"And on that note, we'll take a break," interrupted Susan. As soon as the studio lights dimmed, a woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard rushed onto the stage and whispered fiercely into Susan's ear.
Natalie engaged in a glaring contest with Mr. I-Know-How-To-Train-Kids. After the woman left, Susan's brown eyes shone with excitement.
"You guys are doing great! The telephone lines have been jammed with callers," she said. "The producer has a great idea, and—"
"Susan, we're starting in three, two..."
"We're back with Natalie Hanover, a mother of three, and Garrett Hart, who is veterinarian with strong views on child rearing." Susan paused dramatically and looked into the camera. "Dr. Hart says he can train children to behave in a week. Mrs. Hanover doesn't agree. A challenge has been issued. And whoever wins … receives $25,000 from this TV station!"
***|***|***|***|***
"I can't believe you want me to subject my children to the ideas of Dr. Frankendog."
"C'mon, Natalie," Susan coaxed. "Garrett's a nice guy. Besides, you won't be alone with him. I'm following y'all with the filming crew."
Natalie leaned against the studio wall and sipped her coffee. Susan had cornered her before she'd had the chance to escape. $25,000. She needed the money. Michael's life insurance money and the few financial investments she'd cashed in on had all but fizzled out. A part-time job at the grocery store, conservative living, coupon clipping, and recycling the kids' clothes had sustained the family for the last six months. Even Rosa, their faithful housekeeper, had taken another job though she insisted on working for Natalie. Twenty-five thousand dollars would solve so many problems. But was the cash worth the strain of having the doggie doctor and Susan's television crew in her already chaotic home?
"Here he comes. Let's discuss this reasonably before you decide," Susan whispered.
Dr. Hart stopped; his gaze lingered on Natalie's lips. "You have a coffee moustache."
Her cheeks heated. She wiped off her mouth, and then threw away the Styrofoam cup in the trash can next to her. She crossed her arms. "So what's your plan? Are you going to teach my kids to sit up, roll over, and beg?"
"They already know how to beg," pointed out Susan.
Natalie shot her ex-best friend a shut-up glance.
"I think you're afraid I might be able to train your children."
His voice had softened, which took the sting out of the otherwise arrogant statement. His face wasn't exactly handsome; it was all sharp angles except for the fullness of his lower lip. His brown hair was collar-length and a straight lock fell across his forehead. He swiped it back in such an automatic way that she wondered why he didn't just cut the offending strands.
"I'm not doing this," said Natalie.
"Don't chicken out!" Susan gave her such a pleading look, she could felt herself caving. Plus, all that money would be hers when Dr. Hart failed.
"I simply want to protect Dr. Hart's ego. My kids would prove his methods wrong and I'm afraid the failure would crush him."
He laughed, and that amusement melted the icy blue of his eyes. Okay, so he was a little cute.
"It's only a week," cajoled Susan.
"Seven days of hell? No, thanks."
"Four days."
Natalie blew out a breath. "Fine. Four days."
"Agreed." Dr. Hart stuck out his hand. She took it; his warm, calloused palm enveloped hers. His grip tightened and she couldn't help but think that a man hadn't touched her in more than four years.
"I'll work out the details and call you," Susan said. He nodded, sent Natalie one last glance, and then left. Susan turned to her. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."
"You said that when you fixed me up with Tom, the plumber."
A light blush stained Susan's cheeks. "I didn't know he was engaged."
"You also said that when I was fifteen and contracted chicken pox."
"My grandmother swore by that nettle paste—"
Natalie held up a hand. "And you said everything would be fine when my water broke at the hardware store and fifteen minutes later I was delivering Andie in the back room."
Susan shrugged. "Maybe that's why she's such a tomboy. All those tools everywhere."
"I'm leaving now." Natalie sighed.
"See you Saturday," Susan chirped.
"I'm going to put a classified in the Mirror Falls Gazette for a new best friend."
"No one will apply," said Susan. "I'm the only one who will put up with you."
***|***|***|***|***
"IS THAT DOG doctor coming to our house?" Sylvie asked as soon as Natalie opened the front door. Her daughter followed her into the kitchen. As Natalie picked through the cabinets, she frowned. What gourmet meal would grace their table this evening? Macaroni and cheese, or spaghetti—sans meatballs?
"Mommy." Andie wiggled past Sylvie and stood in front of Natalie with fists on her hips. As usual, her face was dirty and her ponytail had come undone. "Why do you have to bring home a dumb ol' doctor? I need a private defective to help find my turtle."
"Detective, dummy," Sylvie said in her I-am-a-teenager tone.
"I'm not a dummy," said Andie. "You are."
"Oh, right. At least I can wipe my own butt. You still need help.
"I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Enough! Maybe Dr. Hart can teach the two you to get along. And if not, I could always build a doghouse in the backyard for both of you."
"I'd rather have a tent," Andie said.
"I'd rather be an only child," Sylvie retorted.
"I'd rather be in the French Alps drinking wine in front of fireplace with Keanu Reeves, but instead I get to live the dream of motherhood." Natalie adopted a bad English accent. "Hearing the lovely raised voices of arguing siblings, wiping delightfully snotty noses, and making delicious peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. Who could ask for anything more?"
"Oh gawd," Sylvie said and rolled her eyes.
"Mommy, what's a Keanu?"
"A gorgeous man with lots of money."
"Does he like kids?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. Why don't you go look for Mr. Turtle?"
Andie trotted out of the kitchen. Natalie sat down at the kitchen table and Sylvie dropped into the chair next to her.
"When will the doggie doc be here?"