“Man, that’s some nasty-ass shit,” Bo Crutcher remarked helpfully as Noah wheeled a teetering barrow of horse manure past him in the barn.
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out,” Noah said over his shoulder. “I mean, otherwise I might not have noticed.” He maneuvered the wheelbarrow down the ramp, out of the barn and along a much-traveled path to the heap at the edge of the paddock. In the cold air, the manure pile steamed like a geyser.
Bo stood watching from the doorway of the barn. He was clad like Nanook of the North in a down jacket, snow boots, insulated gloves and a plaid hat with earflaps that, amazingly, did not look dorky on him. Having grown up in the muggy climes of the Texas Gulf Coast, he made no secret of his unabashed horror for the cold and snow. As the star pitcher of Avalon’s professional baseball team, he spent most winters on the beaches of Texas, working in the oil fields and partying like a just-released convict until his agent made him go to spring training.
This winter was different, though. Prior to spring training in Florida, he’d decided to spend some time in Avalon because, he’d explained, he needed to put some distance between himself and his ex-girlfriend. One of his exes. Crutcher had a lot of exes.
He blew a plume of smoke into the air from the skinny cigar he was smoking.
“Now that,” Noah remarked, “is nasty.”
Bo took a slender flat box out of his pocket. “Want one?”
“Right. I’ve always had a death wish.”
“I don’t inhale.”
“Then you’ll still be alive to see your mouth rot.”
“Don’t start sounding like my mother,” Bo said, leaning back against the wall, his foot propped like the Marlboro man. “Not that I have a mother. And I only smoke in the off-season, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s right. Then you turn into a health nut and switch to chewing tobacco.”
“Dip. It’s called dip. As in dipshit.”
“I’ll remember that.” Noah studied his friend. They had met three years ago after Bo had just signed on with the Hornets, a professional independent baseball team in the Can-Am League. Not long afterward, Bo joined Noah’s garage band as bass player.
“Seriously, man,” Bo said, standing well out of the way as Noah hosed down the barrow and the sloping concrete floor of the barn, “don’t you have someone to do this shit for you?”
“Sometimes,” said Noah. “Girl down the road, name of Chelsea, helps out in the clinic three days a week, but horse manure is kind of an everyday event.”
“Wonder why,” Bo muttered, pushing away from the wall.
“It’s not so bad,” Noah pointed out. “Back when my family had the dairy, I was dealing with cow manure, which was a lot nastier and there was a lot more of it.” With practiced routine, he scooped feed from the bin, filling four pails.
“Take the bucket to that one, will you?” He handed Bo a galvanized pail of feed deeply scented with molasses.
Grumbling, Bo went to tend to the big roan quarter horse. Friendly as a Labrador retriever, it sidled right up to him. “Jesus, he’s stampeding me,” Bo said, nearly spilling the bucket as he plastered himself against the side of the stall.
“Nah, he’s just glad to see you,” Noah called, feeding Alice in the next stall. “Relax, buddy. I thought guys from Texas were all cowboys who liked horses.”
“That’s what everybody who’s not from Texas thinks. Closest I ever got to a horse growing up was watching old Bonanza reruns on a TV I stole.”
“Hang on a second while I take out my violin.” Noah pantomimed drawing a bow dramatically across the strings.
“I’m just saying.” Bo finished emptying his bucket and moved back as the horse went to the trough.
Noah knew Bo hated pity. He would rather be made fun of than pitied for the way he’d grown up, raised by his older brother. The Crutcher boys had lived in a trailer park in East Houston, with a yard that backed up to a ship channel so polluted with petroleum products that it regularly caught on fire.
“Anyway,” Bo continued, “you’re the one shoveling stalls while I’m fixing to head down to Florida to work on my tan.”
Noah reeled in the hose and put up the equipment. “Okay, we’re done here.”
“Finally,” Bo said. “Remind me next time to drop by after chores, not before.”
“You sure complain a lot,” Noah said as they crossed the compound, the twilight throwing long shadows across the snow-covered yard.
“I do, don’t I, Tom Sawyer?” Sometimes Bo called him Tom Sawyer, because he was convinced that Noah’s idyllic small-town boyhood was the kind of thing that only happened in fiction. Bo himself was more of a Huck Finn, unattached and rambling wherever he pleased. Self-educated, Bo had read more books than anyone Noah had ever met, and loved to sprinkle his conversation with both literary references and obscenities. “I reckon,” he went on, “it’s because I haven’t been laid in a while. Tends to get a guy down, feeling sorry for himself. I reckon you know that.”
Noah didn’t say anything, which was a mistake. Even after slamming a couple of beers, Crutcher had a sensitive radar for that kind of thing.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, slugging Noah on the shoulder. “You got yourself laid—finally.”
Noah kept walking.
“Who is it?” Bo demanded. “Out with it. Come on. I just froze my nuts off keeping you company in the barn. Practically got stepped on by a horse. You owe me, man.”
Noah found himself curiously reluctant to talk about Sophie Bellamy. At the same time, the thing that had happened with her was so…unexpected. And intense, like nothing else he’d ever experienced.
Crutcher, despite his flaws, was a good listener, so Noah slowed his step and said, “It was kind of a…spontaneous thing. Nobody you know.”
And as far as he knew, it was over. When he stopped by Sophie’s place, she was either gone or claiming to be busy. Just the other morning, he had dropped in to bring her more firewood and brought up the topic of Tina, telling Sophie that what she’d seen at the Apple Tree Inn wasn’t a date. She had brushed off the explanation, telling him he didn’t owe her one. To top it all off, some guy had shown up from the city, a visitor from her past, as far as Noah could tell. He’d seen them having coffee in the bookstore, and just seeing them made him feel like a complete stalker, so he’d been forcing himself to mind his own business.
It wasn’t working. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Bo regarded Noah with deep concentration. “Well, this is serious, then. I can tell by how quiet you are.”
“I just said it was—”
“You seriously like this girl,” Bo said with a laugh. “Come on, bud. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.” Yeah, sure. Noah took the path that forked downhill and to the right. “I need to finish up a couple of things in the clinic. Come on, you can give me a hand.”
“So long as it’s nothing gross.”
Noah shouldered open the back door of the clinic. He currently had several patients staying over, dogs and cats crated in a darkened room with slow jazz playing on a radio.
“Now this is more like it,” Bo remarked, carefully removing Samson the miniature dachshund from his cage. “But how the hell did a wiener dog break its leg?”
“It’s not a fracture. Dew claw injury.”
“I didn’t forget that you got laid and haven’t told me about it,” Bo reminded him. “Come on, man, give me something.”
“I got nothing.” Noah checked the chart of Mr. Tibbs, a big yellow Persian with a hernia.
“Then make something up. Or else I’ll start a rumor about you and…let’s see…Didn’t you go out with Nina Romano last summer?”
One humiliatingly boring night, Noah recalled. In the aftermath of Noah’s breakup with Daphne, he’d asked Nina out. She’d practically fallen asleep on the ride home. “Don’t be a turd,” he said to Crutcher. “Okay, it’s someone I just met. It’s still new and probably won’t amount to anything.” As he spoke, it struck him that he was hoping for more from Sophie Bellamy. But she was skittish as hell in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And now, Noah had a secret from her, too. He couldn’t very well explain the real reason for the not-really-a-date with Tina Calloway, not if he wanted to respect Tina’s privacy. Of course, she hadn’t sworn him to secrecy. In fact, she’d asked him if he knew of any other “potential candidates.”
Bo opened the fridge, scrutinizing the contents. “Got any more beers in here?”
“That fridge is for medicine. And don’t even think about the horse tranquilizer.”
Bo held the tiny dachshund in his big hands, looking like King Kong. “I’m only allowed to drink beer in the off-season,” he pointed out. “I like to get a nice slow, enjoyable buzz, not knock myself out.”
“You end up the same anyway,” Noah pointed out.
“Okay, now you’re starting to piss me off. Not only do you refuse to tell me anything about the momentous occasion of the end of your celibacy, you start ragging on me about my drinking.”
“Tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”
Bo put the dachshund back and studied Duchess, a shih tzu with a chip on her shoulder. As he peered through the mesh of her crate, she rolled back her lips and showed her tiny, sharp teeth. “So is she a local girl or—”
“Jeez, enough already.” Noah decided a diversionary tactic was in order. Sure, he had gotten laid, but that wasn’t the only interesting thing that had happened to him. From a gossip standpoint, anyway. “This is strictly confidential but I’ve got to tell somebody.”
“My lips are sealed,” Bo promised.
“You know who Tina Calloway is?”
Bo gave a low whistle. “Are you kidding me? She’s your new girlfriend? Of course I know who she is. Her old man and I are drinking buddies. Damn, Noah. Way to go. She’s unbelievable. Is she legal age?”
“Screw you, Crutcher.” Noah was already regretting his decision to confide in his friend.
“I thought she liked girls,” said Bo.
“She did,” Noah said. “Does.”
“Son of a bitch. You mean she wanted a threesome—”
“I like the way your mind works, but that’s not it.” Noah was still a little shell shocked from Tina’s request. “Okay, so she invited me to dinner at the Apple Tree Inn.” Everyone in town knew what that represented. Candlelight, soft music. Seduction—that was generally the purpose of a date at a place like the Apple Tree. “So I figured she wanted something.”
“A three-way. Son of a bitch.”
Noah should his head. “Not that. I told you.”
“Then what?”
Noah put aside the IV tubing. “Remember, not a word of this to anyone.”
“I told you, man. We’re in the confessional. Hell, what’d she do, propose?”
“Yeah, but not marriage. She and her partner want to have a baby.”
Bo gave another whistle, this one loud enough to make the dogs yap at him. “You have got to be shittin’ me.”
Noah said nothing. The moment Tina made her request had been completely and utterly surreal for him. Even the memory of it felt surreal. It was a crazy, cosmic joke, even a cruel one, although Tina couldn’t know that. One woman had left him because she didn’t want kids. And here was another who wanted the kids, but not him.
“I swear, if it had been anyone but Tina, I would’ve started looking around for hidden cameras,” Noah admitted. “It felt like either a joke or some social experiment.”
Bo gave a laugh, shaking his head. “You the man,” he said, then clapped Noah on the back. “You the man.”
“Come on.”
“I assume she wasn’t proposing artificial insemination.”
Tina had blushed furiously when she’d come to that part of her proposal. She and Paulette didn’t have the money for artificial insemination.
When Noah didn’t answer, Bo ripped off his hat and clutched at his hair with both fists. “Damn. Damn. Some guys get all the luck.”
At that, Noah had to smile. “You don’t think I agreed to do it.”
“You turned her down? She’s a goddess, man. A freaking goddess.” Bo shook his head. “Of course you turned her down, you dumbass.”
“The crazy thing wasn’t that she asked me,” Noah confessed. “The crazy thing was that I actually considered her proposal—just for a minute. Ultimately, though, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t hand over my DNA like that, no strings attached. I knew a few guys who earned tuition money in vet school by donating sperm samples, but I wasn’t one of them.” He shook his head. “So there you have it. I finally found a girl who wants to have my baby, but not with me.” He hadn’t thought of Daphne in a long time, but he did now. “What’s up with all these women wanting to be childless, huh? Who are these women? Do they not have clocks? Are they not ticking? I thought women were supposed to be all worried about their biological clocks.”
“You’re serious. You really wouldn’t do it?” Bo asked.
“Would you?”
“You know the answer to that. What’s the expression? ‘In a New York minute.’ And you’re an idiot.”
“Maybe. Hell, I do want kids,” Noah admitted. “But I need to work on getting a date, first. A relationship.”
“That’s sad for you, buddy. You deserve better.”
“Yeah, but do people always get what they deserve?”
“You never know. I mean, look at you, Eagle Scout, member of the chamber of commerce, pillar of the community. You deserve nubile slaves peeling your grapes for you. They should legalize polygamy for guys like you, so there can be more of you walking around. And then look at me. Beer drinking, cigar smoking, never saw the point of doing an honest day’s work. Lousy prospect for love and fatherhood. And I got…” His voice trailed off.
Noah watched a curious expression cross his friend’s face. All right, so this was new. “You’ve got…” he prompted.
Bo looked off into the distance. “I got a kid in Texas.”
“Holy crap. You never told me that.”
Crutcher twirled the empty beer bottle between his hands. “Yeah, you did the right thing. Trust me, you don’t want some woman having your kid unless you plan on sticking around to be the daddy.”
This was news to Noah. “Boy or girl?” he asked.
“Boy. I’ve never seen him. Not once, not even a picture. His mother likes the color of my money, but she flat out refuses to let me meet him.”
Few people would recognize the pain in Bo’s voice. Noah did, though. Outwardly, Bo projected a devil-may-care image, but Noah knew him better than that.
“I’m sorry,” Noah said.
Bo was quiet for a moment. “You’re making a good call, even if it means turning down a goddess.”
Noah and Tina had ended the evening on good terms. She had been braced for his refusal. Then, to cap off his very strange dinner conversation, he’d encountered Sophie Bellamy. He’d been hugely distracted by her arrival, with her kids in tow. Sophie Bellamy, Noah thought, there was a goddess.
“Now I’m depressed,” Bo said. “I thought you got lucky.”
Noah glanced away, but not quickly enough.
“You did, you son of a bitch. Come on, spill. Who is it?”
Busted. “No one you know,” he hedged. “She’s new around here.” Because he knew Bo was relentless, he told him about Sophie Bellamy.
Bo regarded him knowingly. “She’s special. I can tell.”
“Then you know more about the situation than I do. We just met, okay? There might be…complications.”
“Yeah? Like what? She married?”
“No. Jesus, Crutcher. She might be…older than me. I don’t think she realizes that. I’m trying to figure out how to explain it to her without running her off.”
“Just tell her. No big deal.”
“She might not see it that way.” Noah wasn’t sure why he felt that way, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t like it, not one bit.
“If she finds out you’re keeping it from her, you’re fucked, if you’ll pardon my French.”
“That wasn’t French.”
“And here I thought I was bilingual.” He held up his now-empty bottle. “I need another beer.”
“I’ll be finished here in a minute, and we can go over to the house.” In the front of the clinic, a bell rang. Immediately, the dogs sounded off. Noah went to see who it was. Someone who couldn’t read the Closed sign, obviously.
“Hey, Sophie,” he said, his irritation washed away in a rush of gladness.
“Hello, Noah. I—” She broke off, focusing on something behind him.
“Ma’am, I’m Bo Crutcher.” Bo crossed the room, arm extended, his trademark star-pitcher smile on his face. “I’m a buddy of Noah’s.”
“How do you do. Sophie Bellamy.” She looked a little flustered. And even though it was probably impossible, she was ten times hotter than she’d been the last time he saw her, in the restaurant. She wore jeans and a sweater and ski parka with the zipper open, and her cheeks were bright red from the cold. “Sorry, Noah,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“I’m not busy,” said Noah.
“He’s not busy,” said Bo. They both spoke at the same time.
“Seriously, what can I do for you?” Noah shot a glare at Bo. He’d better not say a word about what Noah had just told him.
“The stitches,” she said. “You know, the ones in my knee.”
“Is everything all right?” Noah’s stomach clenched. Damn. Had he blown it? Was there an infection? Was she going to sue his ass into the poorhouse?
“Fine,” she said quickly. “In fact, the physician I saw for a follow-up said you did excellent work.”
“You?” Bo jabbed him in the rib cage. “No way.”
She favored him with a smile. “I hurt myself the night of the snowstorm, and Noah sewed me up.”
“That Noah,” Bo said. “Ya gotta love him.”
“Anyway,” she said, turning back to Noah, “the doctor told me they would be ready to come out today, but her assistant still can’t get to the clinic because of the snow. So I tried doing it myself.”
Noah felt his mouth twitch. “Bad idea.”
“I found that out. I’m not quite as hardy as I thought, but I really need the use of my knee back. I was hoping maybe you could do it. That is, if you wouldn’t mind…”
Mind? Mind?
She was blushing as she looked from him to Bo. “I’m sorry, asking you this after everything you’ve done,” she said, full of apologies.
“I don’t mind a bit,” he said quickly.
“I feel a little sheepish, coming here…”
Noah made the mistake of looking at Bo. Sheepish. Had she really said sheepish to a vet? Yes, she had. And Noah and Bo were twelve years old again. Noah could barely suppress a snicker.
“Ma’am,” Bo said, all but helpless with laughter, “you came to the right place.”
Sophie pressed her lips together, then gave in to a smile. “Let’s get to it, then, shall we?” She paused in the clinic doorway.
“I don’t mind if you come along,” she said to Bo. “Maybe you could distract me.”
“Ma’am, I’d be honored.” He followed her like a gangly-limbed coon hound. He elbowed Noah. “You’re a man of many talents. Fertility god, emergency tech, veterinarian.”
Sophie frowned. “Fertility god?”
“His idea of a joke,” Noah said. Hoping to create a diversion, he held the door to the exam room. “Right this way.” He shot Bo a murderous look.
Sophie stepped into the room. “Where do you want me?”
He flashed on a memory of her beneath him, her small, delicate hands clutching the spooled wooden bed rails as she arched her body toward him.
“Noah?” She regarded him quizzically.
“Oh, right here will be fine.” He indicated a vinyl chair by the exam table and flipped on a light. Then he rolled back his sleeves and took out a sterile pair of disposable gloves.
She had a seat and drew up the cuff of her jeans.
Bo watched with his mouth agape. Noah handed him a stainless steel tray. “Hold that, will you?”
“Um…yeah, got it.”
Noah had a seat on a rolling stool and put on his headgear with the light and the magnifying glasses. Using long-handled tweezers, he removed the dressing. He adjusted the light. “Hold still,” he said. “This won’t hurt, but you might feel a little pull.” With his smallest pointed scissors and tweezers, he gently teased each suture free, pleased to see that the wound had healed decisively.
“So you’re new around here,” Bo said, as though approaching her in a singles’ bar.
Noah concentrated, thinking maybe the chitchat would distract her.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Where are you from?”
“Lots of places. Most recently, the Netherlands. I used to work as a lawyer in The Hague, at the International Criminal Court.”
Bo gave a low whistle. “Never heard of it, but it sounds mighty important.” Only Bo Crutcher could make ignorance seem charming. Noah, on the other hand, felt provincial around her. She’d been all over the world, while he’d barely been out of Ulster County. He’d damn well better keep her entertained. Maybe she was already bored with him. Witness the guy he’d spotted her with in the bookstore.
“Looks good,” Noah said, trying to banish his doubts as he finished up. “You’re a quick healer.”
She smiled at him. “So I’ve been told. Thank you, Noah.” She looked a bit self-conscious. He grabbed Bo by the arm and hauled him out of the room, giving Sophie privacy to readjust her jeans and put her boots back on.
Outside the exam room, Bo looked as though he was about to burst. “Man, is that the one—”
“All set,” Sophie said, joining them in the reception area. “I’ll just be on my way now—”
“Hold on, ma’am,” Bo said in his best Texas drawl. “As Dr. Shepherd’s last patient of the day, you get a bonus treat.”
“He offered me a hairball remedy last time,” she said, straight-faced as she flexed her knee. “I’ll have to pass. Now that the stitches are out, I need to break in my new ice skates. My son’s going to be with me this weekend and I’m sure I’m rusty.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not,” Noah said. “I’ll go with you.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t ask that.” She glanced at Bo. “And you’ve got company.”
“Bo can come, too,” Noah said, confident of his friend’s reaction.
Bo didn’t disappoint him. “Me? Ice skating? Yeah, I’d rather have a root canal. You two go on ahead. I’ll go up to the house, make sure the beers are cold.”
A few minutes later, they were alone on the lake. The late-afternoon light rendered the landscape in pink and gray, and the heavy coat of snowfall muffled the sound of their voices. Noah was not surprised to see that she was a fairly good skater, moving with unhurried, fluid grace. Noah had always thought there was something sexy about a woman on ice skates. Of course, he’d probably think Sophie was sexy on barrel slats.
“How’s the knee?” he asked her.
“Feels good as new.”
They glided along, side by side. “You’re not rusty,” he assured her.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I was kind of hoping you’d need to lean on me more,” he admitted. “I like holding you, Sophie.”
“Uh-huh.” Her tone was heavy with skepticism.
“Seriously, I want to talk to you about the other night.”
She branched off from him, gliding away. “We don’t need to discuss it. As I said, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
He grabbed her hand before she got too far. “Not that way. Thin ice.” He kept hold of her hand. “It probably looked like a date, and I don’t want you thinking it was.”
“Noah, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Maybe not, but it bugs the crap out of me that you might think I’d go out with someone else after you and I had been together.” He tried to imagine how weird it would sound if he explained what Tina really wanted.
Sophie wobbled a little, giving him a chance to slide his arm around her. “I’ve got you,” he said. “And you don’t owe me an explanation, either.”
She stiffened. “An explanation of what?”
“The guy in the bookstore. And no, I wasn’t spying on you. I was picking up my mail at the post office, which is next to the bookstore.”
“That was Brooks Fordham,” she said. “He’s a writer, and he lives in New York. And no, I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“But I’d listen, if you felt like explaining it,” Noah said.
She laughed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
He matched her rhythm so they were skating in tandem. “I’m just getting started.” But the doubts crept in again. A writer from the city. Noah wondered if his world could ever be big enough or exciting enough for her.
“Look at the two lovebirds,” Bo shouted from the lakeshore. “You’re going to freeze your asses off. Come on in for a beer,” he called.
“Good idea,” Noah seconded. He still needed to figure out a way to tell her about Tina. “How about it?”
She hesitated.
“We can raise a toast to no more misunderstandings,” he said.
Her hesitation eased into a smile. “I’ll drink to that.” She left her skates on the porch of the cottage, and the three of them hiked up to Noah’s. At the house, Opal leaped into paroxysms of ecstasy when she recognized Sophie. “I’m not used to having anyone act so delighted to see me,” Sophie said.
In all honesty, the puppy was merely expressing the same feelings Noah had—total exuberance at seeing Sophie again. “Didn’t you know?” he asked. “It’s the reason we have puppies.”
Bo took three Utica Clubs from the fridge and passed them around. “Ever had a Car Bomb?” Bo asked her.
Noah grimaced, “Come on, Crutcher—”
“I’m not a fan of car bombs,” Sophie said. Her face paled visibly.
Noah didn’t think Bo noticed but he sure as hell did. She had been living overseas. Maybe in a place where car bombs were no joke.
“I mean the kind made with beer and tequila. Come here, I’ll show you.” Bo paused to grab a bag of chips and a jar of salsa, two staples that could always be found in Noah’s kitchen.
Everywhere Bo Crutcher went, a party ensued. It was a gift. His personality was as big as his potential as a baseball star, so when he opened up a bottle of tequila and dropped shots into their glasses of beer, Noah and Sophie drank up as obediently as children ordered to finish their milk.
“This is completely disgusting,” Sophie declared, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.
“I’ve been told worse.” Bo poured a second round. “Trust me, it gets better.”
“Cheers.” Taking himself back to the days of Alpha Zeta at Cornell, Noah knocked back his refill.
“Cheers,” echoed Sophie. “Salut, proost, amandla.”
“Whoa, did you hear that?” Bo regarded her with awe. “She knows French.”
“I recognized Dutch and…”
“Umojan,” she said. “It’s an African dialect.” Sophie dispatched her drink with impressive panache, then emitted a lengthy belch.
Bo clutched at his chest. “Be still my heart.”
Concentrating on not spilling, Noah set them up again. “Yeah, take a number, buddy.”
Sophie burst out laughing. “You guys are better than my shrink.”
“You have a shrink?” asked Bo.
She laughed again. “You don’t?”
“I don’t.” Noah held up the bottle of Patrón. “Unless you count this.”
“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t have a shrink.”
“Even I’ve got one,” Bo said. “Lately. My agent’s making me see somebody. He wants to be sure I got my head on straight before the new season.”
“I’ve never known a baseball star before,” Sophie said.
“Oh, I’m a treat,” Bo said, refilling her glass and then Noah’s. “No bout adoubt it. Or whatever.”
“Drinking away my problems,” she mused. “What a concept. Look, she’s sound asleep,” she added, indicating the puppy in her lap. “I feel such a sense of accomplishment.”
“You mean you’ve never tried drinking away your problems?” asked Noah.
“You mean you have problems?” asked Bo. “You sure as hell don’t look as if you’ve got problems.”
She hiccuped, and gave him a little smile. “You have no idea.” Despite her words, she spoke pleasantly, and turned the dazzling wattage of her smile on Noah. They clinked bottles.
“To your hidden talents,” Sophie said. “And we’ll add skating coach to the list, along with cosmetic surgery. My knee is going to be just fine.”
“Cosmetic surgery,” echoed Bo. “That’s where the money is.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Lots of women eventually go for a brow lift,” Sophie said.
“Your brows are perfect,” Noah told her. “Don’t ever let anyone mess with your brows.”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But sooner or later, we all need a little help.”
She was an amazing contrast of brains, self-confidence and insecurity. He found it incredibly attractive. But challenging.
“And stud service,” Bo added. “Don’t forget that. Dr. Noah Shepherd—Veterinary Medicine, Cosmetic Surgery, Emergency Medicine and Stud Service.”
“Shut up.” Noah glowered at him. Belatedly, he realized he shouldn’t have said to shut up. It only egged Bo on.
“I don’t get it,” Sophie said. “Stud service? Are you breeding something?”
Bo slapped his thigh and guffawed. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“That’s enough,” Noah said. “You turd, you said your lips were sealed.”
Crutcher ignored him. “They were, but then I drank more beer.” He turned back to Sophie. “Sockeye Calloway’s daughter wants to have his baby.”
Sophie didn’t need a surgeon to give her an eyebrow lift. She did a great job on her own. “Good heavens.”
“I swear, I’m not making this up,” Bo said. “Tina and her partner, Paulette—they’re a couple.” He shrugged in bafflement. “Don’t ask me why. That’s just the way they roll.”
“I see.” Sophie took a prim sip of her beer.
“Yeah, it’s a crying shame, if you ask me.” Bo shook his head tragically, his lion’s mane of hair shimmering with the movement.
“Nobody asked you,” Noah said, but he knew it was already too late. The cat was out of the bag and would not be going back in any time soon. I’m an idiot, Noah thought. Stone-cold sober, Bo would take a secret to the grave. However, with a few beers in him, all bets were off.
“So you’re saying these women want to have a baby together?” Sophie asked Bo.
“Yep.”
“And they want Noah to…”
“Yep.”
Sophie gazed at him with eyebrows raised sky-high. He was quick to say, “Not going to happen, of course. Nothing against Tina and Paulette. I just…when I have kids, I want a little more involvement.”
“It’s amazing, the lengths some women will go to in order to be a mother,” Sophie said, then turned to Bo. “I have two children and a grandson.”
“Wait a second.” Bo blinked like an idiot. “Two kids and a grand—what?”
“A grandson.”
Bo gave one of his low whistles.
Noah sent him a look that promised dismemberment. If Bo mentioned the age difference now, he was dead meat. Fortunately for Bo he merely lifted his glass in a toast.
It was kind of mind-blowing, the idea of her being a grandmother. On some level, her situation appealed to Noah. She was at a place in her life that, to him, seemed like a distant, nearly unreachable future. Now he could look at Sophie and see the future as something real and possible. Although divorced and alone, she was the connective tissue in a family, whether she realized it or not.
She took another drink. “My kids and grandson are the whole reason I’m here. For the first time in my life, I’m going to be a full-time, stay-at-home mom. This is a second chance for me, and I’m going to be the best mom ever. I’m going to make the mom Hall of Fame. I’m going to be such a good mom, I’ll be scary.”
“The Mominatrix.” Noah clinked glasses with her.
“I swear, I’m going to be supermom and supergrandma all rolled into one.”
Bo took a thoughtful sip of his beer. “Yeah. Well, good luck with that.”