Linda Miller - Christmas In Mustang Creek

Her smile was back on high beam. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a veterinarian. I swear, sometimes I don’t think my memory is any better than Geneva’s, bless her heart. You’ll want to watch out for Can-Can—the cat—because she finds men irresistible and likes to lounge on the window seat in your room in the morning. It’s the eastern exposure, you know.”

His room. Right.

Until Charlotte came home.

“Naturally, Mutley will adore you,” the lady prattled on. “He’s a sweet soul, like most dogs. Still, enough can be enough, and if you forget to close your door at night, you might find him in bed with you. Can-Can, too.” Before Jax could wedge in a comment—he was still playing along, humoring the old woman—she continued. The merriment was gone, and she looked just plain sad. “They miss Geneva. And so do I.”

Jax opened his mouth to say something kind—he hadn’t decided what—but he missed his chance.

Millicent had brightened again. “Come to think of it,” she said, “Mutley could use a walk. Would you mind once you’ve got a minute? I worry about icy sidewalks at my age.”

Jax replied that he’d be glad to walk the dog. He looked down at their furry escort and smiled.

Mrs. Klozz stopped in front of a door and opened it, gesturing for Jax to step inside. The early riser’s bedroom, he assumed.

He went in. The room was big, the floor hardwood, and instead of the flowery wallpaper he might have expected in a house inhabited by women, there was just paint. No frilly curtains at the bay window, either, and the cushions on the built-in seat underneath were plain, too. The bed was antique, a brass four-poster, covered with a colorful homemade quilt. An old hope chest sat at the foot, and he saw a sturdy desk and chair on the far side of the room.

Jax could imagine living here, sleeping in this room, working at the desk, surveying the snowy landscape from the window seat.

This game, he thought, was getting out of hand. Charlotte would never agree to Millicent Klozz’s plan.

But he found himself wishing she would.

Once again Millicent seemed to be reading his mind. “Don’t you worry about a thing, young man,” she said quietly. “Charlotte is a sensible woman, and she will see reason.” A confident sigh followed. “She’ll be gone a while longer, though, handing out cookies and catching up with Geneva. In the meantime, would you mind taking Mutley out for that walk?”

Jax, still bewitched and bewildered, was grateful for the distraction. “No,” he said. “Not at all.”

They went downstairs, closely followed by Mutley. He was aging—at least ten, Jax figured—and obviously going deaf. The name suited him, since he was of no discernible breed. Millicent produced a leash, attaching it deftly to the dog’s collar.

“When you get back,” Millicent said, “you can have a look at that bathroom door.”

“Er—right.”

“Wonderful!” Millicent trilled. “Now, I have something in the oven, so please excuse me. I don’t want it to burn. It’s for the church bake sale.”

Mutley was waiting eagerly, tail sweeping back and forth.

Jax smiled and bent to ruffle the dog’s ears. “I guess we’re out of here,” he said.

Mutley all but dragged Jax to the front door. There was some terrier in the little guy, he decided. Maybe some spaniel. Could be some border collie in there, too. He was probably too small to be part Airedale...

Jax was like that. He analyzed.

By then, Mutley was definitely ready to roll; he was high-jumping at the door.

“Whoa, slow down,” Jax said with a grin. Good thing he’d never gotten around to taking off his coat. “The great out of doors isn’t going anywhere, buddy.”

It was snowing again, not blizzard-style like last night, but in fat, showy flakes, drifting lazily from a heavy sky.

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