A Perfect Holiday Fling

A PERFECT HOLIDAY FLING

by

Farrah Rochon

Nicobar Press

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Farrah Roybiskie

Cover by Mae Phillips of CoverFreshDesigns.com

ISBN: 978-1-938125-07-2

Kindle Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A Perfect Holiday Fling

Chapter One

A plume of pungent smoke wafted from the charred skillet as Stefan Sutherland dunked it into a sink full of water. Using a spatula, he scraped the stubborn bits of trout still stuck to the pan.

The cool points he’d scored for taking his nephew fishing this morning were null and void after rendering today’s catch unrecognizable. It was probably a good thing that when Stefan had asked Jacob what he wanted for lunch he’d answered beef ravioli. Chef Boyardee to the rescue.

He snatched the checkered dishcloth from the counter and dried his hands, his eyes focused on the scene outside the kitchen window. He watched as his nephew hunted for twigs and sticks that would be used to build a fire during their campout tomorrow night. A wad of hurt burned Stefan’s throat as he regarded the doleful expression etched across Jacob’s face. Even when doing something that should have been fun, that trace of sadness was always there.

Stefan rubbed the back of his neck. He had to figure out a way to put more than just the occasional smile on that kid’s face. Jacob was only five years old, for heaven’s sake. Smiling and laughing was a part of the job description.

He walked over to the pantry in his twin sister Stefanie’s yellow and white kitchen. It was so like Stef, sunny and optimistic, and the antithesis of the dreary galley kitchen in his matchbox apartment back near the naval base in Norfolk.

Stefan lifted a can of pasta from the shelf. His sister knew her son well. Before leaving for her six-month deployment in Afghanistan, she’d stocked the pantry with several dozen cans of Beef Ravioli, Beefaroni, and what he had quickly learned was his nephew’s favorite, Mini Dinosaurs and Meatballs.

He was emptying the second can of ravioli into a saucepan when he heard a loud shriek coming from outside the window.

Stefan’s head popped up in time to see Jacob sliding down the shallow embankment at the far edge of the backyard. He dropped the can and tore out of the kitchen, cursing through clenched teeth as he hustled down the back porch steps.

“Jacob,” Stefan called, keeping his voice calm so as not to frighten his nephew. The crunch of the leaves beneath his feet was deafening as panic magnified his senses.

“Jacob,” Stefan called again past the tightness in his throat.

“Uncle Stefan,” Jacob cried out.

In the seconds it took to cover the twelve yards from the back porch to the narrow drainage ditch that lined the back of the property, a dozen scenarios flashed through Stefan’s brain. None of them contained the scene he found when he reached the ditch’s edge. Jacob stood next to the culvert, the soles of his SpongeBob SquarePants tennis shoes submerged in muck.

But instead of the fear he’d expected to find on his nephew’s face, there was a huge smile. The expression was so rare; it caught Stefan completely off-guard, rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Look, Uncle Stefan!” Jacob held up a muddy, pudgy white and gray-colored cat. “I heard him crying. He was stuck in that hole.” He nodded toward the drain pipe that led to the town’s water system. “He’s got a cut on his ear. See?” Jacob said, holding the cat out toward him.

Stefan stood with his hands on his hips, still trying to catch his breath. The short dash from the house hadn’t winded him. It was the fear of finding his nephew face down and unconscious in the boggy ditch that had adrenalin still racing through his bloodstream. From the moment he’d agreed to care for Jacob during his sister’s deployment, Stefan’s biggest fear was having to deliver news that he’d, in some way, caused harm to her child.

His chest expanded with the deep, relieved breath he inhaled. He gingerly walked down the slope and into the ditch, hauling both his nephew and the cat into his arms. He set them on the ditch’s bank and made a mental note to look into having a fence installed around his sister’s property.

Stefan climbed out of the ditch and cleaned his muddy hands on his shirt, then he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his nephew.

“Didn’t we agree that you weren’t supposed to go past the tree?” he said, nodding to the towering pecan tree that shaded much of the left side of the backyard.

Jacob’s smile vanished. His head dropped, and a muffled “I’m sorry,” barely made it to Stefan’s ears.

His eyes pinched closed, and he instantly regretted his harsh tone. Stefan dropped to his haunches.

“Hey,” he said, hooking his thumb under Jacob’s chin and lifting his face. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay, buddy?”

“But he was crying,” his nephew murmured. “I had to save him. And he’s bleeding, Uncle Stefan. He’s gonna die.”

Stefan noticed the white fur on the cat’s ear had a pinkish tint, and was getting pinker by the minute. He blew out a sigh.

“Let’s take it inside. Maybe we can put a Band-Aid on it.” He took the cat from Jacob and started for the house, calling over his shoulder, “Leave your muddy shoes on the porch.”

One thing Stefan had discovered in the week and a half since he’d been here was that keeping a three bedroom, two and a half bathroom creole-style cottage clean was a thousand times more work than a barely four-hundred square foot studio apartment.

He brought the cat into the downstairs half-bath. The minute he sat it on the counter, the pudgy rascal tried to scamper off.

“No you don’t.” He caught it by the scruff of his neck.

“You gonna choke him, Uncle Stefan!”

His nephew’s horrified expression had Stefan quickly releasing his hold on the cat. He drew it close to his chest and inspected the ear.

“You want to get me a couple of Band-Aids?”

The boy nodded and took off for the upstairs bathroom.

Stefan regarded the jagged tear on the cat’s ear and knew a Band-Aid wouldn’t cut it. He slumped against the sink. A roughed up cat had not been a part of his babysitting detail.

He wondered if he could somehow get rid of it before Jacob made it back downstairs. He could say the cat had jumped out of his arms and raced out the back door.

Except that the back door was closed. And he could already hear his nephew’s feet padding down the stairs.

And the kid wasn’t stupid.

Jacob returned with a box of SpongeBob bandages. He’d also brought along a large bath towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Yep, smart kid.

Jacob handed the alcohol to Stefan. “It’s gonna sting for just a little while,” he whispered to the cat. “But it will feel better.”

Stefan set the cat on the counter, but then Jacob’s gasp drew his attention from the injured ear he was preparing to clean. Eyes wide, his nephew pointed to Stefan’s shirt. He looked down to find it covered in blood, a lot more blood than what was coming from the cat’s ear.

“Aw, shit.”

Jacob’s eyes grew wider, and Stefan remembered his sister’s warning about swear words being off limits.

Yet she’d left a fourteen-year Navy man in charge of her son.

“Sorry,” Stefan mumbled.

“We need to take him to the animal doctor,” Jacob said.

“No, no. He’s okay.” He was
not
spending money taking this cat to the vet. “We just need to keep pressure on his cuts.” But when he took his hand away, it too was covered in blood.

“But, Uncle Stefan, he’s gonna die.”

Jacob’s choked cry sent an arrow of despair spearing through Stefan’s chest. He looked down at the boy and saw the unmistakable moisture collecting around his eyes.

Shit!

The kid had been through so much already this year, losing his dad in an automobile accident, and then having his mom called to serve in a war. The smile he’d spotted on Jacob’s face when he’d found the cat was the first one Stefan had witnessed since he’d come to Maplesville. If the cat died, who knew what that would do to Jacob.

The fact that the cat, who’d been feisty and ready to run just a few minutes ago, was now docile and listless, told Stefan all he needed to know. He wrapped him up in the plush bath towel.

“Come on.” He motioned for Jacob to follow him into the living room. “Sit here for a minute,” he said, placing the swaddled cat into his nephew’s outstretched arms. “I’ll get us clean clothes to change into and we’ll take the cat to the animal doctor.”

He went into the spare room he’d claimed for himself and changed out of the bloody shirt and muddy sweatpants, and into a dark green Henley top and jeans. He stopped in Jacob’s room across the hallway and grabbed pants, a sweater, and a pair of tennis shoes from his closet.

On his way back downstairs, Stefan embarked upon the first step and had to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling.

“Dammit!”

Dread clawed up his throat.

Stefan tried to tell himself that tripping on the top step had just been a clumsy mistake, but after years of physical training at the Naval Academy and over a decade in combat, he was as agile as that cat downstairs. Clumsiness wasn’t to blame for his near fall; the repercussions from an IED hitting its mark was the cause.

A familiar mixture of anxiety and alarm knotted his stomach. He hadn’t had an incident in over two months, and had started to believe that his depth perception was improving. He thought the surgery he’d had to repair his optical nerve had been successful. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Uncle Stefan?” Jacob’s timid voice floated up from the living room.

“On my way,” Stefan called as he continued down the stairs. He dropped the clothes and tennis shoes on the sofa next to Jacob and lifted the cat from his arms. “Go and change out of those muddy clothes, and then we’ll take the cat to the animal doctor.”

***

“Dr. Webber?”

Calista Webber held up one finger. “Seven seconds,” she murmured as she watched the red numbers tick down on the auction she’d been following for three days. The impossible-to-find-in-stores interactive toy was the only item the seven-year-old she’d chosen from the Lions Club’s annual Angel Tree Toy Drive had asked for. She was going to get the doll, even if it cost four times the retail price.

Callie waited until the clock reached two seconds, then hit the “confirm bid” button. Seconds later,
“Congratulations! You’re the Winning Bidder”
appeared on the top of her screen.

“Yes!” Two victorious fists shot into the air. “I won the Fijit!”

Mariska Johnson, one of the three, full-time veterinary assistants she employed in her practice in her hometown of Maplesville, Louisiana shook her head.

“Don’t judge. You have no idea the lengths I’ve gone to in order to buy this little bug-eyed doll.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure you’re going to make your little angel’s Christmas.”

“I hope so,” Callie said. “Now, what did you need?” She stopped her, holding up a finger. “Let me guess. Samson is awake and mad as hell.”

“Bingo.”