Sweet Tibby Mack

“I do have other things to take care of. I’ve decided to adopt a dog. The house is so quiet without Gram. I thought maybe a pet…Please point me in the direction of the shelter.”

“A pretty woman like you shouldn’t have to resort to canine companions. What’s wrong with the young men out there in Yaqui Springs?”

Tibby’s heart took a sinking dive as she thought of the only young man in Yaqui Springs. “It’s largely a retirement community, Mr. Harcourt. Not too many men my age retire.”

“Humph. Then if I were you, I’d sell Lara’s store and move. I recall her saying she wanted you to go away to college. Unfortunately, as we discussed after she passed away, she was badly advised financially and lost the bulk of her nest egg.”

“I love living in Yaqui Springs and I love running the store. I’d never sell it. I hope eventually to take some college correspondence courses. I’ve been checking into San Diego State. Now, about the animal shelter, Mr. Harcourt…”

“Yes…yes. But a dog hardly seems a fitting alternative to dating. Tell you what, my wife’s in charge of our church socials, and she teaches the young-adult Sundayschool class. I’ll have her send you an invitation to the next event. No matchmaking, understand. Just come and enjoy the company of men and women your own age.”

“That’d be nice. Thank you.” Tibby doubted she’d accept the offer. Unless the social was during the day. It was a dark lonely road to travel at night.

Harcourt drew her a map to the shelter. She thanked him again. “I’ll run by for the letter, say, at three?” He nodded and escorted her to the reception area.

Walking along the street to her car, Tibby caught her reflection in the window of a shoe store. Her steps slowed. Was her braid outdated? Or was it her loose-fitting cotton dresses? She’d noticed that both the secretary and receptionist in the attorney’s office wore suits with shorter skirts. No, by darn. Tibby gripped the shoulder strap of her purse. She liked her hair long, and she’d grown up wearing dresses. They were cool and comfortable, good for bending and stocking shelves.

Tibby stopped at a café for lunch. The place was crowded. The harried hostess acted as if it was a crime to eat alone when Tibby asked for single seating. Once they managed to squeeze her in, Tibby felt as if she had come with a crowd, since the tables were pushed so close together. Two couples on her left knew the people on her right, and talk more or less flowed over her.

As she dug into her salad, she realized that a majority of the men and women in the restaurant were paired up. Contemplating that, Tibby pretended interest in her forkful of greens. Before Justine and Mr. Harcourt had pointed out her social impairment, she’d never given it much thought. Was that how Cole saw her? Naive and inexperienced? A country mouse? He must know a bevy of sophisticated women.

Embarrassed at the thought, Tibby requested her check and left the majority of her lunch untouched. Awareness of her own inadequacies always made her heart trip over itself.

Only after she was safe in her station wagon did her heart settle and the trembling stop. Flirting wasted time. She had no need for such skills. A dog was what she needed to keep her company, and a dog she would have.

Less than half an hour later, she pulled into the shelter parking lot. Sharp barks and mournful baying pulsed from the building. Goodness, she thought as she entered the reception room, this might be a bad idea. So many dogs needing homes—how would she ever choose?

“May I help you?” A pretty girl with soft brown eyes greeted her over the din.

“I want to adopt a pet,” Tibby explained. “A dog.”

“A puppy, you mean?”

Tibby gave the question some thought. “Do you have any that are young but already trained?”

“We have a beautiful Pekingese. Very well mannered. Her owner died, and the woman’s daughter lives in an apartment where they don’t allow pets.”

“Oh, how sad.” Tibby’s heart turned over. “I had in mind something bigger, though. Like a guard dog.”

“That’s too bad. Peek-a-boo only has another twenty-four hours.” The girl’s brown eyes misted. “I’ve tried so hard to find her a home, but everyone I know is full up. I’ll even throw in food and a doggie dish.”

Tibby’s forehead puckered. “I know an elderly lady whose Yorkshire terrier died. She’d had her sixteen years. I wonder…She was brokenhearted. Still is.”

“Oh, do you think?” The girl sounded hopeful. “Could you call her?”

Tibby smiled. “I believe I’ll surprise her. It’s too easy to say no over the phone. It’s much harder to refuse a gift.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart. But I’ve given so many dogs as gifts, I’m almost out of friends.” The two shared a conspiratorial grin. “Now that Peek-a-boo has a home,” the receptionist said briskly, “let’s go choose you a pet.”

Tibby shook her head. “Do you mind picking one and bringing it out here? If I go in, I’ll want them all.”

“We have a young Great Dane. The man who brought him in claimed that when they got him they didn’t realize he’d grow so fast. It was a family of four, and all of a sudden they had twins. Between two babies and a growing pup needing attention, I guess it was too much.” She shook her head. “There are laws against giving away your kids, but people don’t think twice about dumping their pets.”

Tibby couldn’t bear to imagine what happened to throwaway pets. “The Dane sounds fine. May I see him, please?”

The girl disappeared through a set of double doors almost before Tibby finished speaking. The din rose unbearably. Tibby wondered how many dogs they had. A short time later the attendant returned. She cuddled a pugfaced champagne-gold dog. At her side trotted a sleek but massive tan dog with dark velvet eyes. He got down on his belly and wriggled toward Tibby. Then he raised a paw and rolled over. Tibby’s heart was lost. She knelt and scratched his chest, then his ears. “He’s perfect. What do I have to do to adopt him?”

The young woman explained the shelter’s policy, and Tibby paid the nominal fees. “I almost forgot,” she said, stowing her receipt. “Does my dog have a name?”

“Ah, uh, you might want to change it. The boys in the family named him Exterminator.” The girl made a face.

“Exterminator.” Tibby tried it out A smile twitched. Perhaps Cole O’Donnell wouldn’t be so cavalier about bulldozing his way over her property faced off against a dog called Exterminator. “But it’s just a name, right? I mean, he wouldn’t, you know, really go for the jugular or anything.” Tibby’s smile faltered:

The attendant laughed. “Just don’t hold red licorice close to a main artery. According to his former owner, the Dane has a sweet tooth. I guess that was the last straw. He ruined one of the kid’s birthday cakes. He can smell chocolate a mile away, and it’s hazardous to a dog. Our vet had a box of M&Ms in her purse. Exterminator nosed open the zipper and had the pack out by the time she caught him. Darn—they told me not to mention that. Now you’ll want to give him back, I expect.” She sighed.

Tibby considered for a moment. She stocked very little candy. Some of the residents were diabetics. She baked using raisins and blueberries. On rare occasions, carob chips. “Not a problem,” she said at last. “He can’t eat what isn’t there. As of now, he’s a health-food dog.”

Pulling away from the shelter, she wondered if it was safe to leave the dogs in her car while she ran in to Mr. Harcourt’s office to collect the letter. A needless concern, as it turned out. Both were apparently seasoned travelers. Exterminator claimed the rear of the station wagon and Peek-a-boo the front. The small dog made three revolutions then settled close to Tibby’s hip as they headed home. If Millie didn’t want her, Tibby decided, she’d take them both. She had a big house and no one with whom to share it.

The sad fact brought a catch to her breathing—heightened by a fleeting vision of Cole O’Donnell as he looked today. But he’d always been ruggedly handsome. She was the one who’d changed. Matured. Still, she was nowhere near as comfortable in her skin as he was in his.

Cole hadn’t said who he was entertaining this weekend. But he planned to serve angel-hair pasta and fine wine. Tibby would bet the store it wasn’t a male associate. She exhaled harshly as her spirits plummeted.

Exterminator reached over the back of her seat, whined and licked her ear. “Ooh.” She hunched a shoulder, then stroked his cold nose. “If you’re saying I should forget that charming rat, you’re absolutely right. But it’s easier said than done.”

The dog whiffled in response and placed a paw on her braid. Their two heads bobbed together in the rearview mirror. “Why do I need a man when I’ve got you?” she murmured. Apparently reassured, he bounded off to stare out the rear window again.

Once Tibby reached Yaqui Springs, her first stop was at Mildred Hopkins’s small mobile. As usual Millie sat rocking on her tiny porch. There was a time when her vegetable gardens had flourished. She’d let them go to seed after her husband died and stopped working in them altogether after losing her pet—as if she’d given up on life.

Braking outside the peeling picket fence, Tibby instructed the Dane to stay. The older woman ceased her listless rocking as Tibby climbed from her car.

“What’s that you’re bringing me, Tibby Mack? If it’s’ another casserole, you may as well take it home. The last two are still in my freezer.”

“No food today, Mildred.” Although it was on her list. After Henrietta mentioned that Millie had stopped cooking for herself, Tibby made it a point to drop by with nutritious offerings.

Peek-a-boo yawned sleepily and squirmed in her arms. Tibby strove to juggle dog, food and dish in order to close the gate. She knelt and slipped everything except the dog behind a wilting bush. “I went into town today, Millie, and I stopped by the animal shelter to get a dog. You know how I rattle around in Gram’s big old house by myself.”

Mildred’s eyes focused inward, as if she’d drifted away a moment. “Don’t pay to get attached to man nor beast, girl. Comes a time when they all leave you.”

“Not by choice, Mildred. The world is full of people and animals who could use a friend. Take Peek-a-boo, for instance. If I hadn’t gone to the shelter today, she would’ve been destroyed.” Tibby set the little dog down. The dog leaped right into Millie’s lap and snuggled in.

“Git. What are you doing? I’m not your mama. Tibby is.”

Tibby noticed the weathered fingers tugging gently at the dog’s silky ears. And she also noticed the doggie smile on Peek-a-boo’s face. “I wanted a bigger dog, Millie. I chose a Great Dane. But I couldn’t bear to walk away and leave this one to her fate.” Tibby sighed. “I’m afraid I promised to find her a home.”

“Oh, well…may be Winnie and Joe.”

“No. They’re always flitting hither and yon. Peek-a-boo lived with a retired lady. She’s content to sit and rock.”

“Mabel, then.” The woman scratched the dog under the chin.

“She’s off baby-sitting her grandchildren too often to take really good care of a dog, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose she is. I’d take her myself, but—”

“Would you? Mildred, you’re a lifesaver. Or I should say, a dog-saver.” Tibby suppressed a grin. “She comes with food and a dish. She’s been spayed and has all her shots.” Tibby grabbed the things from where she’d stashed them and piled them on the porch. “Well, I’d better run. Justine’s watching the store, and I’ve been gone longer than I’d planned. The dog’s name is Peek-a-boo, remember.”

Tibby all but ran from the yard. She didn’t want to give Mildred time to reconsider. As it turned out, she probably needn’t have rushed. Looking back as she pulled away from the curb, she saw Millie talking nonstop and the Pekingese’s tail waving like a flag in a stiff breeze.

“Yes!” Tibby punched the air with a fist. “It’s a match made in heaven, Exterminator,” she murmured smugly; rubbing her pet’s huge square nose.

Her good humor evaporated a bit as she passed the O’Donnell place. Cole stood with two men—strangers—on a hill of blooming sage. All three checked clipboards they held, then gestured wildly. Tibby wondered what the trio was up to. If she wasn’t so late, she’d stop and deliver Harcourt’s letter. It was well after four; surely he couldn’t start tearing up the landscape tonight.

Parking in her normal spot, Tibby hopped out and hurried into the store. Exterminator padded at her heels.

Justine’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Tibby, don’t look now, but there’s a small horse following you.”

Tibby laughed. “Meet Exterminator. He’s one reason I went to town.” She spread a car robe behind the counter, then filled a bowl with water for the thirsty dog.

“Exterminator?” Grabbing her purse, Justine ducked out the other side. But the dog was too busy lapping up water to pay her any heed. When he lifted his head, water dribbling from his muzzle, he did look ferocious.

Tibby started to explain that he was really a pussycat. Suddenly she changed her mind. After all, what good was a guard dog if everyone knew he was a phony?

“Thanks, Justine. Drop by tomorrow. I’ll cut and color your hair for free. I know your time is worth more, but it’s something I can do in exchange for your watching the store, since you won’t let me pay you.”

“I like doing it. This gives me a break from painting and lets my creative juices flow again. ’Sides, I’ll never turn down a free haircut.” They both laughed as the door opened.

Through it burst a man carrying a huge bouquet of roses. “Tibby Mack?” he inquired, helpless to see around the greenery.

Tibby cast a stunned glance at Justine, who avoided her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” Justine mumbled. “Check to see who sent them.”

Tibby continued to stare at the flowers. “There must be some mistake,” she said weakly.

“No mistake.” The man plunked the vase on the counter. “Sign here, please. It’s a long drive out from Brawley.”

Hands shaking, Tibby scribbled her name on the line he’d indicated. “But I don’t know anyone anywhere who’d send me flowers,” she insisted.

“Whoever sent ’em paid a mint for delivery,” said the driver as he tucked the pencil behind his ear and headed for the door. “We soak ’em for mileage.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Justine admonished when he’d gone. “Honestly, Tibby, I’d have that envelope shredded by now.”

Tibby touched one of the dark red buds. Then she leaned over and sniffed. “They’re gorgeous. No one’s ever sent me flowers, Justine. I can’t believe they’re for me. Let me appreciate them a minute, in case it’s all a horrible mistake.”

“Tibby, you’re too much. Florists aren’t in the business of making mistakes.”

“I suppose.” Almost reluctantly Tibby plucked the white envelope from its forked stake. Even then, she turned it over several times and patted her dog’s head before she finally slipped a fingernail under the flap and pried it open, never noticing that Justine had apparently lost interest.

Tibby frowned after reading the message. “They’re from Cole.” She tossed the card on the counter. “He says, ‘Sorry for everything. Forgive me, Cole.’ Ha! More than likely he had to run into Brawley for some piddling spice he forgot and realized how inconvenient it is.”

“Now, dear, he probably feels guilty about shouting at you earlier. Men have a tendency to speak first and think later. Why not enjoy the roses and let bygones be?”

“They are lovely, aren’t they?” Tibby’s features softened.

Smiling, Justine angled toward the door. Before she reached it, the bell over the top tinkled again. A pretty woman, pale-skinned with shoulder-length blond hair, poked her head tentatively into the store. “Excuse me,” she murmured in a smoky voice, “I’m hunting for Cole O’Donnell’s country home. I must have taken a wrong turn. Could someone direct me?”

Tibby and Justine exchanged glances, Justine’s one of surprise, Tibby merely rolling her eyes as if to say, Country home, oh, brother!

“You can see his house through that window.” Tibby pointed. She shushed Exterminator when he loped to the end of the counter and barked. “Driving there is trickier. If you’d like, I’ll show you on an area map.”

“Would you? And do you have any cold mineral water? It’s so hot out.”

“Hot? It’s barely eighty-seven. But yes, I have mineral water, juice and iced herb tea.” Tibby directed the newcomer toward the cooler.

The woman pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and stepped fully into view. “Thank goodness you seem civilized. I was afraid to stop in any of the dingy little towns I passed through.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder while inspecting the case.

Tibby took the opportunity to study the woman. She had wide violet eyes enhanced by liner and mauve eye shadow, and she wore a filmy little purple top and a fluttery short skirt that would have stopped a train on a dime. Good thing she’d driven straight through. Those poor farmworkers would’ve died of shock.

Silver hoop earrings and matching bracelets jingled when she reached into the case. If it’d been a man checking out those long bare legs, Tibby thought peevishly, he’d probably have swallowed his teeth.

“You known Cole long?” Tibby asked as she dug through a cluttered drawer in search of the map. She hated the hint of jealousy in her tone.

“A couple of years. I’m Cicely Brock, by the way. If you get an L.A. paper and read the entertainment section, you may have seen me. I’m in a new TV series.”

“Winnie gets the LA. Times,” Justine said. “I’ll mention it to her on my way home. How long will you be in Yaqui Springs, Ms., uh, Brock? In case Winnie would like your autograph.”

Cicely broke into a smile. “I’m only going to be at Cole’s till tomorrow afternoon. But I’d be happy to sign something. I don’t expect to be back. He’s usually on the continent working for classy resorts. I can’t imagine why he’s designing something out here in the boonies.” The woman took a dainty sip of her mineral water, then fanned herself, which set her bracelets dancing. “Are you sure it’s not closer to a hundred degrees? I can’t afford to get sunburned. My agent would have fits.” She gazed at Tibby as if seeing her sun-streaked hair and evenly tanned skin for the first time. “My goodness, don’t you worry you’ll wrinkleT’

Justine made a strangled noise in her throat, which she quickly turned into a goodbye thrown at Tibby.

Saying nothing, Tibby bent to find the elusive map. Triumphant at last, she turned with it clutched in her hand, only to find Cicely eyeing the card that had come with the roses. Tossing two dollars atop the card, Cole’s visitor stormed out of the store, not waiting either for change or for directions to his lane.

Tibby felt her stomach lurch. Until that very moment, she’d been unwilling to admit that, in spite of their latest battle, she longed for more than an adversarial relationship with Cole O’Donnell. Even when he’d gone away to college, she’d known there’d be women. But they’d remained nameless faceless women. Easy to dismiss. It was pretty hard to disregard Ms. May Centerfold.

Tibby knew it wasn’t very nice, but she hoped Cole burned the pasta or that the wine he’d selected had been on the shelf long enough to turn to vinegar.

She sneaked a peek out the window to see if Cicely had reached Cole’s house yet. If she stood on tiptoe she could tell. “Uh-oh.” Justine still stood in the parking lot, in a cluster of Moped Mavericks. The way Justine waved her arms, Tibby knew the ladies were getting a blow-by-blow account—of everything from the roses to Cole’s girlfriend. It certainly wouldn’t do to let that bunch see her spying. Jerking back, Tibby fussed with the shelves. Darn, she was tempted to take Exterminator out to explore. Stoically she resisted. Besides, her friends would see right through the flimsy ploy.

COLE RACED HOME after leaving the heavy-equipment contractor and the county inspector in charge of issuing permits. Since he owned the land, the inspector saw no problem with starting to clear it. The permits themselves would take a few weeks. Technically, county planners had to approve the drawings. Cole was confident his would pass muster; after all, it was how he made his living.

But he’d been a lot later winding things down than he’d planned. He hadn’t showered, let alone started the pasta sauce. By his calculations Cicely should be rolling in soon. Cole’s intent had been to have everything done except tossing the salad, so they could sit out on the patio and share a relaxing glass of wine without intrusion.

Stripping, he stepped into a cool shower. There was still one potential oil slick to mar his smooth sailing. Tibby Mack’s blasted post office. He hadn’t mentioned that little snafu to the inspector. Jockeying the location of his clubhouse entailed redrawing the entire plan and resubmitting it. Plus, he’d planned on using her traffic light. It was the only one in Yaqui Springs. As this wasn’t technically a town, he didn’t relish the thought of talking the county into installing another. He could just imagine it—weeks of costly traffic studies that would end with him paying some outrageous price for putting in a light. If the powersthat-be deemed a light was necessary.

Cole washed his hair, rinsed off, then blindly grabbed for a towel. He regretted having lost his temper with Tibby earlier. Unfortunately Tibby Mack had a way of setting him off like no other woman he’d ever met. He owed her an apology for this morning. And he’d have delivered it, except she’d been gone all afternoon. Where to? he wondered. Not that what she did was any of his business.

Irritated by his turn of thought, Cole took care laying out his clothes. Cicely liked a man’s slacks pressed and his shoes shined. She was big on people wearing the right weight for the right season, too, he recalled as he quickly discarded one shirt and selected another.

Heading for the kitchen, he strapped on his watch. Once there, he uncorked the wine to let it breathe, then decided to set the table on the patio while it was still light. He’d bought a candle in a shallow dish for a centerpiece. Nothing he hated more than breaking his neck trying to see the person seated across from him.

Was he nervous? Probably. It’d been nearly five months since he’d seen her. Cole didn’t kid himself that Cicely had sworn off dating while he was in Europe. They’d had no real commitment then. If things were to change, it was imperative that Cicely like Yaqui Springs, dinky or not.

Straightening, Cole gazed out through a ruff of pine trees toward the Mack place. Tibby seemed acclimated to the slower pace. Even when she was busy, she didn’t give the appearance of rushing. Her braid sort of floated lazily out behind her when she walked, the honey gold strands catching fire in the sun.

But why was he dreaming about Tibby’s hair when Cicely was due any moment? In fact—he cocked his head—was that someone at his front door? It sure sounded like it. Damn, now he’d be cooking, instead of relaxing. But maybe she’d like to shower and rest after the drive. Cicely had a tendency to be high-strung.

Cole skirted the couch on his way through the living room. When he reached the entry, he flung open the door, prepared to greet and be greeted with a lingering kiss.

Instead, Cicely exploded through the door, tromping on his new Italian loafers. Her spine carefully rigid, she paced the room in circles.

“Wake me at midnight, beg me to come for a romantic interlude—or at least that’s what I thought your call implied, Cole. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you’ve got another woman stashed in the wings? I guess you did, since it was quite by accident I found out.” She flung a hand dramatically toward the south wall. Silver bracelets skittered up and down her slender arm.

“Cicely, hold it right there. I have no idea what you’re raving about.”

“Ha! I’m raving about the dozen roses you sent that…that…funky…person, when you’ve never sent me so much as a carnation.”