Kathleen Y'Barbo - Daddy's Little Matchmakers

“Stop right there!” Amy called as she turned off the engine and fumbled for the door handle. “Do not follow that dog into the street!”

Throwing open the door, Amy jumped out and looked both ways across the empty street. Then she hurried to head off the oncoming parade of fair-haired children by snagging the dog’s collar and guiding him back onto the lawn.

“Hand me the leash, please,” she said to the eldest of the trio.

The child complied while her sisters waited at the edge of the driveway. Only after she had the animal safely corralled did Amy consider that the pup might not have taken kindly to her intervention.

After giving the dog a pat on the head, Amy glanced over at the girls who stood very still on the edge of the driveway. The little one, a vision of cuteness in some sort of princess garb complete with tiara, fidgeted with her ponytail while the middle child, Amy now noticed, held pen and paper and wore yet another outfit—this time shorts and a top—covered in flowers.

The side door opened and a familiar-looking woman with spiky silver-colored hair peered out. Apparently Susan Wilson was fine.

“Girls, where are you?” she called

“Over here, Grammy,” the little princess called. “With the lady who caught Skipper.”

“The lady who…” She met Amy’s stare. “Oh, my goodness. What is that dog doing out in the front yard?”

Amy smiled at the trim figure in white capri pants, sandals and a pale blue button-down shirt heading their way. “He was running toward the street with the girls close behind.” She offered the dog’s leash to the older woman. “I’m Amy,” she said. “Amy Spencer. I work at the Gazette.”

The grandmother gave Dr. Wilson’s girls a look of relief before she turned her attention to Amy. “Pleased to meet you, Amy Spencer. I’m Susan Wilson and these are my granddaughters. This one’s Ella. She’ll be ten soon. Then comes eight-year-old Hailey.”

“Hello, Ella and Hailey,” Amy said when the eldest girl reached to shake her hand. Hailey offered a smile but made no move forward.

“And last but certainly not least,” the vet’s mother said, “this is Brooke. She just turned five and will start big-girl school in the fall.” The little one rolled her eyes and tugged on her shorts. Apparently big-girl school was a sore subject for the youngest Wilson girl. “Say hello, Brooke,” Mrs. Wilson urged.

The little one met Amy’s gaze and grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Hello,” she said before ducking behind her grandmother. Amy returned the greeting when the girl peered out from under the older lady’s arm.

“And of course, you’ve met Skipper.” Susan Wilson’s brown eyes twinkled. “I’d say the Lord had you in just the right spot this afternoon. Thank you for saving Skipper and the girls from what might have been a whole lot of trouble.”

“You’re welcome,” Amy said quickly. “I’m glad I could help.”

Behind her, the girls wore stricken looks. Obviously their grandmother had no idea a whole lot of trouble had already occurred.

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be standing in our driveway? I thought the girls had just phoned you to—” A car sped past and the dog made to follow. “Oh, no, you don’t.” When the car had safely disappeared around the corner, Mrs. Wilson turned the leash over to the eldest of the girls. “Ella, go on and take Skipper back inside the fence. Don’t let him in the house just yet, though. I haven’t finished cleaning up the remains of that platter he knocked off the counter.”

“So that was what caused the crash I heard.”

Mrs. Wilson returned her attention to Amy as the girls reluctantly hauled the Springer Spaniel back up the driveway. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh.” Amy tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I was on the phone with the girls and I heard an awful noise that sounded like breaking glass. Of course, when I couldn’t get an answer on the phone, I hurried over to check. You see, my grandmother fell a few months ago and…” She paused.

Had she said too much? Perhaps insinuated that Mrs. Wilson wasn’t properly looking after her granddaughters?

The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and appeared to be considering something. Her smile settled Amy’s concerns. “It takes a special person to find that level of concern for children.” A pause. “And for me. I do appreciate what you’ve done today.”

“I feel a little silly,” Amy said. “And I’m terribly sorry for assuming.”

“Don’t you dare.” The older woman waved away her concerns then winked. “So, did the girls manage to place the ad before the chaos began?” When Amy told her no, Mrs. Wilson’s grin reappeared. “Come on inside and let me get my purse.”

“Mrs. Wilson,” Amy said carefully, “you do understand the girls were—”

“Playing matchmaker for their daddy?” Her smile broadened. “Yes, of course, dear. Who do you think dialed the phone for them? Now won’t you come in and let me offer you some sweet tea and a slice of pie while I write a check for whatever this ad’s going to cost?”

Chapter Three

Amy shifted her purse off her shoulder then opened it to stuff her sunglasses inside. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

Bev swiveled around in her chair to give Amy her full attention. “Other than the earth-shattering news that the Vine Beach Washateria will be slashing their prices on the Sit and Spin special? No, nothing.”

“Wow,” Amy said with a half grin. “I’m going to miss working where the big news happens.”

Shrugging, Bev pressed her glasses up a notch. “So, the classifieds emergency. How’d it turn out? Everything okay with the lady who wouldn’t answer her phone?”

Amy groaned. “Turned out there was no emergency, after all. It was a misunderstanding. Though I did meet three adorable little girls and their grandmother. Oh, and their Springer Spaniel named Skipper. Whom I saved from running headlong into Elm Street. The girls had a little help in dialing the phone, and were calling to put an ad in the paper for a wife for their father. Not a girlfriend. Their father isn’t interested in one of those. Their grandmother Susan thinks he’s afraid to move on after his wife’s death. So she paid for the ad, which will run in the next edition. I’m going to email her the receipt.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she turned toward her cubicle. “All right, then. Back to the classifieds I go to watch the phone not ring.”

“No, you don’t.” Bev followed Amy into her office and leaned against the door frame. In one hand she held a legal pad, and in the other, a pen. “You can’t just leave me like that. I’m a reporter and this sounds like quite a story. Spill it, girl.”

“Spill what?” Amy settled back into her chair.

“The dad. What’s his name?”

Amy stowed her purse in the bottom drawer. “Dr. Eric Wilson.”

“That yummy new vet?” She scribbled another note. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Yes, that’s the guy.”

“Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

So she did, starting with the phone call and ending with the conversation she had over iced tea and peach pie with Susan Wilson, or “Grammy” as the girls called her. She did, however, skip the part where she’d spent a few minutes speaking to the vet in the park during her lunch hour. That, Amy decided, was off the record and definitely not pertinent to the story.

“I did get ad copy while I was there, but I’ll work longer this evening to make up for the time I was gone,” she added.

Bev waved away her statement. “You might not have realized it, but you were working, Amy. Even when you weren’t getting ad copy.”