To Hiss or to Kiss (25 page)

After they leave, Jorge pulls me into his embrace. “It will be OK.”

“That’s what I told the dogs.”

“Any word from Gracie?”

I shake my head. “Guess we wait and see.” A slight tremor enters my voice. If we keep talking about this right now, I’m going to fall apart.

Jorge must pick up on that. “Scotch or tea?”

“Scotch, then tea.”

He nods his approval, releasing me to go get us drinks. I think we could both use something to settle our nerves.

Chapter Nineteen

Gracie appears a few hours later. Jorge and I have moved on to tea and sip it while sitting at the kitchen table. The dogs rest under the table, needing to stay close.

“Hey, Gracie.” I speak aloud for Jorge’s benefit.

He looks around as if he can find her, but then gives up and sips his tea.

“I found Ringo. He’s OK. I waited until the police got there. They arrested the two men, and a dog warden took Ringo.”

“That’s good, Gracie. Thank you so much.”

She wiggles her tail and then fades away. I relay her message to Jorge.

“Guess we’ll be hearing from the police soon.”

And sure enough, a few hours later, Jorge gets a call. He looks considerably more pissed as the call goes on. Near the end he says tersely, “I don’t know anything about these men, but the dogs came to my property about a week ago obviously abused and malnourished. I’ve taken them to get medical care and am working to get their weight up. I can bring vet records that document the abuse.”

“What was that all about?” I ask as soon as he’s hung up.

“The men they picked up claim all four dogs we have are theirs and that we stole them. They say they were merely taking back what was theirs. We have to go down to the police station to clear this up.”

“Funny that they didn’t just come ask us for the dogs.”

“The cop said the same thing. I think he’s on our side on this one, but we have to go make a statement.”

A few minutes later we’re headed to the station, where we make official statements and turn over copies of the vet records. The detective assures us that Ringo is doing fine and being cared for at the local shelter, and that at this point they aren’t going to seize the other dogs, which is a huge relief.

He also tells us that with a dogfight being broken up just a day ago, combined with the evidence of abuse of our dogs consistent with dogfighting injuries, he’s confident they’ll be able to get a warrant to search the property for evidence of dogfighting pursuant to the ongoing investigation. Of course, the men didn’t agree to a search of their property to show evidence of ownership. “We’re hoping to find evidence of additional illegal activity, too. Obviously you are the type of people who should have dogs, not those bozos in there. Although you never heard me say that.”

“Of course not.” Jorge’s lips show a hint of a smile. We shake the officer’s hand and head home.

Gracie is waiting for us in the car. I fill her in.

“Good. I want Ringo and all of you to be safe.”

I repeat her words for Jorge’s benefit. Then I promise her, “We’ll keep working on it.”

Jorge adds his agreement.

* * *

When we get back to the house, it just doesn’t feel right to be there. The dogs are moping, I keep imagining I see a white van out of the corner of my eye whenever I look out a window, and I just feel jumpy.

“I think we should go to my place for a while.” I lean against the frame of the doorway to the kitchen. I’d spent about fifteen minutes wandering around the house, saying I needed to work off some nervous energy. The whole time Jorge was reading in the living room.

He looks up at me. “Why?”

“I can’t get settled here. I keep worrying about Ringo. And I need to check on my cats. Plus if we go to my place, I can invite Naomi over, and you can wow her with your cooking skills.” Maybe those last two reasons will be more enticing than the implication that I no longer feel comfortable in his house. I don’t think the feeling will last, but I do really want a change of scenery. I may have come to think of this place as home already, but it’s still a new concept.

I shoot him my most winning smile, but he still frowns a bit.

“I don’t know if we should leave. What if the police need to contact us?”

“You have your cell phone, and it’s not like I live in another state. It’s a thirty-minute drive. And you’ve never stayed at my place.”

“I don’t really like cities. And I have top-of-the-line security here. Your house doesn’t.”

“Why are you fighting me on this so much? These guys probably have no idea where I live, and I doubt they’re going to go looking for us when the police are watching.” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice, or my body language, as I start pacing around the living room.

He tracks me with his eyes for a few moments. “I’m sorry.” He catches up to my pacing, grabbing my arms so I can’t keep moving. “We can go. I just resist being in places I am unfamiliar with.”

“Paranoid much?” I shake free of his grip but stay put.

“As a matter of fact, yes. It often pays to be prepared.”

“And it’s often boring and irritating to never do anything you haven’t extensively thought through and avoid new experiences.”

“Better than ending up in a bad situation.”

“Maybe, but I bet you’ve missed some awfully good ones, too.”

“Hey, I did intervene that first night to save your ass. That was completely spontaneous.”

I give him a playful shove, dissipating much of the tension that had built up between us. “Yeah, I’ll admit that worked out well. But I don’t think going to stay at my place ranks high on the list of risky behaviors. Can’t you just take along a camera or two or something?”

He cocks his head, taking my suggestion much more seriously than I intended. “That’s a good idea. I’ll get the equipment if you pack.”

I try to contain my laugh. If taking some cameras with us seals the deal, well then, I can compromise with the best of them. Although something tells me Jorge’s overprotective, paranoid streak will rear its ugly head for a long time to come. “It’s a deal, with one additional request.”

“What’s that?” He quirks his eyebrow, and I really want to kiss him, but well, that would probably lead to a lengthy delay.

“I want to revive an old tradition from my family for our dinner. I’ll buy a bagful of ingredients, and you have to work them all into the meal. No planning ahead.”

“I have to do that and meet your best friend, who sounds a little scary-protective based on what you’ve told me, at the same time? You ask a lot, my dear.” He puts his hand over his heart as if he’ll faint, but the slight smile on his lips tells me he’s being overly dramatic.

“Like you can talk about being scary protective. You and Naomi should get along just fine on that count. And yes, that’s the deal.” I cross my arms for emphasis, but I can’t completely keep a straight face.

“Fine. We have a deal.”

He heads to get his precious cameras, and I go to pack and call Naomi to invite her to my place for dinner and to meet my man. For the dinner ingredients, I figure I’ll just wander around the store and see what hits me. The less to worry about now.

It’s been days since I’ve thought about Reiki, what with all the drama—OK, and the sex—but one of the precepts pops into my mind: “Just for today, do not worry.” I need to take that one to heart right about now. The situation with Ringo is out of my hands, and the chances that Naomi won’t like Jorge are slim to none. I take a few deep breaths just to emphasize my belief in letting go of the worry. It sort of works—at least more than it did the last time I tried it. I’ll take whatever progress I can get.

* * *

No surprise Naomi is over the moon to meet Jorge. She squeals in my ear so loudly it hurts a little. After I speak with her, I kill several hours grocery shopping. Turns out it’s really hard to narrow ingredients down to a bagful when you pretty much have no food in your house. It doesn’t help I have pretty much no clue about cooking either. I end up buying about five bags of stuff, but I designate one that is full of fresh herbs and produce for the mystery ingredients. I decide Jorge can pick from the various cuts of meat, pasta, rice, and other staples I picked up.

When I get home, Jorge comes to help me unload. I make sure I get the mystery bag.

He effortlessly juggles two bags while opening the door from the garage to the house. “I’m glad you’re home. The dogs and cats have been having a staring contest for the last hour. It’s actually quite disconcerting.”

I laugh, following him inside and kicking the door shut with my foot. I glance into the living room and sure enough, the three dogs lie together on one side of the room, warily eyeing the two cats, who are perched on the back of the couch. Sashi really has her glare on.

“Did anything bring this on?” When I’d left, Sashi had already done plenty of hissing and posturing, which suitably proclaimed her queen of the domain. The dogs didn’t seem to mind, content to give her a wide berth. Enoki hadn’t come out of hiding yet.

“I don’t think so. I took the dogs for a walk, and they settled down for a nap when we got back. Sashi came in and started glaring from her throne. Enoki came out to join her shortly after that. Once one dog woke up, they all did. They intermittently whine, but otherwise it’s just wary watching of the cats.”

“Yeah, Sashi’s a wee bit dominant. I’m sure she’ll declare a truce once she realizes that the dogs aren’t going anywhere and aren’t going to take over the house. Or maybe I should say she’ll grant them pardons.”

Jorge joins me in laughter before heading out to get the last two bags.

After setting down my bag off to the side, away from the others, I go out to the living room and give Sashi a big hug. She looks entirely disgruntled and has the audacity to softly growl at me. I stare her down. “Don’t get too big for your britches, Sashi. Only benevolent rulers avoid mutiny.”

She growls a complaint but settles back down and stops staring with such vehemence at the dogs.

“Good girl.” I scratch behind her ears. Enoki headbutts my arm, and I give him some love too.

Turning to the dogs, I tell them it’s safe to get up now. They aren’t sure they believe me, but when Jorge comes in, they all follow Hector’s lead to trail behind us to the kitchen.

Putting down the last two bags, he turns to me, grinning that sexy grin of his. “So when do I get to peek in the bags?”

“These four are free-for-alls. I didn’t know what you’d need for tonight, and I really didn’t want to go shopping again, so I got enough for several days. But this bag is the one that has ingredients you must use.” I point to the lone bag I’d set on the far counter.

A look of trepidation hangs around his features as he walks over and warily looks in the bag.

I’m sure he must be hamming it up, and I can’t suppress my giggle. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

He roots around, pulling out potatoes, an onion, a few tomatoes, a green pepper, a head of garlic, and various herbs. When he gets it all set out on the counter, he turns to me with a relieved smile. “I can work with this.”

“Good, I put effort into picking these ingredients.”

“So where did this tradition come from? You said your family?” He moves on to emptying the other bags, arranging things in my refrigerator. The dogs circle around him, sniffing intently and generally getting underfoot. Jorge skirts around them with his elegant feline grace.

I tell him about my family’s extensive garden and how much fun my mother had picking out ingredients for my dad, and how I was brought into the tradition. And about how much we’d laugh over some odd pairings of vegetables and how my dad would come up with the strangest, yet tastiest creations. “So see, you got off easy for your first time.”

“I guess I did.”

“I miss those days. We need to start a garden and I’m hoping my father can give me advice when he visits.” It feels nice to talk about the good times with my mom and dad. I’m not sure I remember the last time thoughts of either parent weren’t tinged with negativity.

“That would be good since I know nothing about gardening. We jaguars are carnivores, after all.” We laugh together for a bit. “I guess I better get to prepping. Naomi will be here in a few hours.”

I settle into a chair at the kitchen table to watch Jorge work, occasionally telling him where to locate some needed utensil. I have most of the items he’s looking for, and he figures out how to make do without when necessary. He does complain about the dullness of my knives, especially when he gets to chunking up the potatoes to make a creamy mashed potato side dish. He’s appalled that I don’t have a ricer, whatever that is.

Watching him work, I am reminded of how much joy my dad took in cooking—and how empty the kitchen was in our house after he gave up on Mom’s coming back.

Jorge breaks into my reverie, asking about a strainer, and I realize I’ve been crying, tiny rivulets running down my cheeks and pooling on the table. The dogs evidently noticed, because they all hover around me, gently nuzzling my legs.

In an instant Jorge is by my side, asking if I am OK, what is wrong, if there is anything he can do, which only makes me cry harder. The dogs back away to let him come closer, but I am aware they still hover. Jorge takes me in his arms, and I let go a flood of repressed pain I didn’t even fully know I was holding on to. He gently strokes my head, and I thank whatever out there gave me this man, this love in my life.

A timer going off brings us back to the task at hand. He lifts my head gently, kissing each cheek. “I love you.” His voice is strong and resonant.

“I love you too.” I hiccup, then remembering his original question, I tell him where the strainer is.

“Good you have your priorities straight.” He winks before he goes to tend to the potatoes.

I take a few moments to pull myself together. “Well, that was embarrassing.” I’m not sure if the heat in my cheeks is from crying or blushing. Maybe both.