bottoms have come back in style.”

“What?” He’d shot her a glance. “You’re kidding.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“All right, I wish barbed wire would go the way of…oh, hell, how about disco?”

“That’s probably safe. For a few years.”

Now they found a seat partway up the bleachers overlooking the arena. They watched as the teenagers and their horses trotted and cantered on command from the judges, who stood in the center with clipboards in hand.

“Reverse,” the announcer said, and the riders dutifully swung their horses in neat U-turns so that they were cantering the opposite direction around the perimeter of the ring.

“I like that dapple gray,” Madeline said between bites of her hot dog. “The one with the boy—that
one.” She pointed as the pair passed in front of them, the canter perfectly collected, the horse’s neck arched and the pale mane foaming over-the boy’s quiet hands.

Eric took a swig of his coffee and nodded. “And the bay.”

The gray took home the huge blue rosette, while the bay inexplicably got left out of the honors. Eric grumbled amiably while they argued about who ought to win out of the next batch, a yearling halter class. The lanky youngsters fidgeted and rolled their eyes and flared their nostrils as the judges solemnly circled them and made notes on their clipboards.

After studying the program and agreeing that they wanted to be back in time to see Jess and the costume class afterward, Eric and Madeline followed the yearlings out, watching them dance skittishly on impossibly slender legs while their trainers or owners made soothing noises.

“What fun,” Madeline said a little wistfully. She’d been as horse-crazy as any other girl, but instead of having a chance to indulge in her dream, she’d spent her childhood as far from green pastures as you could get: among the concrete building blocks and freeway cloverleafs of Southern California. She’d spent it, not on horseback, but in front of a camera.

“Do you ride?” Eric asked.

“I’ve only been a few times,” Madeline admitted. “You know, rent a horse for an hour. The kind of thing where you plod along a trail in a dutiful line behind the wrangler. Or do I mean baby-sitter?”

“Want to learn?”

She studied him warily. “Do you mean it?”

“I have a horse, you know. A quarter-horse mix, nothing fancy, but she’s easygoing. When you get a little more confident, I can borrow one of Teresa’s or Jess’s and we can go trail riding. The real thing, not a plod.”

Excitement bubbled in her, as if she were a girl again being offered this same chance. But she wasn’t a girl anymore; his offer sounded so long-term, as though she’d be over at his place—or wherever he kept his horse—often. As though he took for granted her compliance.

And she still didn’t know why he wanted to spend time with her. Was it only her face and figure that interested him?

“I…wouldn’t mind trying it,” she said, figuring she wasn’t committing herself to anything.

“Good.” He smiled, took her hand and drew her into the first long barn.

She’d always liked the smells of manure and wood shavings and hay and leather soap. Absurdly conscious of the warmth of his hand engulfing hers, she wandered with Eric down the aisle lined with stalls. Horses popped their noses inquiringly through the bars, and Madeline used their lure as an excuse to withdraw her hand from Eric’s. Wary of the horses’ big yellow teeth, she tentatively stroked velvet muzzles.

Show ribbons festooned some stalls, and a few silver bowls were proudly displayed on wooden chests. Owners groomed the handsome animals cross-tied in
the sawdust-floored aisle. A few of the riders, wearing flowing robes, were tying ribbons into their horses’ manes and loading them down with jeweled tack and tiny silver bells and colorful satin draperies for the costume class þo come.

Eventually they found Jess, already leading a dainty gray mare out of the barn.

“Hi!” she called. “Did you come to cheer me on?”

“Absolutely,” Madeline said warmly. “Are your girls here? Oh, there they are. Hi, Sarah. Hi, Steph.”

Teenagers now, the two dark-haired girls smiled and said, “Hello, Ms. Howard. Hello, Dr. Bergstrom.”

“Either of you showing?” he asked.

“I am tomorrow,” the older and taller of the two said. “It’s my first time in anything bigger than the Stanwood Fair.” She made a face. “I’m really nervous.”

“I’ve seen you ride. You’ll do great.” His smile would have brought a blush to the cheeks of any female between ten and eighty. It didn’t fail with Sarah.

“Thanks, Dr. Bergstrom.”

This time Madeline and Eric sat with Jess’s daughters and Teresa Hughes and her kids. Jess rode with flair and dignity and left the ring clutching the blue ribbon.

Almost immediately the ten entrants in the costume class swept into the arena, the horses moving in a high-stepping trot that made robes and manes fly. The crowd cheered. Madeline found herself smiling,
although she couldn’t imagine any selfrespecting Arab nomad wearing purple satin or robes in a rainbow of velvet. The riders might have looked silly, had the horses not been so magnificent. They cantered and galloped and pranced, ducking their heads and preening as though they knew well their own beauty.

The rider and snow white stallion in purple satin won; second place went to a bay bedecked in brilliant green and black.

Madeline sighed in contentment. Eric smiled. “Once you learn to ride, the world’s your oyster. You, too, could don ten yards of gaudy fabric and gallop around the ring.”

“They were more artistic than that,” she protested. “But no, thank you, I don’t think it’s for me. I’m too shy and retiring.” Not entirely true, but she’d come to dislike the idea of putting herself on display for any reason.

Eric opened his mouth as though to say something, but changed his mind. She almost pressed him, but refrained; she was afraid she knew what he would have said.
You’d look beautiful.

Steph popped up with a comment just then, and they left the arena with the girls, any private conversation impossible. On the way home Eric put Madeline at her ease by asking when she was doing the next adoption day. Here she was on confident ground; as he’d said himself, the way they felt about animals was the one thing they did have in common.

“Tomorrow,” she told him. “That big new pet-supply store in north Everett, near the Safeway. They
don’t sell animals, bless their hearts. Eleven to three. I’ll be surprised if I don’t place eight or ten kittens and turn down half a dozen people who want one just because it’s little and cute. You know, the kind that lose interest when the poor animal has the nerve to grow up.”

“Yeah, the ones who dump their pets out on a deserted road and figure they can take care of themselves.”

“I’d like to ‘take care of the former owners,” she said.

He looked at her with interest. “Do you think you’re successful in screening out that kind of person?”

“Reasonably.” She wrinkled her nose. “I know we mess up sometimes, because someone I thought was really nice will end up bringing a cat back for the worst reasons. But most of the time…well, I hope. The best way to judge is by asking about the animals they’ve owned in the past. If their nineteen-year-old cat died of kidney failure six months ago and now they’re done with their mourning enough to be ready to choose another one, I can be pretty sure they’ll be good owners. On the other hand, if they used to have cats but are vague about what happened to them, I tend to make excuses.” She sighed. “I just hope that tomorrow a few people come along who are willing to consider an adult cat. I have a couple of especially nice ones.”

His mouth crooked. “I’ll bet you always say that.”

“Well—” Madeline laughed “—maybe. The
trouble is, we always have a dozen or more waiting for adoption, and I like them all. People dump the sweetest animals. I just don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it, either.” He was silent for a moment. “Maybe I’ll stop by. I’m off tomorrow. Can I bring you lunch?”

A shiver of something between fear and anticipation traveled up her spine. He was pursuing her. And she still didn’t know why.

“I usually skip it when I’m doing an adoption. Too busy talking. But that would be nice if you keep it simple. A bagel with cream cheese or a hamburger….”

He gave her a sidelong amused glance. “Oh, come on, you must want the milk shake and fries and onion rings and apple pie to go with it, don’t you?”

She punched his arm. “I’m not that big a pig!”

“Did I use that word?”

“I know I ate a lot today. But I don’t
always.
I’m like…like a big cat in the wild. When I eat, I stuff, then I go a long time before I eat again.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

He grinned. “Yeah, actually I do. If you ate like you did today all the time, you’d be built like that cat at the shelter.”

Not beautiful was what he meant. A hot spurt of temper made her retort too sharply, “Jackson is handsome. Stately.”

“From a medical standpoint, obese.”

“So he’s ugly, I suppose.”

Eric raised a brow. “I didn’t realize we were talking
aesthetics here. I didn’t say he wasn’t handsome. Sure he is. But he’s still fat. He eats too much. You obviously don’t. I wasn’t implying anything else.”

He sounded exasperated and she didn’t blame him. She’d gotten paranoid, assuming the entire world was focused on appearances because the part of it she’d grown up in was. And, she reminded herself, because most men seemed focused on women’s figures and faces. Including Eric Bergstrom. Still…

“You’re right,” she admitted. “He’s fat.”

“Saints be praised! The woman conceded a point!”

“Do I detect some sarcasm?”

“Never.” He put on the turn signal. “This street?”

A moment later they pulled up in front of her tiny old house, a source of great pride and joy to her. Like the others on this block, it had been built as company housing by one of the giant lumber mills in the early years of the century. The houses had eventually become shabby, mostly rentals; a few had been razed to make way for bigger houses or, down at the corner, a five-unit apartment building. But now most of the ones along her street were being restored to their former charm by young families or single professionals who commuted to Bellevue or Seattle daily. Madeline, had painted hers sea-foam green with white trim. A white picket fence marked the boundaries of her front yard. She loved that white picket fence. She’d always wanted one.

Today it represented refuge.

“Thanks,” she said, hand on the door handle. “I had a great time.”

Formidably handsome, Eric smiled. “I’ll walk you up.”

A flutter of panic raised her voice an octave. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

Now that smile had become implacable. “I want to.”

He was going to kiss her. She knew it. And she wasn’t ready, hadn’t the slightest idea how she’d respond, how she
should
respond. Dear God, how had she let herself get so out of practice,
so…naive?

But it was too late to argue; he was already out of the pickup and circling the front. Hastily she scrambled down. Heaven forbid that he think she was waiting for him to help her out. By the time she slammed the passenger-side door, Eric had opened her front gate, which passed under a white-painted arch covered with a tangle of honeysuckle and royal purple clematis.

On the way up the walk, Madeline unzipped her waist pack and grabbed her keys. She had the door unlocked and open before she turned to face Eric. One cat hopped from the porch railing to rub her ankle and go in; two others shot out of the house and down the steps as though they were convicts escaping the joint.

Only peripherally aware of the feline activity, Madeline said, “I really did have a lovely time today. Thanks.”

He took a step closer; as if they were dancing, she took one back. Creases formed between his brows
and then he inclined his head, as though acknowledging her wishes.

“Unless something comes up, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Madeline agreed and, refusing to let herself watch him as he headed down the walk, gently closed the door. Safely alone, she let out her breath with a long shuddering whoosh.

He was a stubborn man. She hadn’t deliberately set out to be difficult, but she knew she was. Why wasn’t he calling one of the many single women out there who would be delighted to date Dr. Eric Bergstrom, who would be eager for his kisses?

Why her?

And how would she feel if he did give up, if he didn’t show tomorrow and didn’t call again?

E
RIC OPENED
his door to find Hannah sitting just inside, gazing up at him with patient eyes. Waiting. There was something so trusting about her and yet also so vulnerable that a rush of painful feelings filled his chest. He knelt and picked her up.

“I’m home, Hannah,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’ll come home every day and you’ll be here every day. Forever and ever. I promise. Got it?” All the while he stroked, his fingers finding the places that brought forth a contented purr.