Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (6 page)

All the more reason to get him the hell out of her clinic.

After the dog’s hair had been clipped free of mats, she lathered him up with a shampoo designed to kill the adult fleas which had infested him, and explained that Jordan would have to give Finn a monthly pill to keep any of their larvae from hatching.  She scrubbed, rinsed, and turned on a massive blow dryer which made the dogs jowls fly back as if he were riding with his face stuck out
the window of a car
.

She
finished him off by tying a red ban
dana around his neck.  Jordan’s dimples flashed as
he bent down and let Finn lick his face.  “Look at you, big guy.  All duded up and totally unavailable to the ladies.  Well, we’ll just let them ogle your fine self and weep.”   He stuck his nose in Finn’s neck.  “Man, you even smell good.”  He looked up at Ava as he scrubbed his hand between the dog’s ears.  “Thanks, Doc.  He looks great.
 
So what do I owe you?”

“Come on up front and we’ll get settled.”  

After Ava loaded him down with heartworm preventative, flea medication, dog food, grooming supplies and a plaid bed with little appliqué bones, she helped him pile it all into his car and sent him on his way.

Then, locking the front door behind her, sank bonelessly into her chair.  Thank God he hadn’t recognized her.  Thank God the goon in the parking lot hadn’t recognized him. 

That possibility had given her a few bad moments.  But maybe the goons who were stalking her weren’t the same ones who’d kidnapped him.  Or maybe they were just stupid. Or maybe… she stopped herself before she drove
herself crazy
.

But really, of all the vets in the city, what were the chances he’d walk in her door?  And the hell of it was, after the flood of relief washed through her that she’d managed to shoo him out without a proposition or an altercation, it left her with a residue of disappointment.

She wondered why Jordan Wellington hadn’t asked her out.

Deciding that her rush of nerves must have killed off a few brain cells, Ava pushed out of the chair and went to unlock the front door.  Who cared why he hadn’t, when she should simply celebrate the fact that he was gone. 

The crisis had been averted and her secret remained intact.

IT was nearly twilight by the time Ava got home.  The jolt of finding the man whose life she’d saved standing in her reception area, coupled with a busy afternoon, left her feeling abnormally drained and edgy. 

Not to mention the fact that she was sick and tired of having her uncle’s men follow her around.  She hated the fact that she had no choice but to play his little game.  Move, countermove. Maneuver and feint.  They forever circled one another, wary and distrustful, unwilling or unable to take that final step which would take the other down.  They shared blood, and they shared her father.

And if not, she was certain that they would have gone after each other like hungry wolves. 

Ava pulled her Mustang into the drive beside the carriage house, raising the top as she freed One-eyed Jack from his carrier.  She looked at the little home she’d made for herself. The sturdy, painted brick dripping with whimsical gingerbread lace.  Solid, yet feminine.  Not, Ava thought as she looked toward the enormous Victorian in whose shadow she sat, unlike her landlord.

Calhoun House stretched toward the treetops like a pretty woman, all graceful curves and ornate trimmings. Narrow windows winked like heavy-lidded eyes in the remnants of early evening sun.  The bold yellow paint
had worn a bit, softening as it
aged.  Wisteria clung like a colorful accessory, and the bright punch of rioting azaleas suggested that she might be old, but she wasn’t tame.  Underneath all the ornamentation, the house was sturdy to the core. 

It fitted its owner perfectly.

Lou Ellen Calhoun was gracious as a Sunday luncheon, solid as stone, and in the manner of any southerner worthy of the confederate flag, crazy as a loon.

Ava absolutely adored her.

As the feeling was mutual, Lou Ellen rented Ava the charming apartment over her detached garage for a song. 

Well, for a song, and as many home cooked meals as Lou Ellen could squeeze out of her.  

Ava’s spirits lifted the minute she saw the older woman on one of the twin gazebos of the front porch.  Paintbrush in one hand, a mimosa in the other, and what was certain to be a godawful creation on the easel behind which she stood.   

“Is it happy hour yet?”

“Honey, around here, every hour’s happy.”  She handed Ava the drink she’d just poured into vintage green Depression glass.   Oblivious to the paint on her fingers, she ran them through her short cap of dark hair.  “Sit.”

Ava obliged her by sinking into a garishly cushioned wicker chair.  Of course, the fabric was tame compared to what Ava’d glimpsed on the latest unfortunate canvas. But she knew better than to comment, or it would end up adorning her wall.

Recognizing the mood, Lou Ellen leaned against the rail. “Looks to me like you had yourself an unpleasant day.”

Ava drank deeply.  Other than Katie, Lou Ellen was the only person she trusted to unload on.  She’d told them each different bits and pieces, so that neither of them ever had the full story.  That kind of knowledge could be a burden.  God knew it was a burden to her. 

But Lou Ellen had seen the blood on Ava’s car seat.   

“The man I pulled out of that trunk last week came into the clinic today.”

“Well.”  Lou Ellen tossed back her own drink, refilled both their glasses.  “Bet that made for an interesting conversation.”

Ava managed a withering stare across the rim of her glass.  “As luck would have it, he wasn’t there to accuse, harangue or persecute me.  Turns out he found a stray dog at the park.  A friend of his mother’s recommended me.  Please,” Ava said, while the sound of the other woman’s laughter rolled over her.  “Feel free to enjoy yourself at my expense.”

“Darling, you have to admit, there’s a great deal of irony at work here.”

“The friend of his mother’s is Joyce Phillips.”

“Ugh.”  Lou Ellen’s amusement fled. “Detestable woman.  What sane person matches her pets to her hair?”

Ava couldn’t help but laugh.  “Surely you’re not still holding a grudge because she stole your high school sweetheart.”

“Have you seen Bucky Phillips lately? Looks like a potbellied stove with hair. Being married to that is punishment enough.  But that’s neither here nor there.  What are you going to do about trunk boy?”

Trunk boy, Ava thought as the champagne fizzed in her throat, who in no way resembled anything potbellied.  “I believe I’ve done enough.”  The breeze picked up, sliding the sweetness of confederate jasmine through the air, but it turned Ava’s stomach sour.  “I saved his life and took care of his dog.  No harm, no foul.  Everybody’s happy.”

“Funny.  You don’t look happy.”

“He flirted with me.” Ava frowned into her glass.  “And he’s pretty good at it.”

“Oh.” Lou Ellen tucked her tongue into her cheek. “What tangled webs we weave.”  

“Not so amusing, seeing as my uncle’s doing the weaving.  I’m just the damn fly caught in the web.”

“I’m not laughing at you, darling.”  Lou Ellen stroked Ava’s hand, and the clatter of her bracelets was somehow soothing.  “I’m simply appreciating the whims of fate.  If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, you’re attracted to this young man.”

Ava pictured the wink of dimples against stubbled cheeks.  “I could eat him up in one greedy bite.  Well, make that two.  He’s awfully big.”

“And it sounds like this big, delicious man is attracted to you, as well.  How… ironic is it that you were in the
wrong
place, at the right time, to save his life?”

“Exactly what are you getting at, Lou Ellen?”

“Destiny.”  Her green eyes sparkled bright as her glass.  “What if he’s yours?”  

“You’ve been hitting the mimosas too hard. Seeing him again is completely out of the question.”

“So says you, my doubting Thomas.”  Lou Ellen’s penciled eyebrows wiggled.  “That cool scientific brain makes you cynical.”

  “I’m not cynical, Lou Ellen.  I’m realistic.”  As Ava could feel a headache coming on, she decided to leave the remainder of her mimosa and moved to rise.  “And anyway, the point’s moot because he didn’t ask me out.  Now unfortunately, I have a sink full of dirty dishes and some paperwork that can’t be ignored.  I appreciate the drinks.  I’ll make you Easter dinner tomorrow night.”

Ava unlocked her front door, One-eyed Jack streaking past her legs to sulk near his empty food bowl.

Sighing, she dropped her purse on the bench of the hall tree that served as her catch-all, and followed him toward the kitchen.  The orange and green checkerboard tiles never ceased to come as a shock.  Lou Ellen was color blind as the day was long.  It amazed Ava that her friend had found someone able to install it all without suffering some sort of breakdown. 

She filled Jack’s dish, rolling her eyes at the greedy, proprietary noises he tended to make while he ate.  “I guess you can take the cat out of the alley, but you can’t take the alley out of the cat.”

The alcohol she’d downed intensified the ache that had begun to throb behind her eyes, so she snagged some ibuprofen and dropped into one of the chairs from her bistro set.  Maybe after they’d kicked in, the mountain of dishes in the old cast iron sink wouldn’t seem so daunting.

Ava tended to let things go little by little throughout the week, until they reached a saturation point that resulted in a weekend cleaning blitz.  Unfortunately, today was D-Day.

As the kitchen was ground zero for the worst of the disaster and she wasn’t feeling particularly motivated, she decided to start in her bedroom and work her way back around.

She made a pass at the bathroom, scrubbing the old claw foot tub but turning a blind eye to the floor’s
less than sparkling
grout.  Dustbunnies were chased from under her cherished brass bed
.
  The sheets probably needed to be laundered, but she wasn’t feeling ambitious enough to mess with her temperamental washing machine.

When she pulled out the furniture polish to hit her mission style coffee table, the unexpected rush of tears had the dust cloth dropping from her hand.

“To hell with it.”  She dropped onto the sofa, admired the simple lines of the Spanish antique.  It had been in her family for generations, coming to Ava through her mother.

She missed her mother so much.

And worse, so much worse, was not knowing what had happened to her.

Unwilling, unable to think about either of her parents right now, Ava swiped angrily at her cheeks.  Then plumped the pillows on the sofa, cursing loudly when she saw the claw marks.

“I’m reconsidering my position on de-clawing you,” she called toward the kitchen in frustration. 

Full dark had fallen by the time she made it to the dishes.   

The pan she’d used to cook paella for Lou Ellen sat beneath coffee mugs, cereal bowls, and various assorted utensils.  A wine glass perched dangerously on top.

Her single greatest wish was for a dishwasher.

But as all of the profits from her practice were being funneled right back into the business, such luxuries would have to wait.

Resigned, Ava started scrubbing with a vengeance.

Vengeance, she considered, was what her uncle’s life was all about.  Vengeance against those who crossed him.  Vengeance against life for the miserable childhood he’d been dealt.  The oldest son of a day laborer who’d died too early, and died too hard, Carlos sold his way out of abject poverty one chemical high at a time.  He’d expanded fro
m selling drugs to selling sex
and whatever vice he could capitalize on. Ava couldn’t really hold that against him, or at least not much.  She knew that survival wasn’t always pretty.

But she could resent the carelessness that had led him to draw her father into that life.   A life of greed and violence.  Of building an empire on others’ pain.  A life that demanded loyalty to Carlos, above all else.

And God help anyone who threatened that life he’d created.

Jack leaped onto the counter and growled.

“Shit.  Just hell.”  Ava looked at the broken glass in her hand.  Blood oozed sullenly from a shallow slice.  “Well, Jack, you got your revenge for those shots.  And I’m jumpy as a damn rabbit.”

Wrapping her hand in a clean dish towel, Ava stretched to open the cabinet that held her household medical supplies.  She shoved aside the ibuprofen, flipped the latch on the small first aid case.

Screamed when she saw the eyeball.

The bistro chair clattered to the floor as Ava slammed against it, sending Jack streaking from the room on a hiss.  The case toppled, spilling its contents, and Ava’s frozen heart began knocking like her old washing machine.

The eyeball bounced, and rolled toward her.

“Sonofabitch.”  The damn thing was rubber.  Ava pushed herself to her feet.   

  She peered out the window above the kitchen sink, saw the shadow of a car parked on the street.  Light flared, just one brief burst from a match, and she caught the goon’s smile as he lit his cigarette.