LITMIR.BIZ

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watching her. “I suppose the way to a woman’s heart is through her dog.”

      “You are too much.” She leaned forward and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek. Though this wasn’t the surprise she’d been expecting, at least he was showing some interest in one of her guiding passions. Sometimes, especially when he canceled a date or forgot to show up for dinner, she wondered if he cared about anything other than his business. But he was an entrepreneur, a hard worker, a man who marched to his own drummer…

      He helped her unpack the rest of the basket, then they arranged the feast on the blanket and began to eat. Though Bailey came over and looked at the food with frank longing in his velvet eyes, he seemed content to take one of his dog biscuits and retreat to a shaded spot under some bushes.

      As Bailey delicately nibbled at his treat, Craig explained his latest ambition—an expansion of his custom car lot. “I see us opening a high-end, quality division for pre-owned vehicles,” he said, using his fork to chase a slippery cube of potato around his plastic plate. “Nothing but Mercedes, Cadillacs, BMW’s, upscale cars. They hold their resale value, and a lot of corporations surrender them at the end of a one-or two-year lease. The companies have no personal stake in the vehicles, so they don’t quibble over trade-in value. There’s a fortune to be made in that market, and I think I may know how to make it.”

      “That’s great, Craig.” Jacquelyn nodded automatically and let her eyes roam over the lake. A half-dozen boats were crisscrossing the crushed diamond water, each dragging a skier or two. The whooping and hollering of the boats’ occupants reached even the shore where they sat. Several other families and couples had decided to picnic at this beach, too, though most had spread their blankets and opened umbrellas nearly at the water’s edge. Occasionally a small child splashed into the water or walked through the sand with a bucket in hand, an anxious mother not far behind.

      Inexplicably, tears welled in Jacquelyn’s eyes. Her own memories of early childhood were sketchy, all but obliterated by the heavy, dark memories of her mother’s five-year battle with cancer. More recent memories were painfully clear: the long hours of waiting in the nondescript hospital lobby during her mother’s surgeries, the painful sounds of retching, the smell of disinfectant.

      But she and her mother had run along a beach like this one; she had faded photographs to prove it. Surely there had been a living warmth in the sun, a delicious joy as mother and daughter laughed and splashed together under a sudsy blue sky. But the memory, the reality of it, had been buried far beneath all those other alive, unspeakable agonies.

      Her father had managed to shelve the past and get on with his life. After five years of quietly mourning his wife, he began to date. And after Jacquelyn graduated from college and returned to Winter Haven, her father had presented her with the keys and deed to the house. While she stammered in surprise, he announced his forthcoming marriage to Helen, a quiet, serene woman who’d been his steady companion for several months. He would move to Helen’s condo, he told Jacquelyn, and she should keep the house. The neighborhood was settled and safe, the perfect place for a young, single career woman.

      How could he walk away to begin a new life and leave her with the old one? Jacquelyn wondered. He had given her a house haunted not by spirits or ghosts, but by memories that had wrapped themselves like an invasive tumor around every piece of furniture, every dish towel, every picture on the wall.

      For a fleeting instant Jacquelyn wondered if her father thought the memories would bother her less than they did him, but the place seemed strangely sterile when Jacquelyn returned. During her four years away at college her dad had repainted, sold a lot of the old furniture and installed new carpet throughout the house. The place was tidy, functional and sorely in need of a feminine touch.

      And so Jacquelyn thanked her father and moved into the house which had belonged to her parents. During the five years she had lived there, she stenciled and upholstered and wallpapered until the old house now resembled an English cottage. A sloping bed of colorful perennials lined the narrow sidewalk that led to the street, and a white iron fence provided a safe boundary for Bailey. All in all, the place became a haven. Hers.

      But even the safest and most pleasant of havens grew dull after a while. Jacquelyn was not so insecure to think that she needed a man, but she knew her life had definitely been fuller since meeting Craig. He did not thrill or challenge her—except to occasionally tax her patience—but she found him a pleasant friend. He understood her ambition; she appreciated his. And if her dad could marry for companionship, why couldn’t she? Love was for teenagers and romance novelists. After working all day with emaciated, weak, disease-damaged bodies, Jacquelyn found the idea of passion strangely wearying.

      “So what do you think?” Craig’s direct question brought her thoughts abruptly rushing back. She flushed miserably, knowing she’d have to confess that she hadn’t been listening.

      “What do I think?” She made a face. “I think you should tell me—”

      A sudden yowling interrupted her. Bailey. Fear knotted inside her as Jacquelyn jerked toward the source of the sound, just in time to see the huge puppy clambering out of a stand of brush. He was shaking his head in abrupt, jerky movements while trying to lunge toward Jacquelyn, but his chain had caught on something. In one desperate effort, the dog threw himself into the air with a pitiful yelp, then fell limply to the ground.

      “Craig, help!” Jacquelyn leapt up and ran toward the dog. The animal lay on his side, his chest heaving, the velvety folds of skin around his mouth covered with snow-white foam. Terror twisted around her heart. “We’ve got to do something, Craig! What could be wrong?”

      “How am I supposed to know?” Standing beside her, Craig lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m not a vet, Jacquelyn, I don’t know anything about dogs.”

      “Help me. Let me untangle his lead, then we’ll lift him.” Jacquelyn scrambled frantically into the brush, then found the chain wrapped around the base of a shrub. As her fingers trembled, she jerked the tangled lead around again and again, until the chain was finally clear of the obstructing branches. Within another moment she had unsnapped the lead from the stake and darted forward to free it from Bailey’s collar.

      “Now, Craig, help me,” she said, tossing the lead onto the ground. She straddled the unconscious animal and bent to slip her arms under the dog’s chest.

      Unbelievably, Craig stood with his hands on his hips and calmly shook his head. “You can’t carry him. That dog weighs more than you do.”

      Jacquelyn was in no mood for debate. “Help me!” she yelled, her voice ringing with command.

      Responding at last, Craig slipped behind her and struggled to lift the dog’s hips. Somehow they half carried, half dragged Bailey to the blanket. Jacquelyn hurriedly tossed the containers of picnic food onto the grass, then wrapped the blanket around the puppy. When the big animal was covered, she knelt and pressed her ear to the dog’s chest. The heartbeat was slow and steady, but the skin felt burning hot. What had happened? Heatstroke? The weather was warm, but Bailey had access to water and shade. Snakebite? Certainly possible. And puncture wounds could be tiny, or hidden in the folds of that precious wrinkled skin….

      “He’s going into shock,” she said, forcing a note of calm into her voice. “We’ve got to get him to the car and to the vet.”

      “The vet won’t be open on a holiday, Jacquelyn.”

      Something in his infinitely reasonable tone infuriated her beyond all common sense. “Craig, I’m not going to sit here and argue with you. Help me lift him! Now!”

      Stunned into compliance, he knelt by Jacquelyn’s side.

      “Hang on, Bailey. Mama’s going to help you,” she whispered, wrapping the animal in the lightweight blanket. She pulled the fabric over the dog’s head to keep the sun out of his eyes. “If we can just get him to the road—”

      “Honey, let me do this,” Craig said, finally rising to the occasion. He did not question or argue now, but gathered the animal in his arms. “On three, we’ll lift together, okay? Just

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