Chapter Twenty-Six

On a Wednesday afternoon two weeks before the holiday, Grace had a burning urge to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. Gina and Derry Rodwell had been taken care of with some special articles of clothing. But what about toys? Gina wasn’t even in second grade, surely she still liked toys. Grace drove the short distance to Columbia to a packed shopping mall and joined the throngs milling amongst the stores. “O Come, All Ye Faithful” sang out over loudspeakers through the wide walkway. The mall had invested in garish decorations throughout the property. Life-sized stuffed elves hanging from the ceiling balancing Christmas packages, while posed in amazing (and in all likelihood anatomically impossible) gymnastic positions. While it didn’t compare to the mega-malls on the East Coast, it still urged Grace along in a festive shopping spirit.

After finding an adorable stuffed St. Bernard for Gina that wiggled its nose and would walk on a leash in a jogging motion, she realized not only was it too large to carry through the mall while she finished her shopping but every time she jolted it, it would give a piping bark, the “off" switch nowhere to be found. Grace slogged back across the parking lot to her car to deposit the barking nuisance, with a silent apology to Mrs. Rodwell. She was now determined to find something for the remaining Rodwells.

The crowds were descending in force, cars lined up around the mall and out to the highway. She shook her head and waved off an SUV loaded with a cheery mother and three children who were gathered like vultures near her parking place. She raised the hatch of the Toyota to place the huge package inside when another wandering shopper honked piercingly to hurry her into leaving the precious space. Grace started, her head connecting with the corner of the hatchback. Pain resonated, making her ears rings. She muffled a curse and turned to look sharply at the horn-wielding demon. Behind the wheel of a BMW was the gaping face of Lancelot Curtis. Grace brought her hand to her head briefly, checking to be certain it was still attached, then slammed the hatch down with a quietly outraged “Hmph!”

“Oh, Gracie, I’m so terribly sorry!” He had his window down, and called to her, pleading. Grace resisted the urge to scream like a banshee at the man “It’s GRACE to you, pal!”

“Please, let me buy you a cup of coffee! As soon as I find a spot!” He was wearing a red sweater with a carefully stitched row of Christmas trees across the chest. It looked like something her nephews had worn when they were four years old.

Grace slid her bag over her shoulder and walked away from the BMW at a rapid clip, turning a deaf ear to Lancelot Curtis, who was now officially making a fool of himself, calling to her across the parking lot.

“Hey Mister, move along! We’re all looking for a spot. Your sweetie doesn’t want you!” a rough-looking man in a large four-wheel-drive truck was behind the still-idling BMW, impatient.

“Good grief. Just let me get back in there without him.” She was talking to herself, legs covering as much ground as she could manage. Her head still swam and she was wondering if she needed to sit down. The Christmas spirit was rapidly dissipating with Lancelot Curtis in such close proximity. She was nearly to the entrance when the sound of rapid footsteps came up behind her. She groaned, breaking into a trot. She reached the door, breathless, her head now on fire, a burning sensation creeping down her forehead. One large hand reached in front of her and an arm came protectively around her shoulders. Grace yelped, thinking Lance Curtis had just grown ten inches and turned into a mugger built like a half back.

“Let’s go left and head for the coffee shop.” The quiet voice of the tall green-eyed veterinarian was in her ear as he slid a warm hand around her waist. She looked up, blinking. With horror, Grace realized that he probably had witnessed that whole embarrassing scene in the parking lot. She was on the run from Lance Curtis and the good-looking vet knew it. All she wanted to do was collapse somewhere and put her aching head in her hands.

He swept her effortlessly through the crowd to the back corner of the small coffee house and to a pair of mercifully vacant, high-backed leather wing chairs. He handed her gently into the chair facing away from the door. While she was gasping for breath from the run, she noticed that he didn’t have so much as a hair out of place. He looked like he’d been out for a Sunday stroll. He retrieved two steaming whipped cream-covered drinks from the coffee bar while she caught her breath.

“So, you aren’t among the many admirers of Lance Curtis, I take it?” His eyes were even greener than she remembered. And as warm and friendly.

“Hardly.” She thought she sounded a bit prim, but the tall vet threw back his head and laughed.

He was wearing another field shirt, cuffs unbuttoned, and pushed up toward his elbows. It was dark blue, a sharp contrast to his eyes. They sipped for a moment. He made a murmuring sound when he drank as if it were the best thing he’d ever tasted, and then licked a smudge of whipped cream off one finger. Grace felt herself getting goosebumps. This guy was one dangerous package.

“You took a pretty good blow there.”

Grace grimaced then laughed, remembering the day she’d met him. “Okay, so we’re even.”

Feeling a strange itching sensation, Grace reached up involuntarily once again to investigate her painful wound. Gingerly moving aside the veil of hair that covered what was sure to be a purple lump, she was surprised to find it was wet. Her fingers came away red, and blood began to trickle down her forehead. It had hurt and now she understood why.

“Hey, now. You’ve got a laceration hidden in there. We need to get you taken care of.” The vet was stooping next to her, looking closely, pushing her hair away. “I think you’re going to need some stitches, Miss Phillips.” He had his handkerchief out, dabbing lightly. Grace understood why Comfort and Joy held still under his touch. He was very gentle for someone who looked positively brawny.

“Is it really that bad? I just, I had one more thing to buy and I hate to go to the emergency room for this.” She let out a groan. “I am going to kill Lance Curtis.”

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the car. We can butterfly that closed, give you something for the throbbing, maybe some ice, and I’ll help you finish up your shopping. It’s only about three little stitches to stop the bleeding.”

“Stitches!” she squeaked.

“Steri-strips. Just think of it like a band-aid. No pain there. No worse than that lump you’re going to have tomorrow.”

“You sure?” she knew her tone was too hopeful. “But wait. God, I feel awful. You’re probably here to do your own shopping, Dr. . . . uhm,” She drew a blank. She could have told you his name a hour ago, before the conk on the head, but now all she could see were his beautiful eyes.

“Gabriel McAllister, remember? Call me Gabe, everybody does.” So Norm’s nephew was named for an archangel. His decided aura of masculinity didn’t quite fit with the name. He’d returned with a cup of ice and soon they were already across the parking lot at his Jeep, an old Grand Cherokee with wood panels that had seen better days, and not recently. Carpet remnants lined the back, stacked with some equipment that had a very medical look about it. He sat her down on the tailgate, produced a large bandage, filled it with ice, expertly folded it closed, and had her press it against the cut. Then he reached past her for a large white plastic box duct taped to the interior wall. The case was full of hypodermic needles, white medical tape, gauze and a variety of swabs and bottles.

“That stuff isn’t for cattle, is it?” Grace asked speculatively.
“Nope, just dogs and cats. But you’d be surprised at how we treat cuts and scrapes on a dog or a cat. Not much different than you or I. At least we won’t have to shave your forehead to get this tape to stick.” He leaned over her and dabbed antiseptic while she winced.

He smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower; fresh soap and the faint summery scent of clean laundry. As he moved closer, she saw a shadow of hair above his top shirt button. Grace decided to study her shoes instead.

“Look up.”

She obediently tipped her head back so quickly that it made resounding contact with the bottom of a very square, freshly shaven chin. He was chuckling.

“I’m not used to patients that follow directions.”

He was smiling again. She could see the faintest outline of a scar down his left cheek. The edge was rough, down to his jaw, giving him a man-made dimple. She wondered about the scar. It had likely been obvious when he was a child but now, barely visible, it added to the latent sex appeal.

“So, your family must be—Scots?”

“Yep. McAllisters married McNeals, McNeals married McDonalds. Stayed within the clans all the way down the line. Even Cindy and Connie are Campbells.” He tossed the tape in the white case and closed it. Then reached to lift her hair and survey his handiwork. “Not bad. You’re much more attractive than my last patient.”

Grace tried to arch her eyebrow, but it hurt, so she settled for a piercing stare.

Gabe laughed at her again. “Don’t be offended, it wasn’t the backside of Bouche’s old mule I worked on. It was an eight-week-old puppy with a torn dewclaw. And while he was an AKC registered beauty, you have him beat.”

“Thank you, I think.” The deadly dimple appeared again.

“C’mon, Grace. Let’s go enjoy a consumer’s Christmas!” They headed back into the fray.

Grace had never spent time with a man that enjoyed crowds and shopping malls, much less a toy store, as much as Gabriel McAllister. He helped her select a remote control car for Derry and an electric learn-and-play toy for the four-year-old Willie. They laughed at tumbling penguins in the toy store window and then picked out book bags for Gina and Derry. Gabe insisted on buying books for each of the children, James Herriot’s “Moses the Kitten” for Gina and “Dog Stories” for Derry. The four-year-old would have a word book shaped like an Old English sheepdog made from brightly colored cardboard. He watched her admire crystal ornaments on the department store trees, pointing out porcelain turtle doves and a tree covered with animal ornaments. Gabe picked out two crystal stars, “for Cindy and Connie. They love this stuff, you know.”

“Believe me, I know.” She told him about the appearance of the box of ornaments with the note.

“Didn’t you ever wonder how Norm and Ed get up to so much? They just always seem to be around when they’re needed, don’t they?” Gabe read her thoughts, murmuring down to her while he studied a glittering angel.

“It is amazing. You know, I’m beginning to wonder about those two, Gabe.” They were standing close together, admiring the tree, when Lancelot Curtis came around the corner, a large bag from the men’s department over his arm.

“There you are, Gracie, I looked everywhere for you! Now then, you aren’t still upset about that moment we had in the parking lot, are you?” He was forced and cheerful but his eyes narrowed when he saw the proximity of Gabe to his victim.

“It’s Grace.” She answered through clenched teeth. She really did not like this man.

“Good job, Lancelot. She only needed four stitches.” Gabe commented dryly.

“Oh, come now. You can’t be serious.” The pout was back on Lance’s slightly pudgy face. He really did have a weak chin, Grace thought.

Grace lifted her hair from her forehead defiantly, eyes shooting sparks.

“You ought to give Anthony Turner a call, Grace. I hear he takes on personal injury cases for family and friends.” Gabe looped one arm through hers and was steering her toward the escalator.

“You can’t be serious. Gracie, wait.” A throng of shoppers moved between them, allowing Gabe and Grace time to jump on the escalator. Gabe took the opportunity to slide his arm around her again by carefully taking the package she had been holding for him out of her hand. She looked back down and saw Lance Curtis shooting daggers at Gabriel McCallister’s back.

“Gracie?” Gabe asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Only for family. Normally it doesn’t bother me, but when Lancelot Curtis calls me that, it gives me the willies. As one of my students would say ‘Ewwwwwww.’ ”

Two hours later they ended up in the darkness of a mall restaurant bar, sipping salty margaritas and wolfing down appetizers.

“So, you think you’ll stay?” Gabe asked. “In the house?” she nodded at his question. “I hadn’t thought of leaving. I just got here. Well . . . I don’t know if I’ll stay in the Bouche place. I like it there, but Mr. Bouche won’t sell. It would be good to have something of my own.”

“Are you sure he won’t sell? You might ask Norm. He’s got some pull there. But I meant in Franklin Hill. Pretty slow here after living out east isn’t it?”

Grace wasn’t sure how Gabriel McAllister knew the details of her life. Small town gossip, no doubt.

“It was good to live there. A worthwhile—” she searched for the word. “—experience. But, it can be a cold place without family around. If there had been a job here,” she shrugged, “I might have come back sooner.”

He leaned back, watching her. The look was one of satisfaction at her answer. “So you don’t mind small towns.”

“Mind them? No. I’ve missed it since the day I left.” He looked expectant, like he was settling in for an explanation. Grace went on, “It feels different in Franklin Hill, even smells different. The people aren’t like anyone I’ve met anywhere else. It just feels like home. There’s something here you can’t find other places.” She knew she was talking too much.

“Driving down Main Street in the spring and seeing the trees turn pink, smelling Darla Jinks’ bakery on Saturday morning or going to the old library and knowing that Granny Stillwell was there when she was a girl, borrowing books. Watching the river every day and seeing thunderstorms come over the bluffs. Wondering what it looked like before.”

“A hundred years ago?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s it! I always wonder about what it was like before they dammed the river, before there were nuclear power plants and highways everywhere.”

“I think it was probably beautiful. Rugged, but beautiful.”

“Just think, there were bears here then. Imagine that! Bears and mountain lions in Missouri.”

Gabe smiled and leaned forward. “I have news for you, Grace. The bears are back and mountain lions are making inroads.”

Grace laughed.

“Yes, they caught two off-season hunters out at Schull Knob, running for their lives. Jim Gowert, the conservation agent, said they were white as sheets, insisting they’d seen bear up in the woods. He didn’t believe a word of it at first, then he called me after he spotted the tracks. We took a plaster cast and did a little research. Small black bear, about a year old, probably a male run off by his mother. Usually happens in the spring. You know, the settlers killed nearly as many bear as they did deer in the early years. The state used to be full of them.”

“Amazing!” Grace was fascinated. A thought occurred to her. She asked with horror, “You don’t treat bears, do you?”
A chuckle. “No, Grace. We leave that to the Conservation Department vets. Bears aren’t one of my specialties.”

He walked her out to her car and they deposited the packages in the back. It had turned colder again. The wind coming across the parking lot was bitter. He opened the door for her and then leaned against it as she climbed in. There was a comfortable silence.

“Thank you, Gabriel McAllister. You are a life saver.” Grace leapt into the breach, unable to think of any other reason why he’d spent the afternoon and then evening with her unless it was to foil Lance Curtis’ plans.

He watched her start the station wagon, muffler rattling and in need of replacement, and waved as she drove off into the chilly evening. Gabriel McCallister thought Grace Phillips might be worth watching out for.