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Authors: Susan C. Daffron

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BOOK: The Art of Wag
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After Tracy left, Kat carried Roxy up the steps into the house. She put the dog down on the floor and Roxy ran around her legs, effectively hog-tying her. Kat bent to disentangle herself from the leash. “Okay Roxy. This is the house. I’ve heard about your wily ways and I’m going to stay leashed to you for a while, so you can learn where everything is.”

Roxy glared at Kat and then charged toward the living room. “Okay. So you want to see what the sofa is like? I wouldn’t mind going back to my novel. It was just getting good.”

Kat sat down on the sofa and lifted Roxy up to join her. Like most small dogs, Roxy was used to being picked up and carried around. She seemed to view humans as large servants, ready to do her bidding. Clearly worn out from the excitement of the drive, she turned around a few times and curled up next to Kat to settle in for her afternoon nap.

Joel emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist, and Kat looked up to admire the view as he walked to the bedroom. Spending time out in the forest chopping wood certainly was doing marvelous things to his shoulder muscles, which already were mighty fine. She picked up Roxy and placed her back on the floor.

The dog started motoring back toward the kitchen. Kat tugged on the leash. “Nope. We’re going to go see what the half-naked man is up to.”

She leaned in the doorway of the bedroom and watched as Joel yanked a t-shirt over his head. He tugged the shirt down over his stomach and looked over at her. “Something wrong?”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

Joel grinned, emphatically flashing his pearly whites at her. “Yes. What has prompted your concern for my dental hygiene all of a sudden?”

“Tracy says you’re going native.”

“What?”

“She says that men who live in Alpine Grove too long get hairier and lose their teeth. It’s no big deal if you don’t want to get a haircut, but the toothless thing is definitely
not
sexy.” Kat had seen enough Alpine Grove men to know that some of them weren’t making dental care a priority. Tracy was definitely not wrong about that.

Joel laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Tracy has lived here her whole life, so she should know.”

Kat walked over to him, pulling Roxy behind her. She looped the leash over her arm and ran her hand under his shirt and up his chest, spreading her fingers across his muscles and enjoying the feel of his skin. “Would you be willing to bring in Roxy’s crate? It’s at the bottom of the front steps.”

“You seem to be attached to that dog. Literally.”

Kat wrapped her arms around Joel’s waist, leaned her head against his chest, and looked down at Roxy. “I’m trying to keep her close, so she doesn’t disappear. Tracy says Roxy thinks hiding is funny. I’m not amused by that sort of thing, particularly after the last dog we had here kept escaping. And Roxy is so tiny that I might never find her again. What if she got hurt? She’s already only got three legs.”

“Okay. But you’ll have to let go of me first.”

Kat looked up into his face. “You feel good. Maybe I could put the dog in her crate for her nap. Then I would be free to do other things.”

He bent to kiss her. “Will I like these things?”

“I’m pretty sure you will.”

Later, Kat was lying snuggled next to Joel with her head resting below his collarbone. She stroked his forearm absently. Now that he was in a good mood, she should get this conversation over with. “So um, my mother called today.”

Joel opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Uh-oh.”

“She was nicer than usual; it was sort of strange. Maybe something is going on…I think she wants to visit. But I haven’t, um, exactly mentioned that you’re living here. I didn’t suggest that she come up here, but it seemed like she was angling for an invitation.”

Joel rolled over to look at Kat. “I thought she hated the fact that you live in Alpine Grove. She wants you to move back to the city and get a real job, right?”

“That was when she was trying to keep my family ancestry a secret. Now that everyone knows the whole complicated story about how I was adopted, I think she doesn’t care that I live here anymore. Maybe she’s curious to see the house again…I have no idea.” The workings of her mother’s mind were a mystery to just about everyone, particularly Kat.

He tilted his head. “Do you want to see her?”

“I’m not sure. She’s my mother. But as you know, we don’t exactly get along. And I think that the level of dirt and dog hair here might send her into some sort of neat-freak apoplectic seizure. She’s really not good with dust. Or my boyfriends. At least the past ones, anyway.” That was an understatement.

Joel sat up and rearranged the pillows. He gripped the back of his neck with his hand and leaned back. “Your family has a long history of secrecy. Am I now one of those secrets?”

“No. Well, not really, anyway. I just try to avoid discussing my personal life with my mother, since it usually doesn’t end well. But it’s going to be pretty obvious I’m not alone here if she shows up.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying here. Do you want me to move out?”

Kat’s heart skipped in her chest. “What? No. Definitely not.” Could she possibly screw up this conversation any more than she already had?

“My place is just sitting there empty. It’s not like I don’t have somewhere I can go.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She gripped his hand. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all. There’s a chance my mother could show up. I mean, I hope not, but you never know with her. She could just decide to drive up here and there she’d be, just standing there on my doorstep. I mean
our
doorstep.” Kat groaned. “And that would be awful on so many levels.”

Joel reached over and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “Sometimes you confuse me.”

“I know. Sometimes I confuse myself.”

Chapter 3

Black Berets

T
he Turd made it to the city without any automotive incidents, which was nothing short of a miracle. Tracy knew it was a risk taking the ancient car on a road trip, because there was always the possibility that it would have some type of anxiety attack under the hood and decide that remaining in motion was just too much for its tender sensibilities. With a great sense of relief, Tracy collapsed that night at Shelby’s apartment. The next morning, they took the bus to campus and Shelby pointed Tracy in the right direction to make it to her class.

Tracy walked into the room and zeroed in on a place to sit. Tables were set up with two computers sitting on each one. She took a seat at one of the empty tables and examined the machine in front of her. When was the last time she’d even used a computer? It would be totally humiliating if she killed it. The professor didn’t appear to have arrived yet. Tracy put her hands in her lap and looked around the room at her fellow classmates. She couldn’t hurt the computer while it was off, anyway.

All the other students in the room seemed to know what they were doing. Every one of them was dressed in black. Who wore a black turtleneck in sunny Southern California, anyway? Probably they were all art majors. Maybe all the art snobs had gone digital by now.

In her college art classes, Tracy had discovered that many art majors spent far more time ruminating on the aesthetic and social value of art, rather than actually producing art. Because they tended to wear all black all the time, she referred to them as the “black-beret crowd.” The most pretentious black berets focused on brush strokes and the importance of the medium in “the work.” But did brush strokes even exist in digital artwork? What would they talk about now?

Tracy sighed. This class was likely to be strange and awkward. She shouldn’t have come. Who was she kidding? One weekend class wasn’t going to give her enough information to get a job doing this stuff. And what she really needed was a job, not flashbacks to the days of blundering aimlessly through college art classes.

Tracy turned in her chair and looked at the door. Shelby would be so disappointed if she just bailed out on this class. A tall, lanky man wearing baggy pants and a light-blue shirt that didn’t fit quite right scuttled through the doorway and upon spotting the empty seat next to Tracy, strode across the room and put his backpack down on the table with a
thunk
. He smiled at Tracy and pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Hi. This is the Photoshop class, right?”

Tracy nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think the instructor is here yet. Maybe she is running late.”

“That’s a relief.” He sat down in the chair next to her. “I couldn’t find a parking place anywhere. I felt like I was walking for miles, and then I ended up at the wrong building. It’s been a long morning.”

“A friend showed me which building to go to, so that helped a lot. I’m sure I would have gotten lost.” Tracy tried to smile sympathetically. “But you made it.” And sat next to her. Perfect. So much for all that extra table space.

The man took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He pulled a notepad and pencils out of his backpack and paused to turn and put out his hand. “I’m Rob.”

Tracy shook his hand. “I’m Tracy. Do you know much about this software?”

Rob shook his head. “Not really. At my job, I set up computer networks and satellite services. My boss wanted a web site, so I created one for the company. But he thought it was ugly, so they’re sending me to this class so I can fix it.”

“How bad could it be?” She wouldn’t know a good web site from a bad one.

“I guess it needs more graphics. And my boss called the colors I selected
horrifying
, which I thought was a little harsh.” He looked down at his row of pencils and picked one up to study it. “I warned them before I started that everything I’ve ever tried to draw ends up looking like a three-year-old’s rendition of a pig. I’m not really artistic at all, so I’m not sure how much this class is going to help.”

Tracy leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “I took some art classes in college, but I don’t have a computer, so I’m not sure about this either. My friend gave me a free coupon so I could take the class, which was really nice of her, since normally it’s pretty expensive. But without a computer of my own, I’m not going to be able to try out anything we learn here. So it’s probably all kind of pointless.” Why was she telling this guy all this? It was time to shut up now.

Rob put on his glasses again and looked around the room. “I think we may be the only ones here who are old enough to drink.”

“Thanks for bringing that up.” Tracy noted the row of pencils and notepad neatly arranged on Rob’s side of the table. She probably should have brought something to write on. Maybe they’d have handouts. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tiny notepad that she used for grocery lists.

Rob handed her the perfectly sharpened pencil he was holding. “Do you need something to write with? I brought a bunch.”

“Thanks.” She looked around the room again. “Where do you suppose the instructor is?”

“I don’t know. I hope she shows up. A lot of people ask me about web sites. It would be great if I can learn enough here that I can create web sites that aren’t hideous. Then I could get out of the networking business. At least creating web sites would be inside work. Crawling around on ladders to attach satellite dishes on buildings is starting to get to me.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be harsh. At least, it’s warm here. It could be worse. You could live in Alaska or something.” Tracy wanted to laugh at his earnest expression. She could certainly relate to the desire for a career change. He was kind of goofy-looking, with unruly brows and a long face. The overall disheveled look kind of reminded her of Shaggy in
Scooby-Doo
. Behind the wire-rimmed glasses, he had tawny hazel eyes, which were surprisingly expressive. Right now, he was so intent on what he was saying, it softened the overall Shaggy impression. But if he said “Zoinks,” she really would burst out laughing.

A large woman charged into the room and the door slammed behind her. She had a black beret jauntily placed on her wild curly black hair and wore thick glasses with severe black frames. Setting her books on the desk at the front of the room, she exclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, turn on your computers. It’s time to make art!”

Along with everyone else in the room, Tracy and Rob straightened in their chairs and rummaged around to find the power switch on the computer. Class had begun.

BOOK: The Art of Wag
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