Bittersweet. Laura Browning

alike. Even the people he met blurred in his mind. Now here he sat, thirty years old and alone.

      There were always plenty of people on the show circuit to stroke an ego or anything else a person desired, but he’d discovered how shallow such a lifestyle was last year when he caught his girlfriend screwing one of the grooms right in the tack room. He had kicked them both out then gone to a friend’s party to get as plastered as possible. He didn’t remember much of the night except that he awoke in a spare bedroom the next morning with no clothes on and one hell of a hangover.

      Something had had to change. He had quit the hard partying and started watching some of the people on the circuit he had always admired, like Nelson and Wynter Anderson. They seemed so normal. He envied them. The more he thought about it, though, his parents managed a similar relationship. His father had showed years ago, but they maintained a normal life, picking and choosing when they would travel, and doing it as a family. And why the fuck was he thinking about that now? The pretty vet and her baby? He stubbed his cigarette. No, the answer was a whole lot simpler.

      His mother was nagging him to start his own family. The thing was, Chris had started to consider it too, until the incident with Sydney last year. He shook his head. He’d come close to asking her to marry him, but not for any of the right reasons. He understood that now.

      Since then, he hadn’t dated. Hell, he hadn’t even been with a woman. His absence and abstinence were no doubt fodder for the show circuit gossips, but he was beyond caring. If and when he got married, he would do it for the right reasons and to the right woman. Let them think he pined after Sydney. If those thoughts kept the groupies out of his hair, so much the better.

      A sudden vision of Dr. Barlow popped into his head, her cap of sable curls bent forward as she looked at the baby nursing at her breast. The feeling stabbed him right in the gut. Chris shook his head. Now why did he keep thinking of that irritating little vet? She had a chip on her shoulder where her work was concerned. That was what bothered him about most of the women large animal vets he encountered. They were often militant and irritating.

      He finished the beer and headed inside. The phone rang as he stepped from the kitchen into the study–his private line.

      “Christopher. It’s your mother.”

      He smiled. As if she needed to announce herself. “Hi, Mom, what can I do for you?”

      “Your father is leaving to go on his fishing trip on the Santee-Cooper. I’d like you to attend early Mass with me.”

      Chris sighed. He wanted to be on the farm when Dr. Barlow came to recheck Bart, but he supposed she wouldn’t arrive that soon. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

      “Six-thirty will be fine.”

      “I’ll be there.”

      “On time?” his mother prompted.

      “I’ll be there, Mom.”

      He was a couple of minutes late the next morning. Other than a pointed glance at her watch, his mother had the good grace not to say anything. Chris hid a smile as he held the door for her. He supposed he owed her silence in part to the fact that he had put on a coat and tie. He’d long ago given up the argument that no one dressed for Mass anymore. As far as his mother was concerned, church was a dress-up occasion, period.

      They arrived early, as always. His mother was a stickler for punctuality. As Chris pulled his vintage BMW into the parking lot, few other cars occupied spaces. What surprised him was the Redfield Clinic truck parked there.

      As they stepped inside the church, Chris found himself glancing around until he spotted the short, dark curls of Dr. Barlow near the front of the church. Without waiting, he guided his mother to a pew a couple of rows behind the vet. Why, he wasn’t sure. Curiosity? He had a hard time envisioning the irritating munchkin he’d met last night attending Mass like a good Catholic.

      His mother gave him an odd look, but made no remark as she genuflected and sat. The handle of the baby carrier next to Dr. Barlow was just visible over the back of the pew. She must have Becca with her. He wondered where Mr. Dr. Barlow was. His mouth twisted. If there even was a husband. Plenty of women these days were single moms, but the thought disturbed him in some odd way.

      The baby fussed. Chris watched as Dr. Barlow’s head turned. In profile, long, sooty lashes dropped over blue eyes set below arched brows. A too-straight nose and full lips now cooing to her daughter completed the picture. As the baby continued to fidget, she lifted her from the carrier and rocked her. The girl rested her head on her mama’s shoulder and gazed around her with those big blue-gray eyes.

      His mother stilled before glancing sidelong at him. “What a beautiful child,” she whispered, “like an angel with golden hair and those beautiful eyes.”

      Chris grunted. No way would he have agreed with his mother, even though he thought the same thing. She was getting bad enough about dropping hints concerning his single, childless status. The last thing she needed was encouragement from him.

      The service began. As they stood, he found himself studying Dr. Barlow, not the priest. No figure-concealing coveralls this morning. Instead, some sort of blue-flowered dress hugged her tiny form until it flared below her hips. Beneath the short skirt, a slender length of tanned leg drew his gaze. She continued to sway back and forth as she held Becca. Her hips and derriere mesmerized him. God, did she need to advertise the wares quite so much?

      His mother jabbed him in the ribs. “Sing!” she hissed. Her sharp eyes hadn’t missed where his gaze was fastened. Damn. He did not need to give her additional fuel for her time-to-settle-down-and-raise-a-family speeches.

      He noticed the vet didn’t receive communion. Of course, neither did he. It had been ages since he had gone to confession. As the service ended, Dr. Barlow put Becca in the baby carrier and packed everything she’d brought in. She saw him at long last when she stood to leave. As her blue eyes locked with his, he again felt a fleeting sense of deja vu. She nodded, but didn’t smile. In fact, she appeared to be doing her best to ignore his existence.

      Not an encouraging start. Now where had that come from? He didn’t want to start anything, particularly with some hard-nosed, militant woman vet who already had a kid and no daddy in sight. If she was like most women he encountered, she’d have to play “who da daddy be?” anyway. He would at least be polite enough to introduce her to his mother. But in the end, his mother beat him to it.

      As Dr. Barlow approached them, his mother spoke. “What a beautiful daughter you have.”

      The vet smiled, her hesitation obvious. Chris had a fleeting memory of the sounds of a party, and her smile…only softer somehow. What a joke. Anyone less soft than Dr. Barlow he had yet to meet. She oozed independence and capability.

      “Thank you.” Her tone was polite but not encouraging.

      His mother, however, was not taking the hint, and that in itself was unusual. In most cases, she was reserved with newcomers. “Are you new to the area? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at Mass before. My name is Liz Stevenson. This is my son, Chris.”

      “Anna Barlow,” his veterinarian supplied as she held out her hand. “This is my daughter, Rebecca…Becca, for short. I’ve met your son already.”

      At his mother’s arched brow, Chris stepped in. “This is Dr. Barlow, Mom. She was at Fincastle last night to stitch Bart.”

      Anna. Now he knew her first name. He followed his mother and Anna, pausing to shake the priest’s hand. The two women continued to talk, which surprised Chris. His mother was no snob, but didn’t go out of her way to entertain people new to the area, especially when she’d received as little encouragement as she had from Anna Barlow. “Why don’t you come join us for breakfast since you were coming to the farm today anyway?” his mother asked, surprising him even more. “I’ll be happy to watch Becca while you and Chris take a look at his stud.”

      “I can’t. I’m on call,” Anna said, “but thank you for the invitation.”

      Chris