That Runaway Summer. Darlene Gardner

’bout you, Dan?”

      “Coke’s fine.”

      The young waitress glanced down at the order pad sticking out of the pocket of her half apron. The two remaining water glasses bobbled. The pad remained where it was.

      “Okay,” she said without much conviction, then left.

      Dan followed her slow retreat, rooting for her to get where she was going without incident. His gaze slid past the waitress and alighted on a woman with her back to him. Even if a hat had covered her short, curly dark hair, he’d have recognized Jill Jacobi. She had an innate grace and certain way of holding her head that telegraphed she was giving you her full attention.

      It seemed she was focused on the man across the table from her. He was about Dan’s age, with a familiar face Dan couldn’t place.

      “See someone you know?” Stanley asked, then laughed. “Of course you do. Half the people in this restaurant bring their pets to us.”

      “Actually,” Dan said slowly, “I see someone I probably should know.”

      “Who’s that?”

      “The blond guy in the white dress shirt and blue tie. Glasses. About my age.”

      Stanley took a look at the table Dan indicated. “That’s Chad Armstrong. He’s a pharmacist at the drugstore downtown.”

      Dan hadn’t filled a prescription since he’d moved to town, but could picture the man quietly going about his work on the raised counter at the back of the store.

      “What else can you tell me about him?” Dan asked.

      “You know Sierra Whitmore? The doctor? He dated her for years before she started going with that newspaper reporter. Ben Nash, I think his name was. Moved with him to Pittsburgh, she did.”

      He’d heard something about the reporter coming to town to solve a decades-old mystery, but he was far more interested in Armstrong. So the pharmacist was single. Were he and Jill on a lunch date? Wasn’t Jill supposed to have too much going on in her life to date anyone?

      “Why do you ask?” Stanley asked.

      “No reason.”

      Stanley gave him a dubious look.

      “I know the woman with him,” Dan conceded.

      “You mean Jill? The gal who bartends at the Blue Haven?”

      “She was at the Pollocks’ the other night when they had me over for a barbecue.” Dan shifted in his seat. “She’s nice.”

      “That she is,” Stanley agreed.

      “So what is it you wanted to discuss?” Dan changed the subject before the other vet could say more. “How business is too good?”

      “Exactly.” Stanley stabbed the air with his finger. “We’re too busy. I had to tell a farmer last week we couldn’t take on his animals. There isn’t enough time in the day.”

      Jill was directly in Dan’s line of vision. She angled her head and laughed at something the pharmacist said. Was the guy really that funny? He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at his table.

      “Are you thinking of hiring another vet?” Dan asked.

      The present practice had long been a two-man operation, with Dan replacing a vet who had retired a year ago. Stanley and Dan had met at a professional conference, a connection that led to the job offer at a time Dan was badly in need of a scenery change.

      “Can’t,” Stanley said. “Don’t have the office space for it and don’t want to find a bigger place. I’m thinking of retooling.”

      Dam stopped trying to figure out the significance of the way Jill was leaning forward and concentrated on Stanley. “What do you mean retooling?”

      “Bob Verducci gave me a call the other day,” Stanley said. Verducci had a practice a few miles outside town that also treated both large and small animals. “Fewer people are bringing their pets to him, so he’s switching to large animals only.”

      “Will that have any effect on us?”

      “Sure will. You know how the hours build up when you’re driving to ranches and stables. If we go small, we can cut way down on the length of our work days.”

      Dan frowned, although Stanley’s reasoning made perfect sense. “I enjoy working with large animals.”

      “We won’t drop that part of our practice entirely,” Stanley said. “Bob will handle the bulk of calls for farm animals and horses, but he’ll occasionally need backup.”

      “Why don’t we split the work fifty-fifty?”

      The young waitress appeared at their table, wisps of hair escaping her ponytail. She set one plate of bruschetta and another of mozzarella sticks on the table. “Your appetizers.”

      “They look great,” Dan said, then added gently, “except we didn’t order appetizers.”

      Her face blanching, she immediately scooped up the plates. “I’m so sorry. I guess you can tell it’s my first day.”

      “It’s not a big deal,” Dan rushed to reassure her. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

      “You really think so?” Her voice sounded small.

      “I do,” Dan said. “You already have the tableside manner down.”

      The waitress was smiling when she left them.

      Stanley pointed his index finger at Dan and declared, “That’s why a fifty-fifty split won’t work.”

      “Come again?”

      “That charm of yours. Why do you think Verducci has been losing business? People want you to take care of their pets. You enjoy that kind of work, too, don’t you?”

      “I do,” Dan confirmed.

      “Then there’s no problem,” Stanley said. “You can take the occasional call when Verducci needs help. The rest of the time, you won’t have to work so late.”

      “I don’t mind working late.” Just last week Dan had been up half the night helping a cow through a difficult birth.

      “All you’ve done since you got here is work,” Stanley said. “Look at it this way. It’ll free up your time so you can ask out Jill over there.”

      “What makes you think I want to do that?”

      Stanley’s laugh rumbled forth. “Besides the way you’re staring at her?”

      “She’s pretty,” Dan said lamely.

      “So go for it,” Stanley said. “Stop working so hard and have some fun.”

      The young waitress made another pass by their table, presenting Dan with a calzone and setting an individual pepperoni pizza in front of Stanley.

      “Wrong again, sweetheart,” Stanley said. “We both ordered fettuccine Alfredo.”

      Her lower lip quivered and she appeared to fight tears as she picked up the plates. “These must belong to that couple over there. Forgive me. Please.”

      “Don’t give it another thought,” Dan said, but she was already moving away.

      Nothing but linoleum floor stretched between the waitress and the table where Jill dined with the pharmacist. There was absolutely no reason the girl should stumble, but she did. The calzone, the pizza and the plates went momentarily airborne, then clattered to the floor.

      Dan leaped up from his chair, reaching the scene of the calamity in seconds. Jill was already there, her hand supporting the young girl’s elbow. “Are you all right?”

      “I’m fine,” the waitress wailed, “but the food’s ruined!”