interview with Isaiah, sheâd left the clinic walking on clouds, believing that heâdhired her on her own merit. It hurtâoh, how it hurtâto realize that hadnât been the case.
She could not, under any circumstances, accept the position now. She hadnât clawed her way, inch by inch, toward a partial recovery to accept Isaiah Coulterâs charity. She needed to make her way in the world without any special concessions. Other-wise all her struggles had been for nothing.
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Three hours later, Isaiah was turning off onto a rutted dirt road to make his weekly call at a local dairy farm when his cell phone rang. Jerked from his distracted perusal of the snowcapped Cascades on the horizon, he sighed and tugged the silver communication device from his belt. âIsaiah here.â
âHi, sweetie.â
âHi, Mom.â Isaiah had expected it to be someone from the clinic. His mother seldom telephoned during the day because he was always too busy to talk. âHow are you this morning? Is everything okay with you and Dad?â
âOh, Isaiah, Iâm so upset. Iâve made an awful mistake, and now I donât know what to do.â
Isaiah frowned in concern. The dairy barns were just around the curve, so he pulled the vehicle over onto the grassy shoulder of the road, shifted into park, and cut the engine. âAnything I can help with?â
âOh, dear, I hope so.â
Boomer, the dairy farmerâs tricolored Australian shepherd, careened around the curve just then, gave a glad bark, and leveled out into a run to reach the Hummer. Tied up on the phone, Isaiah couldnâtgreet the Aussie as he normally did, so he quickly grabbed a dog biscuit from the sack he kept on the passenger seat and thrust it out the open driver-side window. The strategy worked. Instead of jumping at the door and scratching the paint, Boomer took a running leap to snatch the treat from Isaiahâs hand. For good measure, Isaiah tossed out two more biscuits to keep the dog occupied.
âYou know Iâll help if I can, Mom. Whatâs the trouble?â
Mary made a mewling sound. âItâs about Laura Townsend.â
Isaiahâs attention sharpened. âYeah, what about her?â
âOh, Isaiah, youâre not going to be happy about this. First, let me just say that I really, really believed she would be a fabulous kennel keeper. You know Iâd never have recommended her otherwise.â
Isaiah cocked an eyebrow. âOf course you wouldnât. That goes without saying. The clinic is my and Tuckerâs livelihood.â
âExactly, and Iâm sure Laura would have been a fabulous asset to both of you.â
âWould have been? Iâm not following.â He glanced at his watch. âSheâs at the clinic as we speak. This is her first day of training.â
âNo,â Mary said faintly. âIâm afraid sheâs not there. Oh, Isaiah, Iâm so upset I could cry. Sheâs such a sweet girl. I never in a million years meant for her to know.â
âKnow what?â
Mary moaned. Isaiah began to get a very bad feeling, which only grew more pronounced whenhis mother added, âOh, how I wish I didnât have to tell you. Youâre always so unreasonable about this sort of thing.â
Isaiah narrowed his eyes. The only times he could recall being remotely unreasonable with his mother had been when she tried to set him up with women. âYou didnât.â
âI meant well.â
âYou didnât. With Laura, Mom?â Isaiah pictured Lauraâs oval face and large, expressive eyes. Sheâd been so hesitant during the interview last night, then so grateful for the job. âWhat the hell were you thinking?â
âNow, now. I donât blame you for being angry, Isaiah, but donât curse at me.â
His eyes narrowed even more. âDonât play the mother card. You know very well I