Previously Published in I'll Be Home For Christmas. The joyous season turns memorable in the hands of the incomparable #1 New York Times bestselling author Fern Michaels. . . Some people think owning buckets of money gives them the right of way. Well, if cosmetic king Peter King thinks he's going to buy struggling veterinarian Andi Evans's family property out from under her, he's got another thing coming. This Christmas, Andi is not in a giving mood. . .but is she ready to receive something her heart never expected? Praise for Fern Michaels and her novels "Heartbreaking, suspenseful, and tender." — Booklist on Return to Sender "Fast-moving. . .entertaining. . .a roller-coaster ride of serendipitous fun."— Publishers Weekly on Mr. and Miss Anonymous 33,500 Words.
Release date:
December 1, 2012
Publisher:
eClassics
Print pages:
91
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Andi Evans stared at the light switch. Should she turn it on or not? How many kilowatts of electricity did the fluorescent bulbs use? How would it translate onto her monthly bill? She risked a glance at the calendar; December 14, 1996, five days till the meter reader arrived. The hell with it, the animals needed light. She needed light. Somehow, someway, she’d find a way to pay the bill. On the other hand, maybe she should leave the premises dark so Mr. Peter King could break his leg in the dark. Breaking both legs would be even better. Like it was really going to happen.
Maybe she should read the letter again. She looked in the direction of her desk where she’d thrown it five days ago after she’d read it. She could see the end of the expensive cream-colored envelope sticking out among the stack of unpaid bills. “Guess what, Mr. Peter King, I’m not selling you my property. I told that to your forty-seven lawyers months ago.” She started to cry then because it was all so hopeless.
They came from every direction, dogs, cats, puppies and kittens, clawing for her attention, their ears attuned to the strange sounds coming from the young woman who fed and bathed them and saw to their needs. They were strays nobody wanted. This was what she’d gone to veterinarian school for. She even had a sign that said she was Andrea Evans, D.V.M. Eleven patients in as many months. She was the new kid on the block, what did she expect? Because she was that new kid, people assumed they could just dump unwanted animals on her property. After all, what did a vet with only eleven patients have to do?
Andi thought about her student loans, the taxes on her house and three acres, the animals, the bills, the futility of it all. Why was she even fighting? Selling her property would net her a nice tidy sum. She could pay off her loans, go to work for a vet clinic, get a condo someplace and . . . what would happen to her animals if she did that? She wailed louder, the dogs and cats clambering at her feet.
“Enough!” a voice roared.
“Gertie!”
Tails swished furiously; Gertie always brought soup bones and catnip. Andi watched as she doled them out, something for everyone. She blew her nose. “I think they love you more than they love me.”
“They love what I bring them. I’d like a cup of tea if you have any. It’s nasty out there. It might snow before nightfall.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight, Gertie?”
“Under the railroad trestle with my friends. Being homeless doesn’t give me many choices.”
“You’re welcome to stay here, Gertie. I told you the cot is yours anytime you want it. I’ll even make you breakfast. Did you eat today?”
“Later. I have something for you. Call it an early Christmas present. I couldn’t wait to get here to give it to you.” Gertie hiked up several layers of clothing to her long underwear where she’d sewn a pocket. She withdrew a thick wad of bills. “We found this four weeks ago. There it was, this big wad of money laying right in the street late at night. Two thousand dollars, Andi. We want you to have it. We watched in the papers, asked the police, no one claimed it. A whole month we waited, and no one claimed it. It’s probably drug money, but them animals of yours don’t know that. Better to be spent on them than on some drug pusher. Doncha be telling me no now.”
“Oh, Gertie, I wouldn’t dream of saying no. Did you find it in Plainfield?”
“Right there on Front Street, big as life.”
Andi hugged the old woman who always smelled of lily of the valley. She could never figure out why that was. Gertie had to be at least seventy-five, but a young seventy-five as she put it. She was skinny and scrawny, but it was hard to tell with the many layers of clothing she wore. Her shoes were run-down, her gloves had holes in the fingers and her knit cap reeked of mothballs. For a woman her age she had dewy skin, pink cheeks, few wrinkles and the brightest, bluest eyes Andi had ever seen. “Did you walk all the way from Plainfield, Gertie?”
Gertie’s head bobbed up and down. “Scotch Plains ain’t that far. I left my buggie outside.”
Translated, that meant all of Gertie’s worldly possessions were in an Acme shopping cart outside Andi’s clinic.
“Here’s your tea, Gertie, strong and black, just the way you like it. It’s almost Christmas; are you going to call your children? You should, they must be worried sick.”
“What, so they can slap me in a nursing home? Oh, no, I like things just the way they are. I’m spending Christmas with my friends. Now, why were you bawling like that?”
Andi pointed to her desk. “Unpaid bills. And a letter from Mr. Peter King. He’s that guy I told you about. His forty-seven lawyers couldn’t bend me, so I guess they’re sending in the first string now. He’s coming here at four-thirty.”
“Here?” Gertie sputtered, the teacup almost falling from her hand.
“Yes. Maybe he’s going to make a final offer. Or, perhaps he thinks he can intimidate me. This property has been in my family for over a hundred years. I’m not selling it to some lipstick mogul. What does a man know about lipstick anyway? Who cares if he’s one of the biggest cosmetic manufacturers on the East Coast. I don’t even wear lipstick. These lips are as kissable as they’re going to get, and his greasy product isn’t going to change my mind.”
“I really need to be going now, Andi. So, you’ll tell him no.”
“Gertie, look around you. What would you do if you were me? What’s so special about this piece of property? Let him go to Fanwood, anywhere but here. Well?”
“Location is everything. This is prime. Zoning has to be just right, and you, my dear, are zoned for his needs. I’d tell him to go fly a kite,” Gertie said smartly. “I hear a truck. Lookee here, Andi, Wishnitz is here with your dog food.”
“I didn’t order any dog food.”
“You better tell him that then, ’cause the man’s unloading big bags of it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Greasy, huh?”
“Yeah. Gertie, I wish you’d stay; it’s getting awfully cold outside. Thanks for the money. Tell your friends I’m grateful. You be careful now.”
“Hey, I didn’t order dog food,” she said to the driver.
“Bill says it’s a gift. Five hundred pounds of Pedigree dog food, sixteen cases of cat food and two bags of birdseed. Sign here?”
“Who sent it?”
“Don’t know, ma’am, I’m just the driver. Call the store. Where do you want this?”
“Around the back.”
Andi calle. . .
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