The Room with the Second-Best View (7 page)

The irritable tone, so unlike his sweet Millie, provided further proof that her brain was not functioning normally. Pain had obviously clouded her thinking.

“This job will involve a lot of upfront work, but then it will be easy. It's decorating Main Street for holidays and things like that. I'm quite good at decorating.”

“You are,” he agreed.

A pretty pout appeared on her lips. “I can't believe you turned down my job without even checking with me.”

Al rocked back on the heels of his loafers. At times like this, a husband's responsibility was clear. Calm and placate his wife until logic returned. He'd learned two words long ago that, if used sparingly, went miles toward maintaining marital harmony.

He dropped his head and muttered in a humble tone, “I'm sorry.”

A quick upward glance revealed that the words worked their magic. Irritation began to seep from her expression.

“Well.” Her rigid lips softened. “You couldn't have known what I wanted. I didn't tell you, did I?”

Had he followed his instincts and pointed that fact out, she would have flared. Angry words would have escalated a simple disagreement into a full-blown argument. So much better to let her come to the realization on her own.

“I was only trying to protect you,” he said, using his meekest voice. “I don't want you to take on too much.”

A smile, small but encouraging, appeared. “That was very kind of you, Albert.”

“That's the husband's responsibility.” Bolstered by the softening of her tone, he puffed out his chest and expanded his defense. “We're the defenders of the family. The wife's advocate. We safeguard our loved ones, even when—”

“Albert.”

Judging by her sardonic expression, he'd taken the protector thing a bit too far. He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

But at least he'd accomplished his goal. Argument avoided. Millie no longer looked like she wanted to bite his head off, and a touch of amusement softened her smile.

“Come on inside and tell me about the meeting,” she said. “I made a pot of decaf.”

Moving cautiously, she turned toward the door, and Al leaped ahead to open it for her.

“What do you have there?” She pointed toward the jars.

“Mustard marmalade.” He wrinkled his nose. “A gift from Lulu.”

“Really?” Interest sprang onto her face as she took one of the jars and inspected it. “I've never heard of making marmalade with mustard. I'll bet that would be a good glaze for ham.”

The idea of eating ham slathered in Thacker's favorite jam sent a quiver through Al's stomach. He stepped in front of her, drew himself up to his full height, and said in his sternest voice, “Don't even think about it.”

Susan disconnected the call and slipped her cell phone into the pocket of her lab coat.

Seated at the reception desk, Alice looked up from the chart she was scribbling on. “How is Millie?”

“Better, she says.”

Susan glanced into the Playful Pups waiting room, where Tammy Lockridge sat holding a scruffy mixed breed she'd adopted from the pound yesterday. The dog's terrified shivering was visible even at this distance. In the Kuddly Kitties room, Mrs. Elsimmer awaited her turn with her cat, Bullet, in a travel crate at her feet. Though the woman paged through a magazine, her quick upward glance toward the reception desk told Susan her ears were tuned to their conversation.

Susan turned her back toward the waiting rooms and lowered her voice. “She still can't sit comfortably, but she's practicing using a computer with her left hand. She says she'll be back on Monday. Are you okay covering all day tomorrow too?”

Alice nodded, and then creases appeared in her forehead. “I have one problem, though. Tomorrow there's no school because of a teacher in-service day, and Fern has a job interview at the Bistro at ten o'clock.” She cleared her throat, and caution crept over her expression. “Sharon has agreed to watch the girls.”

Though she left the question unvoiced, Susan knew what was coming. The younger Wainright girls were sweet children, well-behaved and easily entertained. But the boys? The idea of those two high-spirited miscreants hanging around the clinic held no appeal whatsoever. But what could she say? Alice was doing her a favor by working full days until Millie returned. Business at the animal clinic was steady enough these days that Susan couldn't handle the reception desk and treat her patients as well. Finding a temporary replacement on such short notice was unlikely. She really had no choice.

“Nina Baker isn't on the schedule for tomorrow, is she?”

“No,” Alice said quickly, her eyes wide. After the episode with poor Pepe, Nina had treated Alice to such a harsh dressing-down about
“those delinquents-in-the-making” that the shy receptionist cried for two days.

“They won't be here all day, will they?”

Alice shook her head. “Only until Fern is out of her interview. And I'll make sure they behave. I promise.”

Alice intertwined her fingers on the desk in front of her so she appeared to be pleading. The sight sent a wave of guilt washing through Susan. She wasn't trying to be mean or harsh. And it wasn't as if she disliked Alice's sons. They could actually be kind of charming when they tried. But she had a responsibility to her animal patients and their owners to provide a safe environment.

“I suppose it'll be okay.”

Alice relaxed, and she exhaled a soft sigh.

Susan adopted a stern tone. “But keep them away from the lab area and the exam rooms. And make sure they're supervised if they come in contact with any animals.”

“They'll be on their best behavior,” Alice assured her.

Like that was supposed to be reassuring. The only time those boys behaved was when they were asleep. Was it too much to hope that they'd nap all the way through Fern's interview?

Chapter Five

I
n the moment after Millie awoke on Friday, her habitual cheerful first-thought-of-the-morning flitted into her mind.
It's going to be a lovely day!

Then she reached for the edge of the blanket. A tiny movement, barely more than an inch, but one that brought the memory of her injuries crashing through her brain with the weight of a freight train.

“
Ow
!” Tears stung her still-closed eyes. “Ow, ow,
ouch!
”

“Wha—” On his side of the bed, Albert stirred, his voice heavy with sleep. “Whasswrong? Y'k?”

“No, I'm not okay.” The sharp pain that resulted from the unwise movement of her sprained wrist dulled to an ache, and her lower back throbbed miserably. “I can't move.”

Albert jerked upright, jostling the mattress so that she hissed with pain. “What, are you paralyzed?”

“Of course I'm not paralyzed,” she snapped. “If I were, I wouldn't be in this much pain.” She gave her voice over to a full-fledged whine. “I hurt! I thought it would be better today, not worse.”

“That's probably normal.” He stretched, yawning. “Sore muscles are always worse the second day. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, someone might have warned me.” She regretted the uncharitable snipe and went on in a kinder tone. “Would you help me get up?”

He swung his feet to the floor and rounded the bed, rubbing his eyes. Through the discomfort of her sore spine, Millie spared a smile for his spiky morning hair and rumpled pajamas. Seeing her normally neat husband looking unkempt and charmingly boyish was one of the privileges of marriage that she cherished. In the early days she'd insisted on slipping out of bed before he woke so she could rush to the bathroom, comb her hair, and wash her face. What a relief it had been to settle into the comfortable assurance that his affection for her was not dependent upon her appearance.

With Albert's help, amid much hissing and moaning, she managed to attain a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. Then she had to rest a minute, waiting for the pain to dull and her racing heart to slow, while directing him to retrieve her clothes. A loose housedress today, something easy to put on and not tight around her sore nether region. The slip-on sneakers she typically wore while painting, which had the benefit of being rubber-soled. The idea of applying makeup one-handed was too tiresome to consider, and unnecessary besides. She wasn't going anywhere.

Albert ran a brush through her hair and then stepped back to examine his handiwork. “There. Ready to face the day.”

Turning-slowly—Millie caught sight of herself in the vanity mirror and cringed. She touched one pale cheek and then ran the fingers of her good hand through lifeless locks. “I look like a flash-flood survivor.”

“Not true.” Albert pressed a kiss on her forehead. “You look beautiful to me.”

She turned a grateful smile up to him. “Since you're the only one who'll see me today, that's all that matters.”

The doorbell rang as Millie scooped the last bite of Cheerios from her bowl. She cast a startled glance toward Albert.

“Whoever it is, I'll get rid of them.” He rose from his chair, shoved a crust of toast in his mouth, and left the kitchen, brushing his hands on his trousers.

Millie stood and, one-handed, began taking the dishes to the sink while straining to hear the conversation at the other end of the house.

A moment later, there was no need to strain. A voice, loud and blaring, echoed through the hallway and dining room to invade the silence of the kitchen. No question as to the identity of their visitor. Lulu Thacker.

“You know what they say,” the woman boomed, “beware neighbors bearing gifts. Though we aren't exactly neighbors, are we?”

Gifts? Millie set her coffee mug in the sink, listening to the rumble of Albert's quiet reply without being able to make out his words.

“I'm not gonna stay long. Just want to pick her brain a bit.”

Albert said something, followed by Lulu's, “Oh, don't worry about that. I'm a calming visitor—everybody says so. Wow. Would you look at this place?”

She sounded closer, as though she'd come inside the house. Millie heard footsteps on the hardwood in the entry hall. Albert had let her in.

A long whistle reached the kitchen. “Mighty grand place you got here. No wonder you sold the old house to us. It's a cracker box compared to this here one.”