For Love Of A Dog. Janice Carter
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Part of his reason for this road trip was leaving all that behind. Advice from the psychotherapist he’d seen surfaced. Be mindful. Don’t bury the past. Look at the memories and then bring your mind back to the present. Luca hadn’t been a good candidate for mindfulness.
It wasn’t long before he spotted the Welcome to Lima, Ohio, sign. He’d set up the GPS but hadn’t used it, preferring an old-school road map. Population about 37,000. A nice size. Big enough to escape bumping into the same people every day but not too big to feel lost.
There had been a time when he’d liked the feeling of anonymity in a metropolis. Growing up in the suburban enclave of his family home had been restricting. The same kids went to the same private schools, played tennis at the same clubs, summered at the same exclusive camps.
When he’d graduated from the college chosen for him by his parents in a course he’d chosen in an act of rebellion for a future he hardly gave a thought to at the time, he couldn’t wait to leave Newark. Enlisting in the army had seemed the best option for escape, and his parents’ strong objections had merely solidified his resolve. But signing up for a second tour of duty had turned out to be the worst decision he’d ever made.
Luca caught himself before opening that particular memory door. Here and now, he reminded himself. He was in Lima. All he had to do was get Amigo. He’d work out the rest of it—short-term and maybe long-term goals—on the way back to New Jersey.
* * *
KAI WAS UNLOADING groceries when she noticed a swirl of dust approaching the farm. She wasn’t expecting anyone, unless someone had spotted her ad and decided to come out to the farm instead of emailing. She set the bag back onto the seat of the pickup and called Amigo. He came running from around the back of the house. She pointed to the truck, feeling a bit guilty about tricking him into thinking another ride was in the offing, and closed the door behind him after cracking one of the windows. The likelihood of Bryant Lewis popping in for a spontaneous visit was slim, but just in case, she didn’t want Amigo out in the open.
The mini-tornado of gravel and dirt blew into the yard. Whoever was driving hadn’t had the sense to slow down. It took a moment for Kai to see, through the settling dust, a black SUV lurch to a halt right behind the truck. She coughed, wiping her eyes, and hoped the driver wasn’t looking for a job. If so, he’s fired.
The driver’s door flew open, but it seemed to take forever for a tall man to extricate himself from behind the wheel. When he did, he paused for a moment, holding the door frame. Despite the blue jeans, checked shirt and ball cap, Kai knew at once he was from a city much bigger than Lima. The pallor of his face and the way he squinted when he took off his sunglasses told her he hadn’t been exposed to much sunshine in a while. When he moved toward her, she saw that he had a slight limp. His jaw seemed tense. Feeling pain, she wondered? As he drew closer, she realized that, at some point in time, he’d been a fairly attractive man. Now he looked just plain unhealthy.
“Can I help you?” She didn’t smile and heard the lack of warmth in her voice. Not the traditional greeting for folks around Lima, but there was an air of something suspicious about him. Amigo must have sensed something, too, for he started barking.
Her tone stopped the man. He took off the ball cap, exposing a head that had been shorn in the not-too-distant past. She couldn’t tell exactly what color his eyes were, but they looked tired. In fact, he looked like he could use a good night’s sleep. Or several.
He was about to say something, but Amigo’s barking became almost frantic—a keening howl she’d never heard the dog make.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered, grasping the door handle. The dog leaped from the truck and raced for the man, circling around and around him, jumping up and nipping at his hands.
A sense of dread grew inside her as the man, bending to touch Amigo’s head, said, “I believe this is my dog.”
NOT ONLY WAS she surprised by his arrival, Kai Westfield seemed seriously alarmed. He wondered why. Hadn’t McDougall let her know he was coming for the dog? Amigo. His squirming, enthusiastic body warm and familiar to Luca’s hand. The animal’s huge affection and loyalty for him was momentarily overwhelming. Luca bent as far as his knee permitted, lowered his head to Amigo’s ear and whispered, “Good boy.” He blinked away the dampness in his eyes before straightening. The woman, hands on hips and face flushed, looked ready to do battle. Luca summoned his best smile.
“I’m Luca Rossi,” he said, extending his right hand. “And I assume you’re Kai Westfield? The photographer who brought Amigo home for me? Corporal McDougall has told me how gracious you were about taking Amigo and about the problem handing him over. I appreciate the trouble you went to, and the inconvenience of looking after him for these past few weeks.”
She took a moment to respond, tucking strands of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear. Composing herself? Luca wondered.
“I told Corporal McDougall that the dog had settled in here, and it wasn’t necessary for anyone to come and get him.”
Wasn’t necessary? That nettled. “Well, after all the trouble my men went to so that Amigo could come to the States, I think it was most assuredly necessary for me to come and get him. Thank you again for your trouble, and if you were out of pocket at all as a result of Amigo’s transport here, I’m happy to reimburse you.”
“There’s far more at stake here than compensation. No amount of money would make me relinquish Amigo.”
Relinquish? Were they talking about a dog she’d had in her possession for a few weeks? Or some kind of war booty? “Miss Westfield, I’m not sure what the problem is here. You agreed to bring my dog to me, and I understand the complications—both on my side and on yours—that made delivery of Amigo impossible at the time. But now I’m here to collect my dog and—” Interrupted by the blast of a horn, he turned sharply to the highway, registering at the same time her own quick pivot and mild oath.
“It’s the school bus,” she said. “I have to go get Thomas. We meet him at the end of the road. Amigo and I.” She’d just uttered his name when Amigo sprinted forward, heading up the long, narrow road to the highway. Then she took off after the dog.
Luca frowned, watching the two of them jog up the drive. The whole scenario was getting more complicated by the second and wasn’t going at all as he’d planned. Still, flexibility could be necessary at times, and perhaps this was one of them. He’d adopt a more conciliatory manner when she came back with Thomas, whoever that might be. A son? McDougall hadn’t mentioned anything personal about the woman other than her profession, and he hadn’t noticed a wedding ring. But then his focus had been on her growing anger.
His gaze shifted to the house before him and the surrounding area. He hadn’t noticed much of anything when he’d pulled up behind her pickup, other than her confrontational stance. But now he saw that the white frame, two-story house with its old-fashioned veranda could use a fresh coat of paint. To the far left was a bungalow clad in gray aluminum siding with a smaller porch and to the right of the farmhouse, a detached two-car garage. Behind that he saw two more outbuildings. The smaller one seemed to be a shed and the other a red-painted barn. The land behind the house stretched beyond his sight line. The fields were bare, speckled with what appeared to be weeds. Not that Luca knew anything about weeds or even crops for that matter, but to his urban eye, the place seemed to be in a state of neglect. That puzzled him a bit; surely farmers would be planting in May?
At least, that’s what some farmers had done. He’d passed miles of fields neatly furrowed, some even sprouting small green shoots. The place just before his turnoff to the Westfield property had been immaculate, its fields and stately farmhouse a possible feature in some country living magazine.
The rumble of the school bus continuing on its way drew his attention back to the driveway. Through the line of trees siding the gravel drive he could just make out Westfield and a small boy. Amigo was bounding