Dr. Horatio vs. the Six-Toed Cat (4 page)

“Both.” She cleared her throat and then looked directly at her father. “Daddy, Nick is from Colombia.”

Albert's eyes narrowed. “Okay. What else?”

“He joined the army, and he's being assigned overseas.” She bit her lip and rushed on. “It's a good thing, because we'll be near his extended family, some distant cousins and uncles he's never met.”

Millie's heart stuttered as her attention snagged on a word. “We?” she managed to choke.

Alison gave a hesitant nod. “We're going to be married before he leaves so I can go with him.” A pause, during which she bit down on her lower lip and winced. “In three weeks.”

It took a few seconds for the news to register. Even then, Millie thought she must be numb from the shock of learning that her daughter had met a man three months ago and kept their relationship a secret. The news that they planned to marry in three weeks and then leave the country didn't strike her nearly as forcefully as it would have five minutes ago.

“I…see.”

Albert's face jerked toward her. “You see? Is that all you have to say?” He looked back at Alison. “Do you want to hear what I have to say? No. Absolutely not. I refuse to allow you to marry some guy I've never met and flee the country.”

“I knew you'd say that.” Alison tossed her napkin on her plate with a savage gesture. “This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you.”

“I'm surprised you bothered.” His voice rose, and a flush suffused his face. “Apparently you've made a decision without us. You don't want to face the facts you knew we'd bring up, didn't want to have an adult discussion to consider your options, so you kept it a secret. Why not continue the deception? Why not elope? Leave us a note?”

“I thought about it,” Alison snapped. “But I decided you
might
want to come to my wedding. Maybe I was wrong.”

Tears stung Millie's eyes. Not see her daughter get married? At the very idea, a dull pain thudded in her chest. “Of course we do,” she
hurried to say. Albert opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a glance and then turned to Alison. “But
Colombia
?”

“I know.” Alison shook her head. “It stinks. But Mom, I love him no matter where he's from.”

“How do you know?” Albert demanded. “You just met the guy. And unless I'm wrong, you haven't spent much time getting to know him. You were in Florida, what, a week? And you haven't gone anywhere since you got back. You can't possibly know if you love him or not.”

“We've e-mailed and texted constantly. I know everything about Nick, and he knows everything about me.” Her features settled into an ornery arrangement that looked very much like her father's. “I'd like your approval, but even if you don't approve, we're getting married and that's that.”

They were both shouting now, and Millie's stomach clenched into tense knots. She loved these two people deeply and fully, and knew they shared a stubborn streak strong enough to topple buildings. And volatile tempers to match. If this conversation continued, things would be said that shouldn't, hurtful things that might cause permanent harm.

She forced a peaceful tone. “Let's all calm down.” Reaching out, she placed a hand on each of their arms. “We won't solve anything by arguing.”

“There's nothing to solve.” At least Alison spoke at a reasonable volume, though with a hint of steel resolve. “Everything is decided.”

“I understand that.” Millie squeezed Albert's arm to impart both comfort and warning.

Actually, she was a little concerned about him. His cheeks were purple, and a vein at his temple had swelled until she could see his pulse. No doubt his blood pressure had escalated through the roof. She squeezed again, and watched his efforts to regain control. When the alarming color faded a tad, she turned to their daughter.

“Why don't you tell us about Nicholas?”

Gratitude flooded the girl's face, and a smile stole across her lips. “Oh, Mom, he's wonderful. Really incredible. The smartest man I've ever met. And funny too.” A girlish giggle heralded the return of the sparkle to her eyes. “He makes the wittiest comments.”

This was more like it. Actually, watching Alison as she talked about Nicholas took the edge off of Millie's tension. The girl positively radiated happiness. Her face glowed with an inner elation that Millie had never seen before. Maybe she really did love this man.

“How old is he? And what does he look like?”

“He's twenty-two, exactly my age. Only a few days' difference. And oh, he's so handsome!” She folded her hands beneath her chin and shut her eyes. “His heritage shows. Black hair, dark complexion, eyes so dark you can get lost in them. And his lips…” Bliss settled over her features as she wilted against the chair back and heaved a deep sigh.

Albert looked at Millie, eyebrows drawn together toward a pair of deep lines etched in his brow. After more than three decades of marriage, they could sometimes communicate without words. She read his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them.
What are you doing? Don't encourage her. We need to stand together on this.

Millie arched her eyebrows and lowered her chin slightly in return.
Arguing won't solve anything. We'll discuss it later.

She turned to their daughter. “When will we get to meet him?”

Bright eyes opened. “Next weekend. He's coming to town for the fall festival, and we'll get our marriage license then.” Her gaze flickered toward her father. “Mostly he's coming to meet you, of course.”

Many times over the years Millie had been proud of Albert, but never more than now. Though she knew the effort it cost him, he managed to speak in a reasonably calm tone. “I look forward to talking with him. Does he speak English?”

Alison cocked her head sideways and gave him a quizzical look. “What an odd question. Of course he does.” Then she giggled again. “Actually, his accent is so strong there were a couple of times I didn't understand him. But it's just so
adorable.
”

Albert actually rolled his eyes, which Millie didn't think their daughter noticed. Alison picked up her napkin and fork and resumed her dinner, oblivious to the fact that her parents were not eating.

“We really weren't planning on events moving so quickly, but then he received his assignment so we had to make some hasty decisions. It was only last week…”

Millie let Alison's chatter float over her, paying half attention to the details of a hastily planned civil wedding and hurried conversations during brief phone calls to discuss their plans to set up housekeeping on a foreign military base. She toyed with her food, pushing rice around her plate and digging a tunnel for gravy to flow through her mashed potatoes. Her appetite had disappeared.

Millie feared it might never return.

The ring of the telephone dragged Doc out of a deep sleep. Well, that and Lizzie's hand slapping him repeatedly on the chest.

“Wake up. It might be your mother.”

Sleep made her voice low, almost gravelly, but certainly didn't affect her strength. Chin stinging from a misplaced blow, Doc rolled away from his wife as he fumbled for the phone. Prying his eyes open, his sleep-numb brain registered the glaring red numbers on the clock. It must be Mother. Who else would have the nerve to call him at eleven forty-three at night?

He remembered then that he'd forgotten to stop by her house after work.

“'Lo?”

“Doctor Forsythe?” Not Mother. Female, the voice high-pitched and tight.

“Yes, this is Doc Forsythe. Who's calling?”

“It's Pauline Kramer. I'm sorry to call so late, but this is an emergency.”

Doc swung his feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Kramer. Familiar name, but who—

“It's Rosie.” A choked sob. “It's her time and—” Another sob. “There's something wrong. Can you come, Doc? Please?”

Now he had it. Rosie, beloved pet of Pauline Kramer, was due to give birth to a litter of kittens. A registered Siamese, this was Rosie's third or fourth litter. Neither she nor her owner were amateurs when it came to labor and delivery. If Pauline said something was wrong, there must really be.

Doc slid his feet into his slippers and stood. “I'll come right over. Where do you live?”

He scribbled the address on a notepad he kept on the nightstand without turning on the light. No sense disturbing Lizzie any more than necessary.

When he emerged from the walk-in closet dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, he found her sitting in the center of the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“To help a momma deliver a litter of kittens, hopefully.” He leaned across the bed and planted a kiss on her lips. “Go back to sleep.”

“'K. Love you, Doc.”

She collapsed backward, drawing the comforter up to her chin in the same movement, and was breathing deeply before he left the bedroom.

On the short drive to the Kramer house, Doc spared a fond thought for his slumbering wife. He'd known her since high school, loved her since college, and married her the day after graduating from veterinary school. It was she who gave him the nickname by which everyone except his mother called him. He even thought of himself as Doc.

It took no effort at all to recall their first date, when she planted her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and batted those flirty eyes at him. “If I'm going to be your girlfriend, I need to find another name for you. Horatio is too stuffy. And I can't very well shorten it, can I?”

They'd both laughed at the idea, and had spent a pleasant evening
bantering names back and forth. Finally she exclaimed, “You've got a cute nose and big eyes, but your ears are kind of long. You look a little like Bugs Bunny.”

“I refuse to answer to Bugs,” he'd replied, wondering if he could steal a kiss before the night ended.

“How about Doc?” She flashed an adorable grin. “That way when you call I can ask, ‘What's up, Doc?' ”

The name had stuck, and spread. Before long everyone called him Doc. And with such a name, what else could he become except a doctor? Given his love for animals, his vocation had practically been decided for him. And he'd gotten a lifetime of kisses too.

Every window blazed with light at the Kramer house. When he pulled into the driveway the front door flew open and an anxious Pauline stood behind the screen, arms folded and hands gripping her forearms.

“Thank you for coming, Doc.”

She let him in, closed the door behind him, and led him down a short hallway. From a landing above, two little girls in nightgowns peered anxiously through banisters.

Pauline caught sight of them. “You two go on to bed, now, y'hear? You got school tomorrow and I don't want you falling asleep in class. Doc's here and he'll take care of everything.”

As he passed beneath them a childish voice asked, “Are the kitties gonna be okay?”

Never lie about an animal's condition, that was his motto. He aimed a smile upward and avoided a direct answer. “Don't you worry. I'll do my best.”

He followed Pauline through the kitchen and into a small utility room.

“I keep her bed in here on account of it's near the hot water heater. In the wintertime it stays toasty warm. And the rest of the year on nice days I can open the back door and let a breeze blow through the screen.”

Tonight the room felt hot and stuffy, though the temperature outside was mild enough to warrant opening the windows. Rosie's bed, a round, overstuffed pet bed, had been lined with towels in preparation for the birth. It rested in a corner of the room next to a washer and dryer. Rosie herself lay inside. When Doc entered she raised her head, looked at him, and then nosed a trio of tiny kittens squirming at her side. The kittens had been cleaned, and Rosie, though obviously still in labor, didn't appear to be in distress.

Doc set his bag on the floor and knelt beside it. Extracting his stethoscope, he placed the rubber earpieces into his ears. “You're doing a good job, Momma.” He spoke in a low, soothing tone. “I'm going to listen to your heart. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt your babies.”