Beverly righted herself and sauntered to the other side of the table, just inches from Donovan. He was certain her hard little nipples that could clearly be seen through her age inappropriate shirt were skimming his chest. “Do you think you could make a house call later… you know, to check up on poor Bradley?”
Mulling it over, Donovan almost took her up on the offer. He knew what a house call was, and in the case of single divorced women, or unmarried tourists, he’d say yes. She was close enough to his type, which was more or less any of them, so long as he didn’t have to work too hard at it. But, it wasn’t quite summer yet, when he let that sort of thing happen, and he certainly didn’t fool around with married women.
“I think Bradley will be just fine, Mrs. Aldridge. Make sure you follow the instructions and bring him back in if he isn’t feeling better in a few days, okay?” He smiled at her and backed away toward the door.
“Are you sure, Doctor?” she asked, practically purring, the implication that the visit had nothing to do with the dog hanging heavy in her tone.
“I’m sure, Beverly. But you have a great summer here, and let me know if you have any problems with the dogs.”
Seemingly defeated, Mrs. Aldridge let herself out of the exam room, passing Donovan more closely than she had to, her strong perfume tingling his nose. He ran his palm down his face and sighed. And so it begins, he thought. When he first opened his practice and his summer became full of the wealthy socialites bringing their anxiety-ridden purebreds in, the thrill of the hunt was fun. For him, it was like climbing an elitist mountain to the top and planting his flag in the uncharted lands.
These women had no idea he’d grown up as one of their servants, that his mother cleaned their homes. Most of them weren’t particularly kind or thoughtful when he was a child, and it was something he’d long remember. That’s not to say he was revenge banging the wealthy, but their superficial attitudes certainly made it easier to have fun and not look back.
Besides, he thought, it wasn’t like they were looking for anything more either.
He decided to go home and take his dogs for a walk. There was a lull in the day, and he was restless. Donovan used to look forward to summers—the carefree and hapless way that people partied, the endless revolving door of new faces. Every summer held a new adventure. A new vista to conquer. But this year, he felt different. He was less eager for the change of season and more apprehensive. What changed? Unable to put his finger on it, he sent Toni to lunch, and they put the closed sign in the window, along with the emergency contact number.
Once home, he was greeted by his entourage of pets, each with their own quirks. The four adolescent cats were the newest addition, and they’d been rescued from the beach where a mama cat had built a little shelter in the dunes to give birth. Toni adopted the mother after Donovan performed the spay surgery, but she didn’t want to take all of the kittens. They required bottle-feeding and weaning for the first two weeks, which meant constant care, and a few of them had mild eye infections that cleared up quickly. Normally, he wouldn’t have separated them from their mother; however, the eye infection may have been transmitted from her, so he felt it best to get her a new home sooner rather than later. Toni had teased him relentlessly about keeping four kittens, but he didn’t care. The shelter was filled to the brim, and he wasn’t going to allow them to stay homeless or live in a cage when he had a house big enough for those four, and more, if he damn well pleased.
Archie and Veronica, his two pups, wagged their tails so hard they looked as though they might lift off the ground. Donovan didn’t always come home during the day, so the dogs’ excitement was understandable and brought a smile to his face. As soon as he uttered the “w” word—walk—they jumped into overdrive, prancing about and barely staying still enough to get leashes on.
The house Donovan purchased was centrally located between the various neighborhoods of the Port. He decided to follow the path toward the beachfront homes as it was a long walk and the salty scent of the ocean enticed him in that direction. Several of the homes weren’t occupied just yet, but a handful had year-round renters or owners. The properties were set far enough away from each other that nobody felt crowded, but not so far that any one person had a bigger piece of beach than his neighbor.
As they continued their walk, they happened upon the butler for Jameson Prescott, who was pulling weeds at the end of the driveway. He wasn’t really a butler, he was the caretaker of the estate, and of Mr. Prescott.
“Bernard, how are you today, sir?”
He stood up from where he was crouched and brushed the dirt off his hands down the front of his jeans. “I’m well, Doctor. Out for a lunchtime stroll on this lovely day?” Bernard smiled and extended his hand to shake Donovan’s before he reached down to scratch the heads of the dogs.
“I wanted to get out of the office for a bit. It’s so nice out right now, you can’t beat an afternoon stroll with the dogs.”
“No, you sure can’t.” Bernard grinned a toothy smile and leaned against the nearby mailbox.
“How is Mr. Prescott doing? I haven’t seen him or Scrappy in a while.” Jameson Prescott adopted a Great Dane about a year prior and could be seen walking him on the beach fairly regularly. He’d grown into a massive, affectionate tail-wagger and companion for the thrice-divorced man.
“I’m sorry to say, Doctor, that Mr. Prescott passed away a few days ago.” The heaviness of grief was apparent in the old man’s tone. “He went on a trip to Switzerland for experimental treatment but it was too late. His cancer was too far gone at that point.”
Just when Donovan thought the afternoon was looking up. While they weren’t close, Jameson Prescott was a kind man and the two always spent time chatting when they ran into each other, or during Scrappy’s checkups. He knew that he was sick, but hadn’t realized it was as bad as it turned out to be. “I’m so sorry, Bernard. Mr. Prescott wa
s a good man.”
“That he was, Doctor.”
“Did he have any family? I don’t remember him ever speaking of them in our talks.” Donovan was pretty sure Jameson was a committed bachelor after his failed marriages, none of which resulted in any children he recalled.
“No, none to speak of,” Bernard replied.
“What will happen to the house? And to Scrappy?” The poor puppy was probably depressed without his buddy, Donovan thought.
“The will hasn’t been read officially yet, but he left his home, his assets, and all of his belongings, including Scrappy, to someone he cared about very deeply. I hope to see her here in the next week. Until then, I’m taking care of things.” Bernard had a hopeful gleam in his eye, and Donovan wondered who this special woman could be. Perhaps Jameson hadn’t given up on the ladies after all.
“If there is anything that I can do to help with the pup, please don’t hesitate to call me, Bernard. I’m truly sorry for your loss as well,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. It’s definitely going to take some getting used to,” he replied.
“Will you stay on as the caretaker of the estate?” Donovan asked.
“I think that will be up to the new owner. I’m prepared to stay as long as she’ll have me, and I suspect in the beginning, as she’s finding her way, that she will.”