They’d figure it out.

  The car bumped down a rutted road and he saw a farmhouse ahead. A white farmhouse with boxes of red geraniums out front and a yellow lab on the front porch. It looked like a setting from a movie featuring a farmhouse more than a real one.

  “Well, how about that?” he said, amazed.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Emmylou said.

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  “Yeah.” She got out and so did he. The car doors thunked behind them.

  He stretched and breathed in. Okay, so he didn’t smell dirt and cow pies. It was more like dry grass and a hint of horse. The dog barely bothered to bark, managing only one halfhearted woof. It was an old one with an arthritic hind leg, he saw, when it hoisted itself to its feet and took the stairs slowly before ambling toward them, its tail waving slowly as though anything more vig-orous would hurt.

  Emmylou gave it a pat on the head and kept walking, but Joe squatted and gave the poor old mutt a good rub. The dog wriggled in ecstasy and rolled to its back for more.

  “Can you teach Emmylou to do that for me?”

  Joe asked, rubbing the dog’s belly. When he hit a certain spot, the dog’s back leg—not the arthritic one—twitched. Joe laughed. “You’re a sorry sonofabitch, aren’t you? Somebody should have put you down long ago.”

  The dog thanked him for his opinion by licking his hand.

  When he got to his feet, Emmylou emerged on the porch with another woman. She was one of the youngest he’d seen in town. Early forties at a guess. She looked like the kind of woman who kept a loom in her living room and wove her own curtains. She wore a flowing skirt and a man’s work shirt, round glasses, and long blond hair in pigtails.

  “I hear you’re a visitor in town,” she said with a wide smile, coming down the front steps to shake his hand.

  “That’s right. Joe Montcrief.”

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  “Welcome. I’m Amy Potter.”

  “Pretty place,” he said, feeling something was required.

  “Would you like a tour?”

  No. He’d like to get back to the Shady Lady, call the office, get his deal back on track, and then take Emmylou to bed, where he was going to wipe from her mind their last unfortunate intimate encounter and replace it with something a whole lot better. But this woman looked so eager, and he doubted she got a lot of company. “Well, maybe a quick one.”

  He cursed himself as she said, “Come on, Buster. Let’s take Joe for a tour,” and they all had to slow their pace to that of the old dog.

  They walked behind the barn and he saw a collection of the saddest, most pathetic horses he’d ever seen. They made Buster here look like a Westminster Dog Show champ.

  Emmylou walked to the fence and leaned on it. As though somebody’d rung the dinner gong, the horses started to plod, limp, and shuffle their way forward. “I’ll get some apples,” Amy said, and disappeared into an open barn.

  “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but those horses belong in a glue factory.”

  “And that’s exactly where they’d be if Amy didn’t rescue them. There’s nothing wrong with those horses. They’re healthy, just old. Some of them aren’t even old. They were raised and kept pregnant to provide urine for hormone replacement therapy.”

  He glanced a question at her.

  “For women going through menopause? Pregnant mare pee has a ton of estrogen in it. But

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  when hormone replacement therapy was linked to cancer, the market kind of dropped out of the pregnant mare business. All those mares weren’t needed anymore, nor were most of the foals.” Emmylou shrugged.

  “She’s running a haven for wayward mares?”

  There was something ludicrous in the notion.

  “Don’t they deserve some dignity?”

  “How does she feed them all?” he asked, figuring there had to be a hefty hay bill out there.

  “She runs a riding stable so the horses get exercise and the locals get a chance to ride. That helps pay for their feed. She and her husband also grow organic herbs and vegetables. They get by.”

  By the skin of their teeth, he bet. His esophagus tickled when he looked out at all those horses. One came right up to him and put its massive head on his shoulder.

  “Hey!” he said with a laugh.

  Amy Potter laughed from right behind him.

  “She thinks you’ve got a treat. My husband likes to tease them sometimes. He puts carrots behind his ears.”

  That hubby. What a trickster.

  Amy handed him a small and wormy-looking apple that had to be left over from last year since it was in about as good of shape as the horses, but the Apaloosa who’d been nuzzling his neck seemed happy to see it, worms and all, and took it delicately from his palm.

  They stayed and fed horses until everybody who wanted one got an apple. There was a nice-looking brown quarter horse that might be up to his weight, he thought, then mentally shook

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  his head. What was he thinking? If he wanted to ride there was a stable in New Jersey where he rode the odd weekend. The horses were top-of-the-line thoroughbreds. These sorry creatures looked like he’d have to carry them.

  “Do the Potters own those fields?” he asked after they’d said good-bye and made their way back to the car.

  “No. They own a little land around the house.

  But they rent the fields from Gus Carver. He’s a potato farmer. When he rests his fields, that’s where the horses go. It works out for everyone.”

  Joe wasn’t sure the arrangement was still going to work out when the mineral rights were claimed by the Gellmans. Their business interests would take precedence over the needs of a bunch of worn-out and generally useless horses.

  Didn’t seem fair they should end up as glue or dog food, though.

  “You’re quiet,” Emmylou said after they drove away. “Are you tired?”

  “No. I was thinking, hot flashes gave those horses life and cancer almost ended it. Funny how that works.”

  “Amy is one of the nicest people I know. If there’s a stray or a wounded animal, it gets taken to her.”

  “There’s no vet in town?”

  “No. Amy’s a pretty good alternative pet healer, but if it’s very serious, Gordon Hartnett will take a look.”

  Joe jerked his head her way so hard he almost twisted it right off his neck. He stared at her.

  “You’re telling me I put my life in the hands of a guy who also practices on animals?”

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  He could tell she was biting back a smile. “He hardly ever loses a patient,” she said at last.

  He snorted. Oh, great. Now he was sounding like a horse. No doubt the good doctor had something to do with that. Probably gave him horse pills by accident.

  The sooner he got out of this crazy town the better.

  “Animals love you,” she said after a minute, sounding surprised.

  “So do women. It’s my natural charm.”

  “No. They really do. Mae West frankly loves men, so I discounted that even though Aunt Olive swears the cat’s abandoned her to sleep on your bed at night.”

  He didn’t say a word, but kept looking out the window. He’d thought at least a cat could keep a secret. But not if she was female, apparently.

  “Then the old dog today and the horses. And you know what I find really interesting?”

  “Look.” He pointed through the window at the sky. “Isn’t that a UFO? Probably one of your neighbors coming home.”

  “You love animals.”

  What had she thought? That he tortured bunnies for fun?

  When he didn’t answer, she said. “It’s not a crime, you know.”

  “Of course not. I just can’t believe you’re making such a big deal of it.”

  “It shows a soft side, that’s all.”

  “Hunh. Hitler loved animals.” He had no idea if that were true, but it sounded good.

  “Do you have pets?”

  “I live in a Manhattan high-rise and I’m never

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  home. What do you think?” Though he did feed Mutt and Jeff, a pair of pigeons that had taken to hanging around his roof patio.

  “What about when you were a kid? Did you have a favorite pet?”

  “I was the favorite pet,” he said, and then was appalled at how bitter he’d sounded. What was the matter with him? He never whined about all that boo-hoo, unhappy childhood crap. He tried to backtrack fast. “My parents were society types. My dad was a big-time banker and my mom ran their social set. They had me late in life. We traveled too much to have a dog or cat, they said.”

  Even though they’d employed full-time servants.

  “Oh, how sad. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  He shook his head.

  “I never did, either. I would have loved a sister.”

  And he’d have loved a brother. Somebody he could talk to and who could share the blame if there was a mess around the house, or a window got broken or a potted plant overturned.

  “I spent most of my time in boarding and prep schools. That was like having a couple of hundred siblings.”

  “Was that as much fun as it sounds?”

  He thought about it. Nodded. “Yes. A lot of the time it was great. I’m still friends with some of those guys.”

  “But you never had a real home.”

  He didn’t answer, but was impressed at her acuity.

  “I didn’t have a traditional home, either. Funny how important it seemed at the time.”

  “Now you create a home for other people.

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  You do a fantastic job.” He could see her with a houseful of kids sometime in the future. She’d be terrific at it, he knew. The pang that crossed his heart came and went so fast he hardly noticed it.

  Chapter 16

  When they reached home, Joe realized his R&R at the Beaverton General, followed by a revivifying visit to the stable of the walking dead, was over. A glance at his watch told him he could get a couple of hours in before business closed down in New York.

  “Thanks for the lift,” he said when they pulled into the parking area. He glanced over to where his rental had been parked. He wasn’t very surprised to see it still wasn’t back from the garage.

  Beaverton hadn’t been good for the health of either him or the rental car. The sooner they were back where they belonged, the better.

  “You’re welcome. You should probably go straight up to bed and rest.”

  He was already out of the car by the time she finished her sentence. “Have to check in with the office,” he said, and strode to the door of the Shady Lady.

  Nothing seemed to have changed in the time he’d been away. The place still smelled like old

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  wood and lemon polish, and whatever flowers Emmylou had put around the place. She loved those flowers.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said when he saw Olive and Lydia gossiping in the hall.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Are you feeling better, dear?” They peered at him with equal worried expressions, almost as though they’d put him in the hospital.

  “You bet I do. You’ll have to try harder next time to kill me,” he joked.

  “We never—” Lydia, the plumper one, said.

  The older, skinnier one, wavered before his eyes and had to put a hand to the wall to steady herself.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, stepping quickly forward. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Of course. Time for my nap, that’s all,”

  she said weakly. She really didn’t look all that hot.

  “Do you need some help up the stairs?”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” And she tottered off, Lydia in her wake. They started whispering the minute they turned the corner. They obviously thought they were out of earshot, but he heard the odd word, including “cordial.” Good, he thought. A stiff drink was just what Olive looked as though she needed.

  Mae West had obviously heard his voice. She came lounging up to him and curled her body around his ankles, whining at him the whole time.

  “Look, it wasn’t my idea to end up in the hospital,” he told the thing, picking it up and laying it over his shoulder where it started to purr.

  “But don’t get used to me. I’ll be leaving soon.”

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  He went straight to the library where he’d left his cell phone. It was gone. Fair enough.

  Emmylou had probably moved it to his room.

  Hiking up the stairs with the cat almost deafening him with her purring, he went to his room.

  And for the first time since he’d left the Shady Lady in agony, he felt himself relax. No one was going to take his blood or stick a microscopic camera into his guts. No one was going to wake him at five or insist he eat food fit for a toddler with no taste buds.

  This room, like this house, was relaxing. Emmylou was in the right profession, he realized. She was a relaxing woman who knew how to create a serene atmosphere. He yawned and eyed the big bed with longing. After he’d talked to Anna and then soothed his clients, he’d take a nap.

  He glanced around for his cell phone, but it didn’t seem to be in the room. His laptop sat on the rolltop desk, the power cord neatly coiled, but his cell phone wasn’t visible.

  He pulled open drawers and even checked the closet.

  After placing the cat on the bed where she sent him a “come join me” glance that made him grin—she was well-named, that one—he headed back downstairs in search of Emmylou.

  Naturally she was outside tending her flowers. She’d probably been away from them all of four hours.

  “Hey,” he said. “Have you seen my cell?”

  She didn’t look at him, but kept snipping off dead blooms. “Did you look in the office?”

  “Yes. And in my room. It’s not there.”

  “How odd.”

  “Very odd. If this were New York I’d figure it

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  was stolen, but out here in never-never land . . .”

  A bad feeling swamped him. Oh, they had their fair share of thefts out here. He’d witnessed one with his own eyes. “Has that klepto been over for tea lately?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Emmylou said, not bothering to turn her head and look at him. She seemed to be awfully busy deadheading roses.

  “I’ll call her something a damn sight worse if she’s messed with my phone. It’s my lifeline. I’ll go crazy without it.”

  She mumbled something that sounded like,

  “Oh, and you’re so sane now,” but he decided to assume he’d heard wrong.

  “I’m going over there to get my phone back.”

  “You can’t go and yell at her. Anyway, how do you know it’s her? You have no proof.”

  Hmmph. “Who else would take it? I’ll go have a look around her place, that’s all. And when I see it I’ll go gaga about how I’ve always wanted one. Especially today. I’ve seen the routine. I know how it works.”

  “Well, you can’t go now.” Emmylou finally turned her head to look at him, shading her eyes against the sun. “The play’s tonight. You’ll have to get your phone tomorrow.”

  “The play. Right. I remember. We have a date.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. I have to check in with my secretary. Can I use your phone?”

  She stared at him a moment as though she were going to argue, then nodded. What was with everyone today?

  Emmylou had never felt guiltier in her life. In trying to save Joe from a heart attack she had an

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  awful suspicion she was giving him one. He emerged from the house not two minutes after he entered it, his face a dangerous shade of dark red. “Your long-distance line seems to be down. Did you forget to pay your phone bill?”

  She hadn’t thought to ask Harry to mess with her phone; he must have done that on his own initiative. She wondered if they could take incoming calls. She didn’t want to miss business if there was any to be had.

  “Of course I’ve paid the bill. There’s no need to insult me. Our system isn’t as efficient as yours.”

  “I’m sorry, Emmylou. That was totally out of line. I’m just frustrated. There’s a deal cooking right now. A couple of them.” He blew out a breath, then ran his fingers through his hair so it stuck up in spikes. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’ve been wonderful to me.”

  Oh, why not stick a knife in her arm? She couldn’t feel more guilty, and now he was being nice.

  When he found out she was to blame for the loss of his cell phone, he was going to be pissed.

  When he found out she was trying to sabotage his business deal, he’d probably blow a gasket.

  And when he found out that the blown gasket on his rental car was her idea, as well . . . She didn’t even want to think that far ahead.

  “You could try relaxing,” she said.

  “I guess.” He was tempted to ask her to come up to bed with him, but he did feel more tired than he cared to admit and he wanted to be in tip-top shape the next time he made a move on her. Reluctantly, he told his libido to put a sock in it and, taking her advice, headed upstairs for a nap.

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  Of course, Mae West was hogging as much of the bed as she could, including most of his pillow. He moved her out of the way, but as soon as he was under the covers she curled herself against the small of his back.

  The warmth was comforting. To his surprise he found even the sound of her purring was soothing. He’d sleep now. Not because he was tired, exactly, but to recruit his strength for later. He hoped Emmylou was taking the opportunity for a nap also.

  She was going to need it.

  He had a grin on his face when he fell asleep.

  Emmylou wished Joe was gone, even as she plot-ted to make him stay. Of course she had to do what she could to save Beaverton, even if that meant conniving to keep a man here against his will.