Lady And The Scamp: Lady And The Scamp / The Doctor Dilemma

Sliding her hand over her taut stomach, she wondered briefly what it would be like to have another life stirring inside her. She’d never given much thought to marriage or to motherhood before, especially since her work had always been the driving force in her life. But now that she thought about it, she realized that she would want a large family. Possibly because being an only child had been such a tremendous burden to bear.

More than once Cassie had wondered if having brothers and sisters may have made life with Lenora a little easier. Dee scolded her on a regular basis for being the “dutiful daughter,” and she had been, but Cassie had done so out of love, not fear. Despite Lenora’s overbearing personality, Cassie loved her mother dearly. And like her father, she had just found it much easier to bend to Lenora’s will.

Thinking about her parents now, Cassie realized how quickly things had gotten out of hand in their short absence. Duchess was pregnant, and Cassie may as well have been pregnant since everyone in Asheville was buzzing about the rumor Evelyn Van Arbor repeated to anyone who would listen. Cassie hadn’t missed the snide looks people sent her way, or the fact that everyone she ran into lately had their eyes focused directly on her stomach.

“Oh, well, I don’t have time to worry about the rumor now,” Cassie said aloud as she pulled into her reserved parking space. She had more important things to occupy her mind at the moment.

Things like whether or not Dee had the ability to pull a magic potion out of her bag of doggy tricks and make Duchess well again.

“NICK, OLD BOY, you’ve really hit pay dirt this time.”

Nick barely grunted when the station manager strolled into his office with a silly grin plastered across his fleshy cheeks. Ignoring Nick’s cool regard, the man perched a hip on the corner of the desk, looking like the Cheshire cat who followed Alice around in Wonderland.

“I’m not kidding, Nick,” his boss said when Nick still failed to respond. “The damn phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning, and the e-mail’s piling up faster than a bar tab at a Shriners convention. Everybody in town seems to have an opinion about this lawsuit of yours, and so far, those for you outnumber the nay-sayers ten to one.”

“I’m flattered,” Nick mumbled, though he really couldn’t care less.

Sure, he’d been fired up when he went on the air that morning, especially on the heels of receiving that lawsuit. But by the end of the day Nick’s rage had evaporated around him like the lifting of an early morning fog. And what settled in its place was much worse than anger.

Like a multimega amplifier, the same name kept reverberating through Nick’s mind in an endless chant: Cassie. Cassie. Cassie.

“Are you listening to me, Nick?”

“Sure, I’m listening,” Nick said as he reluctantly met the man’s gaze.

“I’m serious about this, boy. I want you to milk this story for all it’s worth. I mean, I want this story broadcast right down to the minute when the judge bangs his gavel and ends the courtroom proceedings.”

“I’m hoping the judge will throw the damn case out of court,” Nick grumbled.

“Even better,” the station manager assured him. “Think about it, boy. You’ll be an instant hero to all those little people out there who have their doubts about their ability to fight city hall and win.”

Deciding his boss had evidently lost a few shingles since the last storm, Nick shook his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves on this, Bob. I talked to my attorney yesterday and he said there’s a good chance I’ll lose this case.” Pointing to the legal document on his desk, Nick added, “Those papers charge me with being in flagrant violation of the City of Asheville’s leash law. And whether I like it or not, my dog was running loose.”

The manager frowned for a moment, but the frown quickly faded. “Hell, who cares whether you win this case or not? The way our ratings are going up, I’ll pay your damn court costs myself. We’re on a roll, son. Don’t drop the ball now.”

Nick should have felt comforted by the friendly slap on the back before his boss left the room, but he didn’t. Leaving his chair, he walked to the window at the end of the room and stared out at the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains that surrounded Asheville like a protective barricade. He’d fallen in love with the sleepy town several years earlier when he’d attended a radio convention as the guest speaker. Though his friends in Atlanta declared him insane when he turned his back on the big-city lights and headed for a town with a population of less than 100,000, Nick hadn’t regretted his decision once since his arrival.

In fact, it was almost as if some outside force like an imaginary magnet had drawn him to the mountains.

Of course, he hadn’t exactly been welcomed with open arms. His neighbors didn’t care for his unconventional ways. But despite the fact that he would never conform to their ridiculous social protocol, he secretly admired the old families who held their traditions sacred, and who were determined to preserve a heritage for upcoming generations. Nick had been bounced back and forth over the entire nation by the time he turned sixteen. Now, for a reason he still couldn’t explain, it seemed as if he’d finally come home.

Deciding a long ride on the Blue Ridge Parkway might lift his spirits, Nick walked back to his desk and glanced at the outline he’d drawn up for the next day’s early morning program. Despite his foul mood, he had to admit the material was extremely funny. He intended to thoroughly explore what he’d called “Earl’s Day in Court,” complete with a scenario where Earl would have to raise his right paw when he took the witness stand in his own defense.

After stapling the papers together, Nick motioned to one of his co-workers who was passing by his door. “Make sure Bob sees this outline for tomorrow’s program,” he instructed, then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

A long ride through the mountains had never failed him in the past. And with any luck, the mountains would come to his rescue again this time and permanently erase Cassie Collins’s name from his memory.

“DEE BISHOP ON LINE ONE for you, Miss Collins.”

“Dee?” Cassie asked the second she punched the appropriate number on the phone pad.

“Yes, it’s me. But before you say anything else, if you’re making plans to string the jerk up, I’ll go out and buy the rope myself.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Who do you think I’m talking about? Nick Hardin, of course. I thought that was why you called me.”

“I called you because Duchess still won’t eat anything.”

“I thought you were calling about Nick’s talk show this morning?” Dee replied. “Everyone else in Asheville is sure talking about it. I’ve heard it’s even going to make the evening news tonight.”

Cassie lowered her coffee cup from her mouth to her desk, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “I only listened to the first part of his monologue, and then I turned the stupid thing off,” she admitted.

“Then you mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Cassie demanded.

“Oh, Cassie,” Dee whined. “Nick Hardin didn’t use your name, but he left no doubt about who filed the lawsuit against him. He said things like, and I quote ‘I really can’t blame old Earl. After all, his new lady love did just win Best-in-Show at the Westminster Dog Show in New York City.”’

Cassie gasped.

“It gets worse,” Dee assured her. “He also said, ‘I know I should find some comfort that the lady suing me looks more like a model than an attorney, but even so, I admit I was a little shocked that she expected me to pay seventy-eight dollars a day for someone to sit with her prissy pooch….”’

“I’ll kill him,” Cassie screeched.

“Not if I get to him first,” Dee vowed. “He took a cheap shot at me, too. During the last part of his program the jerk had the nerve to say that ‘the only highlight of this whole episode might be uncovering yet another predator who is greedily feasting on Asheville’s unsuspecting citizens.’ And then he went on to ask everyone if they’d checked their veterinarian bills lately and pointed out that ‘the vet who takes care of Earl’s girlfriend drives a red Porsche.”’

Cassie glanced at the waste can sitting beside her desk, deciding she may to use it if the wave of nausea plaguing her stomach washed over her again. After several seconds of silence, she blew out a deep breath and dabbed at her clammy forehead with a tissue she’d taken from her purse.

“I’m really sorry I’ve dragged you into this, Dee,” she finally managed to say. “I should have known better than to go up against a crazed militant like Nick Hardin. Especially since he’s willing to use the media as his weapon.”

Dee remained silent a little longer than usual. “Oh, what the hell. I’ll weather the storm far better than you will, my friend. But maybe you should think about dropping this lawsuit. Do it while you still have time.”

It was Cassie’s turn to remain silent a little too long. “You’re right. Maybe I will drop the suit. But I’m more concerned about Duchess right now. She still won’t eat a thing and she’s listless. I’m really worried, Dee. Do you think I should bring her in and let you check her?”

“Is she drinking any water?”

“A little, but she just mopes around. I swear it’s almost as if she’s grieving over something. Does pregnancy do that to dogs?”

“Now, don’t go into orbit, Cassie, but I don’t think her condition is physical.”

“You mean you’re saying you think the dog is a nut case?”

“No, I’m saying I think it would be a good idea to have that behavior therapist Lenora has on the payroll to stop by and evaluate Duchess. He’s worked with her in the past. Especially before some of the major dog shows. And he knows Duchess’s temperament. Do you have his number?”

“Yes,” Cassie groaned. “But I don’t even want to think about what Nick will say on the air when I add a doggy psychiatrist’s bill to the list of expenses.”

“You asked for my advice, Cassie, nobody said you had to take it,” Dee reminded her curtly.

Cassie removed the clasp from her hair and let the long tresses topple down her back. Along with the upset stomach, it seemed she was now developing a throbbing headache. “Sorry, Dee,” Cassie said with a sigh. “You know I value your opinion. I’ll call the guy the second we hang up.”

“I promise this man knows what he’s doing, Cassie. And he always insists on seeing his patients in their home environment,” Dee added. “See if you can make the appointment for around seven tonight. I’d like to be there myself when he examines Duchess.”

“Will do,” Cassie agreed. “And I’ll even call Louise and see if she won’t fix us a pan of her award-winning lasagna.”

“And after dinner, maybe we can sneak over to Nick Hardin’s house and smother him in his sleep.”

Cassie snorted. “I’d rather see his head roll out from under a guillotine blade, myself, but that wouldn’t be torturous enough for the creep.”

Dee laughed. “See you at seven. I’ll bring the wine.”

Cassie returned the receiver to the holder on her desk, then propped her elbows on her blotter and placed her head in her hands. After massaging both of her temples for several seconds, she searched through the numbers her mother had compiled for Duchess’s care before she left for Europe. When Cassie found the name she wanted, she decided Houston Baumfarger was an appropriate name for a man who devoted his time delving into the minds of the animal world. And had Cassie’s own mental state not been so rattled from the morning’s hectic events, she may have found a little humor in the response she gave when the shrill voice of the renowned dog psychiatrist answered his private line.

“Houston?” Cassie said. “We have a problem.”

IT WAS DARK WHEN NICK pulled into his driveway. He’d ridden all the way to Mount Mitchell which, at an elevation of more than six thousand feet, was the highest point in the state. Embracing the great outdoors usually cleansed his inner demons and left his soul restored, but nature had failed him this time. The experience hadn’t purged Cassie Collins from his thoughts. Instead, her memory had ridden right along with him as if she’d been sitting behind him on the bike with her arms clasped tightly around his waist.

In a far worse mood than when he’d left his office that morning, Nick lifted the flap on the saddlebag at the back of his motorcycle and retrieved two containers of spicy takeout he’d bought from a quaint little Chinese restaurant he’d discovered on the west side of town. A wide variety of eating establishments was the one thing Nick missed most about Atlanta, but that was all he missed. He didn’t miss the traffic, the fast pace or the wild lifestyle he’d left behind when he made the decision to head for the peace and solitude of the mountains.

The turning point had actually arrived when Nick awoke one morning at his sprawling Atlanta home and found that he didn’t know half of the people who were already milling around his pool. When he noticed several people snorting cocaine from the neat little rows they’d skillfully lined up on the glass top of his patio table, however, Nick went into orbit.

Nick loved his brandy and savored the taste of fine wine. He even had a passion for imported beer, but he had never indulged in taking drugs, nor would he tolerate drug use in his presence. Within the space of five minutes, he’d cleared the place out, and he put his house on the market the same day. Within two months, he was on his way to Asheville in search of a better life.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick said when Earl tore into the foyer and began jumping around his legs. “Did you realize you’ve become a celebrity overnight?”

Greetings exchanged, both Nick and Earl headed for the den. But as Nick walked toward the bar, it crossed his mind that other than the bedroom, the den was really the only other room he used in his rambling sixteen-room abode. He’d known from the beginning that he didn’t need such an enormous house, but the Realtor had shown Nick documented proof that his favorite author, Thomas Wolfe, had rented the old Tudor mansion one summer while he finished his celebrated novel, Look Homeward, Angel. Being the hopeless romantic and sucker for nostalgia that he was, Nick had bought the house on the spot. And he finally justified his purchase by rationalizing that the house would provide plenty of room later for him to raise the big family he had always wanted.

But what is my definition of later? Nick asked himself as he filled Earl’s bowl with a healthy portion of dog food. He would soon be thirty-six, and was no closer to starting a family now than he had been at eighteen.

Moving aside when Earl lunged at his bowl, Nick wondered if it hadn’t made him feel a little inferior that his own dog would become a father before he would. When his own stomach growled in protest, however, he decided his stomach took precedence over trying to sort out warped emotions. Without another thought to parenthood, he grabbed one of his favorite brews from the refrigerator and settled himself decidedly at the bar.

Using a plastic fork that was left over from some other evening’s fine dining experience, he dug into the cardboard containers of rice and Szechwan beef, then turned on the TV and channel surfed. When he landed on a particular channel, a loud bark from Earl made Nick pause a little longer than usual. He almost choked on his food when a life-size picture of the current winner of the Westminster Dog Show filled the wide-screen.

Yapping excitedly, Earl put his front paws on the television, trying to lick the image, but his sullen master was far from being impressed.

“Damn reruns,” Nick cursed under his breath, then switched off the television and threw the remote halfway across the room.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” Cassie shouted as she vaulted from her chair.

The slender man sitting primly on the edge of Cassie’s sofa jumped at her outburst, causing some of the hot tea he held in his lap to slosh over the rim of the china cup and puddle in his saucer. After sending Cassie an annoyed look, he quickly glanced at Dee for support. “You asked for my expert opinion, Miss Collins. I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking.”

Cassie glared into the man’s watery eyes, eyes that were the same color as the wiry sprouts of gray hair that seemed to spring from the top of his head in every direction. Tired of having expert opinions from veterinarians and haughty doggy shrinks shoved down her throat, Cassie stood her ground. “No, Dr. Baumfarger, your expert opinion isn’t to my liking. In the first place, you’ll have a hard time convincing me it’s possible for a dog to be lovesick. And in the second place, it would be next to impossible to arrange for the father of Duchess’s puppies to pay her a conjugal visit.”

The man actually gasped. “Now, really, Miss Collins, there’s no point in being vulgar.”

Cassie ignored the reprimand and launched into her usual pacing mode. When is this nightmare going to be over? she kept asking herself. She stomped around the room several times, but when her pacing brought her back to face the two esteemed doctors who were sitting on her sofa like stone statues, she brought her hands to her hips and asked, “You’re absolutely certain you can’t come up with any other reason for Duchess’s behavior?”

Dr. Baumfarger sent Dee a conspiratorial look, then placed his teacup and saucer on the silver tray sitting on the coffee table. Rising from his seat, he smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his sharply creased trousers, then lifted his chin until he was literally looking down at Cassie over his beaklike nose. “I’m not in the habit of having my diagnosis questioned, or of making mistakes, Miss Collins,” he retorted curtly. “I’ve told you how to solve your problem with Duchess. It’s up to you whether or not you choose to follow my advice.”

With that said, the man took a step forward in Cassie’s direction. Cassie moved aside to let him pass and made no objection when Dee offered to show the smug canine collaborator to the door. As their muffled voices echoed back from the foyer, however, Cassie strained to listen. “Don’t worry, I’ll convince her” was all she could make out.

“I’ll convince her, my foot,” Cassie mumbled under her breath, then stomped toward the kitchen, heading straight for the bottle of white wine that was already chilling in one of Lenora’s fancy silver ice buckets.

“I’m ashamed of you, Cassie. I’ve never seen you act so rude,” Dee scolded minutes later when she stormed into the kitchen.

Cassie ignored the comment and took another long sip of wine from her glass. “And I’ve never heard such a ridiculous diagnosis in my entire life,” Cassie shot back.

Dee walked over and a poured her own glass of wine from the bottle. “Well, Miss Priss. I guess you’ll never really know if Dr. Baumfarger’s diagnosis is ridiculous, will you? You’ve already made it exceedingly clear that you don’t intend to follow his suggestion.”

Still seething, Cassie attacked the pan of lasagna Louise had left for them, then grudgingly pushed a plate full of the luscious concoction in her best friend’s direction. “Don’t even start with me, Dee. You know full well there’s no way to test that nitwit’s theory, short of kidnapping the mangy mutt from Nick Hardin’s yard.”

“You’ve obviously forgotten we have that terrific little invention called the telephone,” Dee snapped back. “Call the man, Cassie. It might not be as impossible as you think.”

“And say what?” Cassie demanded. “Sorry I just filed a lawsuit against you, but the dog psychiatrist just informed me that Duchess is lovesick. Would you mind letting old Earl come over and sit in the parlor with her to cheer her up?”

Dee grimaced as Cassie’s voice grew higher with each word she said. “Very funny,” Dee tossed back. “I was thinking you might call and explain the situation, and tell Nick you were willing to compromise. You’ll drop the lawsuit if he’ll allow Earl to make an appearance.”

They both took their plates to the kitchen table and sat down, but Cassie only toyed with her food. She’d halfway decided to drop the lawsuit, anyway, but she certainly hadn’t counted on having to call Nick Hardin. Much less apologize and ask him for a favor. Just the thought of seeing him again face-to-face was enough to put her into a tailspin. But asking for a compromise? And one that would undoubtedly mean they would be seeing each other off and on over the next few weeks? Cassie knew spending time with that man would be as dangerous as playing a game of Russian roulette with six bullets in the chamber. She’d never survive it.

Pointing her fork in Dee’s direction, Cassie moved it up and down as she talked. “Okay, Miss Expert,” she scoffed. “Let’s say Nick did agree to a compromise, and that he did let me borrow his dog for a few hours. What am I supposed to do if Earl’s princely presence doesn’t change Duchess’s attitude?”

Dee shrugged. “I guess you won’t know until you try it, will you?” she mumbled with her mouth half full.

Cassie let out a long sigh, then left the table and went back to the kitchen for the wine bottle. After refilling each of their goblets, she looked at Dee and managed a feeble smile. “You realize you may have to go out for more wine. I’ve heard drinking large quantities of alcohol makes it much easier to grovel at someone’s feet.”

Dee’s look turned serious. “No one’s expecting you to grovel, Cassie. But that little dog in there can’t take many more days without any food. I’ll even go with you for moral support if you want.”

“Oh, and that should go over real big,” Cassie quipped. “Nick doesn’t exactly hold either of us in very high esteem at the moment, remember?”

“You’re right,” Dee admitted, polishing off her last bite of lasagna. “He’d probably be defensive and think we were ganging up on him.”

Although she could feel an impending cloud of doom gathering above her, Cassie knew this was one time she had no choice in the matter. Dropping her head in her hands, she let out an agonized groan. “I’d rather have hot needles poked through both of my eyelids than apologize to that man, Dee.”

Dee laughed despite her friend’s anguish. “I know you would, but you’re a tough old girl, Cass. And for Duchess’s sake, I think you can handle it.”

6

NICK TOSSED THE ARMLOAD of dirty clothes he’d collected from the den into the hall closet, then forced the door shut with his elbow. Hurrying back to make one last survey around the room, he made a mental note to have his cleaning lady come weekly instead of monthly. When he noticed a stack of old magazines still peeking out from under the stereo cabinet where he’d stuffed them, Nick used the sharp toe of his cowboy boot to kick them out of view, then proclaimed his cleaning spurt over.

Whether he liked it or not, the den looked as presentable as he could make it, given the short distance his unexpected guest had to drive from her house to his.

Heading for the bar, Nick poured himself a stiff drink, trying to imagine what Cassie had on her twisted little mind. “We need to talk,” she’d said in a voice as sweet as sugar. “Is it too late to drop by your place for a few minutes?”

Nick was tempted to tell her it was too late to talk the day she filed the lawsuit against him, but something in her voice told him she was nervous. And nervous was good. Nick knew it meant that, for some reason, he now had the upper hand.

He suspected she’d taken so much heat from the publicity his talk show was receiving that she’d made the wise decision to drop the lawsuit while she still had time. He’d hoped as much when he did everything but scream her name out over the air. He just hadn’t expected her to give up so soon.

Finishing off his Scotch, Nick prayed the smooth liquid would calm his jittery nerves. And why shouldn’t I be a little jumpy? he asked himself. The woman had caused him nothing but trouble from the first day he met her. He only hoped she wouldn’t show up wearing those damn Daisy Dukes of hers again. If she did, Nick knew he’d be a goner.