Hound Dog & Bean (8 page)

“You know that guy Bean?” H.D. suddenly said. “From around the corner?”

Now both Elaine’s brows were up, and she calmed them purposely. If she looked interested, H.D. might clam up. She pursed her lips. Went back to petting River.

“You listening?”

“Hmmmm…?” she asked, pretending indifference. “Oh. What did you say?” Now she had to bite the insides of her cheeks.

“I was talking about that guy who owns your favorite coffee shop…. He’s a nice guy.”

“The one who got punched because of you?”

H.D. cringed. “Yeah….” He sighed.

“What about him?”

He visibly swallowed. “He’s nice. I thought about using some of the remedies I know and helping him out. Making sure he doesn’t get too black and blue.”

“You have remedies for a black eye?”

“Sure,” he said with a nod. “I already helped him with some olive oil.”

She gave him a funny look. “Olive oil?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. And a potato. You peel them and slice them in thick slices and keep them in the fridge and then put them on your eye. Helps with the swelling and the pain.”

Interesting. H.D. was talking about a man. He never talked about men. His “men” were conquests to use and throw away as fast as possible. He met a man and they screwed and that was it. He never even bragged about it later. It was like he forgot them as soon as he was done with them.

He caught her studying him, and just like that, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“
Niente
,” she said and looked down, but lost the struggle to hide a smile.

“I gave your girlfriend the instructions on what to do,” he snapped.

She glanced back at him. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “I saw her. The one you’ve been all gushy-gushy about?”

Elaine narrowed her eyes right back at him. “Mara is
not
my girlfriend, and I have
not
been all gushy-gushy about her.”

River squawked at her. Elaine wasn’t petting. The cat flipped her tail and leapt to the floor.

“Mara?” He sat back in his chair. “Who’s Mara? I thought it was Poindexter you liked.”

“Poindexter is her last name,” she said and immediately realized her mistake.

H.D. was grinning. “Well, well, well! Ain’t she just a little young for you?”

“She’s not so young. She’s thirty.”

H.D. whistled. “That is a twenty year difference, babycakes.”

Elaine’s shoulders slumped. Crap. He was right. Mara was too young. She had known that. But Mara was so sweet and so nice and so….

H.D. was laughing.

“What?” she growled.

“Elaine, that girl has a
crush
on you! You’d be stupid not to pursue that.”

She blushed. “I… I’m too old. I’m
way
too old.”

“Fuck that. Her eyes were sparkling when she asked about you. As long as she’s at least eighteen and you both feel the same way.”

“Do… do you think? I mean eighteen would be
really
too young and….” H.D. had done it again. Distracted her. Made her totally forget what she had been talking about.

She opened her mouth to pull the conversation back to where she had intended, then stopped. H.D. never talked about men.
Never
. And while it was ridiculous to think there was any way he really liked someone other than for a one-night stand, if there
was
a chance, she didn’t want to ruin it.

After that, they just talked about dogs and Mara. And darn it if it didn’t make her feel pretty tingly.

H.D.
WAS
in a good mood, and if someone asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. His day had started off well enough, but then had taken a sudden and very direct path south when that Brubaker bastard had shown up. It was like karma—payback for what an ass he’d been when first meeting the man—

But Brubaker asked for it. He’s an asshole!

—which is why he hadn’t told his friend and coworker the whole story about the incident at The Shepherd’s Bean. He wanted to. Oh yes he did. H.D. wanted to tell her all about the sound trashing he’d given the big brute. All about how the bigger they were, the harder they fell—or at least the faster they ran away.

But she would have disapproved, of course. Elaine would have asked him how come he hadn’t just stopped Brubaker. Why knock him silly? H.D. certainly had the skills, despite the difference in size and build between them. She would’ve reminded him how if he had handled things differently with the pet adoption, the problem would never have escalated to a confrontation in the first place.

And damn if she wouldn’t have been right.

And why hadn’t she brought that up anyway? When he’d stupidly told her about Bean getting punched?

And dammit, it was true. His way had caused an innocent bystander to get hurt. Unless you argued that Bean should have stayed out of it. But it could be equally argued that the shop owner had no choice. The honorable thing for Bean to do was to protect a guest under his roof.

Maybe that was the crux of the matter.

Bean had acted in a most honorable and chivalrous manner, and H.D. wasn’t often witness to such behavior from a human being. A dog, yes. A dog was loyal to a fault and would throw itself right in the path of danger. But a man?

The fact was that H.D. owed Bean a debt.

And a Hound Dog always paid his debts.

But whatever the situation—or despite it—H.D. was in a good mood.

Not only that, but he was ready to spread that good mood around.

He knew right where to start.

H.D.
HEADED
out at two o’clock and rode his bike over to the Thriftway again. It was several blocks farther than the big Sun Fresh, but the smaller store was locally owned, and he always liked to spend his money on real people instead of companies, even though he wasn’t a big “people” fan. They were better than corporations run by old, fat, white-haired men with no goal but to turn a profit and fuck over whomever they could in the process.

H.D. wanted some pineapple and papaya, both good for helping in Bean’s healing. He should have gotten them earlier, but ah well, no use worrying now. Luckily, the tiny store had a couple of papayas. Not great ones, but he was happy to get them. But no pineapple, except in a can. The owner said the fresh cut didn’t sell, and he had to stop carrying it. That produced a sigh. Who didn’t like fresh pineapple?

He thought for a moment about stopping by the bigger Sun Fresh after all. It would have everything he needed, but in a big old place like that, you went in for a couple of pieces of fruit, wound up trapped there an hour, and came out with a week’s worth of groceries. The papaya would do. Plus it was easier to work with, and it lacked the acidity of pineapple.

Then it was time for The Village Herbal. It was just a half block from The Shepherd’s Bean, and H.D. had a list. What he couldn’t remember from the things Ezzie—an old, old woman he’d spent nearly a year with some time ago (his longest stay in one place since he’d run away at fourteen)—taught him came easily when he googled them. He was looking for arnica and chamomile oils, as well as witch hazel. He would just buy a bottled version of the latter. There were plenty of good varieties out there. The guy at the little wonderful-smelling store was glad to help and even figured out what he needed the herbs for.

H.D. got to the coffee shop to find the front door locked. But Poindexter saw him and let him in. “Hey,” she said. “You showed.”

“Of course I did,” he said with a friendly snarl. “What did you think?”

“I didn’t know,” she answered. “I was hoping.”

“Boss man in back?” he asked.

“Resting. I keep making sure he doesn’t fall asleep, although he nodded off a few times. I figure I’ll drive him home. He’s doesn’t live far from here. Less than a mile.”

“Oh, good.” He could get directions. Ride over on his bicycle.

“I have a pickup,” Poindexter stated. “We could throw both your bikes in back.”

“Oh!” he said happily. “That’s convenient.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a dyke. What do you
think
I would have? A smart car?”

Poindexter told H.D. to head on to the back while she finished closing the register. H.D. found Bean dozing. Not good. He snapped his fingers. “Wakey, wakey!”

Bean gave a slight jump and his eyes popped open. “What?” Then the startled expression morphed into a sleepy smile. “Hey,” he said. “You came.”

“Why is everyone so surprised?” H.D. asked.

Bean gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. I only met you this morning. I thought you might get caught up in work and—”

“I said I’d be here and I am. And I got you some more stuff—”

“You really didn’t need—”

“Of course I did.” H.D. dropped to one knee again in front of Bean and peered at his face. “Yeah, you’re bruising a bit, but not as bad as it could have been. Your nose is swelling too. You been using those potatoes?”

“Yeah,” Bean said. “I just took one off a few minutes ago.”

“You sure it was only a few minutes? You looked like you were out when I got here.”

Bean gave him a sheepish look. “Well… I guess I’m not for sure….”

“I am” came Poindexter’s voice. She stepped up next to them. “We’ve been putting them on for a half hour and then taking them off for the same, just like you told me. It’s about time for another.”

“He can wear it in the truck,” H.D. said. “If you’re ready, that is.”

“Sure,” said Poindexter. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Show?” objected Bean. “I’m a show?”

“More interesting than
American Idol
,” H.D. said.

Bean rolled his eyes. “You like that show?”

“Nope,” said H.D. He leaned forward, resting hands on knees. “You’re far more interesting.”

Best H.D. had seen in forever in fact.

H.D.
GOT
in the back of the truck with the bikes after they settled Bean up front, cold potato slices on his eyes. It was the left one H.D. was most concerned about, though.

It only took them a moment to get to Bean’s place. The house was nice. Mostly brick, two floors from what H.D. could see, and it had a big porch with a swing. He noticed there was a fenced-in backyard as well.

Bean tried to prove he didn’t need help getting out of the truck and navigating the walk and the steps up onto the porch, but H.D. and Poindexter insisted on lending a hand. Better safe than sorry.

The inside of the coffee shop owner’s place was nice as well. Lots of hardwood and comfortable old furniture. And bookshelves. Bean was a reader, and that was something H.D. approved of. Hound Dog was a reader from way back. There were years and years when books were his only friends—particularly when he couldn’t have a pet, especially one that wasn’t taken from him one way or another.

“Where do you want us to park you, chief?” H.D. asked, looking around the living room.

“Couch?” Bean suggested.

“How about the big chair?” H.D. pointed to a large leather chair that reminded him of a bigger brother to the one they’d used at The Shepherd’s Bean. “We don’t want you going to sleep yet. You should really stay awake for at least twelve hours, but let’s keep you awake until least nine, s’all right?”

Bean gave a shrug, and they helped him into the chair despite his protestations that he could do it himself. H.D. still worried about how comfy that chair looked, though. They had to keep Bean awake. Maybe if they let some light in?

There was a sizable window that helped with that. At least, it did when H.D. drew the blinds. This house must have been built before electricity and wired later. That accounted for the big windows. Lamps provided man-made light. A midsized flat-screen TV sat in one corner of the room: nice but not ostentatious. If they turned that on, it might help keep Bean awake.

All and all it was a very comfortable place. Just what H.D. would like to live in if he ever considered buying his own place.

“Can you keep him company while I use the kitchen?” H.D. asked Poindexter. “I got some stuff to prepare.”

“Look,” Bean said. “You’ve done enough, really.”

“You might as well give up,” H.D. replied. “Once I make up my mind, it’s made up. Kitchen?”

Bean made a move to rise from the chair, and H.D. placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed him back down. “Point. I can find it.”

Bean sighed resignedly and pointed.

H.D. headed back through a large archway, past the dining room, and into a small but nicely arranged kitchen. There wasn’t a lot of counter space, but what there was lined one wall with another large window over it. It was one of those glass, attachable bay windows that stuck out from the house with shelves for plants. Bay window? Was that what it was called? H.D. shrugged to himself. It didn’t matter.

There were lots of cabinets and drawers, and it took H.D. a moment to find what he was looking for, but he was determined Bean not get up and help him.

Bean. What a nickname. It made sense, of course, what with the man owning a coffee shop, but it made H.D. wonder what the man’s real name was. Not that he had any business wondering. There was no way in the nine circles of hell he was telling the man his own real name was Hillary Dameron (and what had possessed his mom to name him Hillary?). Of course, his rules didn’t apply for anyone but him, and he made note to try to find the answer to the little mystery.

He took the papayas out of the shopping bag, peeled and then sliced one, and mashed the other in a small bowl with a big wooden spoon. He put the pulp in a Tupperware container and placed all of the fruit—sliced and mashed—in the old refrigerator. That’s when he noticed the photograph of the corgi—official dog of the Queen of England—affixed to the door with a ladybug magnet. It took him a moment to recognize the man who was both holding and being licked by the white-and-tan dog. It was Bean. A Bean with hair and the trimmest of goatees.
Hmmmm
. Bean had a dog? H.D. hadn’t seen one, and surely the critter would have met them all at the door. That’s what dogs did.