Dr. Horatio vs. the Six-Toed Cat (8 page)

Thrusting the puppy into the child's arms, Doc raced past his wife and emerged into the sunshine in time to see a blur of orange and black disappear between the buildings across the street.

Chapter Six

M
illie recounted the story to Albert over a glass of iced tea at the kitchen table while they waited for Nicholas to arrive.

“I thought Doc was going to hyperventilate.” She wiped condensation from her glass with a napkin, chuckling at the memory. “And Lizzie felt terrible, of course, but it wasn't her fault. How could she have known?”

“What's he going to do now?”

“Keep trying, though he's afraid the cat won't return to the clinic no matter how many females we have.”

“Probably not.” Albert glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. “It's six-forty. If he doesn't get here soon, can we have a snack?”

The question sounded peevish, which tended to happen when Albert's supper was delayed. Fluctuations in his blood sugar affected him more intensely now than in his younger days. For that reason, Millie tried to keep to a strict schedule.

“How about some cheese and crackers?”

“Perfect.”

She started to rise, but halted when Alison's shout from the living room reached them.

“He's here! Nick is here!”

Millie and Albert locked gazes across the table. His features
underwent a change. The scowl deepened and the corners of his lips tugged downward as though the weight of his jowls was too much to bear.

“Be nice,” she cautioned. “Remember to keep an open mind.”

“The same to you.”

“I'm always nice. Whereas you…” She finished the phrase with a knowing glance.

“I will be my usual charming self,” he assured her as he rose.

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Heaven help us!”

Giving her the private grin that never failed to charm her, Albert offered his arm. “Shall we go meet the drug lord, Mrs. Richardson?”

“Stop calling him that.” She delivered a reprimand with a tap on his shoulder before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. After drawing a fortifying breath, she nodded. “I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

The front door stood open, and through it Millie caught a glimpse of Alison racing across the front lawn. They followed, exiting the house arm in arm.

“At least he drives an American car,” Albert muttered. “Probably part of his cover.”

A nervous giggle threatened, and she clamped her teeth against it. The car was blue, a newer model Ford, though Millie wasn't sure what model because she rarely noticed such things. Instead she watched her daughter race around the bumper, whip open the door, and throw herself into the arms of the man who emerged before he had a chance to fully stand. Their kiss, about which he seemed as enthusiastic as she, definitely went beyond the greeting of friends. It continued the entire time Millie and Albert took to leave the porch and walk at a slow, sedate pace, down the walkway. They came to a stop at the curb and waited for the two to separate.

Albert finally cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

Nicholas broke the embrace, though he kept his arm around Alison's waist as he came toward them.

Her attention fully on her beau, Alison voiced the introduction without a glance in their direction. “Mom, Daddy, I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Nicholas Ricardo Provenzano IV. Nick, these are my parents.”

The young man took a half step toward them, right hand extended, and then stopped to whip a baseball cap off his head. Dark hair cropped military-short had grown out just enough to show a hint of a wave.

He took Albert's hand. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” A deep Southern drawl stretched his words out to twice their normal length. Dark eyes framed by thick, black lashes switched from Albert to Millie. “And you too, ma'am. Been lookin' forward to it. Alison's told me all about you.”

Millie stared at him. How could this young man be from Colombia? Fresh-faced and eager, he looked like the all-American boy-next-door. In a distant part of her numb brain she recognized that Albert had released the boy's hand, and it was now extended toward her. Dazed, she took it.

“My mama asked me to give you a message the minute we met.” An appealing grin unearthed an adorable pair of dimples in his darkly tanned cheeks. “She's upset on account of not getting' to come up here and meet y'all, but she had some stuff going on this weekend and couldn't get away. But she told me to tell you she's wantin' to help with the wedding, and she hopes you won't mind if she brings a few gallons of sauce for the supper after.”

“Sauce?”

“Marinara.” The dimples put in a reappearance. “A secret recipe from all the way back to my daddy's great, great grandma, or some such. My grandma passed on the recipe to Mama on their wedding day, and she's already planning to give it to Alison on ours.”

The smile he turned toward Alison held so much love that Millie's heart flip-flopped in her chest.

Beside her, Albert seemed to gather height as he towered above
them all. “Wait a minute.” The stern note in his voice echoed down the street. He speared Nicholas with an accusatory glare. “You're not South American.”

“Uh, no, sir. I'm not.” The young man cast a confused glance toward Alison. “Am I s'posed to be?”

“You're supposed to be Colombian.” He directed the accusation toward their daughter.

Alison stared at Albert, confused. “What are you talking about? I told you—” She halted. A hand rose to cover her mouth, and a few seconds later she doubled over with laughter.

Millie realized the misunderstanding then. Nicholas's dark hair and eyes, swarthy complexion, full lips, and classically shaped nose. And the family marinara sauce recipe. All part of his family heritage, as Alison had told them.

“You're Italian,” she accused.

“Yes ma'am.” Obviously confused, he looked from her to Alison, who was laughing uncontrollably. “Or, my grandparents were. I'm American.”

Alison recovered a modicum of control. “Daddy, Nicholas isn't from Colombia, South America. He's from
Columbia
, South Carolina.”

Her giggle was infectious, and Millie caught it. The two of them surrendered to laughter, while Albert continued to look stern and Nicholas, uncomfortable.

“Do you mean to say you attended the University of South Carolina?” Albert's eyebrows lowered until they appeared to rest on top of his eyelashes. “That you are, in fact, a Gamecock?”

The question sent Millie into a fresh fit of laughter. No wonder Alison had been hesitant to tell her father about this boy. He attended the archrival of Albert's alma mater.

The young man straightened proudly, as though answering an interrogation. “Yes sir, I am. Or was. I graduated in May with my bachelor's degree in business administration.”

Albert's scowl intensified. “I'm a Purdue man myself.”

“Yes, I know.” One edge of Nicholas's generous lips twitched upward. “But since you're Alison's father, I'm prepared to overlook that.”

Through her own mirth, Millie saw a change in Albert's expression. A spark of grudging approval flared in his eyes. He stepped forward and placed a fatherly arm around Nicholas's shoulders.

“Come inside, young man. We don't have much time, and I have a lot of questions.”

Millie watched the pair of them head for the house. Alison came up beside her, and Millie slipped her arm around her daughter's waist.

“I like him a lot.” What a relief to say that with complete honesty.

Alison hugged her waist. “I knew you would.”

Together, they followed their men into the house.

Chapter Seven

T
he Goose Creek Fall Festival officially kicked off that evening, when the festival coordinator gave her introductory speech to thank all the volunteers who had helped make this year's event “the best in the entire history of the Festival.” Doc didn't dare miss that speech, or he'd catch all kinds of grief from Mother.

He stood before the four crates that held his hopes of finally capturing the source of at least three confirmed litters of six-toed kittens, and four more probable ones. And who knew how many barn cats from the farms spread out across the county would deliver polydactyl babies in the coming months?

Lizzie peeked her head through the doorway. “Are you ready, Doc?”

“I guess.” He assured himself that the window was shut, his borrowed kitties safe and secure. “I might grab a sleeping bag and spend the night here.”

His wife gave him an understanding look. “He probably won't come back, not after the scare he got today.”

“He might.” A long shot, yes, but Doc couldn't give up his plan. He didn't have another one.

They left the Animal Clinic and bypassed their cars in the parking lot. The sun wouldn't set for another hour or so, and the temperature promised to be mild this evening. A short walk wouldn't hurt them, and might help lift some of the gloom that had settled on him after the polydactyl cat's dash to freedom.

Band music reached them. The county high school jazz band always took the stage first, a place of honor which was theirs by virtue of being local, not because of talent. Doc quickened his pace. When they finished playing Mother would deliver her speech, and he'd better be on the front row of onlookers.

Lizzie took his hand as they turned onto Walnut Street. “Your mother plans to announce her retirement as coordinator this evening.”

“She says that every year.”

“This time she's serious. I think it's a good decision if she goes through with it. She's not getting any younger, you know.”

“Mother's healthier than a horse. She'll probably outlive us both.”

Just before they approached the corner of Walnut and Main, something caught Doc's eye. Was he seeing things? He stopped, pulling Lizzie to a halt, and peered through squinted eyes.

Lizzie gave him a quizzical look. “What's the ma—”

“Shh.”

With a nod, he directed her attention toward the cat, who had found a wide window ledge to rest and soak up the last rays of the setting sun. A huge cat with a dark yellow and orange undercoat and black tabby markings.

It was his escapee. It
had
to be.

The cat caught sight of them, and Doc froze. The cat fixed an amber gaze on him and blinked. He did not move, apparently dismissing them as a threat.

“Hello, my fine fellow.” Doc pitched his voice low. “I've looked forward to meeting you.”

The cat's responded with a quiet
meow.
No bunching of muscles preparatory to fleeing. No movement other than the flick of his tail.

Encouraged, Doc took a cautious step toward him. “Don't go anywhere, buddy. I'm not going to hurt you. I'd just like to examine your paws, if you don't mind.”

Those amber eyes watched him, unconcerned. With a third step, Doc was close enough to touch the animal. This creature did not
display any of the behavior typical of feral cats. Up close, Doc could see that he appeared to be well-fed and mellow. Unfortunately, his paws were folded beneath him.

“Would you let me pet you, boy?” He extended a hand, which the cat watched, seemingly indifferent. With the first touch of Doc's fingers, he lifted his head and arched his back, inviting the caress to continue down the length of his spine and all the way to the tip of his tail.

“You like that, don't you?” Doc obliged several times, until he heard the telltale rumble of the cat's purr. Only then did he attempt to pick him up.

When he had the animal tucked securely in his arms, he turned a grin on Lizzie. “I got him.”

She approached, stretched out a hand and, when the cat nosed it, ran her fingers down his back. “He's so soft and friendly. Are you sure this is the right one?”

Doc shifted the cat's weight so he could get hold of a front paw. Sure enough, this kitty sported a prominent sixth digit. Not only that, but a quick examination revealed an extra toe on each of his rear paws as well.

“This is our Romeo, all right.” He continued to pet the cat and marveled at the way his stress melted away at the feel of its rumbling purr.

“He's obviously tame. Probably someone's pet. How are we going to find his owners?”

“Put up signs, maybe? A notice in the paper?”

The band music stopped. They exchanged a startled glance.

“We'd better hurry.” Lizzie didn't wait, but plunged forward and bustled her way past the booths and white tents that lined Main Street.

Doc would have preferred to return to the clinic and install this elusive tomcat in one of the crates, but there was no time. He tightened his hold and followed his wife.

By the time he arrived at the far end of Main Street, Mother had already taken the stage. Her familiar voice rang out across a sea of
listeners, thanking everyone for coming out to kick off the festival. He arrived at the stage and joined those standing to one side, since the chairs facing the podium were all occupied. With many excuse-me's and pardon-me's and the occasional application of an elbow, he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. There. If Mother looked this way, she'd see him.