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Rory hid a smile as he scratched his beard. Inserting a deliberately dubious tone, he asked, “You sure Brenna will be there? She might be running around a track and forget.”
“She’ll be there,” Jesse growled.
“What a lovesick puppy.” As the words left Rory’s mouth, he stepped back to avoid another punch. His arm still ached from the last time he smarted off.
Jesse arched a brow. “Jealous?”
“You know it.” Rory pulled papers from his pocket, ignoring Jesse’s smug look.
Workers wearing bright safety vests emptied multi-colored luggage from the cargo hold. The baggage cart driver hopped off and heaved luggage onto the cart. Another entered the hold.
“What if Vi’s not at the party?”
“Where else would she be? And why am I repeating all this? If I can’t track her down, which would be odd, I’ll take Cyrus home with me and catch up with her tomorrow.”
“Since when do you know anything about dogs, Ro? I think you need to square this latest idea with Paige. Vi already has a dog—and cats.”
Jesse had a point. “On the way home, I’ll call Paige.” He mustered a stern look. “You need to chill. Quit looking at all the reasons it won’t work.”
A worker stepped down from the cargo hold with a large crate. Rory strode over to it, peering inside at an oversized black German Shepherd. “How you doin’, Cyrus? You need water?”
A soft whimper greeted him.
When Rory asked Manny’s wife if she needed a home for the dog, relief had etched Rosa’s face. One less worry. For the rest of their brief stay, Rory kept Cyrus close. Poor dog missed his master.
They got the dog through the checkpoints, then located Jesse’s four-wheel drive. Rory noted with satisfaction the crate fit perfectly.
Rory climbed in the front seat, shifting his leg until he found a measure of comfort, then pulled out his phone. “Sail us home, Jess. I’m calling Paige now.”
“You got it. I’m looking forward to Tavo’s brisket.” The dark slash between Jesse’s brows had disappeared.
Brisket? Right. Rory snorted, holding the phone to his ear.
The mouth-watering aroma of grilled meat wafted into Paige’s kitchen when Tavo slammed open the back door. “I need a pan and foil. The brisket’s done and needs to set.” He stomped Sasquatch-sized boots on the backdoor mat. “Getting breezy out there, ladies.”
Vi glanced up as Brenna pulled an immense silver roasting pan from the drainboard, placing it on the counter. “A cup of wassail will warm you up.” Brenna ladled a hot fruity drink from a pot on the stove into a foam cup.
“Whatsall?” Tavo sipped the drink with a quizzical expression, then grinned. “Good stuff.” He exited with the drink cup and pan. Brenna grabbed the carton of foil and followed him.
The cinnamon wassail scent floated from the stove as Vi continued to garnish a pasta dish with cilantro sprigs. Rory’s mashed potatoes would have been a better choice with the drizzly weather. Before the holidays were over, she secretly hoped he would make them again. Mere curiosity on her part to taste what everyone had raved about.
Curiosity killed the cat, Vi.
She rolled her eyes, focusing on a small spot on the ceiling. Since the night she and Rory had walked around the lake, self-preservation and desire waged war within. She’d made it clear she couldn’t date him, but he’d acted as if their relationship wasn’t over. Even said as much. In the deepest recesses of her heart, she didn’t want it to end either. However, fun as the texting and calling were now, getting involved with him would eventually lead to greater pain, and she had no desire to hurt him.
Surveying her handiwork, she covered the bowl with plastic wrap. She hoped their trip hadn’t been too taxing. She knew from experience, exhaustion rated high as one of grief’s sneaky side effects.
Paige’s phone chimed. Vi saw Rory’s name splashed across the screen as she made her way to the fridge. Her breath hitched. She opened the door, then made room for the pasta bowl. Paige’s heels announced her entrance, and she grabbed her phone. She peeked at Vi, then left with the phone glued to her ear.
Vi snatched a leftover cilantro sprig, inhaling the spicy smell. Then she gathered cooking utensils to load in the dishwasher. Paige works for Rory. He calls her all the time. No reason to get worked up.
The flutters in her stomach didn’t pay a lick of attention to the careful rationale.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Guests milled around in the living area. They drank wassail and indulged in appetizers, all the while chatting while Alexa streamed a holiday playlist. Brenna had parked by the big window next to the Christmas tree, fiddling with the angle on her Santa hat. Her brother and his friend sat on the floor by the fireplace, stroking Thunder. The hound lapped up the attention. Hmm.
“They’re here.” Brenna sang out, her eyes shining.
