My Fair Gentleman

Catherine released his hand and reached for the supplies.

“Does it hurt real bad, Joe?” Allie’s expression offered an apology for not asking him earlier.

“Nah.” He grinned and deepened his voice. “I’m a manly ma—Ow-w-w!’

“It’s only a little iodine,” Catherine said sternly, dabbing his fingers with the stinging liquid. “Quit fussing. Manly men don’t whine.”

He dropped his chin to his chest and thrust out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. Allie giggled. Catherine glanced up and snorted. Reclaiming his hand with a shake of her head, she set to work.

Absurdly pleased, he nodded toward the two cats now vying for Allie’s attention. “What the bell are they doing here?”

She froze, then continued bandaging his fingers. “They live here.”

His good humor fled. “Excuse me?”

“They live here,” she said louder, as if the problem were his hearing, not the cats.

“Don’t you mean they lived here?”

“No.” She finished wrapping his last puncture wound and offered a bright smile. “There you are. Good as new.”

He caught her wrist as she stepped back. “Cats weren’t part of our deal.”

“Didn’t I mention them?” She shrugged elegantly. “Oh, well, they’re so little trouble it must have slipped my mind.”

“Catherine…” he warned.

Her expression sobered, all flippancy gone. “I can’t keep them at the house, Joe. My father is allergic to cats.”

“So have the house cleaned before he comes back from England.”

“I tried that after his book tour. It nearly put him in the hospital. He’s severely allergic.”

“So keep ‘em outside. This neighborhood is a friggin’ cat paradise. All those trees to climb, birds to chase—”

“Dogs to chase them,” Catherine finished, her tone grim. “Juliet’s declawed. She couldn’t defend herself or even climb a tree for safety. I have to keep her inside. And Romeo is devoted to her. He’d die if I separated them.”

Joe made a sound of disgust and released her wrist. “Gimme a break. They’re just cats, for God’s sake.”

Some emotion veiled her face, a vulnerability that said the animals, were much more than casual pets, much more than he could comprehend. The next instant her eyes narrowed, so like the doorstop’s it was eerie.

“The students who rent this apartment come and go, but Romeo and Juliet stay. This is their home. If you can’t share it with them, I’m afraid our deal is off.”

Allie moved up and tugged on Joe’s arm. “They won’t be any trouble. I’ll take care of them myself. You won’t have to do a thing. Please, Joe, can we stay?”

He looked into doe brown eyes and remembered a little girl of six pleading for a kitten, a little girl of eight pleading for a puppy.

“You said yourself it was only for a month,” she persisted, turning his own words against him.

He’d vetoed the kitten and puppy. The subsequent rabbit and bird, too. His mother wouldn’t tolerate an animal in the house, and, as she’d told him, he wouldn’t be there to help care for them.

Before Allie’s imploring eyes grew disillusioned, before his gut could churn with guilt, he cupped her head and rumpled her silky hair. “Okay, pal, tomorrow we’ll bring a load of stuff over and get settled in. But when it comes to those two monsters, forget what I said about us sticking together. You’re on your own.”

Whether his sudden difficulty in breathing came from Allie’s crushing bear hug or the quiet thanks in Catherine’s eyes, he couldn’t have said.

FIFTY MILES AWAY, Mary Lou Denton eased behind the counter of Columbus Truck Stop’s diner and tied an apron over her slim black skirt. The luncheon special—chicken-fried steak as big as a hubcap—would keep things hopping for hours yet. She might run the place now, but she couldn’t sit on her duff in the manager’s office while the waitresses up front ran themselves ragged. She’d walked too many years in their shoes.

Grabbing an order pad and pencil, she slipped into the stream of action without a ripple. Dishes clattered. Voices rumbled. Steam clouded or curled, spreading the smells of grease, coffee and fresh-baked bread. A waitress’s telltale perfume. She’d have to wash and rinse her hair twice tonight, but the thought didn’t annoy her as it used to. She pushed back a surge of uneasiness.

If there was an extra spring in her step, it wasn’t because today was Wednesday. She hadn’t worn her hair up in a French twist for any particular reason. Her heart didn’t leap each time the door jangled open. No, not hers. That would mean she cared who came in. And she was way too smart for that. Irene whizzed past balancing loaded plates on both arms. The harried waitress’s well-timed mumble found its mark and Mary Lou scanned the eating customers. Ah. So Grace had discovered the new driver for Valley Produce, had she?

When the pretty young woman tossed him a parting smile and headed toward the kitchen, Mary Lou stepped into her path. “The family in booth three finished five minutes ago.”

Grace blushed, knowing she’d been caught flirting. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mary Lou nodded and moved out of the way. Yes, ma’am, old lady, ma’am. As if she’d never experienced the thrill of a man’s appreciative gaze. As if she never would.

Without vanity, she knew her thick dark hair had very little gray, her skin few wrinkles, her body little excess flesh for a woman of fifty-two years. Men still cast her second glances. She stared at the front door, realized what she was doing and turned back to the counter wearing a blush of her own.

Drivers sat hunched over their plates in a long row. Cattle at the trough, she’d called them once upon a time, when her dreams were big and her patience shrank in proportion to her swelling feet. She’d been so disdainful then. So…naive. Funny how tragedy changed a person’s outlook. She’d returned from the East a whole lot sadder but wiser.

These men had names. Families. Troubles and triumphs. Her feet swelled worse than ever, but thank God her head didn’t.

“Hey, beautiful, c’mere a minute,” a familiar voice boomed.

Irene, Grace and Mary Lou swiveled their heads at the same time. Nate Dawson grinned at all three but crooked his finger at Mary Lou. The younger women rolled their eyes fondly and returned to their duties.

Smiling, Mary Lou walked to the barrel-shaped trucker who’d become a true friend over the years. The birth of his two daughters, his problems with various employers, the glorious day he’d bought his own rig—she’d shared them all with Nate. Just as he’d cheered her promotion to manager two years ago. She suspected he’d put the original bug in the new owner’s ear that led to a serious interview.

She stopped in front of Nate and patted his arm. “How’s it going, stranger? You haven’t stopped by my office in ages.”

“Been workin’ against the clock the last coupla months. Only stopped today ‘cause I was runnin’ on fumes. By the way, pump 9 is knockin’ real bad.”

“I know. It’s on my list.” Along with a hundred other details to take care of. She tapped Nate’s polished plate and chuckled. “Sorry you didn’t like the special.”

“I couldn’t hurt Danny’s feelings now, could I? In fact, maybe I’d better have some of his peach cobbler.”

“Mmm. Aren’t you forgetting those size-forty pants you were going to fit into for Cindy’s wedding?” His daughter was getting married in three weeks. Short of liposuction, Nate was out of time.

His hopeful expression fell. “I stuck to my diet all morning. Didn’t stop for a doughnut or nothin’, you can ask Frank. He’s been tailin’ my mud flaps since San Antonio. Tell her I didn’t stop, will ya, Frank?” Nate elbowed the driver on his right, nearly knocking the smaller man off his stool.

Frank resettled his skinny rump and slanted his colleague a lethal glance. “Touch me again and Cindy’ll be wearing black to her wedding.”

“Ooh. Big talk from such a little man.”

“It ain’t the size of the dog that counts, buddy. It’s the fight in the dog—”

“Guys,” Mary Lou interrupted before the reference to size could turn sexual. And it would, as surely as men would be boys. “I’ll get you the cobbler, Nate, if you’ll promise to reserve a larger tux for the wedding while there’s still time. They may have to ship one in from another store location.”