The Bride Wore Red Boots (7 page)

“Hi, Aaron.”

“I prefer Buster,” he said pleasantly, and held out one hand. The glove was stained but not completely filthy.

“Buster, then. And Gwen. I'm Mia.”

“Please, won't you come with us? Buster can tell you his whole story in the shelter where it's warm. When my replacement arrives, I'll be happy to take you back home as I promised.”

That had been a selling point—she didn't have to ride the subway back home with a cat. Everything else connected to this trip was insanity. “That was very kind of you.”

“Come on, Arthur,” Gwen called. “Bring your earnings and put them in safekeeping for the night.”

Arthur rose from his seat on the concrete, a lanky grasshopper unfolding angled legs. He was all knees and height when he stood, and not much older than Buster, perhaps thirty-five or forty. He tipped a worn baseball cap at Mia. “Sorry 'bout sayin' I had a child.”

“Well, you fooled me once,” she said lightly. “Won't happen again.”

“No, ma'am.”

They headed down the sidewalk and turned at the corner, a nippy breeze greeting them with a quick little blast.

“How is my little dude Rory?” Buster asked, switching his hold on the box to two hands and pulling it close to his chest. “I miss him.”

“He's going to be all right,” Mia said. “He talks a lot about you. You two must have had quite an adventure.”

“He's a smart kid. We lived pretty good out here, but I knew he couldn't stay. I just had to convince him it was better to go live in a house where it was safe.”

“Glad you did. Is that Jack there?”

“Ha, man, dat's Jack in the Box!” Arthur hooted at his own joke.

“It is,” Buster acknowledged. “I didn't want to leave him alone. Everybody loves Jack. Someone would take him.”

“Do a lot of your friends have pets out here?” Mia asked.

“Some. A couple have dogs. Not too many have cats; they get too wild living out here. Jack is different.”

“I remember him as a kitten. As I recall, he's a gorgeous cat.”

“That he is. Rory grabbed him from the house when his mom got in trouble, but then he wasn't allowed to bring him to the foster home. I never saw a little kid work so hard not to cry. That's when I said I'd keep Jack safe until Rory could have him.”

“And now you can't keep him either,” Mia finished.

“It would be hard.”

They reached the front of St. Sebastian's; a red sandstone building next to a church, it was caked in the dust and grime of a dilapidated Brooklyn neighborhood but nonetheless wore a dignified air. The instant Gwen opened the door, warmth, light, music, and the lingering aroma of warm bread banished the cold unfriendliness of the street.

“Welcome to St. Sebastian's Shelter,” said Gwen. “We serve over two hundred meals a day and up to a thousand on holidays. In the winter we can bunk up to a hundred people easily and up to two hundred in an emergency. We have few real amenities aside from cots, sleeping mats, heat, and food. We have toilets and very minimal showering facilities. Our most prized possession is a fairly new jukebox, which visitors can use until ten thirty every day. It's quite popular, as you can hear.”

Mia didn't recognize the rap song playing. It was far out of her limited repertoire of favorite artists.

“We try to keep current music for them. There are all genres. You could very well hear Miranda Lambert next and Green Day after that. Nothing offensive, but otherwise we don't discriminate.” She smiled. “We sneak a few hymns in there too. They get played on occasion. Come on in. We can talk in the small office off the kitchen. Arthur, why don't you go register your money with Susie and pick a bed? Have you eaten anything today?”

“Yes, ma'am. I had lunch.”

“There are some cookies and sandwiches left.”

The man left them with a wave, walking away like a gangly marionette. Gwen shrugged. “He's a rare type. He has some learning disabilities, and he can't keep a job, but he takes his begging as seriously as any career. He's nice as the day's long despite making up all those stories.”

The room they moved through was thirty feet square, half filled with tables and benches, the other half with people sitting on the floor in front of the bright jukebox. Gwen pointed at two archways off the room that led to four more open rooms, those filled with cots, sleeping mats, and a handful of cribs. The simple complexity of the operation amazed Mia.

The kitchen was large and utilitarian, with an institutional-sized stainless steel stove, two ovens, a refrigerator, and a dishwasher. Sturdy cafeteria-style plates, bowls, and mugs were stacked in columns on heavy duty shelving.

“Here's our office.” Gwen opened a door off a small corridor into a room painted a cheerful, robin's egg blue. Two desks, two armchairs, and a small round table filled the space, along with three full-sized file cabinets. “Have a seat.”

“I've never been back here,” Buster said. “I feel special. Can I let Jack out?”

“Of course. We want Dr. Crockett to meet him.”

When Buster opened the box, Mia stared, stunned, at one of the most beautiful cats she'd ever seen. It emerged like a prince, calm and curious, its long, silken coat a muted, creamy buff, its ears, tail, paws, and face all a rich, beautiful black. Most startling of all were its bright blue eyes—sharp, assessing, missing nothing.

“Hey, Jack-man,” Buster crooned. “Come and meet Miss Amelia.”

“I knew he was pretty. I didn't remember how beautiful. And huge.”

“The vet told us he's a gray seal point ragdoll cat. He weighs about eighteen pounds, but they're the biggest cat breed, so that's not even all that large.”

Without prompting, Jack walked regally to Mia's feet, wound his way in a figure eight around her ankles and then sprang into her lap. He sat fully upright, facing her like an Egyptian cat god, and waited for her to pet him. His fur was velvety and rabbit-like, and the instant she touched it, Jack's purr filled the room. He rubbed his cheek to hers twice, turned around neatly, and curled into her lap.

She'd known myriad barn cats in her life, but she'd always been a dog person. None of that mattered as she swiftly, thoroughly, and pathetically fell in love.

“You can see why he's a favorite wherever Buster goes,” Gwen said.

“I can,” she agreed. “But you really can't keep him?”

“Buster is one of our success stories,” Gwen answered, pride obvious in her voice.

“I've got a job.” Buster took over his tale. He was a unique man, slender, nice-looking in a sandy-haired way, slightly clichéd with his army surplus look. Yet he was obviously erudite and well-educated. Likeable. “I don't want to own a house again or have any of the trappings. But I would like to be able to buy my own clothing and food and pay for my time here at the shelter.”

“We're working on the no-home part,” Gwen said.

“I won't be here every day to watch over Jack, and I don't trust anyone else with him. People move around too much, and they'd take him. I was going to bring him to the animal shelter tomorrow and beg them to not adopt him out until we could get him to Rory. But the lady I talked to said they don't board animals—they find homes, and if they can't . . . ” He shook his head. “I couldn't have that. I didn't know what to do, so I came here tonight to ask for advice. It's the craziest thing that Gwen had your number.”

She couldn't help it; she was moved. Here was a man pulling himself up out of utter poverty who was worried more about an animal than himself. It reminded her of the ranch hands in Wyoming who'd go without food for two days to ride out and find a missing cow and calf.

“I have to be perfectly honest,” she began. “I don't have any place for a cat to be outside if that's what he's used to. I live in an apartment.”

“He used to live inside at Rory's,” Buster said, without any urgency.

“Oh, Buster, I'm not sure why I came. Maybe to try and talk you into keeping him, I don't know. But I promised Rory—”

Her phone rang out, and she saw Joely's number again. Minor panic filled her.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “This is a family call. I have a sister who's ill, so I should take it.”

Buster stood and pulled Jack from her lap. Mia popped out of the office and answered the phone. “Joely?”

“Hello,” replied the voice that turned her throat to sand and her pulse to useless fizz in her veins. “Déjà vu.”

“G
ABRIEL
H
ARRISON
?” S
HE
stared around the shelter's kitchen, surprised and lost for more words.

“At last. I've graduated from Lieutenant.”

“Look,” she said, worry snapping her out of her surprise. “I know that's the most important issue for you, but I need to know right now everything is all right.”

“Everything is all right.”

Tension that had twisted up her spine like a steel snake relaxed its grip. Her breath released in a long sigh. “So, why are you using my sister's phone?”

“I wanted to make sure you answered. I thought you might not if it was me.” She sensed he was telling the truth even though his words were bright with humor.

“Hah, you're probably right. What's going on?” she asked.

“There has been a new development with Joely. After a closer look at her MRI, the doctors found a suspicious spot in her spinal cord. It's not a tumor,” he added quickly. “They've taken her down for another image, and this one has her a lot more upset. She missed you when she tried to call and nominated me to try again.”

“Is she in immediate danger?”

“No. I wouldn't have purposely lied about everything being all right.”

“I'm sorry. It seems Joely is lucky to have you. You're becoming her private secretary.”

“Hardly. Your sisters and mother do all the work. This just happens to be an unusual day.”

“So is there something I can do?” She brushed past his conversational chat.

“Yes. Joely would like you to talk with her doctor because surgery could get moved up to as soon as tomorrow. She wants your opinion before that happens. Even a phone call between you and Dr. Landon would ease her mind.”

“The need for surgery will obviously depend on what they decide this object or injury is. Some things
would
have to be dealt with quickly. Others could wait or be treated with physical therapy and/or drugs.”

“You have a very calm, professional voice.”

She wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or his passive-aggressive way of saying she was unfeeling. He at least made it
sound
like the former, and she softened, relieved at the less confrontational vibe they'd struck. “I think most doctors have The Voice,” she said. “It's like putting on protective armor. At any rate, tell Joely of course. I'll talk to whomever she wants.”

“It's getting late there now,” he said. “But is there a chance we could set up a call for tonight?”

“Yes, but unfortunately I'm not even home at the moment. I'll be back in my apartment within an hour, and then I'll have access to my computer and some privacy.”

“I'm sorry if I interrupted something.”

“No apologies needed. I'm glad you did.”

“Hot date?” His voice was teasing.

Just like that, the easy atmosphere they'd built evaporated. “I hardly think that's any of your business, Lieutenant.”

“Fair enough. Although I wasn't really being serious . . . ”

Oh, don't actually apologize, she fumed to herself, more embarrassed that he'd caught her being hypersensitive about dating than she was truly angry. “Why am I not surprised? We aren't talking about anything serious about after all.”

A low, nerve-strumming chuckle floated through the phone. “Sorry, Doc. I have a lot to learn about being serious. So I've been told all my life.”

She ignored the late, insincere apology. The self-satisfied, arrogant man.

“Look,” she said. “Can I do anything else for Joely right now? Which would make more sense, for me to call him or vice versa?”

“He's an amiable guy. I'll have him give you a call if that's all right. What's a good time?”

“Let's say ten o'clock my time. If I don't answer, have him leave me his contact number.”

“Will do. Well, I've done my job, Dr. Amelia Crockett.” Her name rolled off his tongue like poetry. “So, are we okay before I say good-bye this time? We don't want to go to bed angry.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Go to bed angry? The man was, without question, challenged in the professionalism department. “Good night,
Mr
. Gabriel Harrison. I promise I won't go to sleep angry. It simply wouldn't be worth the time.”

“That's the spirit. All right, good night. And you know, if you need anything from me, you have my number. I answer anytime, too.”

“I think I have all I need, not that we have the best track record with exchanging information, as I recall. Good-bye.”

“Bye now.”

He was gone. Like a recurring dream—not frightening but definitely disconcerting. She stood in one place until her head cleared, and she focused for a moment on Joely, sifting through possibilities of things they might find on a new MRI. A blood clot—fairly easy to identify; a prolapsed disc—they would have recognized that; a hematoma—very rare in a spinal cord and highly unlikely. Giving the back of her neck a rub, she went back through St. Sebastian's office door. Buster looked up from where he'd sat on the floor, his eyes concerned.

“Everything is all right?”

Mia allowed a reassuring smile. “It's been an interesting day, but yes. All's well.”

“That's good. I've been thinking,” he said. “If you can't keep a cat for the long term, is it possible you could just take care of Jack for a week until I can find a foster home for him?”

Jack meowed at the sight of Mia and strolled toward her. Without thinking, she sank onto the floor beside Buster and gathered Jack into her lap. “I'm sorry I left in the middle of my answer. There's no need to look for a foster home, Buster. I'll take Jack. You're right, we have to keep him safe until Rory can have him. In fact, I'll talk to his foster mom again myself.”

Buster's face lit like a child's. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

A thousand memories from her childhood flooded her in that instant: The light in her heart and the joy on the faces of her five sisters whenever a new litter of kittens was discovered or a calf happened to be born close in rather than out in the summer pastures; the unconditional love a dog could give; the comfort of stroking a horse. It had been so long since she'd had animals in her life. She'd forgotten.

Or maybe that's exactly why she'd taken the subway to Brooklyn.

“I know a little about pets,” she said, basking in unfamiliar delight. “Will you tell me exactly how you take care of him, so I can do things as close to the same way as possible?”

“I'll be honored to show you.”

A
N HOUR LATER
, as she surveyed the drastic change a few cat accoutrements could affect in a small New York apartment, Mia's enthusiasm had faded to something more realistic. The cat was still beautiful. He'd seemed unperturbed by his journey in the car, wandered around the apartment with unruffled curiosity, noted where she put his litter box and food dishes, and now swatted experimentally at the mini-blind cords in her living room. But it suddenly felt like her ordered, busy-but-quiet life was bursting with too many things she couldn't control.

The litter box took up space in a back hall closet area. A handful of toys decorated the carpet. An oval, stuffed bed sat on her bedroom floor. She had to figure out how and where to stop for more cat litter and food. She worried about leaving Jack for a whole day tomorrow.

Then there was Joely. And Rory. And Shawna Murray. And her concern over the new job. And it was too late now to reach Monique Beltane's physicians to find out how she was doing. After staring almost catatonically for fifteen minutes, sorting mentally through her rearranged life, she got up to pour a glass of wine. She'd taken her first sip when her phone rang. This time she recognized the Wyoming area code and the VA Medical Center's exchange.

“Hello?”

“Is this Dr. Amelia Crockett?”

“Yes.”

“This is Perry Landon. I'm an orthopedic surgeon working with your sister in Jackson, Wyoming.”

She settled deeply into the corner of her couch and set her wine glass beside her, relieved to have something on which to focus. “It's good to hear from you.” Jack sprang into her lap. She stroked him, surprised but comforted.

“I promised Joely I'd call you as soon as I got the results of her latest MRI. Hers is an unusual case, but I'm glad to report I think we have some answers.”

“That's good to hear. So you've identified the spot or mass on her spine? Mr. Harrison said you weren't sure what it was.”

“We have. It's a spinal epidural hematoma, probably caused by the little fall she took.”

“Oh, it
is
.” Professional curiosity warred with personal concern. “I admit, that was at the bottom of my list of possibilities.”

“It's definitely unusual.”

“So is more surgery required to drain the hematoma? I've never done one, but I know quick intervention is key—especially if Joely's neurologic symptoms are worsening.”

“In my opinion, they had been. She lost bladder and bowel control and some feeling in her previously unaffected leg. In addition, her pain had increased.”

She couldn't stop the small sound of concern that escaped.

“I'm sorry,” Perry said, genuine warmth in his voice. “I went about this in a poor order. You're family, too, not just a surgeon. I should have begun by explaining that we've chosen to treat immediately and aggressively with steroids, and she's already begun to improve. Those new neurologic signs have almost all disappeared. We'll take one more image in the morning to see if the hematoma is shrinking. The good news, I guess it's good news, is that because of this I found a hidden injury I think it's important to repair.”

“Oh?” She was grateful for his sensitivity. The kind, she knew, people were always telling her to develop. She supposed she should take notes on this conversation.

“Three small bone fragments are pressing into the spinal dura just below the T-four level. I can send you the image if you'd like.”

“That would be great.” She gave him her e-mail address.

When he repeated it back with not a single hesitation or question, the strangest revelation hit. Perry Landon hadn't irritated her once. Her guard was down; he spoke her language; she wasn't rolling her eyeballs. It was the first ordinary, calm thing that had happened all day.

“I'd recommend surgery once her strength from this is recovered,” he said. “I know Joely is very worried, however. You'll see when you look at the image—there, I just sent it—that this won't be routine surgery. The fragments are so close to the spinal cord itself that, while the hope is Joely would notice improvement, there could also be further damage to the nerves.”

“There's a reason you guys are the experts at this. It's crazy delicate work. I'll be happy to talk to Joely about the surgery. I'm sure she's just exhausted from this whole ordeal.”

“She thinks the sun rises and sets on you, and rightfully so judging from your resume. Youngest board certified general surgeon at New York City General. Three research grants accepted. Half a dozen JAMA articles.”

Wow. This man knew how to play to a woman's vanities. No innuendo. No cockiness. She pictured Gabriel Harrison, prepared to throw mental darts at his smug image, but for some reason all she could recall were images of a million megawatt smile.
Are we okay before I say good-bye? We don't want to go to bed angry
.

Oh for pity's sake.

“That's very kind,” she said into the phone. “I've been lucky to have time to pursue my interests.”

She moved Jack gently from her lap to a spot right next to her thigh, then picked up her laptop and opened her e-mail. She smiled when she saw Perry Landon's va.gov e-mail and pushed Gabriel Harrison out of her mind as professional curiosity took over.

“Got your e-mail,” she said. “Hang on.”

The three images were remarkable. Mia studied them silently, and Dr. Landon allowed her the time. “Oh my,” she said at last. “Impressive job spotting the hematoma. And it's amazing that the steroids seem to be working.”

“And you see the fragments. Looks like they came off that left T-six transverse process.”

“I do.” She studied more closely the little wing on the vertebra he'd indicated. “I can see why you want to operate, but man, I also see why you have no clue whether it will work.”

“I guess my question is whether you'd concur that it's worth the risk.”

She hadn't thought about it before, but she wondered how much experience this man actually had. Exiting her e-mail, she quickly brought up the Wyoming VA's site.

“I truly have to defer to you on this,” she said. “I am not a spine expert.”

She searched on his name, and his picture popped up. She grinned in spite of herself. He looked like a mature version of Cary Elwes in
The Princess Bride
, complete with pencil-thin mustache, straight blond hair, and high cheekbones. Unlike the character Westley, however, Perry wore glasses and his face was broader and a little more handsome, with a professorial attractiveness about him.

“No, but you understand surgical risks. My question is just one colleague to another.”

“All right. Then I'd counsel my sister to have the surgery.”

He was silent a moment. “I appreciate that,” he said at last.

“It helped to speak with you. I appreciate you sharing all this information.”
Unlike a certain retired lieutenant I could name
. “I hope at some point when I'm in Wyoming to visit, we can discuss the positive outcome to Joely's surgery in person.”

“I hope so, too. I know your sister would be extremely relieved if you were here when and if we choose to go ahead. Is there a chance of that?”