'Tis the Season: Under the Christmas Tree / Midnight Confessions / Backward Glance. Robyn Carr

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      “Yeah, you did,” he said. “I remember now.”

      “What was the problem with the haircut?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “Don’t know that there was a problem,” he replied.

      “Then why didn’t you come back?”

      He chuckled. “Okay, we argued about the stuff you wanted to put in it. I didn’t want it, you told me I did. You won and I went out of there looking all spiky. When I touched my head, it was like I had meringue in my hair.”

      “Product,” she explained. “We call it product. It’s in style.”

      “Yeah? I’m not, I guess,” he said, sitting down on the raised hearth on the other side of the box. He reached in and picked up a puppy. “I don’t like product in my hair.”

      “Your hands clean?” she asked him.

      He gave her a startled look. Then his eyes slowly wandered from her face to her chest and he smiled slightly. “Um, I think you’re moving,” he said. “Or maybe you’re just very excited to meet me.” And then he grinned playfully.

      “Oh, you’re funny,” Annie replied, reaching under her sweater to pull out a tiny squirming animal. “You make up that line all by your little self?”

      He tilted his head and took the puppy out of her hands. “I’d say at least part border collie. Looks like mostly border collie, but they can take on other characteristics as they get older. Cute,” he observed. “Plenty of pastoral breeds around here.”

      “Those two are the weakest of the bunch, so please be careful. I’m waiting for the vet.”

      He balanced two little puppies in one big hand and pulled a pair of glasses out of the pocket of his suede jacket. “I’m the vet.” He slipped on his glasses and, holding both pups upside down, looked at their eyes, mouth, ears and pushed on their bellies with a finger.

      She was speechless for a minute. “You’re not old Doc Jensen.”

      “Nathaniel Junior,” he said. “Nate. You know my father?” he asked, still concentrating on the puppies. He put them in the box and picked up two more, repeating the process.

      “He...ah... My folks have a farm down by Alder Point. Hey! I grew up there! Not all that far from Doc’s clinic and stable. Shouldn’t I know you?”

      He looked over the tops of his glasses. “I don’t know. How old are you?”

      “Twenty-eight.”

      “Well, there you go. I’m thirty-two. Got a few years on you. Where’d you go to school?”

      “Fortuna. You?”

      “Valley.” He laughed. “I guess you can call me old Doc Jensen now.” And there was that grin again. No way he could have grown up within fifty miles of her farm without her knowing him. He was too delicious-looking.

      “I have older brothers,” she said. “Beau, Brad and Jim McKenzie. All older than you.”

      At first he was startled at this news, then he broke into a wide smile. Then he laughed. “Are you that skinny, fuzzy-haired, freckle-faced, tin-mouthed pain in the neck who always followed Beau and Brad around?”

      Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him.

      “No,” he said, laughing. “That must have been someone else. Your hair isn’t pumpkin orange. And you’re not all that...” He paused for a second, then said, “Got your braces off, I see.” By her frown, he realized he hadn’t scored with that comment.

      “Where is your father? I want a second opinion!”

      “Okay, you’re not so skinny anymore, either.” He smiled, proud of himself.

      “Very, very old joke, sparky,” she said.

      “Well, you’re out of luck, cupcake. My mom and dad finally realized a dream come true and moved to Arizona where they could have horses and be warm and pay lower taxes. One of my older sisters lives there with her family. I’ve got another sister in Southern California and another one in Nevada. I’m the new old Doc Jensen.”

      Now it was coming back to her—Doc Jensen had kids, all older than she was. Too much older for her to have known them in school. But she did vaguely remember the son who came with him to the farm on rare occasions. One corner of her mouth quirked up in a half grin. “Are you that little, pimply, tin-mouthed runt with the squeaky voice who came out to the farm with your dad sometimes?”

      He frowned and made a sound. “I was a late bloomer,” he said.

      “I’ll say.” She laughed.

      Nate was now checking out his third set of puppies.

      “Why don’t I remember you better?” she mused aloud.

      “I went to Catholic school down in Oakland my junior and senior year. I wasn’t going to get into a good college without some serious academic help, and those Jesuits live to get their hands on a challenge like me. They turned me around. And I grew five inches my first year of college.” He put down the puppies he’d been holding and picked up the first one. He became serious. She noticed a definite kindness, a softness, in his expression. “Annie, isn’t it? Or do you go by Anne now?”

      “Annie. McKenzie.”

      “Well, Annie, this little guy is real weak. I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

      A very sad look came into her eyes as she took the puppy from him and tucked him under her sweater again.

      Nodding at her, Nate said, “As much incentive as that is to live, I don’t know if it’ll do. How long were these guys outside before someone found them?”

      “No one knows. Probably since before sunrise. Jack was in and out all day, fussing with the tree, and he never saw anyone. His little boy crawled under the tree and came out holding a puppy. That’s how we found them.”

      “And what’s the plan now?”

      “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head.

      “Want me to drop them off at a shelter for you? Then you don’t have to witness the bad news if one or two don’t make it.”

      “No!” she exclaimed. “I mean, that’s probably a bad idea. Some of the shelters over on the Coast are excellent, but you know what it’s like this time of year. All those people adopting cute puppies for Christmas presents and then returning them in January. And returning them is the good scenario. All too often they’re neglected or abused. Wouldn’t it be better to take care of them until reliable homes can be found?”

      “Who, Annie?” he asked. “Who’s going to take care of them?”

      She shrugged. “I have a small house in Fortuna and I work all day.”

      “What about the farm?” he asked.

      She СКАЧАТЬ