Coming Back Home

Apparently, it was okay for her to start the conversation though. I heard the window power down. "You're Will, right?"

I turned back to the car. "Yep."

"I'm Avery. I'm working over at Bothwell."

"I'm glad to hear that." I wondered if she remembered our previous conversation and realized I was feeding her own line back to her.

"Ice?" she asked, nodding toward what I was doing.

"Yep." I wasn't holding up my end of the conversation, but I was up on a ladder trying to do some work. Being talked at from a car window directly behind me so that I had to contort wasn't exactly making my day.

She was quiet for a few seconds, but it didn't last. "Madison says you have a border collie, but you don't keep it in your house. You leave it at a neighbor's. Pretty high-energy dogs. A lot of people find them more trouble than they bargained for when they get them."

Since I didn't know her, I suppose she could have meant that as commiseration or, at least, understanding. I could hear the tone, however, and figured what she was really saying was, "Great! Another moron who got a dog and then couldn't be bothered to take care of it."

"Yes, she's got a ton of energy," I said with a thin smile.

She gave a little noncommittal nod. I read it as, "Yep, that's what I thought: a moron."

"And I saw your neighbor out in his yard. He's getting on a bit."

At that point, I could have simply told her why Lucy was at Doug's. But truthfully, I'd found her brush-off the other day about an inch short of rude. Plus, opening a conversation with thinly veiled accusations about how I took care of my dog didn't sit well. I had developed a low tolerance for presumption.

"Doug's fine. You don't need to worry about it."

I turned back to what I was doing, but she wasn't done yet. "Town shelters are bad for dogs, but there are rescue places I know. There's one up in Morris, New York that specializes in border collies."

I bit my tongue before I told her to get fucked. "Thank you"—my tone said otherwise—"but I don't need a rescue place."

"Why'd you take Madison in? I mean, it's a nice thing to do, but what prompted it?"

The sudden segue caught me off-guard. I gave her the same answer I gave Madison, this time barely looking over my shoulder. "Doesn't cost me anything to be helpful."

"Is that the kind of thing you do often?"

Sighing, I stepped down off the ladder and walked over to the car. "If there's something you want to say, Avery, why don't you just say it?"

She didn't back down. "I'm just wondering about a man your age taking in a woman that age who's vulnerable because of her situation. No offense. You understand, I'm sure."

Oh, I understood the insinuation perfectly. But at the same time, the surge of offense—because, yeah, there was one—didn't stop me from seeing how it might look if you were doing the looking from outside. And there was a momentary flash of feeling like a hypocrite.

Just two days ago, Will, didn't you get angry that no one ever asked? Everyone deserves at least one chance, even this annoying woman.

"She needed help, and that's what I'm giving. As I said, it costs me nothing, and I don't expect anything in return. If she finds it too uncomfortable, she knows she can leave."

"But you don't have a wife here, right? Madison said you lived alone."

My back stiffened automatically. She was new in town; I knew everybody, so I knew that. How new?

"Is there some reason you bring that up?"

Instead of answering my question, she doubled down. "Look, I can't take her because I'm staying in my uncle's spare bedroom temporarily. But maybe I could talk to Carrie about—"

I had reached my limit. I think it was the mention of Carrie that did it. If she had bothered to talk to Carrie ... someone who actually knew me ... before deciding I was a pervert, this conversation would have been very different. Or maybe it wouldn't have based on what I could tell of her. I interrupted her.

"Did Madison complain about me in any way whatsoever?"

"No, but—"

I interrupted again.

"Then, Avery, that's three."

"What?" Blank incomprehension.

"Three strikes. You were borderline rude when I tried to make some polite conversation two days ago. Two minutes ago, you were insulting about my dog. Now, you're implying something even worse about my helping Madison. So, Avery?"

"What?"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." I ignored the shock on her face, turned, and went back into the house. The gutter could wait.

I passed Madison bounding down the stairs. She saw the look on my face and pulled to a stop. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head. Digging in my pocket, I pulled out my key ring and extracted the house key. I handed it to her. "There. So you can get out if you feel the need to." I stepped around her, ignoring the wide-eyed look, and went upstairs to change into something that wasn't dirty.

When Madison came home later that evening, she was quiet. About halfway through dinner, she decided it was time to talk about it. Apparently, just not talking about something was a foreign concept to her. "Avery told me you got pretty angry at her."

"Did she tell you why?"

"She said you thought she was rude and insulting."

"Well, I guess she isn't also stupid."

She sat there as if trying to make up her mind whether to continue. "I told her that she was wrong about you letting me stay. I didn't go into details, but I said I was certain you weren't looking to hook up with me."

I shrugged.

"The thing in the stable that first time you saw her I ... well, don't get angry at me, but I kind of understand where she was coming from. Girls get tired of being hit on."

"I wasn't hitting on her."

"She didn't know that. When a strange guy starts talking to you out of the blue, he's hitting on you, like, ninety-nine percent of the time."

I thought about that. "I'm pretty sure I disagree but fair enough. That wasn't really what made me angry."

She nodded. She understood it wasn't. It had been the other things. After a moment, she changed direction. "Why doesn't Lucy stay here? You never told me."

"Doug has some political views that are a little unpopular around this neck of the woods, and he's not shy about them. A couple of months ago, a bunch of kids drove over his lawn and threw a rock with an unpleasant note wrapped around it through one of his windows. It upset him and he was worried they'd do something more next time."

I took my plate over to the sink to rinse. "I think he's worrying for nothing. I'm pretty sure I know who at least some of them were, and it's a good bet they were drunk off their asses when they did it. The next day they were probably terrified of a visit from the police ... and I mentioned in a couple of ears that that's exactly what would happen if the situation ever occurred again.

"But Doug's over seventy and getting hard of hearing. I can't really blame him for being nervous. Anyway, Lucy's got a hair-trigger when it comes to barking at any stranger who comes in the yard. She goes nuts. And she gets along with Doug well. So, I loaned her as a watchdog. He feels safer. If he's still worried in the spring, I figure I'll get him a dog of his own."

"Oh."

"An explanation I could've given Avery if she asked why instead of assuming I was too lazy to take care of a dog."

She looked uncomfortable. I guess she was starting to see Avery as a friend.

Whatever.

Friday brought a knock on my front door. Glancing out the window, I saw Avery's Subaru. I was surprised: it was a bit earlier than Madison finished, and besides, she had a key now.

"I owe you an apology," Avery said by way of greeting. Madison was nowhere in sight.

"For what?"

She looked confused as if it should be obvious, so I clarified my question. "For which thing, specifically, do you think you owe me an apology?"

It was clear that my blunt question disconcerted her. I guess she was expecting "Never mind. It wasn't important" or some such social axle grease. A year ago, maybe. Now, not so much.

"Well, I definitely owe you an apology for what I suggested about you and your dog. I shouldn't have done that. About the only excuse I can offer is that as a vet, even a large-animal vet, I see far too much of it, and I'm tired of dogs ending up in shelters. But that's not really a good reason and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." I wasn't a total asshole, and just because I wasn't willing to take crap from someone, it didn't mean I couldn't be gracious about an apology. I left it at that since, as far as I was concerned, she still had two strikes going. She must have realized that when I didn't say anything else.

"As for what you called the third strike, I can't quite apologize for that. Unlike with your dog—where I admit I assumed when I shouldn't have—I wasn't condemning you. But I don't think there's anything wrong with being proactive in looking out for a young woman in her situation. I'd already asked her a question or two, and her answers were kind of squirrelly. So, I wanted to form my own impression."

When I didn't say anything, she continued with an expression that said she wasn't finding this conversation as comfortable as she thought it would be. "You don't agree?"

"I don't like people making decisions about what type of person I am without any evidence, and"—I held up a hand to forestall her protest—"despite your revisionist history about not judging, your implication was crystal clear. You had already made up your mind enough to intervene."

Her eyebrows went up. "Look, I apologize if I came across as accusing. I wasn't trying to be. I'm just a very protective person, and I was trying to be ... forthright, I guess. I talked to her some more after you blew me off, and she's put my concerns to rest. Her answers are still squirrelly, but ... well ... despite her life for the last few months, she's still a little naïve and transparent. I have a fairly good guess as to why she's sure you aren't after her. And your reactions, despite the profanity, are reassuring."

"I'm so glad you approve of me."

"You're not going to give an inch on this, are you? Why?"

"We don't know each other well enough for that conversation, Avery."

"Are you still pissed that I didn't respond when you hit on me?"

"I didn't hit on you. I was being sociable."

She looked at me with disbelief. "I've been hit on like a million times in the month I've been here by everything in trousers. It's been non-stop. You're the exception?"

She must have seen my skepticism and looked a little embarrassed as she realized how arrogant that sounded. "No," she said. "I'm not saying I'm all that and a bag of chips." She flushed a little. "I mean ... I've seen prettier women even in this blip on the map. But my figure appears to attract a lot of attention, and the first thing you mentioned was how I looked."

I gave her a tight smile. "First of all, that's twisting what I said. I wasn't commenting on your appearance. I saw your bag and commented that you didn't look like Jim. You know, the normal vet. It was a joke. Lame, perhaps, but a joke.

"Second, I've never seen your figure. You've been wearing a knee-length down coat that's puffy as hell every time I've seen you. You're the Michelin Man from the knees up."

She glanced down and hesitated. Finally, I'd taken her off her stride. "I ... Actually ..." She paused, turning pink. "You have a point." She blew out a breath like a horse, then looked up and stuck out her hand.

"Hi. I'm Avery Liaci. I'm fairly new to town. I'm a large-animal vet. I make unfounded snap judgments about people more than I should. I occasionally say stupid things that sound like I'm more conceited than I really am. I understand that you're Will Dannreuther, and you're nice to strays but prickly as a cactus."

I studied the outstretched hand for a second. The truth was, I was a little lonely and the expression on her face was friendly. I balanced that against the irritation I still felt. The irritation would have won if good manners didn't factor into the equation. But I'd been raised to factor them.

Whatever.

I shook. "Will Dannreuther. I love my dog. I don't chase jailbait or anything close to it. I admit to showing interest in women at times but generally only after I know them a little and never by opening with a comment about their figure."

Her eyebrows went up, but her expression was considering rather than irritated. "Prickly as cactus indeed." She stepped back. "Nice to meet you. I have to go see a man about a horse—literally," she said with a crinkle of humor around her eyes, "but I hope to see you around."

"Where's Madison?"

"Someone else is giving her a ride today."

I considered her retreating form, but there wasn't much I could tell. I guessed the figure must be good given that, while she was reasonably attractive, it wasn't "everything-in-trousers" type of attractive. Seylerton had several prettier women, particularly the Frey gaggle.

About two hours later, a red pickup pulled into the driveway. I didn't recognize it, and the sun glinting on the windshield made it hard to see who was driving. After about five minutes, Madison got down out of the passenger side.

The same pickup made an appearance the next morning. With a quick, "Morning, Will. I'm having breakfast with some friends if that's okay," Madison grabbed her coat.

"Of course."

"After work, could I talk to you about something?"

"Also, of course."

She gave a smile and was out the door and gone.

I headed out around my usual time to get coffee and a pastry at the diner. "Ellen," I greeted the cashier as she gestured toward my favorite table.

"Thanks, Linda," I said to the waitress as a large coffee and a pecan Danish were set in front of me without my even asking. It was slow and Linda dropped down across from me to chat for a few. I liked all the staff here, but Linda was my favorite. After a few minutes, a group came in and she pushed herself up with her usual, "No rest for the wicked."

I looked over and saw it was a group of people I knew, and to my surprise, Madison was with them. She didn't notice me sitting in the corner, and I figured I'd spare her the awkwardness of me butting in.

I finished and rose to go. The movement caught Madison's eye. She said something quietly, and I knew she was uncertain if she should wave me over or not. I gave her a nod and a smile and headed for the register. As I turned to go out the door, I saw the others at the table had followed her gaze, and five pairs of eyes watched me leave.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked when she came home about an hour and a half later.

She nodded. "I didn't know whether you'd want to meet—"

"I've known most of them since they were born," I interrupted. "Alyssa is my distant cousin. Another cousin coached Drew and Ryan, and I know they work part-time at the stable. I didn't know the other girl, though."

"Brianna's from Mount Pleasant. She's Ryan's girlfriend." She hesitated and then said, "I have to get ready to work." She half-turned away, started to turn back, frowned, then dashed upstairs. Twenty minutes later, there was a toot from the driveway. Without the reflection this time, I could see Drew at the wheel.

Dinner was an odd affair. Madison was quiet and withdrawn, much like she'd been the first two days. Finally, I prompted, "This morning you said you wanted to talk about something?"

She looked surprised, then shook her head. "Never mind. It wasn't anything important."

"Ah." Something had happened during the day to change her mind. As if I couldn't guess. I just watched her with a neutral expression and waited.

She met my eyes, looked away, met them again. Finally, "When they found out who I was staying with ... well ... the others said you used to be married."

I nodded but didn't say anything else. This topic wasn't a shocker.

She hesitated, then blurted out, "They said that you two weren't getting along, so she moved to New York."

"They?"

"Well, Drew and Ryan. Alyssa didn't say anything and Brianna's not from here."

"Did they happen to mention specifics about how we supposedly weren't getting along?"

She squirmed and didn't answer. I felt the familiar flare of resentment.

"Let me guess. Someone told you that people think I hurt her? That she couldn't take being a punching bag, and when I finally almost choked her, she fled to New York to get away?"

She didn't respond, so I knew I was pretty close to the mark. I felt my face tighten as the flare turned into the anger I felt every time someone convicted me in absentia. I opened my mouth to tell her exactly how I felt ... and stopped, caught by what I saw.

She wasn't staring at me with disgust and loathing. I saw the eyes shift away so they weren't meeting mine, though they watched my legs from their corners. I took in the rounded shoulders, the hands clenched in her lap, her perch on the edge of her seat.

She was scared.

I couldn't blame her. Older men hadn't behaved well around her so far. She was probably wondering if I was the kind of guy that would be set off by asking me if I was the kind of guy who would be set off.

It took a long moment to stuff what I was feeling away, to throttle the adrenaline. I took it. Madison didn't know me. She wasn't the Whites or the Mackeys or the Thompsons or fill in the blank.

"Okay," I sighed after a moment. "It's not true."

She looked at me with uncertainty. Finally, in a quiet voice, she asked, "Why would they say it then?"

"Drew probably says it because he's heard his father say it. He and his father are close, so I don't particularly blame a kid for listening to his father. Ryan, maybe the same; I'm not sure."

She thought about that. "Okay, then why does Drew's father say it?"

"Because Drew's father is perfectly willing to believe any bad story about me, and this has become a game of Telephone where things get further and further from the truth with every telling."

She didn't say anything, just looked uncomfortable. I could tell she felt she was in over her head. At eighteen, who could blame her? On the other hand, I'd been dealing with this for a long time and was fed up with it. It wasn't her fault, but that didn't mean I was in the right frame of mind to go into history or detail. I didn't owe her anything.

"Madison, look. I've taken absolutely everything you've said and everything you've promised on faith even though, for all I know, you could be a scam artist hiding out from the cops. I'd like you to extend me the same courtesy. I never hit my wife, shoved her, choked her, or did anything else abusive to her, including emotional abuse. It's a bullshit story. I know about it. I know who started it, and I know why it was started. I'm not willing to go into it with you since we barely know each other, but it's bullshit.

"However, if you're too uncomfortable, I understand. We can call Carrie. Her house is small, but if I ask, I'm sure she'll let you stay on the cot at the stable for the few days until you have enough to catch a bus."

I was watching the news when Madison came into the den later. I muted the TV.

"Does Carrie know this story?"

"Yes. Everyone's heard it."

She perched on the edge of the other chair. "She didn't say anything to me."

"She doesn't believe it and isn't one to spread trash."

Madison went back to studying her hands. Finally, she said, "This morning, I said I wanted to talk to you about something." I waited. It was a long wait, but finally, she asked, "How soon do you want me out of your house?"

"To Carrie's? We can call her now if you want."

She was shaking her head before I finished the question. "No, how long is it okay I, like, stay here?"