Page 13 of Call it Fate

Her eyes rose heavenward as she drew a deep breath but did as I asked. I didn’t miss the gloating smile that spread across the other woman’s face.

“Now, how can I help you, Mrs.…?”

“Matilda Espey. Call me Tilly. This is Rocky.” She nudged the carrier toward me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s been lethargic and getting fat.”

“Well, let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on.”

Wanda stood behind Tilly with her arms crossed. HerI tried to tell youlook should have been warning enough.

CHAPTER7

Zach

Darkness had fallen by the time I turned off the lights to the clinic. I’d spent an extra hour after finishing appointments and the staff had gone home to do a more thorough assessment of inventory and making myself more familiar with the small clinic.

For its size, I was actually impressed, especially with the single operating room. It might not be the fancy hospital I was used to, but Harold Claypool had kept up with modern capabilities. Even the computer system was a current program, making it easy to track down information on the pets I’d seen today—including that damn animal Matilda Espey had brought in.

A raccoon? Seriously? Wanda told me the town called her Crazy Tillie, but I wasn’t sure Doc Claypool was much better. He’d labeled the damn animal as a “cat” in the records.

God, I needed a drink.

First, finding Emalee here, and now, this crazy job.

I needed to find someplace to eat before I headed back to The Dogtrot. I felt as though I’d been caught in a whirlwind since I stepped foot in Sterling Mill. Had it really only been last night? Despite the cold, I parked in the center of town and walked to take in my temporary home. It wasn’t like it was far from anything, a point in favor of the small town.

I shivered inside my winter coat as I walked down the street, surprised by how many people didn’t let the cold air keep them inside. I guessed they were used to it. I bet the cooler air felt good while the rest of us were baking in the hot summers back in the lowlands.

It also gave me the break I needed to put my thoughts in order and think about what to say to Emalee when I saw her again. I had a few things to get off my chest and make her answer for, but something she said earlier made me uneasy. She obviously saw me as the bad guy in the situation, and a niggling feeling suddenly made me feel less certain about what digging into the past would reveal.

My stomach growled as I passed by a diner called Simply Ruth’s. Even in the chilled air outside its closed doors, I could smell the savory aromas of spices and meat on a grill and hear bursts of laughter. It appeared to be a happening place for a weeknight.

But with one look through the windows, I saw tables full of both families and friends all smiling and laughing together or couples smiling across the tables at each other. With the luck I was having, I’d find Emalee at one of those tables, smiling at a date seated across from her.

I might tell myself I was over her, but I wasn’t a masochist, either.

I needed somewhere I wouldn’t feel so isolated if I went inside by myself. A quick search on my phone suggested Fergusson’s, a pub that served heavy appetizers and was across the way if you didn’t consider the extensive park separating the two major streets in town. Since I still had on my dress shoes, I had to take the long way and go around the park, but the sidewalks had all been cleared and salted.

I heard thethumpof a baseline and muddled lyrics that morphed into a recognizable song as someone opened a door ahead of me. “Fancy Like” by Walker Hayes greeted me as I stepped into the bar. It was a great song, the kind of tricky rhythm I liked to crank up in my car and sing along with, but the lyrics hit too close to home and reminded me too much of the girl I was here to avoid.

Em had been so unlike other girls I had known. She was “low maintenance” as the song described, appreciating when I tried to take her to fancy restaurants but preferring quiet evenings, if you could call them that, at my fraternity house. She would get the guys to play board games and was a fierce competitor when it came to winning.

Fortunately, the song ended by the time I made my way past several round tables to the long, polished wood bar. I took off my overcoat and laid it across my lap, looking around in appreciation. The place was different from those in Charlotte. It didn’t have the “club” atmosphere; there wasn’t the techno lighting or DJ. There weren’t girls in tight, sparkly dresses or guys who thought they were big shots and looking to show off by dropping a few hundred on drinks. This was laid back, a place to unwind, either with friends or on your own.

Several long strings of globe lights were draped between metal pipes that hung from the wood ceiling and reflected in a mirror behind the liquor shelves. In the center of the bar, several taps that looked like they’d been there longer than I’d been alive promised an impressive variety of beer. A small dance floor with a raised platform for a band was to my left. But most interesting was the mechanical bull pen on the other side, where currently, a guy with a cowboy hat seemed to hold his own, judging by the cheers coming from the onlookers.

“Welcome to Ferg’s.” A pretty redhead placed a napkin in front of me. “What can I get for you, handsome?” I liked her smile, a little flirty and a lot genuine. I could tell she liked what she saw by the way her eyes lingered on me.

“I don’t suppose you have any Macallan?”

“Fifteen or eighteen years?” she replied without batting an eye.

“I think today calls for the eighteen.”

She turned around, climbed onto a stool, and reached for a bottle. She wiped the dust off with a clean cloth before she pulled the cork out and grabbed a lowball glass from under the bar.

“Something tells me you don’t want it on the rocks,” she said as she poured a generous finger’s worth into the glass and slid it in front of me before leaning her arms against the polished wood. “Are we celebrating or forgetting?”

I took a sip, enjoying its familiar complexity of flavors. I glanced at the pretty bartender. “More like avoiding.”

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