Magical Weddings (113 page)

Jan Romes

Copyright © 2015 by:

Jan Romes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
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Lindy McPherson smiled without opening her eyes. She’d had the dream again of breaking ground for
Lindy Loves Pets.
Rolling to her side, she snuggled into the pillow and pulled the blankets a little higher. “Someday it’s going to happen.” With the pitiful state of her bank account, having her own pet store probably wouldn’t materialize for at least another year or two. She’d talked to the bank about a business loan but they were slow giving an answer. “Someday,” she repeated.

Lifting her lashes, she squinted to home in on the alarm clock. Without her glasses the only thing she could see was the rapid flash of neon-green indicating the power had gone out. Last night, exhausted from a long day she’d climbed into bed with lightning dancing in the sky and thunder rumbling in the distance. The moment her head hit the pillow her lights must’ve gone out, and at some point, so did the electricity. Fumbling for her specs, she slid them on and took another look. “Four o’clock.” Returning the glasses to the nightstand, she dropped back onto the pillow and expelled a long sigh of contentment at being able to sleep another three hours.

Without so much as a warning-meow, ten pounds of fur plopped on her face.

Lindy shrieked, “Greta!” A rough tongue dragged across her cheek. “You scared the bejesus out of me!” Every day it was a surprise attack with that cat. The yellow tabby was known to lunge from unexpected places. Yesterday when Lindy bent down to tie her sneakers, the furball dove from the top of the refrigerator onto her back.

Independent didn’t begin to describe Greta. Some might say she was the cat from hell. When she wanted attention, she got it; one way or another. The shenanigans usually started seven-ish.

Lindy kept her eyes closed and snuggled Greta.

Of course, the hope of falling back to sleep was thwarted by Greta stretching and meowing close to Lindy’s ear.

“Did the storm mess up your cat-crimes schedule?”

A subliminal poke took Lindy from a prone position to sitting straight up. The tiny bits of sunlight filtering through the wooden window blinds confirmed what her subconscious already knew–it was much later than four. Scrambling off the bed, she raced to the kitchen to check the time on the battery-operated clock hanging above the sink. “No. No. No. It can’t be seven-thirty.” She’d agreed to cover for her boss today; which meant, if she didn’t get her keister out of the house and down the road in ten minutes she’d be late in opening Cerise’s Pet Supplies and Spa.

Rushing to the bathroom, Lindy spared no more than a glance in the mirror. Her hair resembled a disheveled bouffant. She was a restless sleeper. As a result she had a different look every morning. She pulled a brush through her thick locks but the weird hairdo remained. In an attempt to tame it, she ran her hands under water and smoothed the moisture over her hair. She now looked like she’d been caught in the rain–with a disheveled bouffant. “Sweet.” She envied women who popped out of bed looking amazingly refreshed and nearly perfect.

Lindy gathered the mess into a high but unruly ponytail. When she got to work she’d give it another go. “Time management,” she said as a way of putting herself in turbo. She squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto her toothbrush and began brushing while struggling to put on a pair of khaki Capri’s. Partially dressed she spit out the toothpaste and swished minty mouthwash. Last to go on was a red polo shirt with Cerise’s logo on the breast pocket.

Greta wove back and forth between her legs with a distinctive, bossy purr.

“I know, sweetie. You’re hungry.” Lindy opened a can of Friskies turkey and giblets dinner. Normally, Greta got dry cat food. Since the ornery feline had saved her from being late, even if it was by way of a face full of cat hair, she deserved a reward…or a bribe to do less pouncing and more snuggling. Ha. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. Neither does a determined tabby. She planted a quick smooch on Greta’s furry head before running out the back door and to the vintage 1985 custom-painted pea-green Chevy Celebrity station wagon. It was as old as Methuselah but she loved the darn thing. It once belonged to her grandparents and she drove it to keep them close to her heart. Despite a few door dings and a loose side mirror, the car ran like it was brand new.

Lindy checked the rearview mirror before engaging the car into reverse. She skimmed the dash for the clock and puffed out a breath of reality. It would take a miracle to get to work on time. Before leaving the garage she heard the clanging of the harness snap on the flagpole in the front yard. The sun might be shining but there was plenty of leftover wind from last night’s storm.

Before she reached the end of the driveway, a loud crunching sound made her stomp the brakes. The sound blasted her with dread. She gripped the steering wheel and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Please! Don’t let it be Bankston.” She hadn’t glimpsed the beautiful Airedale from next door but the wily pooch was known to occasionally escape his owner–Gunther Justin; handsome guy, stiff-as-a-board schmuck. She’d made the mistake of calling him Justin when they first met, thinking it was his first name. He quickly set her straight.

Lindy held her breath as she walked to the back of the car. If she hurt Bankston because she was in a hurry she’d never forgive herself. “I can’t look.” Putting a hand over her glasses, she slowly spread her fingers. The sight of mangled black plastic filled her with relief. “Oh thank God!”

“You destroyed my trash can!”

The familiar voice of the man she seemed to have continuous encounters with for one reason or another made Lindy’s head snap up and her pulse beat erratically.

Gunther Justin stood at the edge of the driveway glaring with his arms crossed and feet wide apart.

That was a defensive stance if Lindy had ever seen one. She didn’t have time for defensive stances. She especially didn’t have time to notice the navy blue stretch shorts and plain white tee that showed off Gunther’s muscular build. “The wind blew it into my path.”

“Brakes. They’re called brakes. Before you hit it you could’ve applied the
brakes
.”

“I’ll buy you a new one after I get off work.” Lindy picked up the obliterated plastic and carefully placed it in his yard. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

Gunther said something under his breath Lindy couldn’t quite make out. If his expression was any indication, the comment couldn’t have been good.

It’s a trash can, for crying out loud; not a priceless artifact
. Climbing back in the car, Lindy slammed the door. She looked in every direction at least three times and proceeded into the roadway before speeding down Birch Street.

Thrumming the steering wheel when she had to stop for the red light at Walnut Street, Lindy thought about why she and Gunther kept crossing paths. She wholeheartedly believed you encountered people for a reason. Was he one of those tests a person got from time to time to make you aware of your strengths and weaknesses?

****

Another run-in with Miss Lindy McPherson wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start the day. Gunther took a deep breath and exhaled with as much force. He needed to be confident and focused, not stirred up right off the bat by the neighbor who’d read his pedigree earlier in the week for not scooping up the ‘treasure’ Bankston shared with her front yard. Man did she get fired up. She gave him a five-minute lecture about how this was a great neighborhood and to keep it that way everyone had to make an effort. Talk about an awkward conversation. Talk about wanting to tell someone they needed to get a life. She was a pint-size pain in his rump, but…she had the most amazing brown eyes.

Gunther glanced at the small ranch-style bungalow with white aluminum siding and carriage lantern lights fixed on each side of the one-car garage. It was a throw-back to the seventies stuck in a neighborhood of lavish two-story brick homes.

To Lindy’s credit, she had a green thumb. The grass looked as though she got down on her knees and manicured each blade with a pair of scissors. Red geraniums, yellow and orange marigolds and pink Calla lilies added a little color.

 “Good one. You have the most important meeting of your life in a little over an hour yet you’re wasting time with all-things-Lindy.” Gunther grabbed the annihilated piece of plastic that used to be a trash can. Sparing Lindy’s place another glance, he decided it was nerves distracting him not the annoying brunette or her house. Today everything was on the line. He would or wouldn’t get the coveted position of Vice President of Finndley Savings and Loan. He’d worked his tail off to get the job, yet the bank’s President and Board of Directors were conducting open-interviews. He groaned. Couldn’t they just name him VP and get it over with?

To prepare for the meeting, he’d spent most of last night and part of the morning pumping himself up with the wisdom of Tony Robbins by reading his book,
Awaken the Giant Within
. Now that he’d bumped into Lindy, he’d have to read another chapter or two to get back in the zone before he headed off to work.

Bankston, the always-in-motion Airedale he’d been saddled with when his now ex-girlfriend Anastasia decided to move out, met him at the door with water dripping from his beard. Damn. He didn’t have time to take Bankston out to do his business and to let him run off his excess energy, but if he didn’t, the sometimes-destructive pooch would make him pay.

He never wanted a dog. They were a bother; this one especially. Anastasia had begged him to allow Bankston to live with them. The pooch belonged to a friend who was relocating to Houston. Anastasia owed the friend a huge favor, or so she said, and voila! They assumed responsibility of the dog. A month later, Anastasia came home from work and said she needed time away to sort out her feelings. She took most of her things; a sign she wouldn’t be back.

Gunther looked at his watch. “Five minutes is all you’re getting.” He snapped the leash onto Bankston’s collar and gave it a tug. “Let’s get this over with.”

The second they were outside the dog thrust his weight into one powerful leap away.

“Son of a… Bankston! Get back here!” Gunther ran to the edge of the yard where the dog was jumping against the trunk of a mighty oak, trying to get a squirrel.

Steaming mad, Gunther squinted hard. “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.” The things he’d learned in a short time about Airedales were how smart and independent they were. He slowly reached for the leash.

Bankston dropped to all fours, gave Gunther a quick look and bolted. In one effortless jump he was across the low hedge separating his backyard from Lindy’s.

The dog deemed the King of Terriers was hell-bent on making his life utter chaos.

Gunther leaped across the hedge too, scratching his calves on the branches.

The dog zigzagged around Lindy’s backyard and stopped a few feet short of the garden. As soon as Gunther passed the fire pit almost to the garden, the dog charged the tomato plants.

“I’m going to wring your neck!”

Bankston turned into a backhoe. Within a few seconds he’d taken out every tomato plant and a section of green beans.

Gunther cussed loudly. “If I had time I’d drop you off at the nearest pound.” He surveyed the damage and knelt down. Using his hands, he made a hole for each ravaged tomato plant and stuck them back in the ground. There was no saving the green beans. Cussing again, he straightened to a stand. “When Lindy sees this she’s going to know you did it but she’ll be mad at me. Thanks a lot, you poor excuse for a pet.”

Bankston made a weird noise which wasn’t quite a growl. He was probably sassing.

Gunther was angrier than the day Anastasia walked out. Although, he’d questioned why he’d been upset with her leaving since there hadn’t been much of a spark. She was attractive but shallow. It just took him a while to figure that out. They’d dated off and on for a few months and one day out of the blue she showed up at his door with two suitcases. Between tears she said the landlord raised the rent and she couldn’t afford to keep her apartment. A sucker for tears, he let her stay. Everything was fine until she turned high-maintenance. She thought they should get a maid. He promised to check into hiring one. Her clothes needed updating. He handed her his credit card. When he worked long hours she whined about being lonely. In the back of his mind, he knew things wouldn’t end well. They didn’t. Anastasia said he was smothering her and took off. He wasn’t surprised that she’d left but he didn’t understand how she could be lonely and feel smothered at the same time. The only thing jarring about the whole ordeal was Bankston. He was a slow and annoying torture.