Norah's Ark

She flushed under the bright patches of blusher—or rouge, as she called it—on her cheeks. “I haven’t lived with anyone or anything for thirty years. I don’t want to make another mistake.”

I blinked. “A mistake?”

“That’s what my husband was,” Auntie Lou admitted cheerfully. “A rascal, that fellow. It’s a wonder that he didn’t put me in the grave with him.”

This was all news to me.

“He couldn’t keep a job or didn’t care to. Lazy as the day is long.” Her expression softened. “But so charming. He treated me like a queen, you know. Made me forget that I had to support us most of the time. Then he got sick and I nearly lost my mind tending to him and trying to keep food on the table….” Her voice drifted with her memories, into the past. “I didn’t regret a moment I spent caring for him but after he was gone, I realized that sometimes it can be just too hard to love someone who hasn’t the same ability to love back.” She eyeballed the cat. “Do you think this guy is up to it?”

My heart ached for Auntie Lou. She’d loved and lost and, even with a pet cat, was afraid to love again.

“I’m sure of it. And he’ll earn his keep. The lady at the desk said his former owner told her he was ‘an affectionate animal and a great mouser.’”

“Then why did they give him up?” Auntie Lou asked suspiciously.

I checked the card from the front of the cage that held the cat’s history. “Looks like she went into a hospice program, Auntie Lou.”

The old woman’s expression softened. “So you got left behind, too, did you?” she whispered into the cat’s soft fur. The roaring purr intensified. “I suppose we belong together then, two old rejects.”

Deal closed.

Then she looked up, her eyes twinkling. “Now don’t you go lecturing me about calling myself a reject. I couldn’t be one or you wouldn’t spend time with me, you sweet girl. Now go get me some papers to sign or swear us in or whatever it is you do in your shop. I want to get this guy home before I change my mind.”

Leaving the pair looking lovingly into each other’s eyes, I went to the shelter’s desk to tell them a pet had found its home.

“Did you see him yesterday?” Lilly accosted me in front of the Java Jockey on Tuesday morning looking wild-eyed and beautiful in a lavender chiffon top and shocking purple leggings. Her hair was piled in high curls on her head and she wore shoes that looked like instruments of torture, toes so pointy that she could have had them declared dangerous weapons. She had mini chandeliers hanging from her luscious lobes and silver chains draped around her neck. Improbable, impossible and outlandish, on Lilly it was a look to-die-for.

She plopped into one of the outside chairs and put her double espresso latte with sugar-free vanilla flavoring and a chocolate-dipped coffee bean onto a table. I joined her with my decaf with soy milk.

“Whatever happened to preppy clothing? You know, wool skirts, penny loafers….”

“Another day, Norah. Wait until you see what I’ve ordered for fall.” Then she realized that I’d distracted her from her original thought. “Well, did you?”

“Connor Trevain, I presume.”

“Isn’t he gorgeous? I can just see him at the helm, driving the boat or whatever sea captains do, squinting into the mist, not knowing what dangers may face him out on the open water….” Lilly threw her head back and gazed dreamily toward Lake Zachary.

“He’ll be on tour boats, Lilly. Unless Gilligan’s Island is somewhere in the middle of Lake Zachary, I don’t think he’ll have a problem.”

“Oh, you’re no fun!” She stamped her foot and I remembered that she could probably disembowel me with that shoe.

“I’m plenty of fun. I’m just not fantasizing over Connor Trevain.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“Lilly, I don’t even know him.”

“He’s rich and good-looking.”

“But is he a Christian?”

“He can always become that. It’s harder to become rich and good-looking.”

My shoulders sagged. “Lilly, don’t you know me at all?”

She looked contrite. “Sorry, Norah. I know how important that is to you, but does it hurt for him to be cute, too?”

“Of course not. But he’ll be much cuter to me if he’s a Christian.”

Lilly and I discuss this often. She’s right on the edge of accepting Christ but pulls back every time she thinks of something she might have to give up if she accepts Him fully. So far she’s asked me if she’d have to give up wearing pretty clothes and lipstick, dancing, playing cards, drinking wine and having fun. I keep telling her that that is between her and God. Once she accepts Him and invites the Holy Spirit into action in her life, she’ll know what pleases Him and what doesn’t. Plus, it will be so much fun to please Him that if she sees something she does need to give up, she won’t mind. She can’t get her mind around that concept yet. I understand. It’s hard to comprehend how God can fill you up so that you never feel like you’re missing a thing.

“What kinds of men do you like, Norah? I blabber about this one and that and you just take it all in, never saying a thing.”

“I’m not shopping right now, Lilly. It’s hard to conjure up a list for you.”

“You like Joe. He’s charming, great-looking, nice and tall. Those things could go on your list.”

“I’m not making a list!”

“Well, you should.”

“Why?”

“What if someone comes along and he’s perfect and you aren’t prepared? He might get away!”

Lilly’s logic defies reason. Or if it defies reason, can it be logic? Lilly’s way of thinking always dumbfounds me. It’s also part of why we’re friends. I’m never bored around Lilly.

As we sat there talking, I noticed Lilly’s antennae go up. I can see it in her eyes when there’s either an interesting fashion statement or a cute guy nearby. Her posture straightens, her eyes light up and her nose twitches just the tiniest bit. She says it doesn’t, but I know. I’m an eyewitness.

Unfortunately the object of her interest was behind me and although I could hear the clink and jangle of metal on metal, I didn’t see him until he stopped at our table.

“Good morning, ladies” he said to us. I turned around and came eye to buckle with a uniform-clad police officer. He stood with legs straddled and hands linked behind his back, just like on television. He did have the impenetrable black sunglasses but was missing the crisp blue hat which would conceal all expression on his face. And…could I believe my eyes? Was that a horse standing behind him?

Chapter Three

“Well, hello. What a hunk you are!”

“Norah…” Lilly’s shocked voice warned.

I paid no attention as my gaze made its way across the most incredible horse I’ve ever seen—a gleaming chestnut with muscled flanks, high, strong withers and dark, intelligent eyes. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Norah!”

I looked up and blinked. Lilly’s shaken and bewildered expression slammed me down to earth in a hurry. Leave it to Lilly to think I was talking to the man, not the horse.

Without a pause, I pushed away from the table, stood and locked eyes with the massive gelding decked out in a highly buffed, supple black leather saddle and murmured appreciatively, “I wish I had one of you in my shop.”

Then, with great intention, I turned to the stony policeman. “What an awesome horse. I didn’t realize we were getting a team of police protection.”