not playing at all,” he muttered. “There’s the problem.” Rumor was a gossipy little town, and there was not one speck of gossip about Val and men, not old gossip, not new gossip. He’d wondered if her sexual preferences were with her own gender, but there wasn’t any gossip about that, either. No, she was heterosexual, strikingly beautiful even if she did very little to enhance her looks, and simply didn’t like him. She might be the one woman in his personal history who had truly gotten under his skin, but it was damn obvious that he hadn’t gotten under hers.
Wasn’t it time he called it quits? He’d had enough of Val’s polite disregard of his very existence. There certainly was no shortage of available women in the area, and spinning his wheels over one who couldn’t care less was utter nonsense. With that decision made, he told himself he already felt better.
But obviously he’d been driving on automatic pilot—his mind a million miles away—because he was long past The Getaway, a spa on the outskirts of town, before he realized that he’d left Rumor and Joe’s Bar in the dust. Fine, he thought. He didn’t want to drop into Joe’s, anyway. Making a U-turn, he drove back down Main to Kingsley Avenue and swung a right.
He was going home, and the whole damn town would be old and gray before he turned himself inside out to get Val Fairchild’s attention again.
Weatherwise, it was an incredible November. One perfect day rolled into another and another, each with brilliant sunshine and air so clear that whenever Val looked off into the distance, she felt the lovely, if unrealistic, sensation of limitless vision.
Bright, flaming colors had replaced the dark greens of the trees and bushes, and the unique smell of fall seemed to permeate Val’s every cell. The residents of Rumor, Montana, had been enjoying the pleasures of a storybook, picture-perfect Indian summer for more than two months now.
People Val knew kept saying it wouldn’t last, but they had started saying that in September and had repeated it almost constantly throughout October. Val took it a day at a time. It couldn’t last forever and no one with a lick of good sense really wanted it to. Last winter’s drought had been the underlying cause of the summer’s awful forest fire starting on Logan’s Hill, and locals shuddered whenever someone mentioned that terrifying ordeal.
It was behind them now, but the barren, blackened hill, once so green and vibrant, was a strong reminder of the critical importance of a wet winter. It was really just a matter of time, people said with a nervous glance after praising the glorious weather of the day, as if to appease any bad-luck spirits that might be hovering in the immediate vicinity. After all, the long-range weather forecasters had predicted a hard winter, hadn’t they? One of these mornings, someone would always say, the town would wake up to snow, or at least to a drenching rainfall.
It was neither snowing nor raining when Val awoke the morning of November 4; sunshine peeked through the slats of the vertical blinds at her bedroom windows, creating long, thin lines on the far wall. She opened her eyes and lay there thinking. Today was Election Day and she was going to vote if it killed her.
It wouldn’t, of course, no more than her being part of Jinni’s wedding had. Other than that one fleeting weak spell, she had come through it like a trooper. Still, she hadn’t been really active since she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The whole thing had been a physically and emotionally draining ordeal, from the initial diagnosis to the day she’d heard her oncologist say, “There is no longer any sign of cancer, Valerie.”
She had been trying very hard to believe it was true, trying almost desperately to trust in her doctor’s prognosis, but she could not completely rid herself of doubt, fear and worry that it could come back. Every so often anxiety grabbed her in a viselike grip and wouldn’t let go, sometimes for days. She hated when that happened, but she hadn’t yet figured out a way to prevent the depressing occurrences. It was Jinni’s opinion that Val’s fear was a normal part of the healing process and would vanish in time. Val hoped so.
Lazily lying there, she found her thoughts drifting from her health concerns to the wonderful time Jinni and Max were undoubtedly having on their honeymoon, and then—for some unknown reason—to her parents. The Fairchilds hadn’t been terrible parents, merely uninterested and self-absorbed. Wealthy and generous, they had sent their daughters to the best schools in the country, when neither had wanted to leave home.
It was one of the topics she and Jinni had discussed at great length. They’d finally decided that their parents, now deceased, had loved them in their own way; it simply wasn’t the way kids needed to be loved.
“It’s what turned you into an animal doc,” Jinni had said matter-of-factly. “Pets love unconditionally. Neither of us got that from Mother and Dad.”
“You could be right, but it didn’t turn you into an animal doc,” Val had wryly pointed out. She could have explained—or tried to explain—that veterinary school was the aftermath of the nightmarish episode that had nearly destroyed her at age twenty-two, followed by long-term psychiatric counseling. Working with animals, which she had always loved, had been her escape, Val had later realized. Her primary therapist had recognized that and pushed to get her headed in a productive direction. Veterinary school had given her a goal, a reason to go on, a nudge back to normalcy.
It had only worked to a certain point, however. Val saw herself as a divided personality now, with one part hiding behind the other. Her strong side could make friends with undemanding people—folks like Jim and Estelle—run her business, lovingly care for sick animals and put up a darn good front for anyone curious enough to wonder what made Dr. Fairchild tick. There really was only one person in Rumor with any genuine—or maybe unnatural—curiosity about her, Val knew, and there was no way she was going to let Reed Kingsley get close enough to penetrate her facade of strength and get to her soft, vulnerable underbelly.
What she had to keep asking herself was why would a man who seemed to have it all bother with a woman like her? Had she ever given him more than a remote, polite smile? Or any reason to think she might be an easy mark? Never! He had to be flawed in some invisible way, which was one more reason to keep a safe distance between them. One of these days her disdain for his unwanted attentions would sink in. What in God’s name had he thought she would do when he’d asked her at the church if she was going straight home—simper over the possibility of spending the rest of the evening with him? Maybe the rest of the night? What a jerk!
Snorting disgustedly, suddenly tired of dissecting life in general and herself specifically, she threw back the covers, got up and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a bright yellow cotton sweater, she walked into the kitchen and smiled at Estelle, who had arrived while Val was in the bathroom.
“Good morning. That coffee smells wonderful.”
“I brought some homemade coffee cake for your breakfast. You’re getting too skinny,” Estelle said.
Val stuck her forefinger into the waistband of her jeans and pulled it away from her body. There was about a two-inch gap. “These used to be tight,” she said.
“Well, you’re not eating enough. Sit down and I’ll fix you some eggs to go with that coffee cake.”
Val let her. Sometimes she liked being fussed over, and Estelle was a natural-born mother, certainly one of the kindest women Val had ever met. It had been a lucky day, indeed, when Jim and Estelle Worth had knocked on her door with a copy of the Rumor Mill, in which Val had placed a help-wanted ad.
Holding her cup of coffee in both hands, with her elbows on the table, Val asked, “Did you ride in with Jim today, or did
