feel that calling it Stirrups makes it sound like we’re a gynecologist’s office or something.”
“And your contention is that Women’s Wellness Center misses the mark as well.”
She nodded.
“I understand the idea of stirrups,” I told her, swallowing my bite before speaking, because I wasn’t raised in a barn. “Because they help you up, keep you balanced, assist with control, and even allow you to rest.”
“Yes,” she almost whimpered. “Exactly. You get it.”
“But I can see where your partners might think stirrups would lead to thoughts of an obstetrician.”
She groaned loudly.
“What about Shepherds?” I asked her. “Because I understand what you’re saying, but I think some women might feel like you’re comparing them to cattle.”
“Really?”
“It’s possible,” I said gently. “But I think with something like Shepherds, you still have the steering component, but hopefully no one will think of sheep that are more traditionally cared for because you keep them. It gives off the same vibe as the steered, driven, guided thing, and you shepherd people along, not in the sense of sheep but in the sense of mentoring and guiding. And you can still get the sheep-horse connection, because horses are used in the corralling of flocks, right? You’re not driving something somewhere to eat and drink, but instead you’re guiding them. You need a logo that denotes shepherding the recovery of your people through––”
“Yes!” she squealed, grabbed her phone and was already talking to, I was guessing, her partner, or partners, when the front door opened and a woman came through.
She was older, maybe late fifties, early sixties, and she was in yoga pants, some high-end walking shoes, a white polo and, much like her daughter, had a purse that she could easily fit a small child into. She took off her oversized Prada sunglasses as she crossed the floor to the island.
“Good morning,” she greeted me, holding out her hand.
I took it, squeezed gently, and smiled, because I liked her smile, the same one she had gifted to both her children. She had given her son his gorgeous bone structure, his sunset-colored hair, though hers was darker, as was Cate’s, but not his eyes. Hers, like Cate’s, were a lovely, bright Caribbean Sea blue, not the storm-washed depth of her son’s.
“I’m Jackie,” she said, beaming at me, walking around the island to take a seat beside her daughter, who was talking animatedly to whoever was on the other end of the line.
She picked up Cate’s fork, took a bite of the omelet, and then smiled up at me. “That’s very good,” she praised me.
“Can I make you one?” I offered, going back to my own food for a moment.
“No, no,” she said, glancing over my shoulder. “But I would love some tea.”
“It’s Irish Breakfast, is that okay?”
“Wonderful,” she said, chin on her hand, looking me over. “You know he has a milk frother. I bought it.”
“Where?” I asked her.
She pointed, and I got it out and made her tea a latte, which I guessed was what she was hinting at.
“So, Croy,” she murmured, sipping her tea, “I’m having friends over tonight, just a casual meal, drinks and dinner. I’d love it if you and my son came by.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m not sure what he’s got planned, but I’ll ask him as soon as he wakes up from his nap.”
She nodded. “And he’s been sleeping for a bit, has he?”
“He needed the rest.”
“Wore him out, did you?”
I choked on my orange juice but recovered quickly. “No, ma’am,” I rasped, my voice barely there. “He was just tired.”
Her eyes narrowed. “My son tends not to sleep at all. Ever. I’ve taken to popping in and restocking the refrigerator, and if I get here early enough, it’s not unusual to meet him on the way in.”
“He’s a very committed agent,” I told her.
“It’s the walk of shame, Croy,” she informed me with a cynical eyebrow.
I chuckled. “It happens.”
She cleared her throat softly. “But never, ever, I can promise you, have I found a man in his kitchen.”
“Well, as I said, because we’re––”
“Working a case together, yes.”
“Who are you talk––”
Dallas was frozen under the arch that led from the hall into the living room and kitchen.
“Oh no.” He almost whined.
“You should put on some clothes, darling,” Jackie suggested cheerfully, because the only thing he wore was the towel around his waist. “We’re having breakfast.”
Instant scowl. “I told you I didn’t need you to put food in my fridge, and you don’t have to come over here and––”
“Oh, I didn’t do the shopping,