The Trouble With Mini Cows (Fidalgo Island Book 1)

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Links

  Copyright and Author's Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tess hefted the sixty-pound bag of dog food into the back of her old green Subaru and closed the hatch with relief. That was that chore done for at least the next month. She rolled her shoulders to stretch out her neck muscles, and vowed to start lifting weights as soon as she got home. In fairness, the guy at the feed store always offered to help carry it out, and she always turned him down. Partly because she outweighed him by at least thirty pounds, and therefore ought to have more muscle—in theory, anyway. And also because there didn’t seem much point in taking the easy route here when there wasn’t anyone to help at the other end, where a full-length staircase waited. Maybe she’d let him be gallant and carry it out next time. Or maybe this would be the day when she actually did start lifting weights.

  Restlessness kicked at her. She surveyed the wild growth on the edge of the gravel parking lot, looking for signs of the emerging spring. For mid-March there wasn’t much—a few leaf buds here and there, the soft silver grey catkins of pussy willows, and lots and lots of dewdrops hanging off everything. In a few weeks she’d have forgotten this feeling of impatience, but for now…

  She pushed back her too-long bangs from her forehead and simply enjoyed the sensation of cool mist hitting her upturned face. She wanted something different today, something exciting, or a change in routine beyond running errands in town. She’d been wondering for a while now if she wasn’t stuck in a too-comfortable rut. At first she’d put it down to the post-holiday blues and the continual grey skies of winter along the Oregon Coast. But now the heavy skies had given way to loose tendrils of fog, the birds were chattering about nesting plans and she still felt at odds. She wasn’t really sad or unproductive—just a bit stale, like she was coasting through life instead of actively living it.

  She refused to consider that celebrating her thirtieth birthday could have anything to do with it. It was just a number, and she’d noted that the day had passed with amazing calm and otherwise been uneventful. Mentally though she could no longer group herself with the twenty-somethings, and must now align with references to the thirty-somethings. Her problems felt a lot more like twenty-something problems.

  Her parents weren’t exactly ripe with advice. Newly retired, they were out of the house more than they were in. When they did talk on the phone, her mother told her she should come visit and soak up some of the southern sunshine. Tess didn’t think that being a third wheel to her parents’ full life was going to make her feel any better. Probably just the opposite. And the fact that she still sought advice from her parents underlined her emerging feeling of stunted personal growth. Shouldn’t she be figuring these things out for herself by now? Or at least consulting her nonexistent pack of sophisticated girlfriends for advice, like on TV? She was going to have to start learning how to sort things out for herself and own her choices. Maybe actually make some this time.

  She felt a tinge of anxiousness creep in when she thought of all the things she wasn’t accomplishing, the money that wasn’t in the bank. So she closed her eyes and breathed the cool, salty air in deeply. Maybe she should stop at the hardware store and get some plants. It was unlikely there would be another frost at this point. Today might be a good day to get her flowerpots going, and maybe the promise of bright colors would snap her out of her funk. That way she’d at least have accomplished something tangible.

  Daisy whined softly from the back seat, bringing Tess back to earth and the agenda at hand. Daisy was a stickler for schedules. Invariably the next stop on their bi-weekly big trip to town would be the coffee shop on Main Street, where Tess would come back out with a latte for herself and a complimentary dog treat. If she skipped the coffee shop out of some misguided sense that the unconsumed hundred calories would make much of a difference in how her jeans fit, Daisy would sulk and moan for the rest of the day.

  Tess smiled at her through the car window. The three years they’d been together had simply flown by. It seemed like just yesterday that the shoebox-sized puppy had come home with her from the local pound. Who could possibly have given up that squirmy black and white bundle of joy? Tess had played with her in the shelter’s meet-and-greet room, but was already a goner when she’d initially seen in her in the kennel, all the puppy’s attention directed at trying to catch her own tail. One sloppy kiss on the chin and there was no way she was leaving that dog behind. Daisy was significantly bigger now, but not much else had changed. She still gave sloppy kisses that made Tess’s heart melt.

  She got in the car and was rewarded with an encouraging lick on the cheek. Daisy sat back with her black and white fur sticking out every which way, her ears at attention and her mouth open in a smile. Reversing out of the feed store lot and heading toward the center of town, Tess briefly considered what would happen if she went the other direction and just kept driving. She had Daisy, as well as groceries and dog food with her, so the essentials were covered. She could probably make Northern California on this tank of gas. But what would that change, really? She wasn’t a prisoner here; in fact, she didn’t have any ties at all—and that was probably the crux of her problem. She didn’t feel settled. She rented because she couldn’t afford to buy, her work was not dependent on location and her love life was, well… nonexistent. She could pick up and leave at any time and there wouldn’t even be a ripple in the community.

  She purposely switched her mind to her other problem—how she was going to fix the movie script that she’d left in mid-scene out of sheer frustration. Why had the author thought that spending her own money on adapting her unsold novel about a teenage schizophrenic’s diary into a movie would be a good idea? And why had she taken the project? It was nearly impossible to tell the voices in the heroine’s head apart in the book, let alone get them all into a script. Maybe the sadder parts of that story were bleeding into her own life. But the agreed deadline was coming up, and she was beginning to wonder if this was the first time she would miss one. Maybe she needed to change her career as well as her location. She didn’t exactly interact with very many people glued to her computer screen at home. But she loved converting books into screenplays, even though most of them never got made into movies, and she was addicted to being able to stop and take Daisy for a walk or put a chicken in the oven in the middle of the afternoon. Cubicle life didn’t look that attractive.

  Tess could only blame her distraction for pulling into the open parking space right next to the telltale lime-green SUV. She groaned with dismay when she opened her car door and realized what she’d just let herself in for. She should be over this by now, shouldn’t she? For a brief, wicked moment she contemplated dragging her key down the side of that, that thing, but she quickly decided she didn’t want to give its owner the satisfaction of knowing she cared. She was a mature adult, and it was high time she got over her embarrassment and put it all in the past, where it belonged. She ought to be able to enco
unter him in a public place without grimacing or wanting to cross the street. So why couldn’t she?

  She walked slowly up the three weathered wooden steps to the door of the coffee shop. And winced a little when the little brass bells suspended from the top jingled at her entrance. The smell of fresh cinnamon rolls wafted in from the kitchen, and on any other occasion she would probably have waited for them to come out to the front and then taken a few home. And… there he was. The biggest, smuggest jerk to grace the Oregon craft scene ever.

  Daniel had descended on the small coastal town of Juniper two years ago, and seemed like a wonderful infusion of newness at the time. He’d rented the perpetually empty former gas station at the end of Main Street and installed his art pottery there in time for the summer tourist rush. He was tall and fit, and wore his shoulder-length blond hair in an artsy, tousled fashion. He’d introduced himself to Tess in this very coffee shop, saying he could tell she was another creative soul. His witty compliments over the ensuing weeks had her eyes shining with naive hope. That was, until the rumors started.

  Thank God she hadn’t slept with him. At least she didn’t have that regret. But she’d come close, and she kicked herself every time she thought about how she’d made sure her bedroom was picked up and she had an extra toothbrush ready “just in case.” She’d even gone into the next town over and bought condoms, for Pete’s sake. The box was still there in her nightstand, mocking both her judgment of one man and her inability to move on and find someone else—not that she’d put too much effort into the later. Throwing them out, though, seemed too final. Like she was giving up on ever finding a worthwhile relationship.

  The whispers had begun quietly at first, little side references from people who worked in the restaurants and hotels that they’d seen him around. There was always a hint of surprise in their voices. At the time Tess had told herself that it was early days yet, no promises had been made nor any talk of getting serious, but some part of her had known something was off. Then people had started giving her some questioning glances. She blushed just thinking about what they must have been thinking. The blindfold came off when Jainey, the town’s aromatherapist and tarot card reader, announced to the entire grocery store one Saturday morning that she was joining a sex commune. She was perpetually high on marijuana, which she claimed prevented psychic pains, so people had tried to ignore her at the time—except that it turned out to be true.

  Daniel, it seemed, liked variety. A whole lot of variety. Including watching other people who liked variety. So he’d turned the old Carson place, where he was living deep in the woods, into a sexual free-for-all. Since no money changed hands and everyone was over eighteen, the police were more inclined to snicker and speculate with everyone else than actually do anything. Generally, Tess was a live-and-let-live kind of woman, but not when she felt played for a fool. And that was exactly what Daniel had called her when she confronted him. Specifically, a repressed, naive little fool for whom he was just trying to do a favor. Monogamy, it seemed, was for ignorant people afraid of expressing their true nature. He’d told her she’d be so much happier if she just let go of her bourgeois hang-ups. Tess had turned around and walked away without a word. Pansy-ass. She still wasn’t sure though if she meant herself or him.

  That very same day she’d gone home and deleted every email they’d exchanged in the prior three months, stabbing at the keyboard so hard the D key had popped out. She was a bit perturbed to find she was still pretty angry now when she saw his smug face back in the corner, his arms around the Thompson twins, who’d just turned eighteen last week. With some careful planning, she’d been doing a pretty good job of not running into him. Why did she even let him get to her? He had been charming and she had thought he was a different kind of person. It happened every day. She needed to get a grip and stop letting him piss her off. She certainly no longer found him attractive, and maybe one of these days she wouldn’t feel the urge to geld him with a spoon. She hoped the Thompson twins didn’t catch any diseases—they were a little young to be running with that crowd, even if they were legal. Then again, with some of the things she overheard the local teenagers discussing, they could probably exchange their age number with hers and have it just about right.

  She averted her eyes and headed to the counter, determined to forget he was even present on the same planet. Just as she finished paying for her latte and was accepting Daisy’s complimentary biscuit, her cell phone rang. Fishing it out of her pants pocket, she was tempted to ignore it, but then she saw her mom’s number on the caller ID.

  “Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

  “Tessa, I thought you’d never answer. I’ve been calling you all morning!”

  “I’m in town, Mom. You know reception gets spotty along the coast.”

  “Well, never mind that now. We need to talk about your grandmother.”

  Conscious that the chatter had died down in Daniel’s corner, Tess kept her eyes on the door while trying to juggle the phone, dog bone and her coffee. She finally managed to free one hand enough to open the door and wave her hand in the general direction of Stacy at the counter, letting the door slamming behind her express her feelings about Daniel.

  “I can’t talk right now. How about I call you when I get back to the house?”

  “Are you sure you won’t forget? Your grandmother has really done it now.”

  “I won’t forget—soon as I walk in the door. Okay?”

  “Okay, but hurry. I’m so mad at her I could spit tacks.”

  Wow. Must be something in the water the Calhoun women were drinking that morning. Tess got back in the car, glared one last time at the lime-green monstrosity to get it all out of her system and gave Daisy her treat. The dog took it delicately from her hand and then devoured it in a flurry of crumbs and chomping on the back seat.

  Tess drove carefully on her way home back up the coast road. The fog thickened in the low spots, obscuring the trees and the ocean beyond. She yearned to stomp on the gas and release some of her pent-up frustration on the twisty road. Tourist season was getting started, though, and the cops were nestled into their speed traps, so she resisted the urge. No need to compound the day with a pricey ticket. At the top of the hill before her turn, the fog had finally burned off, leaving a clear blue sky. The sun glinted sharply off the waves, just visible in the occasional breaks in the tall trees. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day—weather-wise, at least.

  Maybe she could find some self-help books online, something that would give her some ideas on how to make some concrete changes. A plan. She needed a plan.

  The white post barely registered as she pulled into the driveway. But some part of her brain was awake and made her take a second look. There was a fresh red and white “for sale” sign from a real estate conglomerate at the end of the drive. Tess got out of the car slowly and walked back up toward the sign. Maybe it was for the neighbor’s house, although that would be an odd place to put it. Tess pulled one of the fliers out of the clear acrylic box on the post. Nope, it was this house and her garage apartment—listed as a mother-in-law/guest house. Shit. Apparently the universe had been listening when she’d been complaining about being in a rut and had decided to lend a helping hand.

  She took her time unhooking Daisy from her seatbelt and getting the groceries out, thinking furiously as she did so. She was in no hurry to call her mother, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to her sort of landlords either. Thinking about making changes was a very different thing from having them forced on you. Daisy efficiently chased a couple of squirrels back up the trees where they belonged, and then stood smiling on the stair landing over the garage, her longish fur wafting slightly in the breeze. Tess grimaced, the bag of dog food slung over her shoulder, and braced herself to climb the stairs. This was the only downside to her free-rent digs over the detached garage of the beach mansion. She still couldn’t believe she lived in such a beautiful place, and maybe that had something to do with her ambivalence about making a ch
ange.

  She nominally house-sat over the winter, and the owners felt better having someone there all the time that could call in an alert if any vacation renters got really out of hand. She and Daisy had easy access to the beach whenever they wanted to go, and even a small water view from the bathroom window. It was a pretty good setup that she had felt lucky to fall into. Apparently that would be changing soon, and maybe that was for the best. She needed to be moving her career forward, or finding something else where she could start thinking about owning her own place. But first she needed to decide where that was. The views here were spectacular, but she still didn’t feel like she really belonged.

  Grabbing the cordless phone from the charger on the kitchen counter, she headed out to the mini-balcony along the back to soak up the rare sunny weather. She screwed her eyes up tight and then released them before punching the speed-dial button for the Carletons, her erstwhile landlords. Marjorie picked up immediately.

  “Oh hello, dear. I’ve been meaning to call you and check in. How are you? How’s the house?”

  “Marjorie…”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “There’s a ‘for sale’ sign at the end of the drive.”

  “Oh, shoot. They said they wouldn’t put that in until next week! I didn’t think we needed to alarm you too soon. The thing is, see, Peter’s doctor says he’s not to do stairs anymore. And I confess, they’re getting a bit much for me as well. So we’re selling both places and going to buy something simpler nearer the grandkids, maybe take a few cruises. But we want you to know that you can stay until the sale is final—why, we consider you an asset of the property!”

  “Thank you, Marjorie, but you know nothing stays on the market here for more than a month, so that gives me maybe two months tops.”

  “Well… maybe the buyers would like to keep you on. You know Peter and I would be happy to give you glowing references.”

  Tess groaned silently to herself. Nobody investing in a multimillion-dollar seaside residence was likely to keep her on in a rent-free capacity. The Carletons were friends of grandparents of her college roommate, and definitely not the norm. And until she managed to move her career into a better and more consistent level, she couldn’t afford to pay anything to the future owners. Shit, shit and double shit. But she was hardly the Carletons’ problem, and she had only herself to blame for not having a plan B ready to go.