50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [18]
Grace poured Cliff a mug of hot coffee. He took it from her with a scant nod of acknowledgement. She offered some to Cal, but he shook his head.
“It’s a waiting game now,” Doc Newman told Grace.
“What are Midnight’s chances?”
The vet shrugged. “Could go either way.”
Grace knew that Cliff had a large financial investment in this stallion, but there was more to it. He loved that horse. He’d often talked about his dreams for the ranch, and it went without saying that Midnight was the very basis of Cliff’s future in ranching. She speculated that losing the stallion could set him back years. But it would be a personal loss as much as a financial one.
Not knowing what else to do, Grace stepped into the background and waited. She didn’t feel she could just walk away. She might not be able to give him any real help, but she wanted Cliff to know she cared.
After an hour she saw that she wasn’t contributing anything. No one wanted more food or coffee, so she returned to the house. It took her all of five minutes to clean up the kitchen. Bored, she turned on the television, flicking from channel to channel, not settling on any one program for more than a few minutes. Every half hour she went to the barn to see what was happening, but there seemed to be virtually no progress. As Doc Newman had said, it was a waiting game.
At ten Grace fell asleep in front of the television, waking with a start at shortly after eleven. She looked outside and saw that Doc Newman’s truck was gone. When she hurried out to the barn again, Grace saw that nothing had changed. Cliff and Cal were still with Midnight; neither seemed to notice her. As quietly as she could, she slipped out of the barn and went back to the house to collect her things.
Not wanting to interrupt Cliff, she climbed into her car and drove home, feeling depressed. She was worried about Midnight’s colic, of course, and extremely upset by Cliff’s attitude toward her. She wondered if he regretted the dinner invitation. Even if Midnight hadn’t taken sick, it wouldn’t have mattered. Cliff hadn’t even remembered this was the night she was coming to dinner. He’d made no preparations, nor had he shown the slightest interest in seeing her. If anything, he seemed happy to avoid her.
Buttercup and Sherlock were waiting when she let herself into the house and their obvious pleasure at her return comforted Grace. She saw that the message light on her phone was blinking. After leaving her purse on the washing machine, she sat down at her small kitchen table to listen, pen in hand.
A faint smile touched her lips at the sound of her best friend’s voice. Olivia wanted to hear all about Grace’s “hot” dinner date. “Phone when you get home. I don’t care how late it is.”
Reluctantly Grace reached for the telephone. Olivia answered on the first ring.
“Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night than sit by the phone?” Grace chided.
“Jack’s still at the office.”
Olivia didn’t sound pleased, and Grace didn’t blame her. “It’s almost eleven-thirty!”
“Tell me about it,” Olivia muttered. “But you didn’t call to hear me complain about Jack. How’d it go with Cliff?”
“Dreadful.” Grace went on to fill in the details, ending with her suspicion that Cliff seemed to regret inviting her.
Olivia was silent when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” Grace asked, discouraged and baffled by Cliff’s behavior.
“You’re not giving up, are you?” Olivia challenged.
“No,” but this wasn’t said with a lot of enthusiasm. “I guess not. But if he doesn’t—”
“He’ll phone you in the morning,” Olivia broke in.
Somehow Grace doubted that. It was as if Cliff had put her out of his mind.
Seven
Jack Griffin was tired and hungry. It was past nine on Tuesday and he still hadn’t left the office;