Love and Hope Read online

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2016 “Twice and Forever” Brenda G. Heald

  Copyright © 2016 “Devoted To Her Cowboy” Carla Daum

  Copyright © 2016 “Her Angel” Kayla Grace Perrin

  Exclusive cover © 2016 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2016 Joanna D’Angelo

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 978-1-927555-83-5

  A catalogue record for the E-book is available from the National Library of Canada E-books are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 978-1-927555-82-8

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copyeditor: Debra Glass

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank You

  I’d like to personally thank you for purchasing a copy of Love & Hope. Proceeds from every sale will be donated to Ovarian Cancer Canada.

  I’ve lost some of the most important women in my life to this disease. My paternal Grandmaman died from ovarian cancer 31 years ago and my maternal Aunt Phyllis passed away 16 years ago.

  In all this time we still don’t have an accurate test to diagnose ovarian cancer.

  I have been involved in the organizing committee for the Ovarian Cancer Walk of Hope in Ottawa, Canada, for the past three years. My family has taken part in the annual walk on behalf of our loved ones who have passed on and to support the women who continue to battle.

  For more information about ovarian cancer, or if you’d like to get involved by volunteering, or to make a donation, you can contact: http://ovariancanada.org/.

  If you live outside of Canada, you can find out where you can make a difference at: http://ovariancancerday.org/.

  Sincerely,

  LeeAnn Lessard

  Publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  LOVE & HOPE

  an anthology

  Table of Contents

  Twice and Forever ~ by Brenda Gayle

  Devoted To Her Cowboy ~ by C. J. Carmichael

  Her Angel ~ by Kayla Perrin

  Twice and Forever

  Brenda Gayle

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to thank LeeAnn Lessard and Joanna D’Angelo at Lachesis Publishing, for spearheading this project. I am humbled to be joined by such wonderful authors as Kayla Perrin and C. J. Carmichael.

  Inform your friends, your family, and yourself about ovarian cancer. And if you are able, please consider donating your time and/or money to support the fight to eradicate this disease.

  Dedication

  To Bruce, whose love and support sustain me and whose humorous anecdotes keep me—and I hope you—entertained.

  Chapter 1

  Rain pelted the windshield making it difficult to see despite the rapid clearing of the car’s wiper blades. The brake lights flashed on the vehicle ahead and the car swerved. Something rolled out from underneath it. Jill Bennett glanced in her rear view mirror—no one behind her—then stepped on her own brakes, bringing her sedan to a quick stop a few yards beyond the object creeping along the highway’s shoulder.

  “Jerk!” she muttered, as the taillights disappeared around a curve. Didn’t even stop to see what he hit.

  She pulled up the collar of her trench coat—regretting that she hadn’t taken the extra few minutes to attach the hood before she’d left this morning—turned on the hazard lights, collected a blanket from the trunk, and went to the rescue.

  The animal hissed as Jill approached it. Its already cloudy eyes glared at her from a bandit’s mask.

  “It’s okay, I’m here to help you.” Jill crouched down and inched her way toward the raccoon. One of its legs was definitely broken. She wasn’t sure about the rest of him. There didn’t seem to be a lot of blood.

  That’s good, isn’t it?

  She dropped the heavy wool blanket over the animal and counted to five as it writhed and screeched underneath. Then, as carefully as she could manage, she scooped up the bundle, turned it over so she could grab the edges of the blanket, and carried it back to her car.

  Okay, now what?

  Jill hesitated, the front passenger door open. She really shouldn’t put him beside her. Suppose he lashed out at her and she veered off the road? A cage would be good. She really needed to pick up a cage. The raccoon’s frantic movements had stopped and her heart broke with each pathetic mewling. He needed medical attention—fast. Back seat, it is.

  Several cars had slowed as they passed her on the two-lane highway, but none had bothered stopping to see if she needed help. A woman, alone, by the side of the road, in the pouring rain, might have warranted some gallantry. She sighed. Yeah, maybe once upon a time, but not in this century.

  Jill started the engine and eased back onto the highway. Just after five p.m., according to the illuminated dashboard display. Dr. Vanderhorst, her usual vet, finished at five. Chances were she’d still be there. The office was only about ten minutes away. But with this rain …

  Dr. Palmer was closer. Jill didn’t know him, but her daughter, Rachel, had started working at his clinic last month, based on her friend Mae’s recommendation. And he was open late today. She’d learned that when she’d tried to rouse Rachel out of bed this morning and was grumpily informed that she didn’t have to start work until noon.

  Jill smiled at the memory. Rachel had never been a morning person. All through her teenage years it had been a challenge to get her up and out the door in time for school. It still was. Odd, how something that had caused her so much consternation in the past, now brought a sense of comfort. Relief even. It was familiar. Safe.

  Her return to work today was supposed to be familiar, too. But instead of resuming her position as an educational assistant at the local elementary school, a quick five-minute walk from her St. Thomas home, she’d been assigned to a totally new school out in the country. True, it was only a fifteen-minute drive away, but still …

  She shouldn’t complain. The school board had been under no obligation to take her back. After all, two years ago she’d officially retired—well, quit, because she hadn’t reached the proper age to qualify for retirement.

  Had it been only two years? It felt longer. So much had happened since then.

  Jill flinched as a pick-up truck roared passed her and then jammed on its breaks as it cut back into her lane. She wasn’t going that much below the speed limit. She was being cautious; the roads were slick.

  She slowed at the traffic light and then turned right on Talbot Road. Dr. Palmer’s office was just a few blocks away. The raccoon was quiet. She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t moving, either.

  She made a quick left, turning south on the cross-street, at a Tim Horton’s coffee shop, as Rachel had told her, straight through one stop sign, and then right into a small parking lot containing a half-dozen or so vehicles.

  I hope he’s not too busy. This was an emergency, but Jill hated the thought of delaying treatment to other animals that may also need urgent care.

  As soon as she picked up the blanket, the raccoon made a half-hearted attempt to struggle, which she took as a positive sign. “You’re going to be okay, Rocky,” she s
aid. The name seemed a good fit. “I’m going to make sure you’re all right.”

  The receptionist, a Kathy Bates in Misery lookalike, didn’t bother to hide her indifference as Jill introduced herself as Rachel’s mother and explained why she was there. And had she really seen the woman roll her eyes just before she turned to lead Jill and her soggy bundle into one of the small examining rooms? She’d expected more empathy from someone who worked in a place that helped those who couldn’t help themselves.

  “Mom?”

  “Hi, baby.” Jill moved to hug her daughter, but hesitated as she remembered she was still holding the blanket with the raccoon. She glanced down at it, dismayed to see an expanding ruddy brown patch staining the fabric. Oh no! And on the floor, diluted red droplets of water and blood. This can’t be good.

  “You’re drenched!”

  Jill raised her free hand to her hair and tried to smooth out the tangled mess. She knew she must look a fright. She’d wanted to make a good impression her first day back at work so she’d spent an extravagant amount of money on some new clothes and had her hair highlighted and cut shoulder length—similar to Rachel’s, or at least how it had been before …

  People always commented on how much she and Rachel looked alike: dark auburn hair and fair skin. But not their eyes. Jill’s eyes were amber while her daughter had Calvin’s deep brown eyes. And like her father, Rachel could never mask what she was thinking, and what she was evidently thinking, right now, was that she was not happy to see her mother.

  “It’s pouring rain,” Jill said in her defense. “Here, come help me.” She hoisted the bundle up onto the metal examination table.

  Rachel sighed, exasperated, and helped peel back the blanket. “It’s a raccoon!”

  “Of course, it’s a raccoon. What did you think it was?” Jill hung on to the edge of the blanket, prepared to grab Rocky if he tried to escape. He didn’t move, but she could see his chest rise and fall, proving he was still alive. Thank goodness.

  “I don’t know. I thought it was another dog or something. Jeez, Mom. A raccoon? What were you thinking?”

  “Ladies?”

  Jill’s lips parted at the sight of the doctor. He was much younger than she’d expected. Her friend Mae had told her Grant Palmer had been her veterinarian for years, so she’d assumed he was in his sixties, like Mae. This man didn’t look to be much over forty. His eyes were strikingly blue, and his hair was thick and brown—worn a little long for someone who was supposed to be a professional—and showed no sign of gray. His square face was clean-shaven, revealing high cheekbones and a pronounced jawline. A white lab coat hung open over a Toronto Blue Jays T-shirt, which was stretched taut over a broad, well-muscled chest and abdomen. And he was wearing blue jeans. She’d been giving Rachel a hard time about her casual clothing ever since she’d started at the clinic, last week. Maybe she should ease up on that.

  “Dr. Grant Palmer, this is my mother, Jill Bennett,” Rachel said.

  “Mrs. Bennett. We’re very happy Rachel’s joined us. She’s a terrific asset to the team.” Dr. Palmer’s large hand firmly engulfed hers. He wasn’t as tall as she’d first thought—definitely not six feet; more like five-ten. At five-ten herself, Jill noticed height. Calvin had been shorter than her by an inch—no more—but sometimes that inch had felt like a foot. Dr. Palmer wouldn’t have the same qualms about his height—he oozed self-confidence. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  He pulled on a pair of gloves and gently examined the raccoon. After a few moments, he sighed heavily and looked up. “I’m sorry Mrs. Bennett—”

  “Sorry? What do you mean ‘sorry’? You’ve barely looked at him.” Jill stepped toward the table, prepared to protect Rocky from what she feared he was about to suggest.

  “His prognosis isn’t good.” He held up his hand, stopping her from commenting while he continued. “I can either put him out of his misery now or wait for him to expire naturally. I don’t think it will be too long.”

  “You can’t let him die. There’s got to be something you can do.”

  “Mom!”

  “Mrs. Bennett, I realize that you may feel some responsibility for hitting the animal—”

  “I didn’t hit Rocky. I saved him. The other driver didn’t even slow down to see what he’d run over.”

  “Oh my God, Mom, you named it?”

  “Regardless of the circumstances,” Dr. Palmer interjected, “there is too much damage to his internal organs. The best thing we can do for him is to ease his passage as quickly and humanely as possible.”

  “Can’t you operate? You can’t just give up on him.”

  “Mrs. Bennett …”

  Dr. Palmer’s constant use of her name, and the way he said it with such exaggerated patience, was getting on her nerves. “No! If you won’t help him, I’ll take him somewhere else.”

  “Mrs. Bennett, be reasonable. He’s a wild animal. Even if there were something I could do for him, he’d require months of rehabilitation and then what? He wouldn’t be able to go back into the wild again.”

  “I could take care of him,” Jill said. “I take care of a lot of unwanted animals.”

  “Mom, stop this! Let us do our jobs and put this poor animal—”

  “Rocky!”

  “Rocky, then. Let us ease Rocky’s pain.” Rachel took Jill’s arm and propelled her toward the door. “You need to go.”

  Jill wanted to resist, to wrench her arm free. She wanted to save Rocky, but she couldn’t risk hurting Rachel. Her daughter was still so fragile. Out in the corridor, Jill pressed her forehead against the closed door to the examination room. Would it never end?

  *

  Grant rested his hand on the raccoon while he waited for Rachel to return with the syringe. Sorry, little fella, but it’ll all be over soon. He resented being thought of as heartless. He was anything but. Still, he was a realist. Animals were not people. They couldn’t tell you what they wanted. He couldn’t discuss treatment options or the long-term prognosis with a raccoon.

  Grant wasn’t sure which side he came down on in the debate about euthanasia for humans, but he hoped if he ever arrived at a hospital in as bad a condition as this poor raccoon, there would be no heroic act to save him.

  The injection was quick and lethal. After it was over he raised his head to look at his newest staff member.

  “So that was your mom, eh?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize, I appreciate your support. It couldn’t have been easy coming between us.” Grant had been impressed by Rachel right from the first day she’d joined his practice. She was smart, hardworking, and driven. She knew what she wanted as only someone who’d gone through what she had ever could. And it wasn’t hard to see where she’d gotten her good looks. Her mother was a knock-out. Too bad she was a flake. “I take it rescuing stray animals is something she does a lot?”

  “It’s kind of become her thing. Usually it’s dogs and cats. We had a ferret a while back. My Psych 101 prof would say she’s adopted the defense mechanism of sublimation. She takes in these lost causes because she feels helpless and constantly needs to prove to herself that she can make a difference—that she can save them.”

  Grant had hired Rachel on the recommendation of his long-time client, Mae Pruitt. Rachel had been studying to be a veterinarian when she’d been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Tragic, especially for someone so young. According to Mae, Rachel’s mother had given up everything to nurse her daughter through the treatment.

  “She did make a difference,” Grant said. “You’re in remission, right? You beat it. What does she have to prove?”

  “It’s not me she’s sublimating. It’s my dad.”

  Chapter 2

  No matter how crappy the day, you can always count on a warm reception from your pets.

  Jill bent down and scratched Finnegan behind his ear. The one-eyed Irish Setter leaned in close, pushing her back against the door. Joss, the three-le
gged Corgi, snuck in between Finnegan’s legs and nosed Jill’s calf to get a share of the attention. Even Sacha, a left-for-dead Siamese cat, sauntered up to greet her, although he hung back waiting for Jill to finish with the dogs before he insisted on being picked up and carried into the house.

  The arrogance of that man!

  Tears stung her eyes and she buried her face in Sacha’s velvet fur. And my poor Rachel? How could she work for such a monster? The cat squirmed uncomfortably and she lowered him onto the kitchen chair.

  Jill opened the refrigerator, stared at the contents, and then closed the door. She moved on to one cupboard, and then the next. She still hadn’t gotten used to cooking only for herself. When there had been three of them, she’d never had any trouble coming up with menu ideas. Rachel loved pasta and casseroles and all sorts of exotic foods, while Calvin was a meat-and-potatoes man. Satisfying both of them had sometimes required a bit of a balancing act, but she’d always managed. She gazed around her kitchen. Why could she not think of one thing she wanted to eat, herself?

  She returned to the fridge and took out the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio she’d opened last night to soothe her nerves about starting at a new school today. No, she shouldn’t be drinking every day, but today she needed its help to calm her down after her run-in with Dr. Palmer. Tomorrow would be better.

  At least Rachel had tidied the kitchen before she’d left for work. That was something.

  Jill took her glass and headed to the back door to let the dogs out into the backyard. She sipped her wine while she waited for them to finish their business, and then brought them back in. They shook the rain off their coats, sending a shower of water droplets over her. Okay, she should have planned better and gotten a towel. Oh well, at least they were back inside with her where their breathing and animal noises helped break the silence of the empty house.

  Rachel had brought in the newspaper and mail, too. Wow, maybe there was hope for her after all. Jill set her glass down on the coffee table. There were a couple of business-sized envelopes—bills, most likely—and a large manila-colored one with a University of Guelph crest. Her heart clenched. It was addressed to Rachel, of course, and it had been opened.