Tennessee Vet. Carolyn McSparren

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ