Hitched For The Holidays: Hitched For The Holidays / A Groom In Her Stocking

“I don’t see how I can ask you to help entertain my dad,” Mindy said.

“I’ll enjoy the trip. We’ll make a day of it. Have dinner in Sedona before we come home.”

“If you’re sure….”

He wasn’t, but he could still feel her lips warm and soft under his. Pretending to be hot for her wasn’t a stretch. In fact, he wouldn’t mind a little more smooching—only to impress Wayne, of course.

“I’ll drive. How does ten o’clock Sunday morning sound?” he asked.

“Wonderful! If there’s anything I can do for you—I mean, anything professional. Organize your office, do your Christmas shopping…”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

Really not necessary! He’d rather let a pack of baboons loose in the clinic. Already he was afraid he’d made a big mistake by offering to spend the whole day with the Ryders. He couldn’t help being sympathetic to Mindy, but if she tried to smear sunscreen on his face or retie his shoes, he was bailing.

He hung up, decided it was late enough to go to bed, and was settling in when the phone rang again.

“Mom.” No surprise. “I was going to call you in the morning. About the dinner meeting Sunday….”

He made his excuse. Her voice became very quiet and reasonable, not a good sign.

“I know it’s a great cause, Mom, but I promised to spend the day with a friend…. No, not Guy…. Actually, it’s one of my patient’s owners…. I’m not breaking my rule about socializing. Just doing a small favor…. Okay, yes, a female friend.”

An hour or so later he pulled on a pair of gray sweats, a threadbare Iowa State University T-shirt, socks and his battered old running shoes. Maybe some cool desert air would clear his head and help him get to sleep.

SUNDAY MORNING Dad volunteered to take the dog for a walk, so Mindy used the opportunity to call her big brother. First Carly, her sister-in-law, let her talk with five-year-old Kim and Sam, who was almost three, although her nephew’s idea of a phone conversation was a spurt of excited babble.

“Hi, Min,” Dwight said, relieving his son of the phone. “How are you and Dad doing?”

“He’s fine. We went out for dinner Friday with my pretend boyfriend.”

“Pretend?” There was a knowing chuckle on his voice. Dwight knew all about Mindy’s dating woes when it came to their father.

“Peaches’s vet. He went as a favor to me, but I’m not sure it was a good idea. I’d like to see him for real, but fat chance of that after I roped him into one of Dad’s infamous interrogations.”

“That bad?”

“No, I guess not. He likes Eric, but I don’t feel good about the phony date. Dad insisted the three of us go sight-seeing together today.”

“Your vet sounds like a good guy to go along with it. He must be interested in you.”

“I doubt it, but even if he is, a full day with Dad will discourage him. Remember when we rented that lake cabin for a week and Josh Arhus came to stay? Dad was so suspicious of his intentions, he scared him away after two days.”

“Well, hang in there,” he said, unhelpful.

Mindy hung up and hurried to get ready for the trip when her plan for the day fizzled like a dud fire-cracker. Peaches gave her the bad news, or at least thought she did as she barked furiously outside the closed bedroom door.

“You little rascal, what’s all the racket?”

She stepped out of her room and saw her father sitting on the couch, bending over and gingerly taking off his sock.

“Dad, what happened?”

“I took that mutt for a walk and tripped on a paving stone on your front walk. Would’ve been okay, but when I tried to get my balance, the dumb dog yanked on the leash and I went down. Lucky I didn’t land on my face.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I think I twisted my ankle.” He touched his right ankle, which was puffy-looking below the hem of khaki cotton slacks.

Mindy glanced at the dressy black wing tip shoe he’d just removed. It looked brand-new and probably still had slippery soles, but she bit back a comment about unsuitable footwear. Dad had worn the same style shoe as long as she’d known him. Pain and suffering weren’t going to change him.

“It doesn’t look good. I’d better drive you to the emergency room.”

“I’m not sitting around all day to have some wet-behind-the-ears intern tell me to take two aspirin. I’ll have your Eric see what he thinks.”

“He’s not my Eric, and he’s a vet, Dad, a vet. He doesn’t treat people.”

“I don’t want treatment. He can just take a look at it. How much trouble is that?”

“Your ankle could be sprained or even fractured. You need an X ray.”

When did her father regress to acting like a stubborn child?

“Just bring me a heating pad and a couple of pain pills. I’ll be ready to go to the ruins in an hour or so.”

“Dad, we were thinking of Walnut Canyon, hundreds of steps down and up again. You have to stay off your ankle until a doctor checks it.”

“Fine. Eric must have learned enough basics in vet school to diagnose a sprain.”

Arguing with him was useless. She didn’t have a heating pad, so he insisted she soak a cloth in hot water and lay it on his rapidly swelling ankle, never mind that she thought an ice pack was the way to go.

She’d been excited, even a little tingly, anticipating a whole day with Eric. Sure, he was only doing her a favor, and her father would be going along as well, but he must like her a little to go to the trouble of pretending to be her boyfriend.

When he got there ten minutes late, dressed in jeans and a faded blue denim shirt for their trip, she didn’t know what to say to him. They couldn’t go through with their plans, but her father would expect him to hang around and be sympathetic as any potential son-in-law would.

“What happened?” Eric saw her father stretched out on the couch, his foot on a pillow with a wet washcloth draped over his ankle.

“I twisted my damn ankle,” her father said impatiently. “The dog tripped me.”

“Not exactly,” Mindy said, unwilling to let Peaches get all the blame.

“Take a look. Tell me what you think,” her father said to Eric.

“You need to ice it, keep it elevated,” Eric said without examining the puffy ankle.

“I told Mindy a vet can handle the little things,” Wayne said with satisfaction.

“Dad, that’s commonsense first aid, not a diagnosis.”