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  A PERFECT HOLIDAY FLING

  by

  Farrah Rochon

  Nicobar Press

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Farrah Roybiskie

  Cover by Mae Phillips of CoverFreshDesigns.com

  ISBN: 978-1-938125-07-2

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Perfect Holiday Fling

  Chapter One

  A plume of pungent smoke wafted from the charred skillet as Stefan Sutherland dunked it into a sink full of water. Using a spatula, he scraped the stubborn bits of trout still stuck to the pan.

  The cool points he’d scored for taking his nephew fishing this morning were null and void after rendering today’s catch unrecognizable. It was probably a good thing that when Stefan had asked Jacob what he wanted for lunch he’d answered beef ravioli. Chef Boyardee to the rescue.

  He snatched the checkered dishcloth from the counter and dried his hands, his eyes focused on the scene outside the kitchen window. He watched as his nephew hunted for twigs and sticks that would be used to build a fire during their campout tomorrow night. A wad of hurt burned Stefan’s throat as he regarded the doleful expression etched across Jacob’s face. Even when doing something that should have been fun, that trace of sadness was always there.

  Stefan rubbed the back of his neck. He had to figure out a way to put more than just the occasional smile on that kid’s face. Jacob was only five years old, for heaven’s sake. Smiling and laughing was a part of the job description.

  He walked over to the pantry in his twin sister Stefanie’s yellow and white kitchen. It was so like Stef, sunny and optimistic, and the antithesis of the dreary galley kitchen in his matchbox apartment back near the naval base in Norfolk.

  Stefan lifted a can of pasta from the shelf. His sister knew her son well. Before leaving for her six-month deployment in Afghanistan, she’d stocked the pantry with several dozen cans of Beef Ravioli, Beefaroni, and what he had quickly learned was his nephew’s favorite, Mini Dinosaurs and Meatballs.

  He was emptying the second can of ravioli into a saucepan when he heard a loud shriek coming from outside the window.

  Stefan’s head popped up in time to see Jacob sliding down the shallow embankment at the far edge of the backyard. He dropped the can and tore out of the kitchen, cursing through clenched teeth as he hustled down the back porch steps.

  “Jacob,” Stefan called, keeping his voice calm so as not to frighten his nephew. The crunch of the leaves beneath his feet was deafening as panic magnified his senses.

  “Jacob,” Stefan called again past the tightness in his throat.

  “Uncle Stefan,” Jacob cried out.

  In the seconds it took to cover the twelve yards from the back porch to the narrow drainage ditch that lined the back of the property, a dozen scenarios flashed through Stefan’s brain. None of them contained the scene he found when he reached the ditch’s edge. Jacob stood next to the culvert, the soles of his SpongeBob SquarePants tennis shoes submerged in muck.

  But instead of the fear he’d expected to find on his nephew’s face, there was a huge smile. The expression was so rare; it caught Stefan completely off-guard, rendering him momentarily speechless.

  “Look, Uncle Stefan!” Jacob held up a muddy, pudgy white and gray-colored cat. “I heard him crying. He was stuck in that hole.” He nodded toward the drain pipe that led to the town’s water system. “He’s got a cut on his ear. See?” Jacob said, holding the cat out toward him.

  Stefan stood with his hands on his hips, still trying to catch his breath. The short dash from the house hadn’t winded him. It was the fear of finding his nephew face down and unconscious in the boggy ditch that had adrenalin still racing through his bloodstream. From the moment he’d agreed to care for Jacob during his sister’s deployment, Stefan’s biggest fear was having to deliver news that he’d, in some way, caused harm to her child.

  His chest expanded with the deep, relieved breath he inhaled. He gingerly walked down the slope and into the ditch, hauling both his nephew and the cat into his arms. He set them on the ditch’s bank and made a mental note to look into having a fence installed around his sister’s property.

  Stefan climbed out of the ditch and cleaned his muddy hands on his shirt, then he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his nephew.

  “Didn’t we agree that you weren’t supposed to go past the tree?” he said, nodding to the towering pecan tree that shaded much of the left side of the backyard.

  Jacob’s smile vanished. His head dropped, and a muffled “I’m sorry,” barely made it to Stefan’s ears.

  His eyes pinched closed, and he instantly regretted his harsh tone. Stefan dropped to his haunches.

  “Hey,” he said, hooking his thumb under Jacob’s chin and lifting his face. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay, buddy?”

  “But he was crying,” his nephew murmured. “I had to save him. And he’s bleeding, Uncle Stefan. He’s gonna die.”

  Stefan noticed the white fur on the cat’s ear had a pinkish tint, and was getting pinker by the minute. He blew out a sigh.

  “Let’s take it inside. Maybe we can put a Band-Aid on it.” He took the cat from Jacob and started for the house, calling over his shoulder, “Leave your muddy shoes on the porch.”

  One thing Stefan had discovered in the week and a half since he’d been here was that keeping a three bedroom, two and a half bathroom creole-style cottage clean was a thousand times more work than a barely four-hundred square foot studio apartment.

  He brought the cat into the downstairs half-bath. The minute he sat it on the counter, the pudgy rascal tried to scamper off.

  “No you don’t.” He caught it by the scruff of his neck.

  “You gonna choke him, Uncle Stefan!”

  His nephew’s horrified expression had Stefan quickly releasing his hold on the cat. He drew it close to his chest and inspected the ear.

  “You want to get me a couple of Band-Aids?”

  The boy nodded and took off for the upstairs bathroom.

  Stefan regarded the jagged tear on the cat’s ear and knew a Band-Aid wouldn’t cut it. He slumped against the sink. A roughed up cat had not been a part of his babysitting detail.

  He wondered if he could somehow get rid of it before Jacob made it back downstairs. He could say the cat had jumped out of his arms and raced out the back door.

  Except that the back door was closed. And he could already hear his nephew’s feet padding down the stairs.

  And the kid wasn’t stupid.

  Jacob returned with a box of SpongeBob bandages. He’d also brought along a large bath towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

  Yep, smart kid.

  Jacob handed the alcohol to Stefan. “It’s gonna sting for just a little while,” he whispered to the cat. “But it will feel better.”

  Stefan set the cat on the counter, but then Jacob’s gasp drew his attention from the injured ear he was preparing to clean. Eyes wide, his nephew pointed to Stefan’s shirt. He looked down to find it covered in blood, a lot more blood than what was coming from the cat’s ear.

  “Aw, shit.”

  Jacob’s eyes grew wider, and Stefan remembered his sister’s warning about swear words being off limits.

  Yet she’d left a fourteen-year Navy
man in charge of her son.

  “Sorry,” Stefan mumbled.

  “We need to take him to the animal doctor,” Jacob said.

  “No, no. He’s okay.” He was not spending money taking this cat to the vet. “We just need to keep pressure on his cuts.” But when he took his hand away, it too was covered in blood.

  “But, Uncle Stefan, he’s gonna die.”

  Jacob’s choked cry sent an arrow of despair spearing through Stefan’s chest. He looked down at the boy and saw the unmistakable moisture collecting around his eyes.

  Shit!

  The kid had been through so much already this year, losing his dad in an automobile accident, and then having his mom called to serve in a war. The smile he’d spotted on Jacob’s face when he’d found the cat was the first one Stefan had witnessed since he’d come to Maplesville. If the cat died, who knew what that would do to Jacob.

  The fact that the cat, who’d been feisty and ready to run just a few minutes ago, was now docile and listless, told Stefan all he needed to know. He wrapped him up in the plush bath towel.

  “Come on.” He motioned for Jacob to follow him into the living room. “Sit here for a minute,” he said, placing the swaddled cat into his nephew’s outstretched arms. “I’ll get us clean clothes to change into and we’ll take the cat to the animal doctor.”

  He went into the spare room he’d claimed for himself and changed out of the bloody shirt and muddy sweatpants, and into a dark green Henley top and jeans. He stopped in Jacob’s room across the hallway and grabbed pants, a sweater, and a pair of tennis shoes from his closet.

  On his way back downstairs, Stefan embarked upon the first step and had to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling.

  “Dammit!”

  Dread clawed up his throat.

  Stefan tried to tell himself that tripping on the top step had just been a clumsy mistake, but after years of physical training at the Naval Academy and over a decade in combat, he was as agile as that cat downstairs. Clumsiness wasn’t to blame for his near fall; the repercussions from an IED hitting its mark was the cause.

  A familiar mixture of anxiety and alarm knotted his stomach. He hadn’t had an incident in over two months, and had started to believe that his depth perception was improving. He thought the surgery he’d had to repair his optical nerve had been successful. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Uncle Stefan?” Jacob’s timid voice floated up from the living room.

  “On my way,” Stefan called as he continued down the stairs. He dropped the clothes and tennis shoes on the sofa next to Jacob and lifted the cat from his arms. “Go and change out of those muddy clothes, and then we’ll take the cat to the animal doctor.”

  ***

  “Dr. Webber?”

  Calista Webber held up one finger. “Seven seconds,” she murmured as she watched the red numbers tick down on the auction she’d been following for three days. The impossible-to-find-in-stores interactive toy was the only item the seven-year-old she’d chosen from the Lions Club’s annual Angel Tree Toy Drive had asked for. She was going to get the doll, even if it cost four times the retail price.

  Callie waited until the clock reached two seconds, then hit the “confirm bid” button. Seconds later, “Congratulations! You’re the Winning Bidder” appeared on the top of her screen.

  “Yes!” Two victorious fists shot into the air. “I won the Fijit!”

  Mariska Johnson, one of the three, full-time veterinary assistants she employed in her practice in her hometown of Maplesville, Louisiana shook her head.

  “Don’t judge. You have no idea the lengths I’ve gone to in order to buy this little bug-eyed doll.”

  “Congratulations. I’m sure you’re going to make your little angel’s Christmas.”

  “I hope so,” Callie said. “Now, what did you need?” She stopped her, holding up a finger. “Let me guess. Samson is awake and mad as hell.”

  “Bingo.”

  With a groan Callie pushed away from her desk and followed her assistant to the surgical recovery room just to the right of the laboratory. Samson’s unique bark could be heard from down the hallway.

  Callie couldn’t tell every dog she treated by their bark, but the Whitney’s had been bringing their two Dobermans to her clinic since they were puppies. Samson was one of the meanest dogs in all of Maplesville, topped only by his sister, Delilah, who had to be the meanest dog in the entire world.

  Elaine Whitney had brought Samson in for an emergency neutering after he’d come home from a night of pleasuring every neighborhood female canine in heat. She usually only performed neuterings on Mondays, but Callie was more than willing to make an exception. Anything to prevent the creation of a bunch of mean little Samsons.

  She entered the recovery room where Evan, the high school senior who worked part-time as an assistant vet tech, was trying to wrestle the big Doberman into his chest harness.

  “I’ve got him,” she said. Both of the Whitney’s dogs hated all people…except for Callie.

  Stooping, she rubbed Samson behind the ear and the dog immediately stopped fighting.

  “You’re okay,” Callie crooned, scratching the underside of his belly. She looped the harness around the dog’s front legs and took the Elizabethan collar Evan held out to her. Snapping the satellite dish-looking contraption in place, she clipped a leash onto Samson’s regular collar and led him into the waiting room.

  “All done,” Callie said as she transferred the leash into Elaine’s hands. “Anita will give you pain medication for him, and remember, no baths for the next two weeks. He may be a bit lethargic for a few days, but he’ll be back to his old self soon.”

  The front door swung open and a man Callie had never seen before entered, followed by a little boy who looked vaguely familiar. The man had something covered up in a bath towel clutched to his chest. Samson started barking uncontrollably.

  “I think he’s back to his old self already,” Elaine said as she struggled to restrain the huge dog.

  Anita Collins, the receptionist who had been with Callie since she opened the clinic six years ago, brought over a white paper bag containing Samson’s medication.

  “Call me if there are any complications,” Callie told Elaine as she walked her to the door and held it open for her.

  Elaine stopped in the middle of the doorway. “Oh, Callie, I forgot to tell you. My cousin, Maurice, is planning to visit over Christmas. You know he’s still single, right? He’s going on fifteen years with the post office, too.”

  Callie just barely held in the inappropriate word that nearly spilled from her lips.

  “I’m so busy these days,” she said, gesturing to the nearly full waiting room.

  “Just a dinner date won’t hurt,” Elaine persisted.

  Callie gave her a noncommittal smile and closed the door behind her. If she had a nickel for every time someone had tried to fix her up with their single, male relative this past year, she’d be done paying off her student loans. All of Maplesville had made it their mission to find the poor, sweet divorced vet a new man.

  Callie fought the impulse to sigh and turned to the waiting room, which really was crowded, even for a Saturday afternoon. She felt a twinge of guilt for taking those five minutes to win an eBay auction, then remembered that a coveted Fijit would soon be en route to her mailbox. The guilt didn’t last very long.

  Callie petted J.T., Rebecca Hamilton’s pug, on her way to the reception desk.

  Anita handed her a stack of patient files. “You’ve got three vaccinations and Mickey Peterson just called to say that Piper ate an entire family-size bag of peanut M&M’s. He’s on his way with him now.”

  “Here’s the form,” came a deep voice.

  It was the man who had come in with the little boy and the pet that Samson had wanted to eat as his afternoon snack. His head had been bent over the clipboard when she’d walked passed him, so Callie had missed the almond-colored eyes and sculpted jaw.

  Anita to
ok the forms that he held out to her, but his eyes were on Callie. Her heart rate ramped up to about twice the speed it had been beating just a minute ago.

  “Mr. Sutherland’s cat is your most urgent case, Dr. Webber. The cat has a bad cut on the ear and is apparently bleeding on his underbelly.”

  “My nephew found him in a drainage ditch,” he explained.

  Callie walked around to the other side of the reception desk. Maybe the sudden heat that had engulfed her would die down if she put some distance between them.

  “Have Evan bring him into exam room two.” She looked up at Mr. Sutherland. “What’s the cat’s name?”

  “Uh, he doesn’t—”

  “He needs a name, Uncle Stefan.” The little boy had made his way to the counter, clutching the bundled cat to his chest.

  “Jacob, go back and sit before you drop him.”

  “But he needs a name,” he mumbled in a tiny voice that pulled at Callie’s heart.

  His uncle pinched his eyes tight. It was obvious that he’d rescued the cat for his nephew’s sake, but had no intention of keeping it long enough to warrant giving it a name.

  “I’ll see you all in the exam room in just a few minutes,” Callie said.

  Stefan Sutherland nodded and, with a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, returned to the seat next to the display of bird feed.

  “Holy crap,” Anita whispered.

  “Tell me about it,” Callie said under her breath.

  “Oh!” Anita exclaimed, drawing several eyes toward the reception desk. She popped up from her chair and tugged Callie to the corner where they kept the all-in-one copier/printer. “You know who he looks like? The woman who bought the Duval’s old house on Magnolia Drive a couple of years ago.”

  “That’s where I’ve seen the little boy.” Callie nodded. “I don’t remember her name.”

  “Stefanie. She’s a nurse at Maplesville General with my sister. She’s the one whose husband was killed in that bad car accident...” Horror blanketed her receptionist’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”