The Manning Grooms (Those Manning Men #0)

The Manning Grooms (Those Manning Men #0) Page 9

Charlotte wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. Perhaps she was protecting her ego by convincing herself that she wouldn’t have gone out with Jason if he’d asked again. Perhaps it was just her pride. Charlotte didn’t know because the opportunity hadn’t come up.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but what Carrie had said about her hanging around the mailbox hoping to accidentally run into Jason was true. But she wasn’t looking for a way to get him to ask her out, she told herself. She only wanted to set things straight. Since they hadn’t met, accidentally or otherwise, Charlotte was content to let it drop. He apparently was, too.

Jason Manning had been a brief but pleasant interlude in her—she had to acknowledge it—humdrum life.

She was grateful for their time together. He’d taught her everything she needed to know about basketball. He’d challenged her in a battle of wits about male and female roles in society. Convinced her never again to eat a jalapeño pepper to prove a point. And most important, he’d kissed her in a way that made her believe, for those few minutes, that she was whole and desirable. It’d felt so good to surrender her fears and her doubts. If nothing else, she’d always be grateful for that.

“Maybe he’s waiting to hear from you,” Carrie said next. “It’s your turn to ask him out, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t work that way with adults, sweetie.” Although Charlotte had no idea if that was even true.

“Then it should. I’m not going to sit home and wait for a man to call me. If I like him, I’ll phone him. It’s ridiculous to be a slave to such an outdated tradition.”

Charlotte agreed with her daughter, but in this instance she planned to do nothing at all. And that included hovering around the mailboxes.

It had been a long day, and Jason was tired when he pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment complex. He scanned the limited spaces, looking for Charlotte’s car. The blue PT Cruiser was in the appropriate slot, so he knew she was home.

It wasn’t that he was trying to run into her, but he wouldn’t mind seeing her, finding out how she was doing—that sort of thing. He didn’t intend anything more than a wave and maybe a friendly “I’m-fine-how-are-you?” exchange. Then he’d go about his business and she could go about hers.

Not calling Charlotte was proving to be more difficult than he’d ever expected. He thought about her even more now. He dreamed about her. Just that morning, the alarm had gone off and he was lying there in bed, trying to force himself to get up, when Charlotte casually sauntered into his mind. He couldn’t help thinking how good it would feel to have her there beside him, how soft her body would feel next to his. He’d banished the thought immediately, angry about indulging in such a fantasy.

It had started the night before. When he’d arrived home from work, he’d found himself checking out the rear tire of Charlotte’s car. From a distance it looked like it might be low on air. On closer examination, he realized it wasn’t. He felt almost disappointed not to have an excuse to speak to her.

This evening he could tell from a distance that there wasn’t anything wrong with her tires. Once again he wished there was, so he could talk to her.

Inside his apartment, he reached for the remote control and automatically turned on the television. The six-thirty news crew made for excellent company.

As the forecaster gave dire warnings about the weather, Jason checked out the meager contents of his refrigerator. One of these days he’d have to break down and buy groceries.

As he suspected, nothing interesting presented itself, at least nothing he’d seriously consider eating. An empty cardboard carton from a six-pack of beer. A can of half-eaten pork and beans. A leftover taco, probably harder than cement, wrapped in a napkin, and a jar of green olives. He opened the jar, stuck his hand inside and fished out the last two, returning the container of liquid to the shelf. Chewing on the olives, he closed the door.

What he was really in the mood for was—he hated to admit it. What he’d really like was chocolate chip cookies. Well, he could forget that. The store-bought ones tasted like lumpy paste, and his mother would keep him on the phone with an endless list of questions if he were to call her and request a batch. Besides, it wasn’t his mother’s recipe he craved. It was Charlotte’s.

Well, you can forget that, ol’boy.

A box of macaroni and cheese was the most interesting prospect his cupboard had to offer. He took it out and checked the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and brought out two frozen wieners wrapped in aluminum foil.

He was adding water to a pan when there was a frantic knocking on his door. Whoever it was pounded again before he had time to cross the apartment.

He saw Charlotte, pale and stricken, her lavender cardigan covered in blood. Her eyes were panicky. “A dog…someone ran over a dog…they didn’t even stop. Please…can you come?”

“Of course.” He kept a black bag at the house for just such emergencies. He grabbed that and hurried after her.

Charlotte was waiting for him, her eyes bright with tears. “He’s unconscious.”

“You moved him?”

“Only to get him out of the street.”

“Did you see it happen?” he asked, trotting along behind her.

“No. I heard tires screech and a yelp, and that was it. By the time I got outside, a few kids had gathered around, but no one knew what to do.”

Her pace slowed as they approached the injured animal. A group of neighborhood children had gathered around. Jason knelt beside the small, black dog. He was a mixed breed, mostly spaniel, Jason guessed. He was badly hurt and in shock. Probably a stray, since he wasn’t wearing a collar, and the poor thing looked mangy and thin.

“Does anyone know who he belongs to?” Jason asked.

“I don’t think he belongs to anyone,” a boy on a bicycle answered. “He’s been around the last couple of days. I never saw him before that.”

“I’m going to take him to my office,” Jason said after a preliminary examination. He didn’t feel too positive about the dog’s chances.

“Is he going to live?” Charlotte alone voiced the question, but she seemed to be the spokesperson for the small gathering—each one wanted, indeed needed, to know. The children and Charlotte stared down at Jason, waiting for his response.

“I’m not sure,” Jason answered honestly. “He’s got a broken leg and internal injuries.”

“I’ll pay for his medical expenses,” Charlotte offered, using her index finger to wipe a tear from her eye.

Jason wasn’t even thinking about the expenses. Frankly, he didn’t think the dog would last the night. “Give me your sweater,” he told Charlotte. Since it was already stained with blood, he figured they’d save time by using it to transport the injured dog.

She did as he asked, and he spread it out on the pavement, then placed the wounded dog on it. Jason carefully lifted him, using the sweater sleeves, and walked toward his car.

“I’ll go with you,” Charlotte said, while Jason placed the now-unconscious dog in the backseat.

“You’re sure?” he asked. “This could take some time.”

“I’m sure.” Carrie came running up to the car. The girl had tears in her eyes, too. Mother and daughter briefly hugged before Carrie stepped away. She looked so mournful it was all Jason could do not to stop and reassure her. But he had no reassurances to offer.

His veterinary clinic was only a few blocks from the apartment complex. Charlotte followed him in. He set the injured dog on the stainless-steel examination table and turned on the lights above it. Charlotte’s sweater was soaked with blood beyond the point of salvaging it, but she didn’t seem concerned.

Jason examined the dog’s injuries and it was as he’d feared: surgery would be required.

He told Charlotte and she nodded bravely. “Can I do anything? I’m not a nurse, but I’d like to assist—that is, if you think I’d be any help?”

Jason hesitated, uncertain, then decided. “You can if you really want to.”

She nodded. “Please.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. This wasn’t going to be pretty and if she was the least bit squeamish, it would be better to sit out in the waiting room. He told her as much.

“I want to,” she said confidently. “I can handle it.”

Jason didn’t take long to set up everything he needed for the surgery. They both scrubbed down and he gave her a green surgical cap and gown. He smiled at her before administering the anesthesia, taking pains to explain what he was doing and why.

The procedure didn’t last more than an hour. When he’d finished, he transferred the dog to the hospital portion of his facility. There was a night-time staff member who’d watch over the spaniel and the other pets who required continuous care.

“What do you think?” she asked hopefully when he returned.

“It doesn’t look promising,” Jason told her. He didn’t want to give her any false hopes or mislead her. “But he might surprise us. He’s only a couple of years old and he’s got a strong heart. The next twenty-four hours will be critical. If he survives until tomorrow night, then he should do okay. But he’s going to need a lot of attention and love afterward.”

“Carrie and I will make sure he gets it. Can we come see him?” She paused. “Do veterinary hospitals have visiting hours?”

“You can come anytime you like.” He sighed and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He was tired and hungry.

“You were wonderful….” She seemed to sense his worry and exhaustion.

“Let’s decide that in the morning.”

“If Higgins lives, we’ll owe everything to you.”

“Higgins?”

“I thought it was a good name. Do you like it?”

He shrugged. He was too tired and too hungry to have much of an opinion on anything at the moment.

“You haven’t had dinner, have you?” she surprised him by asking.

“No. How’d you know that?”

“You look hungry.”

“That’s because I am. You want to grab something?” he asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She smiled. “Only this time I’ll treat.”

“Charlotte…”

“I insist. Please don’t argue.”

He didn’t have the energy to protest, so he simply agreed. Since she was buying, he let her choose the restaurant. She decided on a nearby sandwich shop. He breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread as soon as he walked in the door.

It was the type of place where customers seated themselves and the silverware was wrapped in a red checkered napkin. The waitress, who looked all of sixteen, took their order, and promptly brought coffee. She came back a few minutes later with six-inch-high sandwiches, layered with sliced turkey, ham, roast beef, lettuce, tomato slices and onion.

“How have you been?” he asked casually after wolfing down the first half of his sandwich.