A Triple Threat To Bachelorhood

Chapter Two

In a single heartbeat, she was eighteen again, looking up at a young man she trusted more than she trusted anyone else in the world.

It took Melinda a moment to focus back on the present. On the three children clustered around her like chicks around a hen—if chicks could babble incoherently and cling—and on the man standing on her doorstep.

He’d filled out, she thought. A lot. And gotten taller, too. She remembered him a few inches taller than she was, now there seemed to be almost a foot’s difference between them. The thin shoulders were broad now, and the forearms she saw peering out from beneath the rolled-up sleeves were strong and muscular.

It couldn’t be him. And yet, it had to be. Carly. Carly Cutler.

Melinda realized she was staring and blinked, trying to rouse herself.

“Carly?”

It just didn’t seem fair. There should be some kind of law on the books about women who broke your heart getting more beautiful as time went by, Carl thought. It would have helped a little if she’d been tired and at least a tad worn, but she wasn’t. She was radiant. Except for her eyes. There was a sadness there, a sadness that wisdom gotten at too great a price brought.

He squelched the impulse to take his hat in his hand. That would have seemed penitent somehow.

Instead he gazed steadily into her eyes, reminding himself not to drown there. It took a bit of effort to succeed.

“It’s Carl now.”

“Carl.” She wrapped her tongue around his new, adult name.

Carl.

No, he wasn’t Carly anymore. There was no boyishness about the man who stood before her. The years had hardened his body and made his face leaner, bringing out cheekbones she’d had no idea had been there.

Nostalgia and a dram of sorrow seeped into her for the boy she had once known. She smiled at him, even though there was no smile on his face to greet her.

“No hello?”

“Hello,” Carl echoed civilly, then repeated what he’d said previously, as if it were a mantra that could keep him impervious to the light, airy charm that was Melinda Morrow. “I’ve come about the cat.”

Melinda half turned toward the back of the house, as if to look toward the backyard where the tree and the trapped feline existed in discord.

Still partially catapulted into the past, she tried vainly to ignore the urgent tugs on her clothes by the munchkins who surrounded her.

“You? But I called the sheriff’s office…” Why had he come in response?

Carly. She’d thought about him a great deal lately, thought about getting in contact with him more than a dozen times since she’d returned to Serendipity. Despite numerous friendships, he’d been the one she could always rely on. She’d even looked up his name in the telephone book to see if he still lived in town. He did and his number hadn’t changed.

Apparently, she thought, looking at him again, that was the only thing that hadn’t changed.

Every time she’d begun to press his number on the keypad, she’d aborted the call, afraid of what he’d say to her. Afraid that the hard feelings she’d left in her wake would still be there.

And now she stood looking at him like some wide-eyed schoolgirl instead of a woman with a college degree and three children to support.

“And the sheriff sent me,” he told her.

His answers were clipped, his voice almost nothing like she remembered. But then, Melinda supposed she deserved that.

Logic and merit notwithstanding, it still hurt to hear the cool tone. Especially since what she needed right at this minute, she admitted to herself, was a shoulder to lean on for just a moment, until she caught her breath and found her bearings.

Her eyes swept over him. She hadn’t noticed the uniform Carl wore, but now she thought it seemed made for him. “So when did you become a deputy sheriff?”

Before answering, he glanced at the blond trio that had all but sealed themselves to her body. All three sets of blue eyes were looking up at him inquisitively. Damn, but they were adorable.

Kids had always been his undoing. He’d always wanted a tribe of them himself, but without a partner, that didn’t seem as if it was ever going to happen.

Carl curbed the urge to squat down to the triplets’ level and ruffle their hair. Instead he answered their mother’s question.

“When Quint became the sheriff.”

“Quint’s the sheriff?” Melinda’s eyes widened in surprise at the information. She thought she’d vaguely recognized the voice on the phone, but couldn’t place it. Now she knew why. The town bad boy was now the sheriff. Would wonders never cease? “Quint Cutler?”

“That’s the one.”

Carl wanted to cut this short, not knowing how much longer he could just stand here, holding her at arm’s length the way he knew he should, the way she deserved. Wanting nothing more than to take her into his arms. There was always something about Melinda that got to him, making him forgive her unintentional slights, chalking it up to her just being Melinda. But he couldn’t do that now. They weren’t kids anymore.

He nodded toward the rear of the house and the yard beyond. “Is the cat back there?”

Remorse and frustration tugged at Melinda even harder than the children who were twisting their fingers into her long floral shirt. She didn’t want to talk about treed cats, she wanted her friend back. Even if she didn’t deserve him.

“Talk to me, Carly—Carl,” she corrected herself. She bit back the “please” even though it trembled on her lips, trying to get free. If she added the single word and he still looked at her coldly, she didn’t know if she could stand it. Funny, the separation and divorce from Steve had hurt less than being rejected by Carly.

It took effort, but he didn’t allow himself to be pulled in. She was here now, but tomorrow, she could be gone again because someone new had won her heart and written her promises in the sand. Someone she would run off with. He wasn’t about to feel anything for someone who hadn’t so much as sent him a postcard in all the years she’d been gone.

The girl he’d been in love with existed in his past. He was just going to have to learn to deal with that.

“I am talking,” he answered crisply, though he couldn’t resist winking at the little girl closest to him. He raised his eyes to look at Melinda. “So where’s the cat?” he asked for the third time. “You called to say you had a cat stuck in a tree.” He enunciated each word slowly, as if reading it from some giant cue card held just out of sight. “Now where is it?”

It was as if she felt the harsh tone physically and took a step back from him.

“He’s out back.”

Pointing behind her, Melinda turned to lead the way. Progress was impeded by six small feet that didn’t quite make the turn as smoothly. Because they were all clustering so closely, the boy fell down as his sisters huddled again around their mother, hurrying to keep up. Carl was quick to scoop him up as the three-year-old’s sisters giggled, hanging on to either side of their mother.

Carl made an elaborate show of brushing him off. “Gotta watch those turns, fella.” He set the boy back on the floor and was rewarded with a sunny smile that was so much like Melinda’s, it punched him in the gut.

It took Carl a second to catch his breath. “What’s your name?”

The boy shyly popped a finger into his mouth, staring at him with his mother’s eyes.

“That’s Matthew,” Melinda told him. “Matthew Carly Greenwood.”

Carl looked at her sharply.

“I named him after my best friend,” she added quietly. Then recovering, she ushered each giggling little girl forward as she completed the introductions. “This is Mollie Ann and this is Margaret Mae.” She smiled, looking first at the little girl, then at Carl. “Maggie Mae, like the old song.”

He remembered. Melinda had always liked the songs that belonged to another generation. “Maggie Mae” was one of her favorites.

Since the girls were looking up at him, he inclined his head, his features softening. He shook each hand separately. “Nice to meet you, ladies, Matt. Is that your cat up in the tree?”

Blond curls sprang about animatedly as three heads bobbed up and down in syncopated rhythm. Unable to resist, Carl gave in and squatted down to their level.

“Which of you chased him up there?” Hesitation was followed by three stubby fingers all pointing at a different culprit. Carl gave them his gravest, most thoughtful deputy sheriff face. “I see, so it was a team effort. Well, let’s see if we can convince him to come down and join us.” He rose and his smile faded as he looked at Melinda. “Show me which tree.”

Damn it, Carly, don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know me. Like you don’t want to know me. Taking a deep breath, Melinda got her bearings and turned on her heel.

“Right this way.” She did her best to sound breezy, as if she were talking to an amiable stranger instead of someone who had known her since she was almost as young as her triplets. “I don’t know why cats can go up trees, but they can’t come down.”

“Probably impulse makes them run up. They want to see how far they can get, maybe grab themselves something elusive. And they look down and stop to think about what they’ve done and what might happen if they try to get down again.” He slanted a glance at her profile. “Paralyzes them.”

Her eyes met his. “Are you still talking about the cat?”

He shrugged, as innocent as he had once been. “Sure, what would I be talking about?”

She dropped it. There was no point in going on. Melinda opened the back door and stepped out into the yard. “Nothing.” They walked over to the giant oak that stood like an aged companion near the house, its branches almost caressing the rear window that had once belonged to her bedroom. “He’s up there.”

Carl stood back, trying to get a better view of the upper portion of the massive tree. He could remember one summer when Melinda had wanted a tree-house built into its massive branches more than anything in the world. He’d set his mind to building it for her using wood he’d paid for with money he’d earned mowing lawns all summer—until her father forbade it, saying it would damage the tree.

Shading his eyes, he tried to make out the form of a cat and failed.

“You sure he’s there?” Maybe the cat had decided to be courageous after all and come down.

Tilting her head, with the triplets mimicking her every move, Melinda looked for the elusive feline.

“Yes, there he is.” She pointed to a section, then turned Carl’s head with her hands to position him better. “See? That glob of gray and white fur?”

He tried not to allow the touch of her hand take over all his senses. It was futile despite the best of intentions.

With effort, he forced himself to focus on the reason he was here. To rescue a cat, not resuscitate a friendship gone sour. Squinting, he could finally make out the furry form. The cat looked to be at least twenty feet off the ground.

“Yeah,” he snapped the word off, tension dancing through him. “I see him.”

She was having second thoughts about this rescue action. The cat belonged to the children, but she didn’t want to risk having Carl plummet out of a tree just to retrieve him.

“Maybe we’d better forget the whole thing, or call the fire department.” Damn it, she was stumbling over her own tongue, and she knew why. She was letting her guilt overwhelm her.

He waved a dismissive hand at the suggestion. “I’m here now.”

They weren’t kids anymore, shimmying up the tree like monkeys. She glanced at the garage. “Do you want me to get a ladder?”

Not that she knew if her father even had a ladder anymore. He’d long since given up doing chores around the place himself, hiring gardeners and handymen to do them instead.

Carl shook his head at the offer. The next moment he jumped up to grab the lowest branch, then swung himself up into the tree.

Melinda couldn’t help smiling again as another whiff of nostalgia drifted over her. “I forgot how agile you could be.”

He spared her one look before climbing up higher. “Seems to me you forgot a lot of things.”

She had that coming, too, Melinda thought, crossing her arms before her as she saw him make his way up the tree.

“Not really.” He climbed a few more feet up and she watched him, debating. Finally she said, “You know that argument we had? The one just before I left?”

He refused to look down at her, keeping his eyes trained on the cat. But he felt something tighten in his stomach.

“What about it?”

“I’m sorry, Carly—Carl. Damn, but it’s going to be hard to think of you that way after all this time.” She was digressing and she knew it. She forced herself back on the track. Otherwise, the apology wouldn’t count. “You were right, I was wrong.” She’d been wanting to get that off her chest for a very long time. “He wasn’t any good for me.”

She glanced at her children, but they seemed oblivious to what she was saying, which was just what she wanted. She deliberately avoided using Steve’s name. Though the triplets were still very young, she didn’t want to take any chances. She wasn’t going to be one of those divorced mothers who bad-mouthed her children’s father in front of them. Like her father had bad-mouthed her mother for years after her mother had left. Children deserved to hang on to some illusions, at least for a little while. Reality came through fast enough as it was.

This time, Carl did look down at her. Seeing the way the triplets were buffering her on all three sides, his mouth curved.

“Except in one way.”

She shaded her eyes again, trying to make out his face. She couldn’t. “How’s that?”

Holding steady with one hand firmly around a thick branch, he pointed down with the other. “Just look around you.”

Melinda looked down at her children. The children she wouldn’t have had had it not been for her marriage to Steve. They filled up her world and made things special. Carl had a point.

“You’re right. As usual.”

Carl continued to inch his way up. The cat, firmly entrenched amid two branches, looked down at him as if he were a royal being, smirking at the efforts of a mere commoner.

“You’re making it hard to stay angry at you, Melinda.”

“Good,” she called back up to him. “Because I can’t think of anything I hate more than having you angry with me. Especially now that I’ve moved back.”

He tested a branch before attempting to put his full weight on it. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t. She was taking this one day at a time right now. “Maybe forever.”

And maybe not, he thought, taking hold of another branch. Melinda had never wanted to stay pinned down to anything for long. There was a wanderlust in her. He’d seen it in her eyes early on and had fooled himself into thinking that perhaps, once he’d made something of himself and could offer her his heart aloud, she’d change her mind and remain in Serendipity. Remain with him. But those had been the dreams of an eighteen-year-old. He knew better now.

Carl looked at the cat. The cat looked back at him. And moved to a higher branch. “What changed your mind about Serendipity?”

“You just met them,” she said, raising her voice. She didn’t like the way the branch swayed as he reached it. It took very little imagination to envision him toppling down and landing at her feet. The ornery cat wasn’t worth it. “Carl, maybe you should come down. I don’t want you getting hurt on my account.”

Too late, he thought.

“Rounding up cats is just part of the job, ma’am,” he drawled.

Again, Mr. Whiskers was just within reach. And again, as Carl stretched as far as he was able, the animal drew back and moved to an even loftier perch.

Holding his breath, Carl tested the ever-thinning branches as he made his way up to the top of the tree. “You sure Mr. Whiskers isn’t part mountain goat?”

He was rewarded with giggles. Giggles he wished he was on the ground to enjoy.

Melinda realized she was holding her breath as she watched Carl’s slow progress. The next second she caught herself gasping as Carl almost missed his step. “Carl, be careful.”

“I’m trying, Melinda, I surely am trying,” he said, his eyes never leaving the cat.

“Mr. Whiskers, Mr. Whiskers,” Mollie cried, pointing urgently skyward. In less than a beat, she was joined by Matt and Maggie, chanting the cat’s name.

Melinda said nothing, only crossing her fingers. If they ever got that cat down again, she was going to tether it to the kitchen table.

“C’mon, cat,” Carl said in a low, soothing voice as he inched toward the feline. “You don’t want to stay up in this tree for the rest of your nine lives. Let’s get down before you make a wrong move and use them all up,” he coaxed.

Mr. Whiskers responded by daintily moving to a lower branch just as Carl was about to catch him. Carl swallowed a ripe curse he wouldn’t have voiced in front of the children for the world. Drawing back, he missed his footing and nearly fell out of the tree. He grabbed a branch just in time. His heart pounded in his ears, blocking out all other sounds.

Melinda screamed, causing the triplets to freeze, not knowing whether or not this was part of the game or if something was very wrong.

“Mommy?” Maggie said uncertainly.

She hugged the little girl hard, then opened her arms as the other two snuggled in. All the while she never stopped watching Carl. “Carl, you come down here,” she called, her voice throbbing. “Never mind about the cat. I’ll call the fire department.”

He didn’t like not finishing something he’d started. It was the stubborn streak in him, that much more surprising because as a rule, he was very easygoing. But he believed in keeping his word, no matter what. That included retrieving cats out of trees.

“It’s a cat, not a fire.” It was a matter of honor now. He made eye contact with Mr. Whiskers and willed him to be still as he worked his way down to the branch where the cat had ceased his odyssey. “They’ve got better things to do.”

“And you don’t?”

“Apparently not.” Carl reached the branch where the cat was. Barely moving, he gained ground at a painfully slow rate. “Okay, Whiskers, just you and me,” he told the cat in a low, guttural voice. “Make you a deal. You let me get you and I promise not to skin you for all the trouble you’ve put me through. How about it?”

The animal stared at him, giving every impression that he’d been almost hypnotized by the soft cadence of Carl’s voice.

In one quick motion, Carl secured the animal. But not without consequences. As the triplets let out a lusty cheer, Mr. Whiskers let out a loud cry. The cat’s claws fanned out in four directions as he tried to scramble for freedom.

Carl sucked in his breath as he felt the cat’s nails make contact with his skin. He saw blood immediately fill in the lines where the Angora’s claws had cut him.

“Calm down, cat,” he warned, “or that skinning offer is off the table.”

Mr. Whiskers kept on complaining. Carl did his best to hold the animal against his chest, trying to remember when his last rabies shot had been.

The journey down took forever, but he finally made it. Carl released the cat when he was five feet off the ground. The disgruntled feline flew from the tree and the odious experience as fast as he could. The triplets came to life, chasing after the cat.

Feeling like a pincushion, Carl jumped down to the ground himself.

“Get him into the house,” Melinda called after her children. She turned around to thank Carl and her words melted on her tongue. There were at least four foot-long scratches on Carl’s arm. “My God, he did a number on you.”

Not as bad as you did, Carl thought as he shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Examining the wounds, Melinda felt terrible. “I’m so sorry. Mr. Whiskers doesn’t like being messed with.”

“Now you tell me,” he deadpanned. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing my foot.” The next thing he knew, she was taking hold of his other hand and drawing him toward the house. “Let me take a closer look at that.”

He did what he could to resist having her fuss over him, though he had to admit that the scratches stung like crazy. “It’s just a scratch.”

“It’s just several scratches,” she corrected. “And there isn’t any ‘just’ about them. Those look like they could get infected if you don’t treat them and knowing you, you won’t do anything but let them dry. Don’t argue with me, just come inside.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, then thought better of it. She was right, he wouldn’t do anything except dab at them to keep the rest of his uniform from getting blood on it.

With a shrug, he allowed himself to be ushered into her house.

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