The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (29 page)

A stack of file folders hovered in her peripheral vision, calling to her from the dinette table. She should continue her review of patient charts.

She eyed Puff, who was sunning himself on a rock beneath the warming light in his aquarium. “All I ever do is paperwork. In school it was textbooks. Now it's charts or financial records.”

The bearded dragon cracked open an eye, and then closed it again.

A rumble outside drew her attention. She jerked upright. The familiar sound grew louder until it sounded like it was right outside. Leaping off the couch, she raced to the front window as a motorcycle, black paint and chrome gleaming in the April sunlight, pulled into the driveway below her. Justin. Breath caught in her chest, she watched as he lowered the kickstand and dismounted. When he took off his helmet and grinned up in her direction, her heart thudded against her ribcage.

He'd left four voicemails since Tuesday, and five texts. Though she agonized over the decision, she ignored them all. Daddy was absolutely right. A distraction at this critical time could prove disastrous for her fledgling business.

Below, Justin reached down and unhooked the second helmet—
her
helmet—and lifted it toward her in an unspoken invitation. Biting a finger, she glanced behind her at the stack of folders.

They'll still be here tonight.

But the sun would not. Budding trees and foals frolicking across gentle swells of Kentucky pastures called to her. What was she doing inside when she could be out enjoying the day, her arms wrapped around Justin's waist?

With a grin and a nod, she let the curtain fall closed and raced toward her closet for her sturdiest pair of boots.

Chapter Nineteen

J
erry bounced a pencil eraser absently on the polished surface of his desk and spoke into the phone. “You'll hear about it on Thursday, Fred, along with everyone else.”

“We've been friends for a long time. Heck, I even campaigned for you. Can't you give me a hint?”

Everyone in town seemed to be his friend today. Judging by the number of phone calls he'd taken since he arrived at the office this morning, Thursday's town hall meeting would break attendance records. Jerry flipped the pencil over to scribble a note on his to-do list.
Borrow folding chairs from high school.

“It's just that Wilma's been nagging me to death to call you.” Fred's voice held a note of apology.

If Wilma Rightmier got wind of the Council's decision regarding the water tower paint job, three-quarters of the female population of Goose Creek would know it by noon. Of course, that meant they could dispense with the meeting. Rely on the gossip chain to spread the news.

Tempting, but kind of cowardly.

“Sorry, Fred. No can do.” The door opened and Sally stepped into his office holding a sheet of paper. Thankful for an excuse to end yet another awkward call, Jerry said quickly, “Listen, I've got to run. See you Thursday.”

He punched the button to disconnect before Fred could speak
and dropped the receiver into its cradle. “It's not even lunchtime, and that's the eighth call I've had this morning.”

Sally shook her head, her smile sympathetic. “I'm getting the calls too. Where were all these friends when I broke my ankle last year?”

The chair squeaked as he tossed the pencil on the desk and rocked back. “Can't tell you how glad I'll be when this is over. Thursday can't get here soon enough for me.”

“You might not think so when you see this.”

She set the paper on his desk. The heading read PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION PERMIT. Cramped handwriting filled the blanks, and a familiar signature scrawled across the bottom. Norman Pilkington Sr.

A groan rose from the pit of his sinking stomach. “Not again.”

“He just left, looking extremely pleased with himself.” Sally shook her head. “Diane and Phyllis are going to be hysterical.”

“My
wife
is going to be hysterical.” Jerry dug at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“I don't suppose you can get a substitute secretary to take the minutes?”

He scowled up at her. “That depends. Can you get a substitute mayor?”

They shared a laugh, and then Jerry rocked forward to reach for the phone. “I'd better call Sheriff Grimes. He'll have to rally the troops for Thursday.” The memory of the brick resurfaced. “I think I'll ask if he can have his deputies do some extra patrolling in Goose Creek between now and then. Especially around the Council members' homes.”

“Except for a few extra pounds, Rufus is healthy.”

Millie stood beside Susan in the reception area, watching the smelly beagle munch happily on a dog cookie. “So why does he”—she gulped back a queasy wave—“eat poop?”

“Any number of reasons. Some dogs do it out of stress or guilt. If he was scolded when he had accidents in the house, he could be trying to hide it.” She picked up a paper and handed it to Millie. “I've printed off some common reasons, and suggestions on correcting the behavior. But I have to warn you, fixing the coprophagia may not change the way he smells.”

“Surely it will help.”

“Every dog has its own unique odor.” The girl looked apologetic. “I hate to say it, but maybe Rufus just stinks.”

Her pocket beeped, and she extracted her cell phone. Millie noted the appearance of two spots of color on her cheeks as she read the screen.

“Anything important?” Nosy, but only one thing could bring that particular smile to a young woman's lips.

“It's from Justin.” Her voice held a happy tone that matched the flush riding high on her face. “We're having dinner tonight, and he says it's okay to wear sandals since he's in his truck today.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” Millie commented.

“Oh, I don't know. I don't mind the motorcycle.” Her gaze turned shy. “In fact, I like it.”

With an effort, Millie contained her glee at the unspoken admission. Young love was so much fun to watch.

The door opened. She looked up, expecting their next patient. Instead, a couple entered. Tanned, grinning, and wearing matching mouse ears on their heads.

Doc stepped inside, threw his arms wide, and announced, “We're home!”

“Well, sort of.” Lizzie swept across the room and handed both Susan and Millie a small package. “We brought you a souvenir.”

Millie opened the bag and pulled out a snow globe. Inside were two black dots, a miniature top hat, and a tiny orange carrot floating in water. The base read
Florida Snowman
.

“How sweet.” Susan held hers up and shook it. “Thank you.”

Vowing to find a deep drawer for hers, Millie also thanked the grinning couple and tried not to clench her teeth when Lizzie moved the pen cup out of reach.

“How are things going here?” Doc's gaze swept the empty waiting room.

“Picking up,” Millie assured him.

Susan nodded. “Things were kind of rough at first, but I think we hit a turning point last week.”

“Fine, fine.” He rubbed his hands together. “That makes our news easier.”

Millie had seen it coming a week ago. “You're not coming back.”

Lizzie split into a jaw-breaking grin. “That's right! We bought a villa in Orlando and we're moving next week.”

Doc had the grace to look slightly more sympathetic. “Since you're getting your feet under you, there's really no reason for us to stick around. In fact, you'll do better without me hovering over you.”

To her credit, Susan controlled her reaction admirably. She agreed with a smile that only trembled a little and congratulated the Forsythes on their retirement. Millie hugged them both and promised to stop by the house to wish them farewell before the end of the week. When they left with Ajax, she and Susan stared at each other in silence.

“I think he's right,” Millie eventually offered. “If people know Doc is around, they might not be as eager to accept a new veterinarian.”

“I guess so.”

“And you are doing a great job by contacting the former patients.” Millie tapped the appointment chart. “We've gotten three appointments from those phone calls.”

“That's true.”

Susan's pocket beeped again, and the worried creases on her forehead cleared. The pretty blush returned as she read the text. Millie had to bite her tongue to keep from asking what Justin said this time. Instead she moved the pen cup back up onto the counter.

The door opened again. Had Doc forgotten something? Instead, a
man she did not know stepped inside. Tall, broad-shouldered, a smattering of silver in his military-short hair. And no pet.

“Daddy!” Shock rode high in Susan's tone. “What are you doing here?”

Millie studied the man. Strong, square jaw, thin lips that looked like they rarely saw a smile. She detected a slight resemblance in the shape of the eyes, but Susan apparently took after her mother.

He opened his arms wide. “Don't I get a hug?”

Susan crossed the room for an embrace. A little wooden, in Millie's opinion.

Releasing his daughter, he extended a hand toward Millie. “Tom Jeffries. You must be Mrs. Richardson. Susan told me how helpful you've been during the transition.”

She hid a wince at the force of his grip. “Call me Millie. I'm happy to help. You have a wonderful daughter.”

His chest swelled. “Yes, I do.”

“So, what
are
you doing here, Daddy?” Susan voiced the question tentatively.

All trace of geniality cleared from his face. “After our phone call last night, I decided we should talk in person. You obviously need some levelheaded guidance, so I've cleared my calendar for a few days.”

The poor girl's face drained of color. “A few…days?”

“I can stay the week if necessary. Nothing takes priority over my little girl.” He studied her through narrowed eyes. “That's not a problem, is it?”

Susan's hand slipped into her pocket. A struggle plain on her face, the fabric of her lab coat bulged as she clenched her phone in her fist. But she answered in a voice completely void of emotion. “Of course not. I have no plans.”

Millie's heart twisted.

The three o'clock appointment arrived then, a shepherd mix who'd tangled with a raccoon and had a gash in his ear to show for it. Susan ushered the owner and her patient into the back.

Alone with Tom Jeffries, Millie fought a silent battle with herself. She
should
keep her mouth shut. Albert would say Susan's life was none of her business, and he'd be right. But the poor girl had no mother, and clearly the man in front of her was in need of feminine guidance.

She assumed her best maternal smile. “I hope you won't think me impertinent, but I wonder if I could have a word with you about Susan.”

“Of course. I'm always happy to talk about my daughter.”

“I know I've only just met her, but I've grown quite fond of her in the past few weeks, which is the only reason I feel able to talk to you about this.”