Jennifer Greene - Wild in the Field

But now she took one last look at the mirror and jerked off the bed, away from that image. Killer and Miss Priss perked up, looking at her with alarm now.

“Breakfast is already in the kitchen, all cooled down. Killer, you know how to push open the screen door, and Miss Priss, you know where the litter box is. Quit giving me those guilty looks. Everything isn’t about you two. I have to be gone a few hours, that’s all.”

She pulled on clothes, grabbed a purse, and then hightailed it out to the car. Unfortunately, because she’d charged off so fast and impulsively, she reached town before businesses opened. Maybe that was just as well, because it gave her a few minutes to plot and plan.

At nine on the button, though, lights punched on and locks clicked open. By then Camille was primed. She hit a styling salon first, unsure if they’d take her without an appointment, but both stylists took one look and dragged her in. New Englanders, being practical by nature, tended to take people as they were. They regarded her as someone in desperate need of a massive overhaul.

Two hours later she left that shop, and started for the clothing stores and boutiques with her credit card in hand. By then, her heart was thumping like an alarm clock under water, a loud thud thud thud that she couldn’t ignore. She was well aware she didn’t have an immediate way to pay for all this-except with savings she could ill afford, while she was still out of work. But sometimes a woman had to invest in her future.

She’d failed to do that before, she realized.

She had one more stop to make before driving to Pete’s house, and it was something that had to be well thought out and couldn’t be rushed. Then, all her clothes and purchases had to be stashed in the trunk to make room for the ninety-pound present parked in the back seat. It wasn’t a present she would have chosen for just anyone. In fact, it wasn’t a present she’d normally give to her worst enemy. But these were unique circumstances.

As she drove the final mile to Pete’s house, she had to swallow every few seconds because her throat kept drying up. It wasn’t that easy to build up her courage. She kept thinking of all the messages he’d given her that she’d been too self-centered to hear. He thought she’d only wanted him for sex. He had no idea how much she valued him-no idea what she felt for him at all.

Now-when it was obvious, and could be too late-she realized that’s what a man would think whose ex-wife had cheated on him.

It’s not that she’d only cared about herself. From the start, she’d worried herself sick about his sons-especially that they were having a hard time trusting a woman because of their mother’s behavior. But somehow she’d failed to include Pete in that worry. He was so damned strong that it was hard to think of him as vulnerable, but he was the one who assumed a woman would walk on him, not be there for him. Not stay.

When she pulled into his driveway, she’d gotten over the first case of hiccups, but there was no one in sight. Naturally, fresh after lunch, everyone was likely to be outside doing something. Since the far barn doors were gaping open, she suspected at least someone was close by.

Hopefully, Pete. Please, let it be Pete and let it not be too late.

She climbed out of the car and then slowly, carefully opened up the back door. The bloodhound stretched out took almost the entire back seat. She was young. Barely two years. And although she opened her sad, mournful eyes when Camille bent down in front of her, she showed no inclination to budge.

“Hey, Camille!” Simon, loping out of the far barn, suddenly spotted her and came galloping over. Then stopped dead. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What happened to you?”

“Um…”

Simon had always been the more sensitive twin. Immediately he looked stricken that he might have hurt her feelings. “Look, Cam. Don’t be feeling bad. It’ll grow. You won’t always look like this. It’ll be okay.” Tentatively he patted her on the back. “Really, I know how you feel. That first haircut Dad makes us get before going back to school-it’s always a killer. You feel like a complete dork. Not that you look like a dork,” he said swiftly, reassuringly. “I’m just saying- I can still tell that it’s really you.”

“Um…”

“And look. Just because you look like a woman and all…that’s not the worst thing, you know? I mean, you could have leprosy. You could have mange. Think about it. Looking like a woman isn’t the worst thing.”

She touched two fingers to her temples. Possibly this was proof that her transformation had been successful, but conversations like this with the boys still tended to leave her speechless. “Um-”

Simon suddenly noticed the open car door and chanced to glance in. “Holy cow. Who’s that?”

She took a breath. “Where’s your dad?”

“He and Sean are at this horse place that sells Morgans. They’ll be back before dinner. And Gramps is in town, because this is the afternoon he has his blood pressure checked.”

“Okay.” Sometimes even desperate plans took some rolling readjustments. If she couldn’t immediately see Pete, she had to do something. Perhaps she’d start with taking Simon into her confidence a bit. “This is Hortense, Simon. She’s depressed.”

“Yow. I can see that.”

“Well, actually, I think all bloodhounds look depressed. But this one really is. She lost her owner about a month ago-Jerry Abrahams, you know, the cop? He adored her. She adored him. And she just can’t seem to stop grieving. Can’t seem to get her life together. Can’t seem to find the get-up-and-go to, um, get out of the back seat.”

“Yeah?” Simon reached in, and petted the dog’s floppy ears. Hortense opened her eyes and let out a gusty, soulful sigh, but didn’t move. “She is so cool.”

“I think your dad needs this dog.”

“Huh?” Simon’s jaw dropped, but then he stood up and looked at her. “Oh, I get it. Revenge.”

“No, no. I’d never put an innocent animal between me and revenge,” she assured him. “This is an honest thing. I was at the vet’s a couple days ago to get Miss Priss her shots. That’s how I heard about Hortense. But it was late this morning when I called the vet again and was thinking of your dad. The thing is, this dog is running out of chances. She’s losing strength, losing heart. Either she finds someone to help her get over her grief, or she just might not make it. And your dad, Simon… Maybe no one in the universe is better at helping someone like that than your dad.”

Simon stuck his hands in his jeans pocket. “That’s a lot of horse manure,” he said admiringly. “You’re really gonna stick my dad with that dog?”

“I am. With your help. I’d like to get her inside, where it’s cool, and get her a bowl of water.”

“Sure.”

She gulped. “Maybe this was impulsive. But I think it’s a good idea. To be honest, I thought it was a great idea. But I’ll listen to you, Simon. If you and Sean think I’m out of my mind…”

Simon quickly shook his head. “No, no. Hey, Cam, I’m totally on your side. So will Sean be. This is the coolest idea on the planet. He’s going to love Hortense. And so are we. And we’ll all help get her heart back, you know? God. Sean’s going to be over the moon. You can’t imagine how happy this is going to make him. And Dad…”

“On your dad,” she interrupted carefully, “if he has any problem with this, you can tell him to bring me back the dog. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind leaving a message for me…tell him I’ll be having dinner around seven. He doesn’t have to come. But just tell him that I’ll set an extra plate if he wants to talk.”