“Okay.”
Keith looks up surprised. “Okay, as in you’ll finally make an appearance?”
I shrug it off, like he didn’t just convince me by mentioning Meredith.
“Yeah, might as well or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
What I don’t tell him is I’d be willing to eat fucking anything Meredith serves.
Even tofu.
Chapter 4
Meredith
“Don’t jump, Beau.”
He drops to all fours and looks at me with his effective pout. Beau is a large shaggy gray mutt of undetermined origin—although judging by his size and coat I suspect he may have some Irish Wolfhound in him—I picked up from the shelter last year. It was that same pout that had me take a second glance at the fierce-looking, but obviously neglected dog. He’d been skin over bones and, according to the woman at the shelter, was found roaming the cemetery just a few days earlier.
With my second winter in Durango looming, I’d been looking for a dog for company. The winter months are long and lonely up here in the mountains. I’d gotten a steal on the somewhat run-down A-frame house when the owners of the mountain retreat fell on hard times and had to sell the property. One man’s loss is another’s gain, I guess, but during the cold months the remote solitude got to me.
Beau had been a little distant the first few weeks and seemed insistent on marking every piece of furniture in his new house, but eventually he seemed to settle in. When I woke up one morning almost crowded out of my bed by the large mutt, who had jumped up at some point during the night and was snoring with conviction beside me, I knew he finally accepted me.
The peeing stopped—thank God—but I can’t seem to cure him from almost knocking me on my ass every time I walk in the door. It’s like he can’t quite believe I came back.
“You’re a good boy. Wanna go for a quick run before I hop in the shower? I’m going to head out again after, but I promise I won’t be too long.”
His floppy ears twitch as he listens to me babble, something I can’t seem to stop myself from doing. I have a fairly solitary job, haven’t really had a chance to make friends, so I have a tendency to talk to Beau. He seems happy to listen—pleased with the attention—and he doesn’t judge anything I say, so it’s a win for both of us.
Beau shoots out of the door the moment I open it and lopes around the house to the rear and away from the road.
The part of the house facing the short driveway to the road has two levels: the entrance, a powder room and my kitchen below, with my bedroom and a bathroom in the loft above. The kitchen is open to the large cathedral living space with a wall of windows facing the woods. That room and those windows are what had me fall in love with this place. So much so I ended up ignoring the flaws and there were quite a few.
I went through one of the boards on the small back deck the end of last summer and earlier this year, during the winter melt off, I discovered a leak I think is the result of damaged and missing shingles from the roof facing west.
As I pass the stack of lumber and bundles of shingles on the side of the house, I tug the tarp covering it back in place. I had them delivered last month, in hopes of doing the repair work myself to save money. Other than watching how-to YouTube videos because I don’t know what I’m doing, I haven’t had a good chunk of free time to get started on the work. Maybe this weekend.
“Beau, let’s go!”
He’s been standing under a tree for the past five minutes, looking up at something I can’t see, and occasionally barking. Probably some critter hiding out until my dog gets bored. Except from the look of it, Beau is still very much focused and I walk over to grab him by the collar.
I’m about to pull him away when I hear it; a little squeak coming from the tree. I look up and at first don’t see anything until another squeak draws my eyes to a thick branch about ten feet up, where I can just make out something small and furry.
“What did you find, boy?”
At the sound of my voice a little face appears, its mouth stretching open wide in a tiny mewl. A kitten. What the hell is a kitten doing up in a tree way the hell out here?
Beau barks in encouragement when I stretch my arm up as far as I can, still well shy of the branch with my barely five foot five.
Shit. I’m supposed to be at the Benedettis in forty-five minutes and I still have to shower, find something half-decent to wear, put together my skewers, and feed the dog, but I can’t just leave the cat up there.
I fetch the ladder I have propped up against the side of the house and lean it against the tree. I’m not a fan of heights—which is ironic, considering I’m going to have to get up on the roof to fix it—but the kitten’s whimpers are enough to propel me up the tree. The little brat scrambles farther down the branch as soon as I reach up, and it’s all I can do to keep my footing. She swipes at me on my next attempt with nails sharp as needles scoring the back of my hand.
“Ouch. I’m trying to help you here. A little cooperation would be appreciated,” I mutter at the terrified animal.
At my next try I manage to grab the kitten by the scruff of the neck and quickly climb down as she struggles in my hold. Her claws find my wrist just as I take the last step to solid ground and I lose my grip on her, but before I have a chance to pick her up, Beau grabs the kitten in his mouth and makes a beeline for the house.
“Beau!” I yell after him, abandoning the ladder as I run to catch up.
I’m almost afraid to look when I find him standing in front of the door, scared he killed the little thing. To my surprise she’s in one piece, hanging placidly from his mouth.
“We can’t bring her inside, what am I gonna do with her, Beau?”
Ignoring my objections, he lifts a front paw and scratches at the door. Damn dog. He knows I can’t leave her out here.
Resigned, I open the door and Beau slips inside and aims for his bed in front of the woodstove, where he carefully places the kitten. She promptly curls up and falls asleep. Looks like we have a cat.
Thirty minutes later I keep my fingers crossed as I leave both animals sleeping by the stove. After a quick shower, I managed to put together a makeshift litter box with an old dish tub, some sand, and strips of newspaper I hope the kitten will know how to use. I’m going to have to pick up some food for her on my way through town.
I’m going to be late for the barbecue.
Jay
“Beer?”
Blackfoot walks up holding a couple of cold ones.
I got here twenty minutes ago and other than exchanging two words with the chief when he opened the door, I’ve been hanging out here by myself.
I’m not good at this, small talk or mingling. Have never been, despite growing up in a family put together with cocktail parties and social events. I was the bane of my parents’ existence, sneaking out of them the first chance I got. I knew early on I’d never be able to live like they did, with friends who were only friends as long as they served a purpose. Completely different people in public than they were behind closed doors. It was all about outward impressions and God forbid if you let down that carefully created illusion of perfection.
I broke those ranks when I left home at eighteen, unwilling to be forced into the same straitjacket they’d wrestled my brother into. I was disowned by my father, but I hadn’t expected anything else. I either went to an Ivy League college to study international politics or social justice, or I was on my own. It wasn’t a difficult choice. My grandfather, father, and now my brother have all gone into politics. It’s the ‘family trade’ and veering away from that tradition was not an option.