The Room with the Second-Best View (3 page)

Across the hallway stood the second guest room. This was her favorite of the five upstairs bedrooms. Not only was it the largest, but this room boasted two floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the
tree-covered backyard. Last summer she'd spied a robin's nest cradled in the branches of the nearest sturdy walnut tree just beyond the window, and had come upstairs often to peer through the glass as the mama bird cared for her eggs. The day the eggs hatched, Millie had remained plastered to the window for hours and had successfully recorded the emergence of one scrawny, scraggly baby on her phone. She'd sent the video to five-year-old Abby, who then called to say, “Grammy, that's even uglier than Ursula in
Little Mermaid
.”

In winter, without the covering of leaves, the bare, prickly branches gave a clear view of the pond, where Canada geese would soon begin to nest. From the master bedroom, located directly beneath this one, Millie and Albert enjoyed an unobstructed view and had already identified three distinct pairs.

Music echoed up the stairway, drawing her away from the window. She'd left her cell phone on the kitchen counter. Someday she would ask someone to show her how to select a ringtone for different people so she could tell who was calling without having to see the display. That way she'd know whether or not to dash for the call. At this time of the afternoon, it might be Alison calling from Italy to say good-night before she went to bed.

Intent on hurrying, Millie hastened down the staircase. Though there was basically zero chance she would make it to the kitchen in time to take the call, something urged her forward. If it
were
her daughter, Millie could call back immediately and hopefully catch her before she silenced her phone for the night.

Hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the staircase, Millie took the last two steps with a hop. The moment the heel of her slipper touched the polished wooden floor, a dreadful certainty seized her. She was going to fall. These adorable fuzzy pink slippers were made for comfort, not for leaping down staircases. Grappling with her right hand, she grabbed the newel post and flailed the air with her left in an attempt to shift her weight to land on the part of her body that possessed the most padding. With a teeth-jarring jolt that sent tears to
her eyes, her posterior thudded onto the bottom step. Or maybe the tears weren't the result of the landing so much as the agony that shot up her arm when her right wrist, wedged between the posts, wrenched sideways.

At first she thought the pounding that penetrated the cloud of agony was only in her mind. She identified hurried footsteps as a figure, blurred behind a veil of tears, rushed toward her. Albert's familiar voice sounded in her ears.

“Mildred Richardson, what have you done?”

Chapter Two

I
t's going to be a small wedding. A few family members in Reverend Hollister's office.” Susan smiled at Mrs. Barnes and positioned the stethoscope drum over the cat's left lung.

“Arnold and I were among your first patients.” Seated in the only chair in the small exam room, the elderly lady's hands rested on the shiny black pocketbook in her lap. “We almost feel like family.”

Susan maintained a pleasant expression, though the urge to laugh nearly overpowered her. On the first day after she bought the Goose Creek Animal Clinic, Mrs. Barnes had nearly ended her career before it began. One minor slipup in referring to Arnold's sixth toe as a mutation—an unfortunate word choice, though entirely accurate—and the sweet little old lady had bristled like a porcupine. She'd called on all her friends to boycott the clinic. Thankfully, Susan had managed to win the approval of enough of Goose Creek's pet owners to keep the clinic afloat.

She kept a gentle hold on Arnold's plump body to keep him from leaping off the metal exam table. The slight wheeze she'd detected in his right lung was more pronounced on this side. A year ago she would have drawn blood and sent it off to the lab, but since moving to Goose Creek, where the feline population nearly equaled the human, she'd become something of an expert in cat maladies. Arnold had feline calicivirus, or possibly herpesvirus. Both infections were
prevalent in shelters and multicat homes, and easily transmitted to other cats through sharing food and water bowls, or coughing and sneezing.

As if to prove her point, Arnold sneezed. A fine mist sprayed the metal surface in front of him.

“The poor dear has been doing that for two days,” Mrs. Barnes said,
tsk-tsk
ing at her pet.

Susan removed the stethoscope from her ears. “How many cats do you have now?”

“Five.” Clear blue eyes twinkled. “The baby came from Tootsie Wootsie's litter.”

Making a mental note to call Tuesday Love, the owner of Tootsie Wootsie and proprietor of Tuesday's Day Spa to schedule an exam, Susan gave Arnold a final stroke along his spine and lifted him from the table.

Mrs. Barnes stood, looped her pocketbook over her arm, and gathered him up. “What's the matter with my little man?”

“He has an upper respiratory infection.” Susan plucked a pen out of her lab coat pocket and picked up Arnold's chart. “We've caught it fairly early, so I think he'll make a full recovery. I'll give you an antibiotic, enough for all your cats. You'll also need to keep them isolated.” She glanced up. “They don't go outside, do they?”

“Weeeeelll.” She lifted Arnold higher in her arms to nuzzle his furry neck with her chin. “Arnold and Belinda do enjoy an afternoon stroll in the sunshine.”

Great. Susan jotted a note on the corner of the chart, a reminder to stock up on antibiotics for the clinic's supply cabinet. “For the next three weeks, please keep them inside. This virus is highly contagious.”

She held the door open for Mrs. Barnes and stopped at the medicine cabinet on the way to the reception area to gather enough antibiotic to treat five cats. Thank goodness Arnold was the last patient of the day, and there had not been another feline in the Kuddly Kitty waiting room when he arrived. There went her plans for a relaxing
evening at home with Justin. It would take a couple of hours to sanitize the clinic.

Alice Wainright, the afternoon receptionist, took the exam sheet from Susan and began keying the codes into the computer.

“And how's poor Fern, dear?” asked Mrs. Barnes.

Only someone who knew Alice as well as Susan did would have noticed the slight wince at the mention of her oldest daughter's name.
Poor Fern
had turned eighteen several months ago and returned home from the juvenile detention center, where she'd lived since being convicted of theft and possession of methamphetamines. Though Alice was shy and private by nature, she'd revealed enough details for Susan to realize her daughter wasn't readjusting well to small-town life. Especially a small town with an active gossip chain and a penchant for dredging up old news if current events didn't provide something juicy enough to keep them entertained.

Alice flashed a smile that faded as quickly as it appeared. “She's a big help to me with the children, watching them while I work.”

Mrs. Barnes's lips tightened and her tone dropped into the disapproving range. “I'm sure she has her hands full with those boys of yours.”

The Wainright brothers enjoyed a reputation around town for being rough-and-tumble and more than a little mischievous. Justin referred to the ten- and eleven-year-olds as
high-spirited.
In Susan's opinion they'd crossed the line between impish and delinquency last fall when they strapped a kite on Nina Baker's dog, Pepe, and tied him to Edith Boling's hundred-and-thirty-pound Boomer, for what became known around town as the Flying Chihuahua Caper. Poor Pepe still had to be sedated whenever a breeze blew.

When Mrs. Barnes and Arnold left, Susan twisted the dead bolt and sagged against the door. “Could you do me a favor before you leave? Call Tuesday Love and ask her to bring her cat in for an exam. Tell her not to worry, but I want to check for a feline virus.”

“Okay.” Alice picked up a note and extended it. “Miss Hinkle
called. She wants you to let her know which florist you've decided to use.”

A familiar pain began in the base of Susan's skull, and she rubbed a knot that had taken up permanent residence in the back of her neck. She didn't want to offend her future aunt-in-law, but Aunt Lorna's phone calls were becoming bothersome. “I've lost count of the times I've told her we're
not
having flowers. Or music. Or printed invitations.” She shoved the note in her pocket, glad once again that she had not given Aunt Lorna her cell number. She'd return the call later, from the office phone. “You might want to add disinfectant solution to the supply list. I'm going to wipe us out cleaning up after Arnold.” She sighed. “It'll probably take all evening.”

“Do you want me to send Fern over to help?” A hopeful expression appeared on Alice's face.

The poor woman had confided her concern over her daughter's inability to find a job. Creekers possessed long memories, and not many were forgiving.

Though Susan sympathized with Alice, the few times she'd met Fern had left her unconvinced of the thoroughness of the girl's rehabilitation. She might be completely trustworthy, but why tempt her with free access to a veterinary clinic, where a variety of medicines were kept in stock?

“Thanks, but I prefer to do it myself. Otherwise I'll worry about cross-infections.” She flashed a quick grimace. “My control-freakish tendencies, you know.”

She was saved from further discussion when her cell phone rang. Retrieving it from her pocket, she glanced at the screen and experienced a pleasant rush of warmth at the appearance of her handsome fiancé's image. With a farewell nod at Alice, she answered the call and headed toward the privacy of her office.

“Hey you,” she said into the phone, using the soft tone she reserved just for him.

“Hey.”

The one word, clipped in a tight tone, told her more than a twenty-minute conversation. She halted and gripped the phone tighter. “What's wrong?”

“It's Millie,” Justin said. “She fell down the stairs and is on her way to the hospital.”

“Were you there when she fell?”

“No, I pulled into the driveway as Al was helping her to the car.”

Car, not ambulance. That was a good sign, anyway.

“I offered to go with them,” he continued, “but she said no. Kept insisting she was fine, but I don't think so. She was white as a sheet and hobbling like a cripple. And crying, though she tried to hide it. Al said he'd call as soon as they knew anything.”

“Keep me posted, okay? I'll be here at the clinic for another couple of hours.”

“I thought you were cooking dinner for me tonight.”

“Change of plans.” She grimaced, though he couldn't see her expression. “I've got cleanup duty here.”

For the first time during the conversation his voice relaxed. “Want some company?”

“If you can operate a mop, I'd love the help.”

A low chuckle rumbled deliciously in her ear. “Last time I checked, my mop operator's license hadn't expired.”

She smiled. How many men would volunteer to scrub floors just to spend time with their woman? There wasn't a luckier girl in all of Kentucky, of that she was certain.