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my nephew over there?”
    Ugh. She was blushing. How
annoying. “Nothing, uh, salacious. I was attempting to do some Reiki-like work
on him to loosen up his energy flows and perhaps shake free some memories.”
    “I’m impressed that he let you try.
I love him like he’s my son, but he’s not exactly open-minded about things like
that.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Let him sleep,” Mickey said. “He
needs it, and there’s nothing he has to do that can’t wait. Wake him by seven
tonight, though.”
    “All right. Oh, I almost forgot. I
have a spot open on Friday morning. Do you want to bring Lindy in? She seemed
pretty skittish the last time I saw her. It’d be a freebie.”
    “Friday? Let me check…No. I’m
afraid I’m busy all morning. But thanks for thinking of me.”
    “Sure. Talk to you later.” She
returned the phone to its cradle and then stared up at the ceiling.
    Jake’s bronzed muscled back came to
mind. She should have pulled the sheet over him before leaving so he wouldn’t
grow chilled. But if she went back into the room now, she might wake him. Or
snuggle up with him. She might not always like what came out of his mouth, but
the rest of him was delicious.
    Still staring at the ceiling, she
heard the back door click open, and Ian came in, a massive box of dog bones
under one arm. Hooray for Costco.
    On his heels was his girlfriend,
Cynthia. As usual, her lips were pinched into a pout, and she mumbled, “Hey,”
to Emma without looking her in the eye.
    “Hey,” Emma replied in a chipper
voice. Lord knew she needed a few lessons herself on how to interact with other
people, so she had no business being annoyed by Cynthia’s lack of social
skills. “How’s your dad?”
    Cynthia stopped and stared
distrustfully. Emma didn’t need to read her mind to see the thoughts ticking
over in the younger woman’s brain: Does
Emma like my dad? Ick!
    Ick was a little strong, since Bill Monroe, a widower, had a lot going for him. He
was unfailingly friendly whenever he encountered her around town, and he, unlike
Ian’s parents, considered Ian’s job at Emma’s kennels to be a real job. Monroe
owned a small boatbuilding company that worked in friendly rivalry with Jake’s
company. But being in his mid-forties, Bill was about ten years older than the
men Emma usually fantasized about.
    “He’s fine,” Cynthia finally said.
    “And what have you been up to?”
    “Not much.”
    Jesus, it was like pulling teeth.
    “Cynth is moving into her own place
this weekend,” Ian put in.
    “You must be excited,” Emma said to
her. “To be on your own, to not have to fight for the remote control, and to be
able to leave the dirty dishes in the sink for as long as you want.”
    Cynthia gave her a flat stare. “I
guess.”
    Well, maybe Cynthia didn’t have
poor social skills. Maybe she just plain didn’t like Emma.
    The impulse to reach out and touch
Cynthia and find out for sure what she was thinking nearly overwhelmed her. She
shoved her hands behind her back and locked her fingers together. Years and
years of bad experiences—and too many lost friendships—had drilled in the
message that 99 percent of the time, it was best not to know.
    “I have six sacks of dog food in
the back of my car,” Ian said. “We were running low, so I zipped out to get
more.”
    With Cynthia standing by and not
offering to help, Emma and Ian lugged the bags of dog food into the storage
shed that squatted beside the nearest kennel. Humming under his breath, Ian
began the evening feed for the dogs they currently had, and Emma returned
inside to catch up on some bills.
    She went into the living room/office
and had just turned on the computer to check out the business accounts when Ian
hollered, “Emma!” The kitchen door crashed open, and he pounded into the living
room. “Emma, Brutus is gone!” Cynthia drifted into the room behind him.
    Whoops, she had forgotten about
Brutus being inside. “No, he’s in here