Mutts and Mistletoe

by Natalie Cox

  “There’s room for you,” I say hopefully.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Is there?”

  I nod. He takes a deep breath, then steps a little closer toward me.

  “The thing is . . . I’m not very good at sharing,” he says.

  “You wouldn’t have to.”

  “Are you certain?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He nods, and I detect a glimmer of relief in his eyes. He indicates the dogs with a motion of his head.

  “What about them?” he asks.

  Oh well, them. He would definitely have to share with them.

  “I guess we’re sort of like a—a package deal,” I reply. My voice has dropped so low it is barely above a whisper. He weighs this for a moment.

  “Do you ever get time off?”

  “Not much. They kind of like having me around,” I say and smile.

  “They’re not the only ones,” he replies, which almost makes my knees buckle. “But I guess they did find you first,” he says a little grudgingly.

  “They’d be willing to share,” I say.

  He smiles. “What would I need to do to make that happen?”

  “I’m . . . not sure.”

  “Do I need to ask them?”

  I shake my head, my face burning. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “So maybe if I just . . . let them watch?” he asks.

  What exactly is he suggesting?

  “‘Watch’?”

  He takes another step forward, reaches for me with his amazing forearms, and pulls me to him. And when his lips are finally on mine, his kiss is somehow both utterly electrifying and weirdly comfortable.

  Like we’ve been here before.

  At which point, the meter in my brain fizzes and bursts.

  * * *

  In the end, we do not let them watch. (The puppies are far too young, I tell him.) I pull Cal upstairs to the bedroom, where we do not tarry, and he manages to relieve me of my stylishly covert combo in record time. Afterward, I confess to him that Valko is due back anytime, so we return to the kitchen and I brew a fresh pot of coffee. Cal lies on the sofa with Rudy on his chest, while the puppy tugs at his collar, trying to crawl inside his shirt. They look adorable, and Cal is more relaxed than I have ever seen him. I think about the story Gerry told me.

  “I’m sorry about your dog,” I say. He looks over at me and raises an eyebrow.

  Am I fishing? I am definitely fishing.

  He shrugs. “Pip was really more her dog than mine,” he says. Her. It is the first time he has mentioned Valerie outright.

  “Why didn’t you get another one?” I ask. Cal takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

  “You know what Freud said about dogs?” he says finally.

  I shake my head.

  “He said they were incapable of ambivalence. Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies. They don’t do both.” He pauses for a moment and retrieves Rudy from inside his shirt. “It’s only people who mix hate and love.”

  “OK,” I say. “But I’m still not sure why you didn’t want another dog.”

  “Because I’m human. And for a long time, hate and love got muddled up inside me. I didn’t think any animal deserved that. Or any human, for that matter.” He offers me an apologetic smile.

  “And now?”

  “Now?” He holds Rudy up in the air, as if he is eyeing up a small melon he might purchase. “Now I think I might be ready,” he says. I walk over and sit down beside him, budging him over.

  “For a dog or a human?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Both,” he says. “But not just any human,” he adds, kissing me.

  I kiss him back, and it is just as delicious as the first time. But as I do, a tiny thought worms its way into my brain. This is Jez’s kitchen, not mine.

  What will happen when she returns?

  I have stepped into her life, and rather to my surprise, it fits me like a well-cut suit. One that I will be terribly sad to shed.

  And then I stop thinking.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Valko finally returns from his epic-length walk with the twins. Bless you, Valko! He comes into the kitchen and greets Cal, but when I offer him a coffee, he hesitates. “Maybe is better I go,” he says uncertainly. “Before police come.” Cal turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “What police?” he says.

  chapter

  25

  Apparently, I forgot to mention the sting operation. As I suspected, Cal is deeply unimpressed. I explain that it is the most benign sting operation ever, and will likely be over in seconds. Cal frowns. “But why do the police need to involve you? Why don’t they just go and arrest her?”

  Good point. I hadn’t thought to ask. Partly because I wanted to be involved in a sting operation. “Maybe they don’t know where she lives,” I say. “Anyway, insurance fraud is only white-collar crime. It’s practically genteel!”

  “You told me she was scary.”

  “That’s because her high heels were intimidating.”

  “Charlie, don’t be fooled. She could be dangerous.”

  “The police will be here with me,” I say, trying my best to placate him. He frowns and folds his gorgeous forearms across his chest. I have to resist the urge to bend down and lick them.

  “And so will I,” he says.

  * * *

  So it’s a party. I am not quite sure how it will work, but apparently we will all be waiting when Camilla Delors arrives later this afternoon. Valko, in spite of his aversion to the authorities, is clearly also intrigued, inventing all kinds of excuses for why he needs to hang about. He cleans out the twins’ run, and repairs a broken gutter on one of the outbuildings, while Cal gives each of the puppies a thorough medical exam, pressing his stethoscope to their tiny chests while they squirm in his hand, peddling their little legs in the air. When he finishes, he stands up. “How is Rudy doing?” I ask.

  “Not bad. For a runt.”

  “You do realize that in dog terms that’s practically an ethnic slur?”

  “It’s medical terminology.”

  “Oh really? What do you call the alpha male with an overinflated sense of importance?” I say with a smile. He reaches out and pulls me to him.

  “Predatory,” he snarls into my neck.

  * * *

  The police arrive twenty minutes early. By then I’ve made a large platter of egg salad sandwiches, while Cal looks on with amusement.

  See? I can cook, too!

  Blonde Officer introduces herself as Sergeant Ursula Strich. (She definitely should be working for MI5.) And Baby Officer is Constable Brian Whinney. The four of us sit down together at the kitchen table to eat our sandwiches. MI5 Ursula eats meticulously, her tongue licking her perfect lips, and I have to kick Cal under the table to prevent him from staring. Valko has stayed behind and is lurking around outside. He has taken Slab, Judd, and Hulk out to the paddock, hoping to watch the proceedings from a distance. At precisely two o’clock, my mobile rings. I glance down. “Unknown number,” I say, looking up at MI5 Ursula. She gives me a cautious nod, indicating that I should answer.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Camilla Delors. I’m just ringing to let you know I’ve been delayed.”

  “‘Delayed’?” I repeat for the benefit of the others. “How long will you be?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she says cautiously. “I trust everything is OK. With the dog?” She is clearly angling for information. Perhaps Mr. Mustache failed to inform her of his failure before he was arrested?

  “The dog’s fine,” I say. There’s a moment’s hesitation on the other end.

  “I see,” she says finally. Cleary she does not see. There is another long pause while Camilla Delors works out what to do. “In fact, there’s bee
n a slight change of plan,” she announces briskly. “I’d like you to hold on to him for a few more days.” What?

  “‘A few more days’?” I repeat. Across the table, MI5 Ursula shakes her head emphatically. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I say quickly. “I’m going out of town. The dog will have to be collected immediately.”

  MI5 Ursula gives me the thumbs-up.

  Good work! I could be a spy, too!

  “I see,” Camilla Delors says coldly. “Fine,” she snaps. “He’ll be collected within the hour.”

  And with that she rings off.

  * * *

  One hour. Eyebrows lift around the table. We have stowed the police vehicle in one of the outbuildings behind the house, so as not to alert her. Now all we have to do is wait. For the past fifteen minutes, Constable Brian has been looking longingly at the puppies, now he stands up and sidles over to them. “Is it OK to pick one up?” he asks, full of boyish enthusiasm. I crouch down next to Peggy so she doesn’t become alarmed, and gently pluck Rudy out of the gaggle of pups swarming her teats, handing him over. Constable Brian returns to his chair and giggles as Rudy crawls up his chest, licking his chin excitedly. Just then I hear a curious thunk outside: it chimes deeply with something in my memory, but it takes a moment for my mind to recover it.

  A Mercedes! Camilla Delors is already here!

  She must have been around the corner when she phoned. I stand up and race to the door, yanking it open, just in time to see Camilla Delors opening the paddock gate, the gray Mercedes sedan parked right beside her, its engine still running. Valko is on the far side of the field, his arms wrapped around one of the alpacas in a full-body hug, and Judd and Hulk are ambling along sniffing the grass about forty feet away.

  “It’s her!” I say, just as Camilla Delors barks out a command. Judd raises his head and stares at her, and for a moment he does not move. But then she blows a short, sharp whistle and he obediently runs toward her.

  Because he’s a triple champion.

  Meanwhile MI5 Ursula and Constable Brian have leaped out of their seats and scrambled past me out the door, running flat out toward the paddock. “Valko!” I shout, just as he gleans what is happening and starts to trot across the field from the opposite direction, followed by the alpacas, who clearly think it’s some sort of game and go gamboling after him. Camilla Delors glances swiftly in our direction as she grabs Judd’s collar, opens the rear door of the Mercedes, and hurls him inside. Then she jumps in the front seat and the car swerves round and blasts out onto the lane, disappearing with a rev of its impeccable engine. Leaving MI5 Ursula and Constable Brian on the driveway behind them.

  Within moments they have regrouped and are racing to fetch the police car from the outbuilding. Cal and I watch as the car comes around from behind the house at a clip, pulling out onto the lane with a screech of tires. Then I grab both our coats and hurl one at him. “We’ve got to follow,” I say racing past him. He grabs my arm and yanks me back.

  “Charlie!” he shouts. I stop and look back at him.

  “What?!” My heart is bashing around inside my chest: in my mind’s eye we are already tearing down the road in his car.

  “You can’t go racing after a police chase!” he says, shaking his head.

  Why not?!

  The words reckless and irresponsible echo in my brain.

  I stare at him beseechingly, and suddenly this seems far bigger than the sting operation; almost instantly, it feels like a litmus test of our compatibility.

  As if our future hangs in the balance.

  Cal’s eyes cloud over, and for an instant I cannot read him. If he refuses to go, what will it mean? A lifetime of being reined in by my more sensible partner? Is that really what I want?

  Suddenly he grabs my hand, snatches his keys off the counter and pulls me out the door. We jump into the Volvo and head off, shouting to Valko to look after the dogs as we pass. Cal puts his foot to the floor and we barrel down the road. I sneak a sly look over at him: his eyes flash with excitement. Clearly, he’s not so sensible, after all, I think with glee. And then, somewhat randomly, I hear the voice of Mary Poppins in my ear.

  Practically perfect in every way.

  chapter

  26

  We barrel down the A road at an alarming speed, and after a minute we spy the squad car far off in the distance up ahead. We watch as it careers off onto a smaller side road, and do the same once we reach the turn. Immediately we are forced to slow our pace: it’s a typical country lane with twists and turns and I glance over at Cal to see him frowning with concentration as he navigates the bends and narrow spaces as fast as he dares.

  “Where is she headed?” I ask.

  “Who knows? But she must know the area pretty well to take this route.”

  Suddenly we round a bend and Cal is forced to slam on the brakes. The Volvo skids to a halt and we are both thrown forward against the seat belts. Ahead of us a tractor has just pulled out onto the lane from a side field, towing a trailer filled with sheep. We both exhale and look over at each other, our pulses racing. The tractor trundles slowly up the lane ahead of us, and we are forced to follow at the speed of a donkey. I am practically going bonkers with anticipation, craning my neck to see past it. But the lane is much too narrow and lined with tall hedges on both sides: short of flying, we have little choice but to follow. After about two hundred meters, the tractor veers off onto a muddy side track, and Cal puts his pedal to the floor again, but we are both aware that we’ve lost valuable time. Within another minute we reach a T-junction and Cal comes to an abrupt halt. I crane my neck to look both ways, but there is no sign of either the Mercedes or the police car.

  “Left or right?” he asks. For an instant I wish that Malcolm were here. Malcolm would definitely know which way to turn.

  “Left!” I say impulsively.

  Cal obeys, jerking the wheel to the left and flying off down the road.

  * * *

  It takes us some time to work out that left was clearly not right. At length we are forced to admit that we have lost the chase. Cal eventually pulls into a country pub called, fittingly, the Lost Lamb, and turns to me. I am obviously disappointed, so he leans over and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Fancy a pint?” he asks. He smiles at me adorably.

  “Do you think they’ll catch her?” I ask. He nods.

  “There are only so many directions she can go. I’m sure they’ll call for backup if they need it.”

  “I guess so,” I say with dismay. My career as a spy has been very short-lived indeed. But looking on the bright side, I still have my accomplice. I turn to him and indicate the pub with a sly grin. “Do you think they have rooms?”

  They do not have rooms, but we do have a pint (Sting operations are thirsty work!) before heading back to Valko and the dogs. We learn afterward that the police finally caught up to Camilla Delors just outside the village of Little Chanter. By then they have radioed for reinforcements and when she reaches the outskirts of the village, three more squad cars are waiting. Apparently, Camilla Delors comports herself with complete dignity, surrendering without a fuss. Later, she insists that it is all part of an elaborate attempt to frame her by a rival breeder.

  * * *

  That night Cal cooks me supper in Jez’s kitchen. The dogs and I watch as he rolls up his sleeves and slices shallots and mushrooms; sautés them in butter with bits of leftover turkey; then adds wine, cream, herbs, and freshly grated Parmesan. He serves the sauce over spaghetti, but I could have happily eaten it off his arms. Though I refrain from sharing this with him.

  Just as we sit down, Jez rings my mobile, bristling with excitement from her dogsledding trip. After listening to her describe their epic Arctic adventure, I finally tell her about the puppies.

  “Oh no! This early?” she exclaims. “I’m going to murder Cal! Does he know?” I look over at Cal,
who is smiling slyly at me; he has a bit of cream on his upper lip, which I would quite like to lick.

  “He knows.”

  “Has he been round to check them over?”

  “Yes, he’s been very attentive.” Cal is now rubbing his foot on the inside of my calf, slowly working his way up my leg toward my thigh.

  Bad boy!

  “Is Peggy OK?”

  I glance over at Peggy. She is stretched out on her side with puppies brawling for teat access all around her and seems utterly content.

  “Peggy’s an old pro,” I say.

  We could all learn a thing or two from Peggy.

  I do not mention Judd or Malcolm or the alpacas, deciding that Jez should not be bothered with minor trivialities during her holiday. Judd has already been placed in a foster home and by the time Jez returns in two days’ time, I will ensure that Malcolm and the alpacas have been relocated. But it is a very small village: no doubt she will hear about my escapades in due course.

  “What time is your flight due back?” I ask.

  And more important, do I have to clean the house?

  Jez hesitates. For an instant there’s an awkward silence: maybe it’s my imagination, but I can almost hear the Arctic winds howling in the background.

  “Um. About my return flight,” Jez says tentatively.

  And the alarm bells start to toll.

  epilogue

  To ring in the New Year, I make a new list:

  Seven Things I’ve Learned About Dogs

  They are stalkers. Dogs will follow you to the end of the earth and beyond. But not in a creepy sort of way. In a we-share-everything-so-why-not-the-loo-too sort of way. Which is not as bad as it seems. If truth be told, it is sort of endearing.