Call it Fate Read online

  His weathered, tan face with pale blue eyes turned and landed on me, sharp as a hawk’s. He tipped his head. “Mornin’, lil’ lady. Hope you’re stocked up for the week. It’s gonna snow right good tonight.”

  John brought my coffee to me. “The weatherman’s just calling for an inch or two,” he commented to Hans.

  Hans pulled on a toothpick that was hanging out of his mouth. “Weatherman’s wrong.” He wiggled his long, knobby fingers. “My old bones ain’t.”

  “It’s a little late in the year for a big snowstorm, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Well now, I reckon Mother Nature don’t look at a calendar.”

  I frowned. I knew outsiders would scoff at what they’d call Appalachian superstitions and lore, but I’d learned that as crazy as some of them sounded, they weren’t always wrong, especially when it came to the weather. After all, folks had survived for centuries in these mountains without the benefit of modern science. So, if Hans’s bones predicted we were going to get a snowstorm, it was worth paying attention.

  That wasn’t good news for me. I hoped to plant extensive flower gardens and build a gazebo behind the main house to make a nicer view for the back bedrooms. If it snowed too much, it would be too muddy and would delay my plans, which would push me into late spring when business began picking up again.

  Over the past couple of years, I’d renovated one room at a time, bringing an elegance and warmth to the old home that it hadn’t seen in generations, possibly ever. Next in my plans was the backyard and the field behind The Dogtrot. I was too busy helping Mama manage The Dogtrot, raising my son, and now, apparently, planning an annual event. I also wanted to work on opening up for dinners on weekends, but I’d have to hire more help if I was going to add more hours to my schedule, and I wasn’t ready to do that.

  “Better get me a couple more pounds as well, John.”

  Hans winked at me. “Pretty and smart.” He raised his hand to John, tipped his hat to me, and left.

  As John brought me my bag of coffee beans, I created a shopping list in my head. Looked like my morning list just got even longer without any help from Beverly. I sighed, resigned that my day “off” wouldn’t be as much “off” as I wanted.

  Chapter 2

  Zach

  * * *

  “I appreciate this, Zach,” Doctor Edward Anders said as he shook my hand and practically pushed me toward the door, probably worried I’d change my mind. “I know this isn’t what you planned.”

  He said it like I had a choice. I should have known when he called early this morning and told me to bring Milo into work that something big was up. Too bad it wasn’t the military veteran’s charity drive I thought it would be about. “It’s no problem, really. I’m glad I can help out.”

  “I won’t forget it, and I promise it will be an excellent learning experience for you. You’ll get a strong feel for what it’s like to manage an office in addition to caring for a few large animals. I’m sure they’ll benefit from your expertise.”

  Yeah, right. “You bet, sir. I’ll do my best. You have my word.” After all, how hard could it be to take over a small-town practice?

  “Not to mention it’s a beautiful area.” His jaw twisted with his long exhale. “Part of me wishes I was the one going. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. Too long, maybe.”

  Yeah, well, you’re not the only one wishing for that.

  “I’ll have Cynthia arrange for a place to stay, on our dime, of course. There are usually several nice vacation homes there to rent because of all the things in the area to do. Fortunately, this time of year, there should still be something available. She’ll call you when she has the arrangements. Anything else you need, just let me know. I’ll let Wanda know you’re coming. I’m sure it will be a great relief to both her and Harold.”

  “That’s what really matters.” It’s not, I started to think, then paused. When did I get so cynical and selfish? It’s not Harold Claypool’s fault he had a stroke and needed time to recuperate. Yet somehow, his problem was now mine.

  “And don’t worry about Milo. He’s in great hands until you get settled. We’ll keep him here until your friend is able to pick him up for you.”

  Fuck. I’d been doing a good job of keeping a neutral—even a positive—outward expression despite my misgivings until he mentioned Milo.

  My dog sat at my feet, his tail swishing across the floor ever since he saw my truck keys in hand. I’d never seen a dog who loved to go on car rides as much as my crazy boxer. No matter the season, he’d stick his head out the window and let his ears and jowls flap in the wind. He’d come a long way from the frisky pup I’d first met, and now, he was my constant companion.

  I kneeled down and scratched between his perked ears. “This is really your fault, you know,” I mumbled as he licked my face.

  It was kind of true. Shortly after I’d adopted him, Milo got into some rat poison some idiot had left out on my college campus. Frantic, I’d rushed him, puking and pooping the entire way, to the emergency clinic. I watched helplessly as they flushed his system and fought to save his life. It had been touch and go, but the vet never gave up, treating both Milo and me with compassion as we waited.

  Milo was the only good thing I still had from my month with Emalee, the girl I thought I’d loved. The one person I thought loved me back just for me.

  In those long hours while I sat with Milo, waiting and praying for him to recover and not leave me, I remembered something she once observed—my love for animals. I told her about how, as a boy, I used to bring strays home, heartbroken when neither of my parents allowed me to keep them.

  In her gentle way, she reminded me my future was my choice, and nothing was preventing me to care for animals now. She questioned why I wasn’t studying to become a vet. At the time, it felt too late, not to mention how furious it would make my dad, and once she’d left, I hadn’t cared enough to make the change.

  Watching the vets work on Milo, that thought took root until it grew into something strong enough to pull me out of the funk I’d been in since she’d left me. It wouldn’t be hard to make the switch; I had the background classes I needed since the track I was originally on included med school plans. And I’d already aced entrance exams for graduate school. I’d long missed the deadline to apply for vet school, but there was no reason I couldn’t take a year off and apply for the following year.

  Fortunately, I was accepted and was able to follow my own dream of starting vet school at North Carolina State University, one of the best in the country.

  My father was livid when he learned I turned down my acceptance to Stanford for graduate school. He refused to pay for vet school, but if he thought that would break me, he didn’t realize I was more like him than either of us realized until that moment.

  When I turned twenty-two, my trust fund from my grandfather kicked in, and—despite his best effort to override it—there was nothing my dad could do. I made my decision, worked my ass off, and graduated at the top of my class, hoping he’d see that I was still the best.

  He didn’t attend my graduation or call when I was hired to work at Pleasant Valley Animal Hospital under Doctor Anders—considered one of the best vets in the country—and only paid a mild amount of attention when I made the news for a charity I’d put together. Vets for Vets helped match military vets with a pet, usually a service dog. By sheer coincidence, a national news station caught wind of it and did a full interview for a “feel good” story. Even then, he scoffed that I was volunteering my time rather than making money from it. Still, required family dinners—because the dysfunctional family that eats together still looks put together—became somewhat more tolerable.

  He would have a field day if he learned of this latest development. He’d see this as a sign I obviously wasn’t good enough to hold my position, and I was going to lose any chance I had of the surgical internship I wanted. All because now, instead of staying at this top hospital with all the latest equipment
and technology and an arsenal of talent, I was being sent to some small town in the Tennessee mountains where I’d probably be relegated to annual checkups and vaccinations, all things I could do with my eyes closed. There was no way it had kept up with the abilities of an urban clinic.

  But no, the local vet was out for an undetermined amount of time after he suffered from a stroke. Unfortunately for me, the local vet was a good friend and classmate of Doctor Anders back in vet school, and when Doctor Anders found out, he promised to send temporary help. As much as Anders tried to couch his words that I was the best he had, it came down to me being the newest kid on the block, and therefore, I was the most expendable. I was also single and freer to travel than my peers. I got it…but I didn’t like it.

  “You be a good boy, you hear me?” I gave Milo a final pat and held my hand flat in front of his face and told him to stay. Until I had a more permanent place to stay, he couldn’t come with me. The last thing I heard as I walked out the door was a pitiful whine.

  Mother Nature must have her period.

  I was only three hours into my trip. The lyrics to the Gilligan’s Island theme song ran through my head as I considered the likelihood of becoming marooned in this late spring snowstorm that wasn’t supposed to be anything more than some flurries back at home. However, instead of a tropical setting of the show, I’d be doomed to frostbite and hypothermia in a ditch alongside the mountain highway. As if the slow traffic on the interstate trying to get out of Charlotte wasn’t bad enough, now, I was stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler that crept around the sharp curves and switchbacks.

  My GPS informed me I still had a couple more hours to go. I had four-wheel drive on my truck, but if I couldn’t get around the tractor trailer in front of me, it was going to take even longer, and it was already getting dark, making the journey feel even more treacherous. I briefly considered riding out the storm in a hotel, but since I hadn’t seen an actual town since I left the foothills, I didn’t have a choice but to keep going.

  Finally, the road leveled out and opened up to two lanes. I passed the truck in front of me and moved along a little quicker, but not much. The light flurries had turned into fat flakes and were coming down faster. Already, it looked like a couple of inches had accumulated on the side of the road and was beginning to stick to the driving surface.

  What was left of the sunlight disappeared as I crested the mountain and began my descent. A painstaking hour passed before I saw a road sign promising me Sterling Mill was only another twenty miles. Thank God.

  I could count on one hand the number of other vehicles I’d passed along the way, and three of them had been snowplows. My fingers and shoulders ached from clenching the steering wheel and hunching forward as I navigated the road, lamenting for the hundredth time why I wasn’t back in my nice condo with my faithful dog.

  I hoped by doing this favor for Doctor Anders, it would help my chances of getting the coveted surgical residency under him. There was no guarantee just because I was employed by him; there were dozens of hopeful applicants. On paper, I was well qualified, but so were the others.

  Anders knew I was driven. Hell, I worked long hours without complaint, continued to oversee, volunteer, and grow my Vets for Vets charity, and single-handedly ran a mobile vaccination clinic one weekend a month. But if sucking up to this small-town clinic gave me a further edge, I’d take it. Besides, it was only for a couple of weeks—a month at the most.

  After another forty minutes, the road straightened, and the mountains opened up to what I thought might be fields. I nearly missed the sign that was almost completely blanketed by snow announcing the exit for Downtown Sterling Mill, but fortunately, I hadn’t lost my GPS signal, which guided me the right way.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I navigated the last few miles to the hotel Cynthia had arranged for me until a rental house became available in a few days. She thought it was funny that it was called The Dogtrot given my job but assured me it sounded nice. I’m glad she saw the humor because I couldn’t imagine much of anything out here in the middle of nowhere could be “nice.”

  There were only a couple of cars on the street in front of the two-story, white house that was to be my home for the next few days. It was completely different from the two-star motel that smelled like decades-old cigarette smoke and stale ice I’d expected.

  In fact, it was the kind of grand home I expected to see in an old, southern town like Savannah or New Orleans. It looked like a plantation-style home with two-story columns connecting a large front porch and second-story balcony. Two one-story wings balanced on both sides of the main part of the house, and another small, one-story structure was attached on the left side by a short breezeway. Warm lights glowed through almost all of the windows, a warm beacon of welcome for a cold and weary traveler.

  I dragged my suitcase from my backseat and headed toward the front door. Someone had made the effort to clean the snow from the front stoop at some point, but the snow was coming down so heavily now, there would be no keeping up with it.

  I pushed through the front door, finding myself in an outer chamber with a rug that would soak up the slush on my shoes. A bell jingled when I opened the vestibule door and stepped into a large foyer with plenty of space that was only slightly taken up by a polished wood desk that blended perfectly into the grand, curved staircase with a gleaming, hand-carved wood banister. I wondered how many kids over the centuries had slid down its surface.

  A living room with a roaring fire was to my right and a dining area to my left, and several arrangements of colorful flowers in crystal or pottery vases were scattered throughout the rooms as though challenging Mother Nature’s fury outside.

  “I’ll be right with you,” a female called from around the corner.

  Something about the voice caused me to pause. I shook my head. I was tired and hearing things. All I wanted to do was find something to eat and crash for the night.

  Her voice drew closer. “Looks like the storm really picked up out there. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it.”

  I definitely knew that soft, sweet, southern cadence. It was a voice that used to conjure up feelings of warmth. Now, it only sent a chill running down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold weather outside.

  Chapter 3

  Emalee

  * * *

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Shannon asked.

  I nodded my head at our one staff member while I emptied another bag of groceries.

  Shannon was around the same age as me and had started working at The Dogtrot when I left to go to cooking school. It had been the job she desperately needed, the work schedule being consistent with school hours since she was needed at home to take care of her two younger siblings ever since her mom had passed away from cancer while she was in high school.

  Her dad was a man barely holding it together and was what a lot of folks around here called a functional alcoholic. He somehow managed to keep his day job working for the town’s maintenance crew, but he spent the evenings pilfering away his earnings at a bar or with a bottle in his bedroom. We never talked much about it, but being a small community, it wasn’t hard to know she’d been called to come drag his butt home late at night several times

  But there wasn’t a lazy bone in Shannon’s body, and her sassy spirit was emphasized by her sparkling sapphire eyes and blonde curls with streaks of purple running through them.

  Mama still took reservations and greeted guests, but she wasn’t able to climb the steps easily anymore, so Shannon mostly helped me with cleaning the rooms and doing the laundry. But on Tuesday mornings, she came in two hours early to manage the kitchen after I cooked so I could have a few hours for myself while Iain was at school.

  Today, however, she’d asked if she could leave early to rush to the grocery store before her brother and sister came home since whatever sun we’d had earlier disappeared behind a thick layer of gray clouds. Already a few flakes had started to fall.

&
nbsp; “Go,” I said, waving my hand at her. “I’ll be fine. Most of the work is already done. If Hans’s snow prediction is accurate, you better stock up. That reminds me, I should fix something simple for dinner so our guests won’t have to venture out into the storm later if they don’t want to.”

  She beamed at me as she shrugged on her coat. “You’re always so thoughtful.” She finished wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. There was a call this morning while you were out. A woman from North Carolina booked a room through the weekend.”

  “Really? That’s good news. A full house.” It was rare that someone made such a long reservation during winter except around the holidays, but there would be no complaints from me.

  After Shannon left, I pulled out a stockpot and found the ingredients I needed to make chicken noodle soup. That and some grilled cheese sandwiches and maybe some BLTs with my special savory sandwich spread should please the guests, especially since it was a free bonus meal.

  While the broth simmered, I threw a couple more logs on the fire in the sitting room, taking a few minutes to chat with one of the single guests who was enjoying its warmth and a book. I decided to bake some cookies to brighten the otherwise cold and increasingly darkening day. It would make Iain happy, too, especially after his disappointment this morning.

  A little while later when I brought out a plate of warm snickerdoodles, chocolate chip cookies, and a self-serving pot of cocoa, another couple was downstairs playing a game at a small table in the living room corner near the fire.