neighbor passed by, walking her dog. The little thing peed on the edge of Randi’s fertilized grass.
Maybe she needed a fence.
Yeah.
Looking around the perimeter of her front yard, noticing how it ran right off to the sidewalk without so much as a by-your-leave, she nodded. That was it. When she was growing up, she’d always had this image of a home with a picket fence. Probably got it from watching too many reruns of The Donna Reed Show or Leave It to Beaver.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Randi slid off her boulder and went back inside. Thank goodness that was settled. She probably didn’t have time this break to install a fence, which was fine with her; she could go to Phoenix and play as good a round of golf as she was still capable of playing.
But come spring break, she’d get this done.
All her life needed was a white picket fence.
HE’D MADE IT through New Year’s. Zack Foster heated up a frozen dinner Tuesday night, feeling rather proud of himself. He’d taken a dose of his own medicine—let the animals he cared for ease him into the barren new year. Pet therapy.
He’d spent New Year’s Eve with the boarders at the veterinary clinic, giving his employees the night off to be with family and friends. He’d walked the dogs, scratched the cats’ ears, thrown balls and given treats, filled bowls and water bottles, and graciously accepted his due of kisses and purrs.
Whistling as he pulled the foil off his steaming lasagna, he reflected on the previous day, pleased to know, firsthand, that the program he’d dedicated a good portion of his career to really worked. Animals, simply through their unconditional—and sometimes unsolicited—affection, could ease the burdens of human beings.
New Year’s Day, he’d been on duty, taking the emergency cases at the clinic—a dog hit by a car, a bird with a broken wing, a cat with a bleeding paw—so that his partner, Cassie Tate, could go to Phoenix with her parents and two youngest sisters to spend the day with her uncle and his family.
Yes, he’d done well. Was damn proud of himself. As a matter of fact, now that he’d made it through the last of the holidays, he deserved a beer.
A bit of tomato sauce dripped from the foil he’d removed from his dinner and plopped on the ceramic tile of his kitchen floor. Ignoring it, Zack deposited the foil in the trash and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.
By the time he’d opened the bottle, the floor was clean. Thanks to Sammie, his canine garbage disposal.
“Good girl, Sam,” Zack praised the Sheltie. Sam wagged her tail, turned a circle and barked. Hearing her, Bear, his fifteen-year-old poodle-Pomeranian mix, trudged out to the kitchen to see what he’d missed. His chocolate-colored body seemed to move more slowly every day.
“Here you go, boy,” he said, dropping a bite of lasagna on the floor beneath Bear’s nose. And then, while the dog lapped heartily, he asked, “How’s that new arthritis medicine working?”
Bear licked his chops and, staring up at Zack, lay down right where he was.
“You’re all right, Bear, my man,” Zack said, testing the lasagna himself. “You’ve got a healthy heart, and we’ll find something that makes those bones of yours more willing to serve you.”
He took a swig of beer. And another. He’d had Bear since he was in high school. Didn’t look forward to the day when his pal would no longer be lying at his feet, silent but loyal company.
Lasagna long gone, kitchen cleaned and three beer bottles emptied, Zack took his fourth bottle out back to his patio and the seven-foot deep pool in his backyard. Sammie trotted at his heels, her mouth open in the smile she wore much of the time. Bear followed more slowly.
Flipping the switch beside the pump, Zack turned on the lights by the pool. The pool was heated; he could get in if he wanted to. But he didn’t feel much like swimming. After a long couple of weeks at the clinic, he really just wanted to sit.
Zack lounged in one of the two chaise longues that had been just about his only furniture for the first six months he’d owned this house. He didn’t move, except to retrieve another beer—and then the entire twelve-pack to save himself another trip in. Stars were out; he could look for the big dipper.
“It’s not you, Zack, it’s me….”
Dawn’s pretty face swam before his eyes, her intelligent compassionate voice ringing in his ears.
Zack shook his head, blinked until the lighted water in front of him came back into focus.
He didn’t need to relive it all again. He’d been over everything so many times it was mush. There was no point in revisiting any of this—ever. He’d looked at the breakup of his marriage from angles that mathematicians didn’t even know existed.
And the facts never changed.
It was why he’d come to Shelter Valley. To forget Dawn. To get away from the constant memories.
And because he’d been intrigued by Cassie’s offer of a partnership. Her timing had been impeccable.
He took another swig of beer. All he wanted was to relax. Maybe fall asleep out here, where the night air would keep him cool, where there were no walls to close him in.
The house he and Dawn had owned in Phoenix was spacious, full of windows. Sammie and Bear had had a huge backyard filled with luscious grass and their own doggie door to let themselves in and out. Dawn had insisted on that for the summer months, when it was too hot to leave them outside all day while they were both at work. She’d sure loved the dogs.
Maybe they should’ve had children. She’d said she wasn’t ready. And Lord knew Zack had his plate full, as well, working in one of the largest veterinary clinics in the city. But maybe if she’d had children at home…
Zack shook his head again, then took another swig of beer.
And he remembered…
“ZACK, WE NEED TO TALK.”
He came more fully into the bedroom, watching as Dawn zipped up the back of her chic navy-blue dress. He thought of offering to help, but knew that if he did, neither one of them would get to work on time.
“What’s up?” he asked her. She’d been out late the night before, another dinner meeting. Dawn was an advertising executive and often worked late in the evenings.
“I just need to talk to you about something.”
“Can it wait until tonight?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb even though he really needed to leave if he was going to make his eight-o’clock appointment to spay Mrs. Andrews’s new beagle. But he was enjoying the view, watching as Dawn put on her earrings, clasped her watch around her wrist. Applied lip liner and then lipstick. She was one of the most feminine women he’d ever met, and after living almost thirty years with his own large athletic body, he was fascinated by the contrast between the two of them.
He’d had lovers before Dawn, feminine women who complemented his masculinity, but none of them had captivated him as much as she had.
He tried to meet her eyes in the mirror over her dresser, but she was obviously preoccupied.
She turned to face him and Zack straightened as she finally met his eyes. “No, it can’t wait,” she said. Her tone was serious. “I promised myself I’d do this now, and if I don’t, I’m not sure when I will.”
This didn’t sound like a dinner engagement she’d forgotten to mention. Something was wrong. His muscles tensed as he waited.
He’d never known Dawn to have problems talking to him before.
“I want a divorce.”
He fell back a step as the words hit him, but they didn’t really register.
“What?”
“I