'Tis the Season: Under the Christmas Tree / Midnight Confessions / Backward Glance

“Who, Annie?” he asked. “Who’s going to take care of them?”

She shrugged. “I have a small house in Fortuna and I work all day.”

“What about the farm?” he asked.

She was shaking her head before he finished. “I don’t think so. My dad’s arthritis is bad enough that he slowly sold off the stock and my mom runs around like a crazy woman taking care of all the things that wear him out.”

“Your dad’s Hank McKenzie, right? He gets around pretty good for someone with bad arthritis.”

“Yeah, he’s proud. He doesn’t let on. But it would fall to my mom and I can’t ask her to take on eight puppies. And the whole family is coming home to the farm for Christmas. All thirteen of ’em.”

“Well, Annie, I can’t think of many options here,” he said. “I know a few vets in the towns around here and I don’t know one that would take this on. They’d put ’em in a no-kill shelter.”

“Can’t you help? You and your wife?”

He smiled at her. “No wife, Annie McKenzie. I have a real nice vet tech who’s going to keep an eye on the stable while I’m out of town over Christmas, but that’s the only help I have out there, and she doesn’t have time to add eight puppies to her roster.”

“Jack!” Annie called. She stood up. “Can you come here?”

Jack ambled over, wiping his hands on a towel.

“We have a situation, Jack,” Annie said. “Dr. Jensen can’t take the puppies and get them through this rough patch. He offered to drop them off at a shelter, but really, that’s not a great idea.” A couple of people had wandered over to listen in to the conversation, eavesdropping and making no bones about it. “I’ve volunteered at some of those shelters and they’re awesome, but they’re really, really busy at Christmastime. A lot of animals get adopted for presents, especially the really young, cute ones like these. You have no idea how many people think they want a fluffy pet for little Susie or Billie—until the first time the dog thinks the carpet is grass.”

“Yeah?” Jack said, confused. A couple more people had wandered over from the bar to listen in to the conference.

Annie took a breath. “It’s bad enough animals get returned. The worst case is they’re not taken care of properly, get neglected or abused or get sick and aren’t taken to the vet because the vet costs money. Sometimes people are embarrassed to return them and admit it was a mistake. Then they just take them to animal control, where they’re on death row for three days before...” She stopped. “It can be a bad situation.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?” Jack said. “Better odds than freezing to death under a Christmas tree.”

“We could take care of them here, Jack,” she said.

“We?” he mimicked, lifting a brow. “I see you about four times a year, Annie.”

“I’ll drive up after work every day. They’re kind of labor-intensive right now, but I’ll tell you exactly what to do and you can get—”

“Whoa, Annie, whoa. I can’t keep dogs in the bar!”

An old woman put a hand on Jack’s arm. “We already named ’em, Jack,” she said. “After Santa’s reindeer. At least the ones we could remember. Little Christopher already asked Preacher if he could have Comet. ’Course no one knows who Comet is yet, but—”

“There’s no mother to clean up after them,” Nate pointed out. “That means puppy excrement. Times eight.”

“Aw, that’s just great,” Jack said.

“Don’t panic,” Annie said. “Here’s what you do. Get a nice, big wooden box or big plastic laundry basket. You could even put a wooden border around a plastic pad from an old playpen, then toss an old blanket or a couple of towels over it. Pull the blanket back to feed ’em the formula and cereal every few hours. Or feed a couple or three at a time outside the box so you can wipe up the floor. Trade the dirty towels for clean ones, wash one set while you use the other, and vice versa. Oh, and at least two of these little guys need a lot of encouragement to eat—the eyedropper gets ’em going. I could take the littlest, weakest ones to a vet but, Jack, they’re better off with their litter mates.”

“Aw, f’chrissake, Annie,” Jack moaned.

“You can just grab someone at the bar and ask them to take a couple of minutes to coax some food into a sick puppy,” she said hopefully.

“Sure,” the old woman said as she pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I’ll commit to a puppy or two a day.”

“Annie, I can’t wash towels with puppy shit on ’em in the same washer we use for napkins for the bar.”

“Well, we did at the farm. My mom sterilized a lot,” she said. “Bet you washed shitty baby clothes in the same... Never mind. If you just get the towels, bag ’em up in a big plastic bag, I’ll do it. I’ll come out after work and spell you a little, take home your dirty laundry, bring back fresh every day.”

“I don’t know, Annie,” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you kidding?” Annie returned. “People will love it, keeping an eye on ’em, watching ’em plump up. By Christmas, all of them will be spoken for, and by people who know what to do with animals. These little guys will probably turn into some outstanding herders around here.”

“Nathaniel, did you put her up to this?” Jack asked.

Nate put up his hands and shook his head. He didn’t say so, but she did have a point. Adopted by a town, these puppies would get looked after.

“I can’t say yes or no without Preacher,” Jack said, going off to the kitchen.

Annie smiled crookedly as she listened to the people who had followed Jack to the hearth, muttering to each other that, sure, this plan could work. They wouldn’t mind holding a puppy every now and then, maybe donating a blanket, getting a puppy to eat, wiping up the floor here and there.

When Preacher trailed Jack back to the box of puppies, his six-year-old son was close on his heels. Jack tried to speak very softly about what all this would entail, but Christopher didn’t miss a syllable. He tugged at Preacher’s sleeve and in a very small voice he said, “Please, Dad, please. I’ll help every day. I’ll feed and hold and clean up and I won’t miss anything.”

Preacher pulled his heavy black brows together in a fierce scowl. Then, letting out an exasperated sigh, he crouched to get to eye level with the boy. “Chris, there can never be a dog in the kitchen. You hear me, son? And we have to start looking for homes right away, because some may be ready to leave the litter sooner than others. This has to be real temporary. We prepare food here.”

“Okay,” Chris said. “Except Comet. Comet’s going to stay.”

“I’m still thinking about that. And I’ll have to look up on the computer how you take care of a bunch of orphaned pups like these guys,” Preacher added.

Annie let a small laugh escape as she plucked the smallest, weakest puppy from under her sweater and put him back in the box. “Well, my work here is done,” she said with humor in her voice. “I’ll try to cut my day as short as I can at the shop, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Annie, they’re not your responsibility,” Jack said. “You’ve already been a huge help. I don’t really expect you to—”

“I’m not going to turn my back on them now,” she said. “You might panic and take them to the pound.” She grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Two

The puppies were found on Monday and Nate managed to stay away from the bar on Tuesday, but by Wednesday he was back there right about dinnertime. He told himself he had a vested interest—they might be about a hundredth the size of his usual patients, but he had more or less treated them. At least he’d looked at them and judged the care Annie recommended to be acceptable. In which case he didn’t really need to check on them. But Jack’s was a decent place to get a beer at the end of the day, and that fire was nice and cozy after a long day of tromping around farms and ranches, rendering treatment for horses, cows, goats, sheep, bulls and whatever other livestock was ailing.

But then there was Annie.

She was no longer a skinny, flat-chested, fuzzy-haired metal-mouth. Something he’d been reminding himself of for more than twenty-four hours. The jury was still out on whether she was a pain in the butt. He suspected she was.

She was tall for a woman—at least five-ten in her stocking feet—with very long legs. That carrot top was no longer bright orange—maybe the miracle of Miss Clairol had done the trick. In any case, her hair was a dark auburn she wore in a simple but elegant cut that framed her face. It was sleek and silky and swayed when her head moved. Her eyes were almost exotic—dark brown irises framed by black lashes and slanting shapely brows. And there was a smattering of youthful freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks, just enough to make her cute. But that mouth, that full, pink, soft mouth—that was gonna kill him. He hadn’t seen a mouth like that on a woman in a long time. It was spectacular.

She was a little bossy, but he liked that in a woman. He wondered if he should seek therapy for that. But no—he thrived on the challenge of it. Growing up with three older sisters, he’d been fighting for his life against determined females his entire life. Meek and docile women had never appealed to him and he blamed Patricia, Susan and Christina for that.

The very first thing Nate noticed when he walked into the bar on Wednesday was that Annie was not there. He smiled with superiority. Hah! He should have known. She talked Jack and Preacher into keeping eight tiny puppies—a labor-intensive job—promising to help, and was a no-show. He went over to the box and counted them. Seven. Then he went up to the bar.

“Hey, Jack,” he said. “Lose one?”

“Huh?” Jack said, giving the counter a wipe. “Oh, no.” He laughed and shook his head. “Annie took one back to Preacher’s laundry room for a little fluff and buff. He mussed his diaper, if you get my drift. It’s the littlest, weakest one.”

“Oh,” Nate responded, almost embarrassed by his assumption. “He hanging in there?”

“Oh, yeah. And wouldn’t you know—Christopher has decided that that one is his. Comet. Annie tried to talk him into falling in love with a stronger, heartier pup, but the boy’s drawn to the one most likely not to make it.”

Nate just laughed. “It was that way for me,” he said. “I was older, though. We had the most beautiful Australian Kelpie—chocolate brown, silky coat, sweet face, ran herd on everything. My dad had her bred and promised me a pup. Out of her litter of six, I picked the runt and practically had to hand-feed him for weeks. The other pups kept pushing him off the tit. I was fifteen and, probably not coincidentally, also small for my age. I named him Dingo. He was big and tough by the time I was through with him, and he lived a long life for a hardworking Kelpie. We lost him just a few years ago. He lived to be fifteen. ’Course, he spent his last four years lying by the fire.”

“You’d think a boy would pick the strongest in the pack.”

“Nah.” Nate snorted. “We don’t feel that strong, so we empathize. Can I trouble you for a beer?”

“Sorry, Nate—I wasn’t thinking. Fact is, I’ve been sitting on our nest on and off all day. I have a whole new appreciation for what you do.”

“Have they been a lot of trouble?”

“Well, not really, just time-consuming,” Jack said. “They eat every three hours or so, then their bedding has to be changed, then they nap, then they eat. And so on. Kind of like regular babies. Except there are eight of them and half of them need encouragement to eat. Plus, every so often, you have to check that they’re not too warm or too cold. I don’t want to freeze ’em or cook ’em. And the bar’s getting lots more company during the day—visitors to the litter. Since they’re here, they decide to eat and drink—more serving, cooking and cleanup than usual. Other than that, piece of cake. And if I ever find the SOB that left ’em under the tree, I’m going to string him up by his—”

“Well, hey, Doc Jensen,” a female voice sang out.

Nate turned to see Annie come out the back of the bar, Christopher trailing so closely that if she stopped suddenly, he’d have crashed into her. She carried a furry ball of black-and-white that fit perfectly into her palm. Looking at her, he realized he hadn’t remembered her quite accurately. Or rather, quite enough. Tall, curvaceous, high cheekbones, soft dark auburn hair swinging along her jaw, long delicate fingers... She was beautiful. And her figure in a pair of snug jeans and turquoise hoodie with a deep V-neck just knocked him out. Where the heck had this girl been hiding?

And why was he, a man who could appreciate cleavage and tiny bikinis, suddenly seeing the merits in jeans, boots and hoodies?

Then he remembered she’d been hiding in a little hair salon in Fortuna, under a pink smock.

He picked up his beer and wandered over to the hearth. Christopher and Annie sat on opposite sides of the box, which left no place for him, so he stood there in the middle.

Annie passed Chris the puppy. “Hold him for just a minute, then snuggle him back in with his brothers and sisters,” she said. “It’s good for him to be part of his family. They give him more comfort than we can right now.”

“A little maintenance?” Nate asked.

Annie looked up at him and smiled. “This is the part that gets to be a bother—without a mother dog to change their diapers and keep them clean, by the end of the day they’re looking a little worse for wear. Some of them actually needed washing up. My dad always used to say a little poop never hurt a puppy, but you let that go long enough and it will. Gets them all ugly and matted and sick.”

“You bathed him?”

“Four of them, without dunking them,” she said. “Can’t let them get cold. Preacher’s wife loaned her blow-dryer to the cause. Okay, Chris, he’s been away from home long enough now.” She reached into the box and pushed some puppies aside to make room, and Chris gently put his puppy into the pile. “They’ll be ready to eat again in about an hour. Why don’t you get back to your homework, or dinner, or chores, or whatever your folks have in mind.”

“Okay, Annie,” he said.

And Nate fought a smile as Chris vacated his place on the hearth. But before he sat down he asked Annie, “Can I buy you a beer? Or something else?”

She tilted her head and smiled at him. “I wouldn’t mind a beer, thanks.” He was back with a cold one for her in just moments and sat down opposite her. “I think they’re doing okay here,” she said to him.

He wasn’t a hard-hearted guy, but he only pretended interest in the pups, picking one up and then another, looking at their little faces. He’d rather be looking at her, but didn’t want to seem obvious. “Were you here yesterday?” he asked, studying a puppy, rather than her.

“Uh-huh,” she said, sipping her beer. “Ah, that’s very nice. Thanks.”

“You planning to come every day?” he asked.

“If I can swing it,” she said. “I kind of made a deal—if they wouldn’t hand them over to some shelter, I’d do my part. These little guys are just too cute and vulnerable. They could turn into impetuous Christmas presents, no matter how carefully the shelter volunteers screen the potential owners. And look at their markings—I’d say Australian-shepherd-and-border-collie mix. Outstanding herders. They should find good homes around here, and they’ll be glad to work for a living.”

Nate lifted his eyebrows. “Good guess,” he said. “You get off work before five?” he found himself asking.

“Not usually. I have a small shop in Fortuna—six chairs. It’s a franchise—my franchise. So I’m responsible, plus I have a large client list and it’s Christmastime. But I’m moving appointments around the best I can—a few of my clients will take another stylist in a pinch. And I’ve been training an assistant manager, so she’s getting thrown into the deep end of the pool because of these puppies. And I’m doing my puppy laundry and paperwork at midnight.”

“What kind of paperwork?” he asked.

“The kind you have with a small business—receipts, receivables, bills, payroll. Jack and Preacher are managing real well during the day when it’s sort of quiet around here, but when it gets busy at the dinner hour, they need a hand. And you heard Jack—he’s not washing puppy sheets with his napkins.” She smiled and sipped her beer. “We should all take comfort in that, I guess.”

“I guess.” He smiled. “How’d you end up with a beauty shop?”

“Oh, that’s not interesting. I’d rather hear about what you do. I grew up around animals and being a vet is my fantasy life. You’re living my dream.”

“Then why didn’t you pursue it?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I had exactly two years of college and my GPA was above average, but we both know it takes way more than that to get into veterinary college. Isn’t it harder to get into veterinary college than medical school?”

“So I hear,” he said. “So, after two years of college...?”

She laughed and sipped her beer. “One of my part-time jobs was grooming dogs. I loved it. Loved it. The only thing I didn’t love was going home a grimy, filthy mess and not exactly getting rich. But I saw the potential and needed to make a living. I couldn’t focus on a course of study in college, so I went to beauty school, worked a few years, hit my folks up for a loan to buy a little shop, and there you have it. I do hair on two-legged clients now. And it’s working just fine.”

“And your love of animals?”

“I stop by this little bar every evening and babysit a bunch of orphaned puppies for a few hours,” she said with a laugh. “I still have a couple of horses at the farm. My dad got rid of the livestock years ago except for Erasmus, a very old, very lazy, very ill-tempered bull who my dad says will outlive us all. They’re down to two dogs, my mom keeps some chickens and their summer garden is just amazing. But it was once a thriving dairy farm, plus he grew alfalfa and silage for feed.”

“Why isn’t it still a thriving farm?” he asked.

“No one to run it.”

“Your brothers don’t want the farm life?”

“Nope,” she said. “One’s a high-school teacher and coach, one’s a physical therapist in sports medicine and one’s a CPA. All married with kids and working wives. All moved to bigger towns. And the closest one lives a few hours away.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You sound like you love the farm. You love animals. You still have a couple of horses at your parents’ farm....”

She smiled. “I’d be real happy to take on the farm, but that’s not a good idea. Not the best place for me.”

“Why not? If you like it.”

She cocked her head and smirked. “Single, twenty-eight-year-old woman, living with Mom and Dad on the farm, building up the herd and plowing the fields. Picture it.”

“Well, there’s always help,” he said. “Hired hands for the rough stuff.”

She laughed. “Rough stuff doesn’t scare me, but I can’t think of a better way to guarantee I’ll turn into an old maid. My social life is dull enough, thanks.”

“There are ways around that,” he pointed out. “Trips. Vacations. Visitors. That sort of thing. Something to break up the isolation a little.”

“That’s right—that’s what I heard. Before I knew who you were, I heard Jack ask you if you had your plane tickets yet and you said something about Nassau, a Club Med vacation and lots of string bikinis. Right?”

For some reason he couldn’t explain, that embarrassed him slightly. “No, no. I don’t know anything about that Club Med stuff. A buddy of mine, Jerry from vet school, set up a get-together over Christmas with our old study group. We’ve only been in touch by email and haven’t been together since graduation. The Nassau part is fact, the string-bikinis part is fantasy. I’m planning to do some scuba diving, snorkeling, some fishing. I haven’t been away in a while.” He laughed. “Frankly, I haven’t been warm in a while.”

“You don’t get together with your family over the holidays?” she asked.

“Oh, they were gracious enough to invite me to join them all on a cruise. All of them,” he stressed. “My folks, three sisters and brothers-in-law, four nephews and two nieces. It’s going to be hell to give up all that shuffleboard, but I’ll manage somehow.”

“Do they ever come back here?” she asked. “You know—to the old homestead? Where you all grew up?”

“Frequently. They move in, take over, and I move out to the stable and take up residence in the vet tech’s quarters.”

“You and the tech must be on very good terms.”

He grinned at her. “She’s married and lives in Clear River, but we keep quarters for her for those times we have cases that are going to need attention through the night. She was my dad’s assistant before he retired. She’s like a member of the family.” Then he studied her face. Was that relief? “The family was all home for Thanksgiving,” he went on to explain. “It was great to see them all, and boy was I glad when they left. It’s madness. I have really good brothers-in-law, though. At least my sisters did that much for me.”

She sipped her beer. “You must be looking forward to your vacation. When do you leave?”

“The twenty-third. Till the second of January. I plan to come home tanned and rested.” And with any luck, he thought, sexually relaxed. Then he instantly felt his face grow hot and thought, Why the hell did I think that? He wasn’t typically casual about sex. He was actually very serious about it.

Annie peered at him strangely. “Dr. Jensen, are you blushing?”

He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to be so formal, Annie. Nate is fine. Is it a little warm by this fire?”

“I hadn’t noticed, but—”

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Let’s grab that table, right there close by, before anyone else gets it. I’m going to tell Jack we want dinner. How about that?”

“Fine,” she said. “That sounds fine. By the time we’re finished, Chris will be back, ready to feed his puppy.”

* * *

Through the rest of that first week the puppies seemed to do just fine. Thrived in fact. So did Annie, and she hoped it didn’t show all over her face. There was no particular reason for Nate to show up day after day; the pups weren’t sick, didn’t need medical care and he hadn’t made the commitment to help that she had. Yet he returned on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. She’d love to believe he was there to see her, but it seemed such a far-fetched idea. So highly unlikely that she could interest a man like him through this odd doggie-day-care-in-a-bar that she wouldn’t allow herself to even think about it.

But he was there by six every day, right about the time she finished her puppy chores. He always bought her a beer, then Jack provided dinner, which they ate together at a table near the hearth. They talked and laughed while catching up on their families and all the locals they knew, getting to know each other in general. Although she knew this friendship would probably fade and disappear by the time the puppies were adopted, and even though traipsing out to that bar every day was wearing her out, she was enjoying his company more than she could admit even to herself.

“Did you always plan to come back here? To take over your father’s practice?” Annie asked him one evening.

“Nope,” he said. “Wasn’t part of my plan at all. First of all, I prefer Thoroughbreds to cows. I wanted to treat them, breed them, show them, race them. I did a couple of years’ residency in equine orthopedics, worked in a big practice in Kentucky, then in a real lucrative practice outside Los Angeles. Then my dad wanted to retire. He’d put in his time—he’s seventy-five now. Years back, he and my mom bought a horse property in a nice section of Southern Arizona, but they wanted to keep the house and stable, not to mention the vet practice, in the family. You have any idea how hard it is to build a practice with these tough old farmers and ranchers?” He chuckled. “The name Nathaniel Jensen goes a long way around here, even though I am the upstart.”

“So here you are...back at the family practice?” she asked. But she was thinking that he’d been rubbing elbows with big-money horse people. Society people, whom she’d seen at a distance at certain competitions and fairs, but knew none of. She’d been riding since she could walk, took lessons and competed in dressage, and so was more than a little familiar with the kind of wealth associated with breeding, racing and showing Thoroughbreds. The well-to-do could send their daughters to Europe for lessons, fly their horses to Churchill Downs in private planes and invest millions in their horse farms. Humboldt County farm girls couldn’t compete with that. She swallowed, feeling not a little out of her league.