Stuck in the Middle (5 page)

DANVILLE WOMAN MAULED BY CRAZED DOG

Keeping a cautious eye on the animal, she asked, “Does he bite?”

“Trigger?” The man gave a snort of laughter. “More likely he’d drown you in slobber. But he does jump, and those claws can do some damage.” He extended his arm to show her a long red scratch.

“Looks painful.” Her gaze rose to his face. Stubble darkened a strong jaw, and greenish eyes smiled at her beneath long, brown lashes. Wavy dark hair brushed at his collar and curled gently over the tops of his ears. Joan suppressed a grin when she saw the dog also had longish curly hair covering his ears. Some people really did resemble their pets. She took a slow step forward, her hand outstretched to the excited animal.

“His name is Trigger? Like half-cocked?”

The man grinned, giving her a glimpse of straight, white teeth. “No, but that fits too. He’s named after Roy Rogers’ horse. Take a look at those paws. They’re as big as hubcaps. I figure by the time he’s full-grown, he might be roughly the size of the original Trigger.”

Laughing, Joan took another step toward Trigger, which put her hand within sniffing range. The dog’s wet nose and tongue investigated her fingers. Still straining at the leash, he rose up on his hind legs, his big puppy paws waving in the air.

“Down,” she said in a firm voice. She dropped her hand, palm open toward the sidewalk, and squatted. When Trigger followed her motion, she rubbed his silky ears. “Good boy.”

“Hey, you’re good with dogs. Do you have one?”

Joan shook her head and allowed the excited animal to lick her hand. “No, but I used to. He died of old age a couple of years ago. He wasn’t this big even fully grown, though.” “Trigger’s only four months old, and he’s already forty pounds. I’m afraid he’s going to be a monster.”

“What breed is he?”

“My sister calls him a Heinz 57. Fifty-seven different breeds, from what we can tell. I think there must be a good percentage of Great Dane in the mix, though.”

Joan cocked her head to examine Trigger. His big snout and the shape of his head did resemble Scooby-Doo, though his spotted brown fur was longish and wavy.

“He looks like he might have some poodle in him too. Did you get a look at his parents when you got him?”

The man dropped down onto his haunches, and Trigger took advantage of the slack in the leash to push forward, knocking Joan on her rear end and covering her face with doggie slobber. Probably licking off the salty sweat. She laughed and pushed him back with a hand on either side of his head as the man tightened the leash.

“Whoa, Trigger. Leave the pretty lady alone. You’re making a bad first impression.”

Startled, Joan looked up to see another flash of white teeth. Pretty? She was sweaty from her run and without a drop of makeup, and this guy called her pretty? She lowered her gaze quickly to the dog again, rubbing his ears and hoping the sudden heat in her face wasn’t obvious.

The man roughed the fur at the top of the dog’s tail. “I didn’t see his parents. I got him from a shelter. Actually, my sister got him from a shelter and gave him to me. My name’s Ken Fletcher, by the way. I moved into the neighborhood yesterday.”

Of course! The doctor. Joan looked up long enough to give him a brief smile. “Welcome to Elmtree Drive. I’m Joan Sanderson, your next-door neighbor.”

“Joan Sanderson! Just the lady I’ve been hoping to meet. Your grandmother tells me you can hook me up with some furniture.”

She hid a grimace. What else did Gram tell him? That she was single and desperate, maybe? “I can, but we specialize in rentals, not sales.”

He shrugged. “I’m renting the house. Might as well rent furniture too. Besides, I don’t have a lot of money. This guy eats half my paycheck.”

He yanked on the leash. Trigger, his eyes half closed as Joan massaged the soft skin at the base of his ears, ignored the tug.

“Does your sister live nearby?” Joan nearly bit her own tongue. She didn’t want to offend him by prying into his personal life. “I mean, so she can help you train your dog.”

Ken shook his head. “’Fraid not. She was hoping I would land a job close to her, but the hospital here is exactly what I want. Plus, there are several smaller hospitals nearby, so I’m hoping to pick up some extra money working at a couple of those. Small-town emergency rooms should be quite a change from Cincinnati, where I did my residency.”

“My mom is a nurse at the hospital. Carla Sanderson. Have you met her?”

He squinted as he considered. “I don’t think so. But I’ve only been here a week, and the names run together. I’m still trying to remember where the bathrooms are, and keeping a low profile where the nurses are concerned.”

“Why is that?”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Your mother works at the hospital and you don’t know? Nurses run everything, of course, and they aren’t impressed with brand-new doctors. My goal is to amaze them with my skill when I’m seeing a patient and keep out of their way the rest of the time.”

Joan laughed. She had heard Mom mention a new doctor or two in less-than-flattering terms. But the nurses wouldn’t have a problem with this guy. He didn’t have the arrogance of some of the physicians Mom complained about. “Sounds like a wise plan.”

Joan glanced at her watch, and then scratched Trigger’s ears with vigor before getting to her feet. Ken did the same.

“I need to get going. It was nice meeting you, Ken. And Trigger too. He’s a great dog. I think your sister picked a good one.”

“Karen told me he’d be a good way to meet women. She said, ‘Chicks dig dogs.’” He flashed a boyish grin and locked eyes with Joan. “Looks like she was right.”

With a shock, Joan realized he was flirting with her. Her face heated again. She had never been good at flirting. That was Tori’s department. Something stupid always managed to come out of Joan’s mouth, something that made her writhe in remembered agony for days afterward. She broke their gaze by bending down to give Trigger’s head a final rub. With any luck he would think she was flushed as a result of her run.

Straightening, she gave Ken what she hoped was a carefree smile. “Come by the store and we’ll get you fixed up. Abernathy Sales and Rental, over in the Danville Manor Shopping Center on the bypass.”

“I’ll be there this week. Sitting on the floor is giving me a stiff back.” He stretched his shoulders backward, and Joan looked away from the sight of firm chest muscles visible beneath his clinging T-shirt. Yeah, he worked out. No doubt about it.

“Nice meeting you, Ken.” She addressed Trigger. “You too, big guy.”

“It was great meeting you, Joan. I’ll talk to you later.” She dipped her head as she walked past him toward home, ignoring Trigger’s disappointed barking at her departure. After a moment the barking stopped, and she heard the scrabble of claws on concrete as they continued on their way. As she turned into her driveway, she risked a look. Ken walked backward down the sidewalk, watching her. He lifted a hand in a friendly wave when she looked up. Blushing to the hair roots, she returned the gesture, ducked her head, and jogged up the front steps, escaping into the house.

When the front door to Joan’s house closed, Ken continued down the sidewalk with Trigger. He could hardly keep the grin off his face. This town was looking better all the time. He’d landed a great job working in his specialty, found the perfect rental house with a fenced yard for the dog his sister saddled him with, and ended up right next door to a gorgeous girl.

“I wasn’t sure about this neighborhood, but so far I like the way things are shaping up.”

Trigger turned his head, an ear perked at the sound of Ken’s voice for a fraction of a second before he resumed his wild attempt to run in four directions at once.

“You know what, boy? Karen was right. Joan liked you, maybe even more than she liked me.” He gave a playful tug on the leash. “You might actually have earned your keep this morning.”

Women had been pushed to the back burner for a while now. Med school absorbed all his time, so the only girls he saw during those four years were other busy med students. Then his residency was unlike anything he’d ever imagined. Who would have thought a person could live through three solid years of such a frantic pace?

Besides, dating required money. He owed tons in student loans, though he had begun to make a dent in the mountain of debt. He should have them paid off in another . . . ten years or so. He grimaced at the thought.

Trigger pulled him down the sidewalk while his thoughts wandered to work. The pace was slower here, for sure, but that didn’t mean he had much downtime. This ER was a busy little place, busier than he would have guessed, and of course they kept a much smaller staff. Many nights during the past two weeks he found himself rushing from patient to patient with barely enough time to gulp down a cup of coffee, just like in the big Cincinnati hospital. Different cases, though. He hadn’t seen a stabbing or drug overdose yet. Nothing more serious than a fractured bone or appendicitis. And that was fine with him.

Now if he could just find a church. But as low man on the totem pole, he’d probably work most weekends, which made hunting for one difficult. Did Joan Sanderson go to church? He hoped so. Maybe he could finagle an invitation to go with her. And then maybe he’d take her out to lunch afterward . . .

Trigger paused in his mad pace to sniff at a bush. The dog circled a few minutes, nose to the ground.

The door of the house they stood in front of burst open, and a woman in a bathrobe stepped out onto the porch. She glared at him across the lawn. “I hope you’re planning to clean up after your dog.”

Ken pulled a wadded-up plastic grocery bag out of his pocket. He held it above his head for her to see. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well.” Her scowl softened a fraction. “See that you do, then.” The front door closed with a bang.

“C’mon, Trigger.” Ken pulled the dog away from the interesting-smelling patch of grass. “Let’s go home. You’ve got a whole yard of your own to sniff.”

~ 4 ~

The organist had begun the prelude by the time Joan found Gram outside the seniors’ Sunday school room and walked with her into the sanctuary. Their noses were assaulted by the startling clash of old lady perfume and gentlemen’s cologne that almost overpowered the musty odor of hymnals. A smiling usher in a dark suit led them down the center aisle to the fourth row. Her face impassive, Joan groaned inwardly. She preferred a pew toward the rear, where she could blend into anonymity in the sea of worshipers. Sitting in the front seemed so . . . showy.

As they crab-walked into the empty space in the center of the pew, the choir filed into the sanctuary through a doorway in the loft. Joan got Gram settled with a tissue and a hymnal before scanning the green-robed figures for her mother. Mom said singing in the church choir and her weekly bowling league were all that kept her sane after the hectic pace of her job at the hospital. Joan found her in her accustomed place among the altos, second row center. Mom caught her eye with a smile and a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Joan opened the bulletin and reached for her own hymnal. She marked page 167 with a blank visitor card and let her gaze travel down the morning’s order of worship to find the next hymn. If only everyone would take the time to find the songs before the service began. All that noise when people shuffled through the pages disrupted the service, and Joan disliked disruption.

The bulletin announced that they would hear from a guest speaker this morning, a woman. Joan searched the platform for an unfamiliar face. Rev. Jacobsen sat in his accustomed place on a bench behind the pulpit. No one sat beside him.

There. On the front pew sat an unfamiliar African American couple.

“Rev. Jacobsen isn’t speaking this morning.” Gram pointed toward the bulletin. “I wonder who Mary Alice Sachs is.”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing that’s her.”

Joan dipped her head toward the couple. They sat facing the front, alone on the first pew. As she watched, the man leaned sideways to whisper something, and the woman nodded in agreement. With a flash of guilt, Joan noticed that no one spoke to them or introduced themselves. Of course, Rev. Jacobsen would have made them feel welcome, since he had obviously invited this woman to speak. And surely the greeters stationed by the door welcomed them when they arrived. That was the greeters’ job, to welcome visitors. But it would be nice if someone in the congregation introduced themselves too.

Perhaps she should . . .

But no. The organist was nearly finished, the choir was in place, and people had stopped filing into the sanctuary. With a rush of relief, Joan decided she would speak to the visiting couple
after
the service. If she had time.

The organ music ended on a triumphant chord that reverberated through the sanctuary, and Rev. Jacobsen stood to welcome them as he did every Sunday. As the congregation followed the order of worship, Joan relaxed into the familiar sequence of events. First a hymn, then a prayer, then announcements, then another hymn before the offering.