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  Her hand twitched. She shouldn’t. Rachel was an adult, she deserved her privacy. Jill took a deep breath and then a deep gulp of wine before pulling the papers out from the envelope. She stared in disbelief at the cover letter.

  Rachel was planning on returning to school in January? She hadn’t said anything about it, but here was a letter confirming her re-acceptance to the veterinary medicine program and reinstating her scholarship.

  “No!” No, no, no. She couldn’t. She wasn’t well enough to leave, yet. It had been only eighteen months since she was diagnosed. She’d undergone major surgery and then had chemotherapy.

  Rachel’s real hair had only just started to grow back, replacing the soft fuzz that had appeared at first. It would be a while before they knew whether she was in full remission.

  Jill leapt to her feet, and spun around. How could Rachel do this to her? If she went away, who would take care of her? What if something happened?

  Stop. Breathe. Think this through.

  Jill lowered herself back down onto the couch. Both Finnegan and Joss, disturbed by her movement, nosed her in concern.

  “It’s okay, guys. Go lie down.”

  It wasn’t going to happen, and that was the end of it. Rachel didn’t know what she was doing. Jill would talk to her, and Rachel would just have to let the university know she wasn’t ready to come back.

  Jill broke down and opened a second bottle of wine—just one glass—while she waited for Rachel to arrive home. Maybe one more …

  She staggered to her feet when she heard the key in the lock, and met Rachel in the hallway, waving the letter at her. “What’s this?”

  “I can’t believe you read my personal mail!” Rachel grabbed the letter from Jill’s hand.

  “Don’t change the subject. How can you even think of going back to school now?”

  “The doctor said I was good and should resume my life.”

  “Not this, though. You’re not ready to leave home.”

  “I don’t think I’m the one who’s not ready,” Rachel said. “Besides, Guelph is only a few hours away. It’s not like I’m going to the other side of the country or anything.”

  Rachel was right. Jill wasn’t ready for her daughter to leave home. Oh dear, she shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine. It was clouding her mind. Why couldn’t Rachel understand? After everything … “I don’t know why you would do this. After all I’ve done, everything I’ve given up—”

  “You’ve given up? You?”

  Jill backed away as Rachel barked the words at her.

  “What about me? I was the one who agreed to go to Western University to do my two years of science before I could apply to vet school. Living at home to save you money, driving from St. Thomas up to the north end of London every day, not being able to live on campus—”

  “We gave you a car,” Jill said.

  “Sure, but hardly a hardship since a new car every few years was one of Dad’s perks for having twenty-plus years’ seniority at the auto plant. I was the one who worked my butt off to get accepted into veterinary college and be awarded a scholarship. And once I did, you were able to stop working.”

  Jill’s head hurt. Why was Rachel yelling at her?

  “I know you and Dad worked hard and saved your money so you could have a comfortable retirement. But it’s not my fault I got cancer. And it’s not my fault he died.” Rachel paused and swallowed heavily. “Treating me like an invalid, and taking care of all these abused and abandoned animals is not going to bring him back,” she said, softening her tone. “I have to go on with my life, and you have to go on with yours. I am going back to school in January.” She turned away, but not before Jill saw tears in her eyes. “You can’t stop me.”

  The house reverberated as Rachel slammed the front door. Jill’s stomach churned and she lowered herself onto the couch. There was a ringing in her head. Was it the wine? Maybe it was the phone.

  The animals had fled when the yelling began. Poor souls. She didn’t blame them after the abuse they’d suffered.

  It’s not my fault he died, Rachel had said, and she was right. It was Jill’s.

  What is that noise? Jill lurched to her feet, but the ringing stopped before she could answer the phone. She lifted the receiver and checked the Caller ID. Mae. She probably wanted to know how Jill’s first day back at work had gone. Work had been the best part of her day—the only good part.

  Mae would be full of advice and well-meaning insights. Jill didn’t want that now. She needed to take a couple of aspirin and drink a jug of water to flush out her system from all the wine. She was exhausted, but there was no way she’d be able to sleep before Rachel returned home.

  Where did she go?

  She’d call Mae back tomorrow. Tomorrow had to be better than today.

  *

  Grant stepped through the doorway that led from the kennel at the back of his clinic into the rear storage area of his home. God, it had been a tough day. At least he didn’t have to drive home in this miserable weather.

  Twice a week he remained open late—officially until nine, but it usually stretched out until well after ten. That made for an incredibly long day because he had to get up by six each morning to tend to the animals that stayed overnight. He couldn’t ask his staff to come in so early. And he couldn’t possibly turn away clients simply because he was running behind schedule. There was always some unexpected emergency that arose to disrupt his well-intentioned timetable. Today, it had been Rachel’s mother and her raccoon.

  He shook his head to dispel his irritation with himself. He’d made the right call; there was nothing that could have been done for the poor fellow. And yet, ever since she’d walked out the door, Grant kept going over and over their encounter. What was it about Jill Bennett he couldn’t shake? She wasn’t the first bleeding heart to accuse him of being insensitive. Even Rachel, her own daughter, had thought she was being unreasonable.

  “Fuck it!” Grant slammed the door and kicked a pair of rubber boots out of his way.

  “Well, that’s a nice howdy-do.” Doug grinned, a well-portioned glass of scotch in his hand. “I was just about to enjoy this, but I think maybe you need it more.”

  Grant took the glass from Doug. “Stealing my good stuff, are you? I thought you were more into beer.” He took a generous sip, savoring the alcohol’s burn as it slid down his throat. “I didn’t think you’d bother coming, given the lousy weather.”

  Doug shrugged and turned back toward the kitchen. Grant followed him, pausing on the threshold to watch his brother grab a clean glass from the shelf and half-fill it with his good sixteen-year-old Lagavulin. Doug wasn’t a drinker by nature. He’d have the occasional beer with his buddies at the volunteer fire hall on Friday night, but rarely more than one.

  “You okay?” Grant asked.

  Doug shrugged again, took a swig from his glass, and brushed passed him to the living room. “I put the beef in the freezer,” he said as he settled into the chocolate brown leather sofa. Gave you a bunch of nice cuts.”

  “Thanks.” Grant lowered himself into the matching recliner across from his brother.

  Doug, three years older than Grant, had taken over the family farm from their father more than a decade earlier. Once a prosperous tobacco operation, the farm had been forced to transition into cash crops as smoking became more and more of a social taboo. Even when his granddad had farmed the land in the early part of the last century, they’d raised a steer to provide an economic source of meat for the family. Despite a wife and three growing teenage boys of his own, Doug always made sure Grant got a share of the beef.

  “Have you got something on your mind?” Grant asked.

  “What makes you ask?”

  Grant raised his empty glass to his brother’s. “I don’t know, you drinking maybe?”

  Doug grunted and poured the rest of his scotch into Grant’s glass. “Loretta wants to know if you’ll come to the fireman’s dinner and dance this year.”


  So that was the source of Doug’s discomfort. Loretta was matchmaking again. “And which lovely lady are we supposed to coincidentally bump into this time?”

  At least his brother had the decency to look embarrassed. “Mary-something-or-other,” he grumbled. “I can’t remember her last name. She works with Lo at the grocery. Recently divorced, I think.”

  “I can’t believe you let your wife talk you into trying to set me up again. You’d have thought, after all these years, she’d give me up as a lost cause.” Grant tossed back the rest of his scotch—damn, that was good—and set the glass on the coffee table. He would be more annoyed if Doug didn’t look so miserable.

  “She cares, is all. She doesn’t want you to be alone.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Animals don’t count.”

  Grant chuckled. The warmth of the scotch in his belly had improved his mood. “I’m not talking about animals. I have no shortage of female companions.”

  Doug leaned forward and gaped at him.

  “No, I’m not going to invite them to Sunday dinner with the family. They’re not that kind of relationships.” Then, as Doug’s eyes grew even wider, Grant added, “And they aren’t that kind of women either. I don’t pay them to spend time with me. It’s simply for fun—no strings, no drama.”

  Doug settled back into the sofa and grunted. “Doesn’t sound much like companionship to me.”

  “I’m not the marrying kind. Been there, done that, still have the scars to prove it.” Grant winced at the bitterness he heard in his own voice. It had been almost eight years since he’d come home early to find Nancy screwing his best friend. God, if that wasn’t a cliché, he didn’t know what was. It galled him that she’d been able to convince the court that she was owed because of all she’d sacrificed for his career. Bullshit! Ten years of marriage and she hadn’t had to work a single day. Hell, half the time he’d come home and she’d want to go out for dinner rather than cook. Now she and his former “bestie” were living the high life down near Windsor on the extravagant settlement her crook of a lawyer had weaseled out of him. Good riddance!

  “So, I hear the processing plant has been bought by a foreign conglomerate. Do you think that’s good or bad for you and the other cash croppers in the area?” Grant was done talking about his love life. Hopefully, Doug would take the hint and drop it, too.

  “Hard to say,” Doug said, looking almost as relieved by the change of subject as Grant. “The local owners were having a tough go of it—hard to compete with Mexico and their cheap labor. I don’t know what the buyers are hoping to get out of the deal. I’d like to think it’s just as it seems, but it smells funny.”

  While farming was Doug’s passion, he was also a savvy businessman, who earned extra income as a tax accountant during the quiet winter season. Like most in the area, the farm couldn’t generate enough income to adequately support his family, so Loretta worked as a cashier in the grocery store, and the three boys had part-time jobs in addition to school and their farm duties.

  Doug stayed for another hour and they stuck to safe topics like world politics, the price of oil, and this season’s expectations for the London Knights junior hockey team.

  As Grant walked his brother to the door, Doug hesitated. Damn! Now what? Surely Doug wasn’t about to return to their previous uncomfortable conversation.

  “So, ah, what should I tell Lo?” Doug asked. “I mean, about the fireman’s dinner and dance.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Grant said, exasperated. “Okay, I’ll go.” It was no use. If he told Doug ‘no,’ Loretta would be on the phone pestering him every day until he finally gave in. He loved his sister-in-law, but thank God he wasn’t married to her. “You owe me, though. And don’t blame me if things don’t turn out the way Loretta wants them to.”

  Chapter 3

  Jill tried the door to the clinic. Locked.

  Now what?

  She peered through the window. There was a light on in the back. Someone must be here. She knocked, and then pounded on the door. “Rachel! Are you there?”

  “Can I— Mrs. Bennett?”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised to see him here. It was his clinic, after all. But he looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His dark hair was damp and his face was freshly shaved. She could smell his aftershave lotion—similar to Cal’s, but with a touch more spice. No lab coat, but he was in blue jeans again, and a plain white T-shirt that made his eyes seem an even deeper shade of blue. They studied her warily, as if she were some sort of lunatic, come to rob the place.

  “Is Rachel here?” She looked over his shoulder, scanning the waiting room for her daughter.

  “No, she isn’t.”

  Jill wilted. She hadn’t really thought Rachel would be there. She’d just hoped …

  “Come in.” Dr. Palmer took her arm and led her into the clinic. “Did something happen to Rachel?”

  She lowered herself onto one of the waiting room chairs. Just in time. Her knees had gone weak and she feared her legs wouldn’t support her any longer. “I don’t know. She didn’t come home last night.”

  “Mrs. Bennett—”

  “Jill.”

  “Jill, then. Rachel’s a smart girl. She wouldn’t do anything stupid. She probably just got caught up with friends and forgot to call.”

  Even though he’d used her first name, his pacifying tone irritated her. She glanced into his eyes and saw that, even to him, the explanation sounded feeble. “We argued and she left.”

  “You didn’t fight about the raccoon, did you?”

  Jill scowled, angry all over again about what had transpired the last time she was in this clinic.

  He took a step back and held up his hands in mock defense. “I know you think I’m a jerk—”

  “I think you’re a monster.”

  Dr. Palmer’s eyes widened. Jill immediately regretted her accusation. What type of person had she become? She used to be calm and easy going, now she hardly recognized herself. She’d quarreled with her daughter—angering Rachel to the point that she’d stormed out of the house and hadn’t returned. And now she was hurtling personal insults at a virtual stranger—and Rachel’s boss, no less. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m usually not like this. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m saying these days. I’m just so worried about Rachel, but that’s no reason to lash out at you. Please, forgive me.”

  His expression softened. “I’ve been called worse. And for a monster, I make a mean cup of coffee. C’mon, I think you could use one.”

  She hesitated momentarily, but was won over by the genuineness of his smile—and she really could benefit from the caffeine. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, and then followed him through the clinic and into a well-appointed home.

  “I didn’t realize you lived here, too,” she said, looking around the kitchen. It was definitely a man’s kitchen: stainless steel appliances, dark countertops over heavy wooden cabinets. It would have been overwhelming except for the large eastern window that flooded the room with warm sunlight.

  “Yeah, it’s easier. We don’t always have overnight guests in the clinic, but it happens often enough that I like to be close.” He handed her a steaming mug. “Have a seat. Have you eaten anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not hungry.” She sat at the kitchen table, ignored the milk and sugar containers he’d placed in front of her, and sipped the hot liquid. He was right, he did make a mean cup of coffee.

  He whisked two eggs and poured them into a frying pan and began chopping a red bell pepper. The sizzle and smell of the omelet made her stomach rumble, and she was secretly relieved that Grant had disregarded her statement about not being hungry, as well as the one about him being a monster.

  “Did you know Rachel planned to return to vet college next semester?” Jill asked.

  “Sure, she told me when she interviewed for the job.” He turned toward he
r. “You didn’t know?”

  Jill’s hand trembled and she set the cup down. She blinked back tears of frustration. How could Rachel tell him and not her own mother? “No, she didn’t tell me. I found a letter from the university last night.”

  “You can’t be surprised, though. Her treatment’s over. She’s beaten the cancer. Why wouldn’t she want to go back?”

  The innocence of Grant’s question proved just how little he understood the threat ovarian cancer had posed to Rachel’s life, and what it meant for her future. “It’s too soon. She’s just finished her treatment. We won’t know her full prognosis for some time.”

  “But there’s nothing else she can do about it now, is there? You can’t expect her to sit around waiting for … whatever.” His eyes had a way of penetrating her outer defenses, making her question herself. “Do you?”

  “You, of all people, should know how stressful the veterinary medicine program is. I don’t think she’s ready yet. What if something happens while she’s away?”

  “Guelph is only a couple of hours down the highway. It’s not like she’s gone to the other side of the country.” He turned back to the omelet and expertly flipped it onto a plate.

  Rachel had said exactly the same thing, making Jill wonder if they had coordinated their responses in anticipation of her reaction. Great, now you’re starting to sound paranoid, like you’re seeing conspiracies everywhere.

  Grant buttered two slices of toast and set the meal in front of her. Jill pushed the plate away. She’d lost her appetite. He pushed it back in front of her. “Look, Jill, I know you’re concerned about her, but she’s not a kid. I’ve spoken with her, she feels like she’s lost almost two years of her life to this disease. She needs to move on; if only to prove to herself she’s not an invalid.”

  Jill picked up the fork and poked at the omelet. She wasn’t up for another fight. Her reserves were drained. She could only focus on one argument at a time. She realized Rachel had been through a difficult time, but so had she. She’d not only spent the last eighteen months nursing her sick daughter, she’d had to do it without the support of her husband, her rock. She hadn’t even had time to mourn Calvin.