Tennessee Vet

She leaned out her open window. “Here’s my card. Numbers for me, the clinic, my cell and my email. I’ll let you know if something changes. Mr. MacDonald—”

“Stephen, please.”

“And I’m Barbara. Try to get some sleep, and don’t worry. He obviously wants to live. Now we have to hope his will is as strong as his bones.” She pulled away and waved through her window as she drove back onto the road and turned toward the clinic.

He stood in the dark and watched her taillights until she turned the bend and disappeared. Heck of an introduction to the country, he thought. And a heck of an introduction to the most interesting woman he’d met since Nina died.

Though she was a bit too sure of herself...

CHAPTER FIVE

“AN EAGLE? REALLY?” Emma Logan swiveled as much as she could to look at Stephen in the passenger seat of her SUV. It was clearly a challenge to get the distance she needed between her stomach and the steering wheel while still being able to keep her feet on the pedals. “Have you talked to Barbara this morning? How is he?”

“I called at six thirty this morning. That was as late as I could wait. She told me she’s calling in one of her colleagues from the raptor center in Memphis to give her a hand in case she has to pin the wing. I’m glad she decided to bring in another vet. She seemed excellent, but it never hurts to have a second opinion.”

“She’s a gem, but she’s going to kill herself unless she can hire another vet to take some of the pressure off her. There is a vet south of Williamston, but he’s only interested in small animals. The closest large animal vet is in Somerville, twenty-five miles away. Seth says she and John picked this location because nobody else was practicing here. And now the locals love her, so everybody calls or just shows up when they have a problem. Some days when I’m working for her I can barely find a place to park.”

“I suspect you need earplugs.”

She laughed. “The big fancy kind. The dogs and cats aren’t the worst. It’s the pigs. Ever hear a pig squeal when it’s being restrained?”

“Probably the way that eagle screamed last night.”

“Oh, I’ll bet Little Oinky can top that eagle’s decibel level. Pigs have no defense mechanisms except flight and noise.”

“Not Olympic sprint speed, right?”

“Right, although under pressure even a full-grown domestic pig can put on a surprising turn of speed for a short distance. When anything or anyone tries to restrain them, their instinct is to squeal and run. Preferably knocking you down and stomping on you in the process.”

“I thought they ate people.”

“I think that’s an old wives’ tale. I do know, however, that hogs keep growing until they die. I rode along with Barbara to see a pig with an abscessed hoof the other day. I swear the hog, Arnold, was the size of a camping tent—and not for one person, either.’’ She looked down at her belly and sighed. “I know how he feels.”

“I didn’t ask last night,” Stephen said, “but if it’s not a rude question...”

“When am I due? First week in December. Perfect time. After Thanksgiving and before Christmas. Assuming good ol’ Kicks here can read schedules.” She patted her tummy. “Actually, I have tons of energy, unlike the first three months, when all I wanted to do was sleep and eat. Barbara says all mammals tend to do that. She’s warned me that when I start rearranging the linen closet and cleaning out the kitchen cabinets I need to watch out for labor. Sometimes I wish I was a sea horse. The daddy has full responsibility for the offspring.

“Here we are at the café. Prepare to be checked out.” She turned into the parking lot of the brick building. A small sign over the door read Café, and a sign on the window said Open. Other than that and the large number of cars in the lot at seven thirty in the morning, nothing shouted that this was the place everyone in town came for meals, if they ate out at all.

The minute Stephen opened the glass front door for Emma the noise poured out. People noise. Not jukebox or even radio. “Ah,” he said with a grin. “Nothing but conversation and cutlery.”

“Oooh,” Emma said. “I’ll have to remember that the next time my sometime boss Nathan wants me to come up with a title for a new restaurant.”

“You’re still working for Nathan? I assumed you quit when you married Seth and moved up here from Memphis.”

“Long distance via computer and cell phone. I’m not leaving the county again until Kicks is a separate entity. Between doing special projects for Nathan and running the appointment scheduling for Barbara three half days a week and supervising the addition to the house and—”

“Having a baby.”

“It’s crazy, but what would I do if I stayed home? Play video games? Listen to the men who are working on the addition to the house? They all speak Spanish, so our conversations consist mostly of smiles and charades. I’ll be glad when they are finished, so I can have my house back. Hey, my word! Here’s Barbara.”

Stephen felt his heart stop for a moment as he swiveled to look at her. He assumed she’d come to tell him the bird had not survived the night. Well, she’d warned him his rescue was unlikely to survive. He grabbed a deep breath and prepared for some new psychic pain.

She waved at them and wound her way through the restaurant to their table, speaking to nearly everyone she passed. She slipped into the seat across from him and said, “Morning, Emma, Stephen. Mind if I join you?”

“You already have,” Emma said, though she nodded and smiled. She raised a hand to catch the eye of Velma, the waitress.

“I had to come tell you personally,” Barbara said to Stephen.

“You don’t have to tell me. He didn’t make it, did he?”

Her eyes opened wide. “No, no. I should have realized you’d think... He made it through the night and swallowed a mouse whole an hour ago. Tried to devour my fingers, too. He hated the mouse, because we had to give him one of the frozen ones we keep for emergencies. I did thaw it. He grumped a bit, but he ate it eventually. At the moment, he’s trying to figure out how to remove his neck collar so he can tear off his bandages.”

“But he’s alive?”

“So far. One of my best vet buds from Land Between the Lakes park is driving over his morning. We may have to pin the wing, although checking the X-rays, I don’t think we’ll need to. If he survives that, we start the healing. Then, if that works, we start rehabilitating him—if we can figure out where to do it.”

“How can you do that without a flight cage?” Emma asked.

“We can’t. We may have to move him up to Reelfoot Lake before he heals. It’s crazy that we can’t have one closer than that. We desperately need it for all the birds we rehabilitate. In the meantime, Stephen, since he’s your responsibility...”

“I should have mentioned that last night. I’ll be totally responsible for your charges. I do have a book to write. I intend, however, to monitor his progress closely. Anything you need, I will attempt to provide for him. I plan to see him fly away without a backward glance.”

“No charges. He’s part of my work with the animal rehabilitators group. If we could clean up the outdoor cage Seth and his team built for Emma at The Hovel when she first moved here and was raising her abandoned skunk babies, we could move the bird down there once he’s out of the woods and ready to rehabilitate... It’s not adequate for a flight cage, but it will do to start off with once we dare to give him that much space. But as to responsibilities, if you want to avoid a big fine for hitting him...”

Stephen started to protest.

“I know, I know. He hit you. Tough to prove it. If you work with me on him, the law will probably cut you some slack. Killing an eagle could mean not only incurring a massive fine, but—if it could be proved it was done on purpose—you could get jail time as well. There are even restrictions about possessing an eagle feather.”

“I would hope you could testify on my behalf.”

She cut her eyes at him. “I believe you, but I did not actually witness the accident. Let’s hope the eagle heals completely and is released back into the wild. We’ll give him the best possible care.”

He hastened to assure her that he appreciated her professional skills. Although, he had only last night’s experience to rely on. He had the feeling she was not used to being questioned.

“Emma’s cage won’t be adequate for long, but we have time before a larger cage is a necessity. You could look after him between writing chapters of your book.” She turned a beatific smile on Stephen.

He felt himself being dragged into her aura. Then he caught Emma staring at him.

He stopped short of agreeing to babysit the eagle 24/7 and picked up on Barbara’s remark. “Emma has a cage? Where?”

“Quite a nice one. Didn’t you see it around the corner of your porch under the trees? Seth and his buds built it for the baby skunks Emma raised.”

“I heard about those in Memphis. The tale of Emma and her baby skunks was a seven-day wonder. Her old boss Nathan is still disgruntled because she wouldn’t allow him to bring them to town for a photo shoot for one of his public-relations projects. Why can’t it be used as a flight cage?”

“It’s tall enough, but not nearly long enough. It would have to be extended twenty feet at least.”

“Isn’t there enough room to extend it?”

“Oh, there’s enough room, but somebody has to do the work. Nobody has time or money or interest.”

Stephen realized he had all three—money, time and interest. With the eagle right around the edge of the porch from where he lived, he actually could watch out for him most of the time.

What he did not have was the physical capability to build a cage. With his leg, he would be unlikely ever to climb a ladder again and could hardly drive a nail with one hand if he held on to his cane with the other.

Velma laid down heaping breakfast plates before them, then hovered, obviously waiting for an introduction.

“Velma, this is Dr. Stephen MacDonald. Stephen, this is Velma. She will remember your breakfast order and give it to you whether you order it or not, so don’t try to change it.” She turned to Velma. “He’s moving into The Hovel for six months.”

Stephen stood and shook her hand. Hers felt rough and strong, although her nails were nearly as long as the eagle’s talons and painted bright turquoise. Her smile, however, was nearly as brilliant as Barbara’s. “I will too let you change your order. Just tell me when you come in. Otherwise you’re stuck with your usual, whatever you decide that is. I’m glad you’re gonna be across the street from Emma and Seth, Doctor. Half the time Seth’s gone way into the night and out of cell-phone range. Emma needs somebody close by to get her to the hospital.”

“Not that kind of doctor, I’m afraid,” Stephen told her. “I teach history at the university.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself,” Emma said with a grin. “I’m just having a baby. My OB-GYN says first babies take a long time to come.”

“Huh. I got three, Miss Emma. Didn’t none of ’em take but a little minute. Near about didn’t get to the hospital with any of ’em.” Velma turned to Stephen. “You give her your cell-phone number, and don’t go wandering off anywhere without it, you hear.”

She whirled toward the back of the café. “All right, Darrell, hold your horses. I’ve got the coffeepot in my hand.”

Turning back to their table, she said, “Nice to meet you, Stephen. Next time I might even be willing to give you an actual menu, but don’t count on it.” She wended her way through the tables and back to the counter.

“I’d never try to go on a diet with Velma around,” Barbara said.

“The way you work,” Emma said as she buttered a piece of toast, “you need the calories or you’d pass out.”

“Velma,” Barbara called, “has the mayor been in yet this morning?”

Velma nodded toward the wide front window. “That’s his truck pulling in now. He’s late.”

“Here comes the purveyor of rental cars and everything automotive in Williamston,” Barbara said.

The man who toddled in was a couple of inches shorter than Stephen and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. The bib overalls he wore were immaculate and looked as though they had been tailored for him, then starched and ironed. Stephen glanced at his boots. A marine in boot camp would be proud of the spit shine on the cordovan leather. He’d be willing to bet they also had been made for him.

“Mornin’, you all,” the mayor boomed from the doorway. “Velma, honey...”

“I got it, Mayor,” she said and reached a gigantic coffee mug across the counter to him.

“Mayor,” Barbara called to him. “Come meet Emma’s new tenant. This is Dr. Stephen MacDonald.”

Again, Stephen stood and shook hands, then sat down again.

“Another doctor?”

“Not that kind. I teach at the university.”

Stephen saw him eye the cane beside his seat, but he didn’t comment.

“Stephen pretty much murdered his car last night,” Barbara said.

“You want us to fix it?”

“It’s a vintage Triumph,” Stephen said. “The parts will have to come off the internet or out of some salvage yard. I have a guy in Memphis who can do it. He’s going to tow it in this afternoon and try to find everything he needs. In the meantime, I can’t keep catching rides with Emma.”

“I can’t rent you a car, but a truck—sure. Little bitty or big honkin’?”

“I’ve never owned a truck. I have no idea.”

“Well, Steve, how ’bout you come on down to the place after breakfast, and I will flat out sell you one? You can’t make do with a sports car up here.” He clapped a hand on Stephen’s shoulder and came close to knocking him out of his chair.

Steve? Nobody called him Steve, Stephen thought. Not even Nina when she was furious with him. It suddenly hit him that he had crossed the threshold into another universe. He didn’t know the language or the customs. Thank God for Barbara—and Emma, of course. Why had he put Barbara first? He’d known her less than twenty-four hours. But then maybe wallowing in blood together, or something approximating wallowing, gave them a kind of kinship he didn’t have with his daughter’s friends or even his academic friends.

“Join us, Mr. Mayor?” Emma asked.

“No, darlin’, I got to get on down to the showroom. Just came in to pick up my coffee and a couple of sweet rolls.” He turned to Stephen. “You let Emma drop you down at the showroom. I’ll rent or sell you wheels. And if I don’t, I’ll have one of my people run you back to your house.”

“Thank you.”

Sonny took the sack Velma handed him in one hand and his mug in the other, did a 360-degree wave to the patrons and staff with the sack hand, then toddled back out the door.

Interested to see what the major drove, Stephen stood, then nearly fell over again at the decibel level of the horn that blasted as the man drove out of the parking lot.

“That thing has more chrome on it than an eighteen-wheeler,” Stephen said. “And it’s nearly as big.”

“He owns the dealership,” Emma said.

“As well as the feed store, most of the rental property in Williamston and heaven knows how much more,” Barbara added. “In the country, Stephen, a man’s truck is a symbol of his place in the community.”

“Like a knight’s armor or the caparison of his warhorse?” Stephen asked.

“Pretty much. I’ve got to get back to open the clinic,” Barbara said. She reached for her check, but Stephen got there first.

“This is for the pimento cheese last night and for keeping Orville alive.”

“Orville?”

“Better than Wilbur.”

Barbara said over her shoulder, “Emma, explain to him about naming rescues, will you? Don’t do it, Stephen. If you don’t keep your distance, keep your objectivity about your rescues, it’s a disservice both to the animals and yourself. Besides, it can break your heart.”

He felt as though Barbara had taken a tiny bit of peace with her when the door shut behind her. Ridiculous. But he made a mental note to call her in the afternoon and offer to drive back to Williamston in whatever new vehicle he would be driving to pick up a pizza for their dinner. After all, he needed to check on Orville. Orville? When had the blasted bird become Orville? Just happened. But Orville he was, for better or worse alive or, heaven forbid, dead. So much for not naming your rescues. Please, let Orville not break his heart.

“Stephen,” Emma said and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Everybody hates advice, but I’m going to give you some anyway. Barbara is a wonderful person and a great veterinarian. She is also a one-man woman, and that man died five years ago.”

He felt as though she’d slapped him. “And that has to do with me how?”

“Come on. I saw the way you looked at her. If you’d been a puppy, you’d have rolled over to have your tummy scratched.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was impressed at the way she handled Orville.”

“There is not an unattached—or in some cases attached—male in the county or beyond who has not tried to court Barbara since John died. She ignores them. She works too hard, and when she relaxes, it’s with friends like Seth and me. She’s never moved on from John and has never shown the slightest interest in doing it. She says she’s comfortable with the life she has and hasn’t room for any complications.”

“Fine. We should do well together, then. She has her John. I have my Nina. Never the twain shall meet. Shall we go? I need wheels. Then I need to go check on Orville.”

As he climbed into Emma’s SUV, he admitted that he didn’t want to lose touch with Barbara even if Orville died. She didn’t want to move on from her John, just as he wouldn’t ever move on from Nina. Nothing wrong with a friendship.

Maybe offering to build an extension to Emma’s cage, making it suitable for Orville’s flight training, might lift his credit with Barbara a hair.

Two hours later, he drove out of the mayor’s automobile dealership in a bright red crew cab pickup with every bell and whistle the mayor could cram into it. Remembering their discussion about status and trucks at breakfast, he figured this particular truck would qualify as “honkin’” and give him the status of a knight in the good-ol’-boy hierarchy.

He was used to sitting in the confined quarters of his Triumph, freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer. This particular truck could no doubt reverse that—it was capable of freezing him in the summer and roasting him in the winter. For the first time since his accident, however, he could actually stretch out his bum leg and not have to stop every twenty miles or so to rub the pain out of it.

Silly to pay so much attention to a truck, but he felt as though he’d stepped through a portal into a weird new era in his life. How Nina would have laughed! She’d have presented him with a straw farmer’s hat and a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

God, how he missed her! All those years she had kept him on an even keel whenever he was exasperated about his students’ lack of interest or annoyed at the frequent idiocy of his colleagues. His former dean had once warned him that the smaller the academic fiefdom, the harder the faculty fought for control of it.

Until Nina had died he’d been right up there on the front lines, battling as hard as his colleagues for the optimum teaching schedule, the best teaching assistants, the most lucrative contracts for writing textbooks. Even the closest parking space to his office.

Since she’d died, none of it meant anything. He understood for the first time what it meant to want to swap places to save a loved one. He’d always thought Sydney Carton in Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities was an idiot to go to the guillotine to save someone else. To save Nina, however, he’d have chased that tumbrel down the Champs-Élysées and jumped on board.

Rather than drive straight back home, he decided to wander along the back roads. He and Nina used to enjoy driving out and getting hopelessly lost on Sunday afternoons. Not so easy to do in the familiar environs around his house in Memphis. Here, however, every road was new to him. And beautiful. In southern fall, the trees were finally changing colors. He drove past his new house without turning into the driveway and on down past Barbara’s clinic. He hadn’t seen it in daylight and had not expected to see the parking lot filled with trucks and vans.

The mayor’s advice had been right on. The Triumph would have stood out like a Roman chariot. He wanted to turn in and told himself it was to check on Orville, but Barbara would be working, possibly saving some other animal’s life. Without Emma’s holding down the phones, he had no idea how Barbara coped. From the number of vehicles in the lot he could see her need for an additional vet.

He would certainly need a break from his writing. Maybe he could offer to walk down—emphasis on the walk part—to add his volunteer efforts to Emma’s.

Down the road a bit farther he caught the sparkle of water off to his left. Seth had said there was a good-sized lake over there that emptied into the Tennessee River. Maybe he should see if he could rent a canoe.

He drove for over an hour without crossing the same path twice. For him driving was a method of getting from one place to another, but in this behemoth he was actually having a pleasant time.

He stopped at the convenience store that he’d been headed to last evening and discovered it also served takeout. Not what he was used to in the drive-throughs in town, but fried chicken, barbecue, fried catfish and steamed vegetables. Heavy on the fried, but it all looked delicious. He left with enough supplies to provide lunch, dinner and tomorrow morning’s breakfast. Dinner for Barbara as well, if she’d agree to join him. It would be better than pizza. If Emma was correct, Barbara probably would not agree to have dinner with him unless he could convince her that he wasn’t intruding on her solitary lifestyle. Both of them had to eat. Why not together?

He turned off the main road by a sign that read Marina, found the lake and ate lunch at a picnic bench in the trees.

How many meals had he eaten alone since Nina’s death? How much of it had been tasteless hospital food, eaten while staring at blank walls in rehab?

Here he didn’t feel alone. A cheeky crow landed two feet from him and, after alerting every creature in the vicinity that there was a human being around, stalked back and forth demanding that Stephen share.

He did.

He was preparing to toss his last morsel of biscuit to the raven when he heard a voice behind him.

“Better watch it. He’ll mug you for that biscuit.”

“He’s getting up his nerve to attack,” Stephen said as he turned. “Well, Seth Logan. Won’t you join me? I have an extra ham-and-cheese sandwich, some potato chips and a couple of sodas.”

“Already had lunch, thanks,” Seth said as he took the seat along the other side of the picnic table. “I’ll take one of those sodas, however. Diet, if you have one.”

“Yep, diet, and no longer terribly cold. My fancy new truck has a built-in cooler, but I have no idea how it works. I may actually have to read the manual—something I avoid doing if possible.”

“There speaks a college professor,” Seth said as he popped the top on his soda. He took a long swig. “So, this is your replacement for the Triumph? Rented or bought? And before you tell me, remember I know our esteemed mayor.”

“If you guessed bought, you’d be correct. Isn’t it outrageous? I do not have an ‘ooga’ horn like the mayor’s, although he lobbied long and hard to add one. My next stop is the local boot shop. These very expensive trainers don’t seem appropriate.”

“You can’t do all that walking you’re supposed to do in cowboy boots, my friend. You’ll be back in rehab in a week.”

“Ah, but there is method in my madness. The boots will live in the truck for when I want to show off the new good-ol’-boy Stephen. Or, according to the mayor, ‘Steve.’ I will break them in slowly.”

“Don’t use neat’s-foot compound, use the oil.”