Kentucky Christmas Page 2
As he drove around the building, he saw that it was bigger than it looked out front. There were probably a few exam rooms inside, and it was possible they had special operating facilities. According to Ed, this was one of the only vets in the county, so the clinic must also serve as the vet hospital. He parked, pulled out his spec sheets, and went inside.
A bell jangled as he opened the door. He was immediately assaulted by holiday cheer. The waiting room furniture was plastic, the linoleum sparkled, and every free space was covered in foil snowflakes, blinking lights, and fake snow. In the corner was a massive tree decorated within an inch of its life with more hand-drawn crayon pictures. Next to it sat a big, wrapping paper-covered box with a sign that said, “Take One for your Furry Friend.” A Great Dane was approaching the box, sniffing. Andrew peered inside.
“Isn’t that sweet? Billie does this every year.”
Andrew looked over at the jowly woman trying to restrain the Great Dane.
“See? These are for cats,” she shook a package wrapped in paper covered in Christmas mice. “And these are for guys like my friend Tiny, here.”
Tiny, who probably weighed twice as much as his owner, sniffed an odd-shaped package wrapped in tissue paper. He removed the paper using a combination of ripping-with-teeth and dissolving-with-drool, and immediately began chewing on the rawhide bone inside.
“Huh,” said Andrew, pushing up his glasses. “Nice.”
At the reception desk, a woman in a very tight, pink sweatsuit was holding a very dazed, very furry white cat with a plastic dome around its neck. Andrew heard a voice come from under the desk.
“Trish, I can’t get this daggun computer restarted, so just go ahead. We’ll send you the bill or get you next time.”
“Thanks, Billie.”
“Don’t let Missy scratch!” shouted the voice from under the desk. “When the painkillers wear off she’s going to be a pain in the ass, but it’s all part of the healing process.”
Trish laughed, then turned to go.
“Oh,” she said, almost running in to Andrew. “Hi, there.”
Missy hissed at him.
Trish shrugged. “Never mind,” she said, then sauntered out the door.
“Be with you in a second!” came the voice from under the desk.
Andrew stood patiently, and was soon joined by a woman holding the oldest dog Andrew had ever seen. He was all whiskers and shivering, even under the elf sweater he wore.
“Hilda doesn’t feel very well,” the woman explained.
Andrew nodded, then looked over as the voice behind the desk stood up.
He gasped.
“Hi,” she said, coming up a little breathless. “How can I help you?”
“You’re the Angel of Death,” Andrew said.
The woman snuggled Hilda closer.
“I’m sorry?”
“Sorry, no. Um, you’re the woman from last night. You helped me. With my car accident?” Andrew could feel that the words he was saying were not coming out the way he wanted them to, but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to stop.
“Oh!” said the Angel of Death. “I’m glad to see you’re up and about. Hi, Mary Jane. Hi, Hilda. Cute sweater.”
“I have an appointment with—” Andrew checked his notes—“a, uh, William Monroe?”
“Huh?”
“William Monroe. Ed Bateman set up the appointment?” If Ed had screwed this up, none of that slow poisoning nonsense. Ed was getting an arrow in the forehead.
The Angel of Death laughed. “Ed Bateman said he set up an appointment with William Monroe?”
“Actually, he said it was with Billy. That seemed a little informal.”
Mary Jane snorted.
“It is Billie. With an i-e. I’m Billie Monroe,” the Angel of Death said, stretching out her hand for him to shake.
“But you’re a girl.”
Hilda snorted.
“OK Mr.—?”
“Oh, Bateman. Andrew Bateman.” He shook her hand. Billie’s hand.
“Okay, Mr. Andrew Bateman. Let me get Hilda here checked in and then I’ll be right with you.”
Andrew gratefully took a step back toward the Christmas tree, where he was hoping he had dropped his dignity. And his brain.
She was just as beautiful as he thought he had hallucinated. Her eyes were warm and green, and her hair was just as red as the pom-pom hat she’d worn. She was wearing green scrubs with cats in Santa hats on them, but underneath he could see she was trim and small. Her skin was pale and smooth; she looked so soft. And those lips. He thought those lips could probably kill him.
“Sorry, Mary Jane. Computer’s on the fritz again. Let me run back and tell Dr. Carson you’re here.”
“I can look at it,” said Andrew’s mouth before his brain knew what it was doing.
Mary Jane cradled Hilda closer to her chest.
“The computer, I mean. I’m pretty good with machines.” Before his brain could stop his legs, he was behind the desk, crouching at the feet of the Angel of Death.
Chapter 3
Merry Christmas to me, thought Billie as she watched Andrew fiddle under the desk with her hard drive. It was a pretty good view. His charcoal-gray pants weren’t tight, exactly, but they were that kind of slim fit that guys in Hollow Bend didn’t wear. In Hollow Bend, men got dressed up in their black Wranglers. Well-tailored clothes were exotic for around here. Thank goodness Andrew wasn’t wearing a suit. If he was wearing a suit, she would probably have him naked on the exam table, and there was no way her father would approve of that.
She heard him grunt and whistle—what the hell was he doing under there?—and then finally sit up, glasses askew, short hair mussed, and clicked a few icons with a triumphant smile.
“OK, that should speed it up,” he told her.
She clicked around, opening all of her usual programs. The booking software whizzed right up, and the billing program. Even Facebook was pretty fast. She shut that down.
“Wow, thanks. What did you do?”
“Oh, I just looked at a few things. I used to do tech support for a big law firm. We saw this stuff all the time.”
A big law firm, she thought. He probably owned a suit. She shivered.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘this stuff’?”
His smile turned from triumphant to sheepish. God, he was cute.
“Your mouse was loose.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. It’s why your programs were so unresponsive.”
She blushed. If there was a dumber computer problem to get a hot guy in nice slacks to fix, she couldn’t think of it.
“Trust me, it’s not the stupidest technical problem I’ve ever dealt with.”
Billie looked at him, relieved, but then quickly reassessed. Was he trying to butter her up for a big sale? Sometimes, when these vet-supply reps came in, she could read it all on their faces. She knew what they saw: she was young, small, female—an easy sell. But she was also tough, smart, and cheap. If they were dealing with her father, that was another story—he’d buy a bridge in the desert just because he liked a guy.
But Billie had called Bateman Supply because the ultrasound was on the fritz and Bateman had some good deals. So really, she thought, she probably was going to be pretty easy.
Watching Andrew straighten his glasses, she knew she was going to be very easy.
A few hours later, Andrew was dismantling their old ultrasound machine. He had spread everything out on a clear desk in the office. Billie explained the problem to him: sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. He got her to narrow down the angle at which it didn’t work, and took a look inside. He was more familiar with the newer models—it was his job to sell them, after all—but this was one of the “workhorses” that Ed was always talking about. It was at least ten years old, but built to last, unlike the stuff Andrew had. Oh, his would work just fine; it would just be obsolete in about six months.
God, he hated his job.
&nbs
p; “Can I help you with something?”
A woman stood in the doorway. Andrew thought she was a woman. It was hard to tell under the gigantic parka and Clydesdale snow boots. She sounded like a woman.
The woman didn’t sound pleased to see him.
“Hi. I’m just, uh, fixing your ultrasound machine.”
“In our office?”
“The exam rooms were full. I needed space. Sorry. Billie said I could work in here.”
“Billie said you, a stranger, could work in a room full of sensitive financial documents?”
“Uh. Yes?” Did he just get the Angel of Death in trouble?
The woman shook her head. “I don’t understand people from Kentucky. Far too trusting.” She turned on her heel to go. “Would you mind coming with me?” she asked. “Wait,” she said, putting up a hand to stop him as he followed. Then she tore off her parka and her hat—what was it with the pom-pom hats?—and Andrew followed sheepishly.
They ran into Dr. Carson in the hallway.
“Hey, baby,” he said to the woman, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her gently. “Is it already time to go?”
“No, I came in to do some paperwork.”
Dr. Carson smiled at her. “You do love paperwork.”
She smiled back. “I love you more.”
“What’s going on?” Dr. Carson asked, noticing Andrew.
“This guy was in the office,” she told him. “He said he was fixing the ultrasound machine.”
Andrew smiled, sheepishly.
“Yeah, Billie put him there. We need all the exam rooms today.”
“Keith. You put a stranger in a room with sensitive financial documents?”
Dr. Carson—Keith—looked at her stupidly. “Oh. Uh. Billie did it.”
The woman rested her head on Keith’s chest. “If you weren’t so handsome . . . ”
“What’s going on?” Billie bounded out from the reception area. “Andrew, did you fix it? Oh, hi, Mal!”
“You’re in trouble,” said Keith.
Mal rolled her eyes. “You’re not in trouble. But it’s probably not a good idea to let strangers work in the office.”
Billie laughed. “He’s not a stranger. This is Andrew. He’s the sales rep I told you about.”
Mal’s eyes widened. “It’s definitely not a good idea to let sales reps in the office.”
“OK, OK, sorry. He had a rough night. You don’t have to scare him to death.”
Mal gave Andrew a surprised look. He flinched.
“Did I scare you?” she asked.
“Well . . . I don’t know about scared. Intimidated, maybe.”
She looked at Keith, beaming. “Did you hear that, honey? I’m intimidating!”
That seemed to calm her down, so Andrew nodded. Yes, very intimidating. He didn’t mention that her fierce demeanor was slightly diminished by the pom-poms on her boots. By the time he was officially introduced to Mal, Keith’s wife, not a native Kentuckian, four months pregnant, everyone was happy to let him get back to work.
“What the hell is this place?” he muttered to himself, and took apart the ultrasound machine.
Chapter 4
Billie locked the door behind their last patient of the day. She had sent Keith home as soon as he was done with the exam. She tried not to smile when she heard his tires squeal out of the parking lot. She was glad he was happy, and she was glad it was Mal who made him happy. All of the Carsons really loved Mal, even Katie. Billie’s best friend had a hard shell, so she knew that if Katie liked Mal, she was good people.
She smiled, thinking about family. Billie’s extended so far beyond the biological tree. Ever since her mom had left, it had been just she and her dad. Billie Monroe was in high school when it had happened, but she’d had plenty of time to get used to the responsibility. Her mom wasn’t much of a nurturer, or a housekeeper. She was, however, an excellent partier. One of Billie’s earliest memories was sitting in the basement with her father, learning her colors by sorting laundry. Her mom had been . . . Billie didn’t know, exactly, but she’d learned pretty early that sometimes it was better not to know where she was.
It hurt her to admit it, but when her mom left, she felt relieved. She saw it in her dad, too, and how he tried to cover it up by throwing himself into his work. So she did the same. She became her father’s back-up, running the house and, when she was old enough, running the Hollow Bend Vet Clinic.
Not that the Carsons let her take on too much. Billie’s mom had left right before Christmas. Billie had tried to keep it a secret, but Katie got it out of her, like she always did. The next thing she knew, Miss Libby was over at her house like a sweet-smelling whirlwind, with casseroles for the freezer and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Billie’s cynical teenage mind thought maybe Libby had designs on her dad—the housekeeper never seemed to have any sort of love life, and she’d been living with the Carsons for at least ten years at that point.
But she didn’t. Libby had designs on her. She whipped Billie into shape, taught her how to cook, how to manage the daily chores, and made sure the Monroes came to dinner at least once a week. Libby took care of both of them and made sure Billie was able to take care of herself. Libby acted like the mother her own mother never was, and the Carsons became her family.
It still made Billie cringe to think about the time she and Katie snuck out to Mill Creek Pond to drink pilfered whiskey and make out with the seniors. But Katie’s middle brother, Luke, was home and caught them. He still wouldn’t admit what he was doing there with a bunch of high school kids, but once Libby got wind of the story, it didn’t matter. She grounded them both, and it was a testament to Libby’s power that, even though Billie lived in town, miles away from the Carsons’ farm, she honored her punishment.
The worst, though, was how her father reacted. He wasn’t mad, at least not outwardly. He didn’t ground her or send her to her room or take away her privileges. He just watched her while Libby explained the situation. His eyes were so, so sad. Not even disappointed, just . . . sad. Like this was inevitable, and he had brought it on himself. Billie never wanted him to look at her like that again.
But she still had her mother’s wild streak. She couldn’t help it, but did the best she could to control it. She didn’t go away to college, knowing that without supervision she’d lose it. Besides, she loved Hollow Bend, and didn’t feel the pull of the outside world that some of her classmates did. She stayed home, went to the technical college to get her vet tech certification, and took care of her dad. But she also learned that if she didn’t let loose every once in a while, she got mean and crazy. That’s why she still met Katie for these dumb mini-celebrations. She couldn’t go drink-for-drink with Katie—most people couldn’t—but if she just had enough to let loose on the dance floor or make out with someone just a little bit inappropriate, she could make it through her daily life.
She loved her work. She loved animals, and loved interacting with their people. This town was way too small, but she loved that she could walk down the street and know at least half of the people well enough to stop and chat. She felt comforted here, and comfortable. There was nowhere else she wanted to be. And besides, what would her father do if she left?
A cough behind her had her jumping out of her chair.
“Andrew! You scared me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. You looked . . . lost in thought.”
“Yeah. I get a little dreamy this time of year. You’re still here!”
He smiled at her. Dang, he was cute.
“Come on, let me show you.”
He held out his hand to her, and she took it, the most natural thing in the world. He led her back to the office where the ultrasound machine sat. It looked the same as it had before. What the hell had he been doing back here all day?
“Based on what you told me about when the machine works and doesn’t”—his mouth quirked up—“I think I figured out what was wrong.”
“You fixed it?”
“Let’s see,” Billie said, and held out her arm.
“Uh . . . ”
“Show me. I want to see if it works.” She wasn’t challenging him, not really. But she didn’t see how he could possibly have just . . . fixed it.
They went into an exam room and she smoothed what she called the “ultrasound goop” on the inside of her forearm. He held the wand over it, pushing gently.
“So, you said when you held it like this,” he tilted the wand, “it didn’t work, right?”
The innards of her arm appeared on the screen.
“It works!”
“Yeah. And I think every angle should be clear.” He smoothed the wand over the goop, under her arm, moving the machine into the tricky angles they sometimes had to deal with.
“You fixed it! How did you do that?”
“I just had to recalibrate a part . . . ”
Suddenly Billie didn’t give a crap how he’d fixed it. She only cared that an expensive machine wouldn’t have to be replaced, and her hero was smiling modestly and looking at her earnestly through those thick-framed glasses.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Andrew had known Billie for less than twenty-four hours, and for most of that time he was under the dazed impression that she was an immortal deliverer of his unfortunate fate. He had also managed to spend an impressive amount of that time imagining what it would be like to kiss her, guessing what her sweet, soft mouth would taste like, conjuring the feel of her warm body against his.
It was an uncomfortable stay in the hospital last night.
And yet, all his imaginings paled in comparison to the real thing.