Holiday In Stone Creek. Linda Lael Miller
Shiloh was asleep, standing up, the way horses do. When Tanner looked over the stall door at Butterpie, though, his eyes started to sting. Butterpie was lying in the wood shavings, and Olivia’s dog was cuddled up right alongside her, as though keeping some kind of a vigil.
“I’ll be damned,” Tanner muttered. He’d grown up in the country, and he’d known horses to have nonequine companions—cows, cats, dogs and even pygmy goats. But he’d never seen anything quite like this.
He figured he probably should take Ginger home—Olivia might be looking for her—but he couldn’t quite bring himself to part the two animals.
“You hungry, girl?” he asked Ginger, thinking what a fine thing it would be to have a dog. The problem was, he moved around too much—job to job, country to country. If he couldn’t raise his own daughter, how could he hope to take good care of a mutt?
Ginger made a low sound in her throat and looked up at him with those melty eyes of hers. He made a quick trip into the house for a hunk of cube steak and a bowl of water, and set them both down where she could reach them.
She drank thirstily of the water, nibbled at the steak.
Tanner patted her head. He’d seen her jump into Olivia’s Suburban the day before, so she still had some zip in her, despite the gray hairs around her muzzle, but she hadn’t gotten over that stall door by herself. Olivia must have left her here, to look after the pony.
When he spotted an old grain pan in the corner, overturned, he knew that was what had happened. She must have found the pan in the junk around the barn, filled it with water and left it so the dog could drink. Then one of the animals, most likely Butterpie, had stepped on the thing and spilled the contents.
He was pondering that sequence of events when his cell phone rang.
Sophie.
“This parade bites,” she said without any preamble. “It’s cold, and Mary Susan Parker keeps sneezing on me and we’re not allowed to get into the minibar in our hotel suite! Ms. Wiggins took the keys away.”
Tanner chuckled. “Hello and happy Thanksgiving to you, too, sweetheart,” he said, so glad to hear her voice that his eyes started stinging again.
“It’s not like we want to drink booze or anything,” Sophie complained. “But we can’t even help ourselves to a soda or a candy bar!”
“Horrible,” Tanner commiserated.
An annoyed silence crackled from Sophie’s end.
“Butterpie has a new friend,” Tanner said, to get the conversation going again. In a way, talking to Sophie made him miss her more, but at the same time he wanted to keep her on the line as long as possible. “A dog named Ginger.”
He’d caught Sophie’s interest that time. “Really? Is it your dog?”
It was telling, Tanner thought, that Sophie had said “your dog” instead of “our dog.” “No. Ginger lives next door. She’s just here for a visit.”
“I’m lonely, Dad,” Sophie said, sounding much younger than her twelve years. She was almost shouting to be heard over a brass band belting out “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” “Are you lonely, too?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But there are worse things than being lonely, Soph.”
“Right now I can’t think of any. Are you going to be all alone all day?”
Crouching now, Tanner busied himself scratching Ginger’s ears. “No. A friend invited me to dinner.”
Sophie sighed with apparent relief. “Good. I was afraid you’d nuke one of those frozen TV dinners or something and eat it while you watched some football game. And that would be pathetic.”
“Far be it from me to be pathetic,” Tanner said, but a lump had formed in his throat and his voice came out sounding hoarse. “Anything but that.”
“What friend?” Sophie persisted. “What friend are you having dinner with, I mean?”
“Nobody you know.”
“A woman?” Was that hope he heard in his daughter’s voice? “Have you met someone, Dad?”
Damn. It was hope. The kid probably fantasized that he’d remarry one day, and she could come home from boarding school for good, and they’d all live happily ever after, with a dog and two cars parked in the same garage every night, like a normal family.
That was never going to happen.
Ginger looked up at him in adoring sympathy when he rubbed his eyes, tired to the bone. His sleepless night was finally catching up with him—or that was what he told himself.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t met anybody, Soph.” Olivia’s face filled his mind. “Well, I’ve met somebody, but I haven’t met them, if you know what I mean.”
Sophie, being Sophie, did know what he meant. Exactly.
“But you’re dating!”
“No,” Tanner said quickly. Bumming a cup of coffee in a woman’s kitchen didn’t constitute a date, and neither did sitting at the same table with her on Thanksgiving Day. “No. We’re just—just friends.”
“Oh.” Major disappointment. “This whole thing bites!”
“So you said,” Tanner replied gently, wanting to soothe his daughter but not having the first clue how to go about it. “Maybe it’s your mind-set. Since today’s Thanksgiving, why not give gratitude a shot?”
She hung up on him.
He thought about calling her right back, but decided to do it later, after she’d had a little time to calm down, regain her perspective. She was a lucky kid, spending the holiday in New York, watching the famous parade in person, staying in a fancy hotel suite with her friends from school.
“Women,” he told Ginger.
She gave a low whine and laid her muzzle on his arm.
He stayed in the barn a while, then went into the house, took a shower, shaved and crashed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
And Kat did not come to him.
OLIVIAHADSTOPPEDBY Tanner’s barn on the way to Stone Creek Ranch, hoping to persuade Ginger to take a break from horsesitting, but she wouldn’t budge.
Arriving at the homeplace, she checked on Rodney, who seemed content in his stall, then, gym bag in hand, she slipped inside the small bath off the tack room and grabbed a quick, chilly shower. She shimmied into those wretched panty hose, donned the skirt and the blue sweater and the boots, and even applied a little mascara and lip gloss for good measure.
Never let it be said that she’d come to a family dinner looking like a—veterinarian.
And the fact that Tanner Quinn was going to be at this shindig had absolutely nothing to do with her decision to spruce up.
Starting up the front steps, she had a sudden, poignant memory of Big John standing on that porch, waiting for her to come home from a high school date with Jesse McKettrick. After the dance all the kids had gone to the swimming hole on the Triple M, and splashed and partied until nearly dawn.
Big John had been furious, his face like a thundercloud, his voice dangerously quiet.
He’d given Jesse what-for for keeping his granddaughter out all night, and grounded Olivia for a month.
She’d been outraged, she recalled, smiling sadly. Tearfully informed her angry grandfather that nothing had happened between her and Jesse, which was true, if you didn’t count necking. Now, of course, she’d have given almost anything to see that temperamental old man again, even if he was shaking his finger at her and telling her that in his day, young ladies knew how to behave themselves.