The cat leaped down and padded over to welcome Lancelot. Thank God her cats had known him since he was tiny. She felt fairly certain Lancelot thought he was a cat.
The two old friends trotted after her into her bedroom. A second cat, black and white and even larger, lay curled in the center of her pillow. She kicked off her running shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. The cat on the pillow watched her without moving its head. As she pulled her socks off, he reached out a long arm and swiped at one.
Obligingly she held it out for him. “Okay, Poddy, here you go.”
He grabbed the sock, mauled it for a second, then abandoned it and went back to sleep. Yellow Otto crept up on it, pounced and dragged it under the bed. Lancelot tried to follow, but couldn’t fit. “You bring that back, Otto,” Nancy said without much hope.
She set the glass on the side table and leaned back against her pillows with one arm across her eyes. She heard Lancelot thud onto the rag rug beside her bed. For six whole years this little house had meant peace and comfort, a place of her own, where nobody intruded on her privacy unless and until she wanted them to. The first house she’d ever owned.
The moving van was a symbol—a big monster that got in her way and disturbed her tranquility the way that monster man got in her face with his big sweaty forearms and his ingratiating grin.
And no eyes.
She sat up. His family? He’d said family. How many? Wife, undoubtedly. Children? Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents? The house was big enough to hold a small army. Just because the Halliburtons hadn’t used the upstairs didn’t mean it wasn’t there to be used. Williamston was going to be overrun by no-necked monsters, sure as shooting.
“I have enough drama in my life, guys, without coming home to more.”
Lancelot looked up at the sound of her voice. Poddy and Otto ignored her.
Then perhaps sensing her mood, Poddy climbed into her lap, walked around in a circle, collapsed and began to knead her thigh. She scratched his ears. “The Calhouns brought their mastiff in with a flipped gut after lunch. If they’d brought him in this morning, we’d have had a better chance to save him. Dr. Mac and I worked on him for two hours, but we had to remove so much necrotic tissue I doubt he’ll survive the night.”
Otto decided to get in on the act. He hopped up, rolled over beside her and lay on his back like a baby. She scratched his tummy. “Guess who got to tell the Calhouns? Moi, of course. God forbid we let Dr. Mac get near clients he thinks are negligent. If he slugged somebody, he might break his hands, not to mention getting arrested for assault.”
She heard Lancelot struggle to his feet. A moment later his nose butted her hand. “No, you cannot get up on the bed,” she said. But she scratched him nonetheless. “I only have two hands, guys. I can’t pet all three of you at once.”
Lancelot’s black nose disappeared once more as he sank onto the rug.
“We did do a successful cesarean on an English bulldog,” she said. “I got to give some good news. Four healthy pups.”
Poddy yawned. He undoubtedly saw no reason to celebrate the advent of more canines into the world.
She lay back on her pillows. Blessed, blessed silence.
The bang of metal crashing against metal brought her bolt upright.
A moment later the doorbell rang.
As she got up to answer it, the telephone beside her bed shrilled.
CHAPTER THREE
“JUST A MINUTE,” Nancy shouted at the door as she reached for the telephone. “Mayfield,” she answered.
“Nancy,” said Mabel, the evening receptionist at Creature Comfort, “we’ve got an emergency. Mac’s on his way. He asked me to call you.”
“What kind of emergency?” she stuck her finger in her other ear to block out the impatient ringing of the doorbell. “I just walked in the door.” She glanced down at the full glass of wine with longing. No alcohol if she had to go back to surgery. “Is it the mastiff?”
“Worse. The Marshall’s Jack Russell. Some idiot let a pit bull out. He got into the Marshall’s yard.”
“Oh, Lord.” The throbbing over Nancy’s right eye intensified. “How bad?”
“He’s alive, but he’s going to need emergency surgery.”
“I’ll be there in forty minutes unless I run into a Statie with his radar on.”
“Drive carefully. I’ll get things ready.”
“Thanks, Mabel.” Nancy hung up and turned to the door. “All right, all right, dammit, I’m coming!” She yanked it open. Mr. No-Eyes stood on the front porch behind a tall, skinny, teenage boy whose head was nearly bald. He looked half sulky, half terrified. “What?” she snapped.
The man thrust the boy forward. “Tell her.”
She heard Lancelot behind her, stepped out onto the front porch and slammed the door shut. “Tell me what?”
“I kind of, you know, backed into your car.”
“You what?” Nancy pushed past the pair and down her front steps. Her Durango had been shoved four feet closer to her front porch by the hippo-size Suburban hard up against its rump. Over its rump, actually. Nancy ran to her car. Her rear bumper was dented, the right taillight lay in shards, and her right rear tire was flat. “What on earth happened?”
“My son, here, decided to move the Surburban into our driveway.” His voice was quiet, but she could almost feel the man’s rage.
“Yeah, I guess I hit Reverse,” the kid said. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“It was the fault of a malevolent universe?” his father growled. “Of course it was your fault.”
“Look,” Nancy said, “I don’t give two hoots if it was the fault of a parallel universe.”
“This unfortunate creature is Jason Wainwright, my son.”
“Big whoop,” Nancy said. “Look, you. I need my car now, right this minute. I have an emergency. I have to go back to the clinic right now.”
“You’re a nurse?”
“I’m a veterinary surgical assistant. I’ve got to get back to help save a dog that just got mauled by a pit bull. And I’m wasting time.” She grabbed Jason’s sleeve. “Come on. You and your daddy are going to drive me to the clinic, wait for me if it takes all night and drive me home, or I swear to God I’ll have you locked up for driving without a valid Tennessee driver’s license.”
Jason stared at her openmouthed. “Can you do that?”
“If you two don’t get your rear ends in gear, you bet I can.”
“I can’t leave my two younger children on their own,” Wainwright said.
“Can’t your wife look after them?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Then bring them. Now!” She strode toward the Suburban.
“Jason, go get your brother and sister while I move the car.”
“Da-a-ad,” Jason whined.
“Do it now. Fast.” Then he shrugged. “Remember, pizza at a mall.”
WHILE JASON ROUNDED up his siblings, Tim carefully backed the Suburban out. It didn’t have a scratch. The damage to the Durango’s bumper didn’t look too bad, but until the light and tire were replaced, and until a mechanic checked the car out thoroughly, she couldn’t drive it.
“If