Holiday in Stone Creek (6 page)

No.

The word swelled up inside him, but he couldn't say it.

And Kat vanished.

O
LIVIA AWAKENED
on the following Thursday morning feeling as though she hadn't slept at all the night before, with Ginger's cold muzzle pressed into her neck and the alarm clock buzzing insistently. She stirred, opened her eyes, slapped down the snooze button, with a muttered "Shut
up!
"

Iridescent frost embossed the window glass in intricate fans and swirls, turning it opaque, but the light got through anyway, signaling the arrival of a new day--like it or not.

Thanksgiving,
Olivia recalled.
The official start of the holiday season.

She groaned and yanked the covers up over her head.

Ginger let out an impatient little yip.

"I know," Olivia replied from under two quilts and a flannel sheet worn to a delectable, hard-to-leave softness. It was so warm under those covers, so cozy. Would that she could stay right there until sometime after the Second Coming. "I know you need to go outside."

Ginger yipped again, more insistently this time.

Bleary-eyed, Olivia rolled onto her side, tossed back the covers and sat up. She'd slept in gray sweats and heavy socks--less than glamorous attire, for sure, but toasty and loose.

After hitting the stop button on the clock so it wouldn't
start up again in five minutes, she stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the small kitchen at the back of the house. Passing the thermostat, she cranked it up a few degrees. As she groped her way past the coffeemaker, she jabbed blindly at yet another button to start the pot she'd set up the night before. At the door she shoved her feet into an old pair of ugly galoshes and shrugged into a heavy jacket of red-and-black-plaid wool--Big John's chore coat.

It still smelled faintly of his budget aftershave and pipe tobacco.

The weather stripping stuck when she tried to open the back door, and she muttered a four-letter word as she tugged at the knob. The instant there was a crack to pass through, Ginger shot out of that kitchen like a clown dog from a circus cannon. She banged open the screen door beyond, too, without slowing down for the enclosed porch.

"Ginger!" Olivia yelled, startled, before taking one rueful glance back at the coffeemaker. It shook and gurgled like a miniature rocket trying to lift off the counter, and it would take at least ten minutes to produce enough java to get Olivia herself off the launch pad. She needed to buy a new one--item number seventy-two on her domestic to-do list. The timer had given out weeks ago, and the handle on the carafe was loose.

And where the hell was the dog headed? Ginger
never
ran.

Olivia shook the last clinging vestiges of sleep out of her head and tromped through the porch and down the outside steps, taking care not to slip on the ice and either land on her tailbone or take a flyer into the snowbank beside the walk.

"Ginger!" she called a second time as the dog streaked halfway down the driveway, shinnied under the rail fence between Olivia's place and Tanner's and bounded out into the snowy field.

Goose-stepping it to the fence, Olivia climbed onto the lowest rail and shaded her eyes from the bright, cold sun. What was Ginger chasing? Coyotes? Wolves? Either way, that was a fight an aging golden retriever couldn't possibly win.

Olivia was about to scramble over the fence and run after the dog when she saw the palomino in the distance, and the man sitting tall in the saddle.

Tanner.

The horse moved at a smooth trot while Ginger cavorted alongside, flinging up snow, like a pup in a superchow commercial.

Olivia sighed, partly out of relief that Ginger wasn't about to tangle with the resident wildlife and partly because Tanner was clearly headed her way.

She looked down at her rumpled sweats; they were clean, but the pants had worn threadbare at the knees and there was a big bleach stain on the front of the shirt. She pulled the front of Big John's coat closed with one hand and ran the other through her uncombed hair.

Tanner's grin flashed as white as the landscape around him when he rode up close to the fence. Despite the grin, he looked pale under his tan, and there was a hollow look in his eyes. The word
haunted
came to mind.

"Mornin', ma'am," he drawled, tugging at the brim of his hat. "Just thought I'd mosey on over and say howdy."

"How very Western of you," Olivia replied with a reluctant chuckle.

Ginger, winded by the unscheduled run, was panting hard.

"What in the world got into you?" Olivia scolded the dog. "Don't you ever do that again!"

Ginger crossed the fence line and slunk toward the house.

When Olivia turned back to Tanner, she caught him looking her over.

Wise guy.

"It would be mighty neighborly of you to offer a poor wayfaring cowboy a hot cup of coffee," he said. He sat that horse as if he was part of it--a point in his favor. He might dress like a dandy, but he was no stranger to a saddle.

"Glad to oblige, mister," Olivia joked, playing along. "Unless you insist on talking like a B-movie wrangler for much longer. That could get old."

He laughed at that, rode to the rickety gate a few yards down the way, leaned to work the latch easily and joined Olivia on her side. Taking in the ramshackle shed and detached garage, he swung down out of the saddle to walk beside her, leading Shiloh by a slack rein.

"Looks to me like you don't have a whole lot of room to talk about the state of my barn," he said. His eyes were twinkling now under the brim of his hat, though he still looked wan.

It was harder going for Olivia--her legs were shorter, the galoshes didn't fit so they stuck at every step, and the snow came to her shins. "I rent this place," she said, feeling defensive. "The owner lives out of state and doesn't like to spend a nickel on repairs if he can help it. In fact, he's been threatening to sell it for years."

"Ah," Tanner said with a sage nod. "Are you just
passing through Stone Creek, Doc? I had the impression you were a lifelong resident, but maybe I was wrong."

"Except for college and veterinary school," Olivia answered, "I've lived here all my life." She looked around at the dismal rental property. "Well, not right here--"

"Hey," Tanner said, quietly gruff. "I was kidding."

She nodded, embarrassed because she'd been caught caring what he thought, and led the way through the yard toward the back door.

Tanner left Shiloh loosely tethered to the hand rail next to the porch steps.

Inside the kitchen, Olivia fed a remorseful Ginger, washed her hands at the sink and got two mugs down out of the cupboard. The coffeemaker was just flailing in for a landing, mission accomplished.

"Excuse me for a second, will you?" Olivia asked after filling mugs for herself and Tanner and giving him his. She slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, put down her coffee cup and quickly switched out the chore coat and her sweats for her best pair of jeans and the blue sweater Ashley had knitted for her as a Christmas gift. She even went so far as to splash her face with water in the tiny bathroom, give her teeth a quick brushing and run a comb through her hair.

When she returned to the kitchen, Tanner was sitting in a chair at the table, looking as if he belonged there, and Ginger stood with her head resting on his thigh while he stroked her back.

Something sparked in Tanner's weary eyes when he looked up--maybe amusement, maybe appreciation. Maybe something more complicated.

Olivia felt a wicked little thrill course through her system.

"Thanksgiving," she said without planning to, almost sighing out the word.

"You don't sound all that thankful," Tanner observed.

"Oh, I am," Olivia insisted, taking a sip from her mug.

"Me, too," Tanner said. "Mostly."

She bit her lower lip, stole a glance at the clock above the sink. It was early--two hours before she needed to check in at the clinic. So much for excusing herself to go to work.

"Mostly?" she echoed, keeping her distance.

"There are things I'd change about my life," Tanner told her. "If I could."

She drew nearer then, interested in spite of herself, and sat down, though she kept the width of the table between them. "What would you do differently?"

He sighed, and a bleak expression darkened his eyes. "I'd have kept the business smaller, for one thing," he said. The briefest flicker of pain contorted his face. "Not gone international. How about you?"

"I'd have spent more time with my grandfather," she replied after giving the question some thought. "I guess I figured he was going to be around forever."

"That was his coat you were wearing before."

"How did you guess that?"

"My grandmother had one just like it. I think they must have sold those at every farm supply store in America, back in the day."

Olivia relaxed a little. "How's Butterpie?"

Tanner sighed, met Olivia's gaze. Held it. "She's not eating," he said.

"I was afraid of that," Olivia murmured, distracted.

"I thought my grandmother was going to live forever, too," Tanner told her.

It took Olivia a moment to catch up. "She's gone, then?"

Tanner nodded. "Died on her seventy-eighth birthday, hoeing the vegetable garden. Just the way she'd have wanted to go--quick, and doing something she loved to do. Your grandfather?"

"Heart attack," Olivia said, running her palms along the thighs of her jeans. Why were they suddenly moist?

Tanner was silent for what seemed like a long time, though it was an easy silence. Then he finished his coffee and stood. "Guess I'd better not keep you," he said, crossing the room to set his cup in the sink.

Ginger's liquid eyes followed him adoringly.

"I'd like to look in on Butterpie on my way into town, if that's okay with you?" Olivia said.

One side of Tanner's fine mouth slanted slightly upward. "Would it stop you if it
wasn't
okay with me?"

She grinned. "Nope."

He chuckled at that. "I've got some things to do in town," he said. "Gotta pick up some wine for Thanksgiving dinner. So if I don't see you in my barn, we'll meet up at Brad and Meg's place later on."

Of
course
her brother and sister-in-law would have invited Tanner to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. He was a friend, and he lived alone. Still, Olivia felt blindsided. Holidays were hard enough without stirring virtual strangers into the mix. Especially
attractive
ones.

"See you then," she said, hoping her smile didn't look forced.

He nodded and left, closing the kitchen door quietly behind him. Olivia immediately went to the window to watch him mount Shiloh and ride off.

When he was out of sight, and only then, Olivia turned from the window and zeroed in on Ginger.

"What were you
thinking,
running off like that? You're not a young dog, you know."

"I just got a little carried away, that's all,"
Ginger said without lifting her muzzle off her forelegs. Her eyes looked soulful.
"Are you wearing that getup to Thanksgiving dinner?"

Olivia looked down at her jeans and sweater. "What's wrong with my outfit?" she asked.

"Touchy, touchy. I was just asking a simple question."

"These jeans are almost new, and Ashley made the sweater. I look perfectly fine."

"Whatever you say."

"Well, what do
you
think I should wear, O fashionista dog?"

"The sweater's fine,"
Ginger observed.
"But I'd switch out the jeans for a skirt. You
do
have a skirt, don't you?"

"Yes, I have a skirt. I also have rounds to make before dinner, so I'm changing into my work clothes right now."

Ginger sighed an it's-no-use kind of sigh.
"Paris Hilton you ain't,"
she said, and drifted off to sleep.

Olivia returned to her bedroom, put on her normal grubbies, suitable for barns and pastures, then located her tan faux-suede skirt, rolled it up like a towel and stuffed it into a gym bag. Knee boots and the blue sweater went in next, along with the one pair of panty hose she owned. They had runs in them, but the skirt was long and the boots were high, so it wouldn't matter.

When she got back to the kitchen, Ginger was stretching herself.

"You're coming with me today, aren't you?" Olivia asked.

Ginger eyed the gym bag and sighed again.
"As far as next door, anyway,"
she answered.
"I think Butterpie could use some company."

"What about Thanksgiving?"

"Bring me a plate,"
Ginger replied.

Oddly disappointed that Ginger didn't want to spend the holiday with her, Olivia went outside to fire up the Suburban and scrape off the windshield. After she'd lowered the ramp in the back of the rig, she went back to the house for Ginger.

"You're all right, aren't you?" Olivia asked as Ginger walked slowly up the ramp.

"I'm not used to running through snow up to my chest,"
the dog told her.
"That's all."

Still troubled, Olivia stowed the ramp and shut the doors on the Suburban. Ginger curled up on Rodney's blanket and closed her eyes.

When they arrived at Tanner's place, his truck was parked in the driveway, but he didn't come out of the house, and Olivia didn't knock on the front door. She repeated the ramp routine, and then she and Ginger headed into the barn.

Shiloh was back in his stall, brushed down and munching on hay.

Olivia paused to greet him, then opened the door to Butterpie's stall so she and Ginger could go in.

Butterpie stood with her head hanging low, but perked up slightly when she saw the dog.

"You've got to eat," Olivia told the pony.

Butterpie tossed her head from side to side, as though in refusal.

Ginger settled herself in a corner of the roomy stall, on a pile of fresh wood shavings, and gave another big sigh.
"Just go make your rounds,"
she said to Olivia.
"I'll get her to take a few bites after you're gone."