Isaiah skirted a family of miniature black bears to mount the steps. As he knocked, he said, “I think he made decent money selling his stuff. Most people don’t have the time or talent to make this kind of thing.”
They fell quiet, waiting for an answer to his summons. When the old woman finally opened the door, Laura’s heart twisted. As though her frail body lacked the strength to remain upright without support, Mrs. Palmer stood with one arthritic hand braced against the door frame. An oversize polyester blouse and baggy slacks nearly swallowed her bony frame. Her white hair encircled her head, fluffy wisps poking out here and there.
“Dr. Coulter?” she said weakly.
“Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Palmer. I have a problem that I’m praying you can help me with.”
“Oh, my.” With trembling fingers, she pushed feebly at the sagging screen door. “Come in, come in.”
Isaiah caught the door and drew it wide. “I brought a friend along. I hope you don’t mind.”
Mrs. Palmer peered past him at Laura. “I’m a little under the weather, you know. I’m not sure I’m up to having guests.”
“We’ll be only a minute, I promise,” Isaiah assured her. “Like I said, I’ve got a problem.”
“Oh, well . . . in that case.” She tottered back a step to allow them entry. “I haven’t any cookies on hand, but I can make us a nice cup of tea.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Isaiah said as they invaded the old lady’s tiny living room. “This is Laura Townsend, Mrs. Palmer. She works for me at the clinic.”
Mrs. Palmer squinted to see. “It’s good to meet you, dear. I’m sorry I look such a fright. It’s been an awful day for me.”
Keeping her left hand splayed over the front of her coat, Laura extended her right to shake the old woman’s hand. “I’m sorry about your kitty.”
Tears slipped onto Mrs. Palmer’s cheeks. With quivering fingers, she brushed them away. “I’m a crazy old woman, crying over a flea-bitten cat.”
“No, it’s not crazy at all,” Laura protested. “You loved him.”
The inside of Mrs. Palmer’s house was as cluttered as her patio. Laura took in all the dusty doodads on the cheaply paneled walls and then shifted her gaze to a huge wicker basket filled with balls of yarn placed next to a worn brown recliner. She could almost see the old lady relaxing there with Seymour asleep on her lap while she crocheted and watched her television programs. How lonely the house must seem to her now that her beloved pet was gone.
Isaiah grasped the old lady’s creped elbow and guided her to the recliner. Mrs. Palmer sank gratefully onto the cushion, which had become wallowed at the center from years of use. She fluttered a hand at a green, afghan-draped sofa that was in no better condition.
“Please have a seat.”
The kitten tucked securely under her jacket, Laura sat at one end of the couch. Isaiah forwent the offer and crouched by the old lady’s chair. In the brown riding jacket, he could just as easily have been hunkered by an open fire with a tin cup cradled in his big hands. Laura could almost see the firelight playing over his chiseled features.
“Here’s the problem,” he told Mrs. Palmer solemnly. “Tonight when Laura went home, she found a tiny stray kitten on her porch.”
Mrs. Palmer’s rheumy blue eyes widened. “Oh, my.”
“He’s homeless and starving,” Isaiah went on, “and there’s no way Laura can keep him. If we can’t find a home for him, she’ll have to take him to a shelter.”
“Oh, no,” the old lady whispered.
“It’s a sad situation,” Isaiah went on. “There are so many cats and kittens without homes right now. The Humane Society has about thirty on any given day. They’re wonderful about sheltering homeless animals until they’re adopted, but with so many . . .” Isaiah’s voice trailed away, the implications of what he left unsaid hanging in the air. “I’d hate to see this little guy be destroyed.”
Mrs. Palmer shook her head. “If you’re thinking I might take him, I simply can’t. My precious Seymour isn’t even cold in his grave yet.”
Isaiah nodded his understanding. “I’d have been in total agreement with you an hour ago, Mrs. Palmer. But seeing this kitten changed my mind.” He hesitated a moment. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Fate?” the old lady echoed.
“Yeah, you know, that some things in life happen for a reason? Like when you met Alfred, for instance. Do you think that happened by accident?”
“Meeting my Alfred?” Mrs. Palmer shook her head again. “Heavens, no. We were meant for each other. Both of us always believed that.”
“Some things are just meant to be,” Isaiah agreed. “And I’m sure this is one of them. When I clapped eyes on this stray kitten I got cold chills. He’s a dead ringer for Seymour. It’s as if God plopped him on Laura’s doorstep just for you.”
“He looks like my Seymour?”
Isaiah turned to Laura. Taking her cue, she drew the kitten from beneath her coat. As she held him up for Mrs. Palmer’s perusal, she said, “Can you believe it? He even has the little white tufts in his ears.”
Mrs. Palmer clamped knobby fingers over her mouth and stared with tear-filled eyes at the kitten.
“Now you know why I got cold chills when I saw him,” Isaiah said, taking the kitten from Laura as he spoke. “All my life my mom has told me that God will never allow us to be burdened with more than we can bear. Six months ago you lost your husband. Today you lost Seymour. I think God knows how sad you are and sent this little fellow to Laura’s door so he could find his way to you.”
Isaiah placed the sleepy kitten on Mrs. Palmer’s lap. The old woman’s hands hovered shakily over the tiny feline, her fingertips barely grazing the soft fur. “Oh,” she whispered. A sob caught in her throat, shaking her frail shoulders. “Oh, my, he does look like Seymour. Almost exactly. Doesn’t he?”
“I’ve never seen the like.” Isaiah sent Laura a triumphant smile. “It’s too much of a resemblance to be a coincidence. I’m convinced this kitten is heaven-sent.”
“Oh, my.” Mrs. Palmer finally lifted the kitten in her hands to look at his funny little face. “He’s so terribly thin. I can feel his ribs!”
Having left his mother only that afternoon, the kitten was actually quite plump, but Isaiah nodded in agreement. “No telling how long it’s been since he ate. It’s a mean old world for a tiny kitten without a home.”
Mrs. Palmer drew the kitten to her chest. “It’s a wonder he survived!”
“I know it’s a big imposition, but would you give him a home, Mrs. Palmer?” Isaiah shifted his weight to sit back on his heels. “I’m never at my place. I couldn’t take proper care of a kitten this young, and Laura lives in an apartment where pets aren’t allowed.”
“It’s awfully soon,” Mrs. Palmer said, but her tone indicated that she was wavering.
“I know. But given the striking resemblance, I don’t think Seymour would mind. In fact, he’d probably like the idea—another cat exactly like him. It’s an honor to his memory, in a way. Don’t you think so, Laura?”
“Oh, yes.” Laura nodded emphatically. “I think Seymour would be glad. He loved you, Mrs. Palmer. He wouldn’t want you to be all alone.”
“He’ll need his shots and have to be neutered when the time comes,” the old lady observed.
“I’ll take care of all that,” Isaiah offered. “You’ll be doing me a big favor if you take him. That’s the least I can do.”
Mrs. Palmer pushed up from the chair. Cuddling the kitten to her breast, she tottered off to the kitchen, saying, “We’ll just pour you some milk while I’m thinking it over. Poor starving baby.”
Isaiah grinned at Laura as he stood up. “Got her nailed,” he whispered.
Mrs. Palmer was beaming when she returned. “My goodness, how he’s going after that milk! I think his tummy is so empty, it’s buttoned to his backbone.”
“I brought some special food to put some meat back on his bones,” Isaiah told her. “I??
?ll go get it. If you’ll take him, that is.”
Mrs. Palmer glanced down and laughed delightedly. Seymour the Second had followed her from the kitchen and was attacking her yarn basket. Before anyone could react, a ball of red yarn was rolling across the floor, and the kitten was giving chase. The old lady sprang after her new charge, scooped him up, and wagged a scolding finger at his pink nose.
“You’ll have to learn that my crochet basket is a no-no.” She cuddled the kitten close and smiled. “He does look so very much like my Seymour. Perhaps he is heaven-sent.” She rubbed her cheek on the kitten’s fur. “Yes, I’ll keep him. How can I say no? I can’t let Seymour’s look-alike be put to sleep!”
While Isaiah went out to get the cat food, Laura sat with Mrs. Palmer and watched the kitten play with the ball of yarn. The old lady was chuckling by the time Isaiah returned. He carried a large bag of kibble and a case of canned food, which he deposited in the kitchen.
“If you’ll bring him in tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll give him his first round of shots, free of charge.”
“Oh, you needn’t do that,” Mrs. Palmer protested.
“I insist. Like I said, you’re doing me a big favor by taking him. It’d break my heart to take him to a shelter. You never know for sure that an animal will be adopted. I know he’ll be loved and well cared for here.”
“You can count on that,” Mrs. Palmer agreed.
“In return, free vet care.” Isaiah watched the kitten do a somersault and get tangled in the yarn. “He’s going to be a handful.”
Mrs. Palmer nodded happily. “I’ll have to get him some toys first thing. He’s full of mischief.”
When Isaiah and Laura left a few minutes later, it was to the sound of Mrs. Palmer’s laughter. Isaiah stopped at the edge of the patio and gazed back at the lighted windows, smiling.
“This feels good.”
Laura agreed completely. It felt wonderful. “I don’t think she’ll cry anymore.”
“No, and it’s all thanks to you. As bad as I felt for her, I never would’ve thought to find her a look-alike kitten. Brilliant move.”
As they continued toward his Hummer, Laura replied, “I’m just glad she took him. I really can’t have a pet at my place, you know.”
He laughed as he opened the passenger door. “What was your plan if she didn’t take him?”
Laura grinned. “You don’t have a clinic kitty. Most vets do.”
“A clinic cat, huh?” He took her arm to assist her into the Hummer. The heat of his hand radiated through her jacket sleeve. “There’s a thought.”
He shut the door. As Laura fastened her seat belt, he circled the front of the vehicle and climbed in beside her. “I’m starving. Have you eaten?”
Laura almost wished she could say yes. Spending too much time with Isaiah Coulter wasn’t a wise idea. With each passing day she found it more and more difficult to keep her feelings for him in check.
“No, I haven’t eaten,” she confessed.
“Good. How’s Italian sound?”
Even though she wasn’t overly fond of Italian food, Laura thought it sounded fabulous. And therein lay the whole problem: Anything and everything about Isaiah Coulter appealed to her.
Chapter Six
For Laura, the following weekend was filled with final preparations for Halloween, which marked the end of daylight saving time and the beginning of her favorite time of year, the holiday season. On Saturday morning she went to the grocery store to get the ingredients for sugar cookies, which she baked and decorated that afternoon. Then she spent part of the evening with her landlord, Mr. Evans, who came over to set all her clocks and appliances back an hour, a tedious, frustrating, and almost impossible task for Laura.
After attending church with her grandmother on Sunday morning, Laura returned home and listened to a novel on tape by Jeffery Deaver while she bundled handfuls of individual candies in squares of plastic wrap tied with orange and black ribbons. Each gaily beribboned package went into a large basket to sit by the door for the trick-or-treaters who would come calling later.
The novel, entitled The Blue Nowhere, was about an evil hacker who invaded the computer systems of his victims and lured them to their deaths. Suitably spooky to set the mood for Halloween, it was a nice complement to the witches and goblins hanging in Laura’s windows and the two lighted jack-o’-lanterns in her kitchen, one on the counter, the other serving as a centerpiece on the table. Her apartment smelled divine, a pot of steeped cinnamon cider simmering on the stove and filling the rooms with its spicy essence.
By four o’clock Laura was as ready as she’d ever be for all the children she felt certain would soon be knocking at her door. Taking a cup of hot cider with her to the bathroom, she grabbed a quick shower and then slipped into her Halloween costume, a pair of footed pink pajamas and a set of matching rabbit ears she’d crafted with velvet over lightweight, pliable wire. Voilà, she was almost a Halloween bunny. After attaching a pom-pom tail to the seat of the pajamas, she set to work on her face, using a black pencil to create exaggerated lashes and whiskers, rouge to dot her cheeks, and lipstick to stain her mouth a bright rose.
She’d just completed her transformation when the phone rang. Dashing into her bedroom, she grabbed the portable. “Hello.”
“Hi, sis.”
“Aileen!” Laura sank onto the edge of the bed. “I’m so glad you called.”
“I can’t talk for very long. I have to get the kids into their costumes. I’ve been thinking of you all day, remembering Halloweens gone by.”
Aileen lived on the outskirts of Portland, a four-hour drive away. Laura would have liked to see her older sister more often, but city driving, with all the off-ramp signs and strange names, was too confusing for her. Aileen came home to Central Oregon for visits as frequently as she could, but a husband, three kids, and a full-time job kept her pretty busy. As a result, the two sisters hadn’t seen each other since their parents had moved to Florida six months ago.
“I’ve been thinking of you, too,” Laura said with a wistful smile.
“Did you make Grandpa Jim’s cider today?” Aileen asked.
“Yep. It’s on the stove. I’m having a cup right now.”
“Me, too. Mine’s spiked with wine. I’ll need something to warm my innards when I hit the streets with the kids tonight. It’s so cold out there! Jim’s going to be our chauffeur, and I get to do sidewalk duty. How’s the weather down there?”
“Cold. I’m wishing for snow.” Laura glanced out the ruffle-draped window. “Nothing yet, though. Ah, well. I’m going to light my little gas fireplace. That’ll make it cozy and cheerful.”
“You wearing your bunny costume?”
“Have to get in the spirit. You dressing as Cleo again?”
“I’m too fat for Cleopatra this year.”
“You aren’t fat.”
“Tell it to my halter top.”
“What are you going to be, then?”
“A wicked witch. Go ahead, laugh all you like. It’ll be a lot more practical. I can wear a heavy coat under my witch cape to keep from freezing my tush off, and I can scream and act like a witch, a definite plus when you’re trying to corral three kids on Halloween night. Trevor and Cody have one speed—high.”
Laura could hear her sister’s children in the background. It sounded as if the boys, age six and seven, were bedeviling their ten-year-old sister, Sarah. “What are they fighting about?”
“Whose jack-o’-lantern is whose. Sarah did the nicest one. Trevor laid claim to it, and she’s fit to be tied.”
Laura could remember a time when she and Aileen had quarreled all the time, driving their mother to distraction. “We were such angels.”
“Yeah, right. Remember the time we toilet-papered the police station?”
Laura chortled. “That was so much fun. All the cops were away on prank patrol. The perfect crime.”
“You sound so good. I think you’re talking better.”
“
I am?”
“Yeah, faster now, and. . . well, I don’t know, smoother, I think.”
“No long words,” Laura pointed out. “I’m getting good at talking around them.”
“I can barely tell anything’s wrong. How long has it been since I saw you?”
“Six months.”
“You still taking that brain-enhancement stuff?”
“Gag. Now that Mom’s gone, I throw it out. I have a real job now. Did you hear about that?”
“Gram mentioned it. Mom’s so busy going to water aerobics and community potlucks that she hardly ever calls me. How do you like it? The job, I mean.”
“I love it.” Laura listed her job duties and then went on to describe Isaiah and how handsome he was. “I’ve got a huge crush on him. I know it’s dumb, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
“What’s wrong with having a crush on him?”
“It’ll never happen. He’s got so much going for him, and I . . . well, I don’t.”
Aileen snorted. “You’re a very pretty lady, Laura. Jim says you’re a dead ringer for Charlize Theron.”
Laura laughed so hard that she fell back on the bed.
“You do resemble her,” Aileen insisted. “Any man who snags you will be one lucky fellow.”
“I love you, too.”
Aileen sighed. “Your aphasia is a problem. I won’t say it isn’t. But it’s not that bad. Isaiah is obviously interested in you. A guy doesn’t take a woman out to dinner twice unless something’s up.” She laughed theatrically. “And, yes, I meant that literally.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Don’t be gross.”
“I’m an old married woman. I can be gross if I want.”
“The dinners weren’t like that, not dates or any-thing. It was really late both times, and he only asked me to be nice.”
“Yeah, right.”
Laura stayed on the phone a few more minutes, getting updated on all the family news. Shortly after she and Aileen hung up, the phone rang again, and it was her parents. Laura fielded questions from her mother. Was she taking all her pills? Yes, Mom. Had she noticed a difference since she’d started taking the seaweed tablets? No, Mom. Laura was relieved when her father finally came on the line. Mike Townsend was much more down-to-earth than his wife.