The Chihuahua Affair: Best in Show

by Amy Jarecki

  She planned a small wedding with family and a few close friends and the regulars from training class. Brad had flown in from California. Jack and Alan were expected any minute with Barbara. Rebecca shuddered when Monica’s face unexpectedly popped in her head. That woman was definitely not invited. Rebecca hoped she didn’t even know about the wedding, and better yet, would no longer care.

  Everything fell into place. Matt had introduced Rebecca and Amanda to a lady named Irene at the bridal shop who took wonderful care of them. They found the perfect dresses, Rebecca’s a soft satin pink adorned with elegant beading and Amanda’s dress, a tone darker, complemented the lighter pink beautifully.

  Standing in her slip, the house quiet for a bit longer, Rebecca studied her reflection. She remembered the last time she prepared to walk down the aisle. Henry had been a good husband and father but he had to be moved to a locked compartment in her heart. Though she would always look fondly on her years with Henry, Matt had completely won her. He filled a void and showed her an avenue of happiness that she had never dreamed possible. Today she would start on a new journey with Matt and she would give him all the love and respect that he had shown her.

  She stepped into her dress and zipped it up as far as she could. Turning in front of the mirror, she admired the beautiful gown with lace that swirled freely around her ankles.

  I hope Matt likes it.

  Rebecca made a final check on her makeup and then inspected her nails, polished to match her dress. She opened the door of her room to find Ryan walking her way. “Oh my. You look very handsome. Come here and let me straighten your tie.”

  “Matt’s in the living room with Father Don.”

  “Good. How about the guests?”

  “I think everyone’s here.”

  “Do Jack and Alan have Angelica?”

  Ryan grimaced. “I’d better check on that.”

  “Okay, then tell Father Don we’re ready.”

  Rebecca tapped on the guestroom door. “Momma, you ready? Matt will escort you to your seat.”

  As the door opened, Maude, cute in her purple taffeta frock gasped. “Oh my word, honey, you are as picture-perfect as the day you were born.”

  Rebecca’s warm glow made her smile. “You look beautiful too, Momma. I’m so glad God ordered up a nice day for us. It wouldn’t have been the same in the living room.”

  After zipping Rebecca’s dress, Maude made her way downstairs and Rebecca knocked on Amanda’s door. Catching her breath, trying to hold back tears, she wrapped Amanda in her arms. “You are absolutely picturesque. This summer I watched you grow from my feisty girl into a beautiful woman. I am so very proud of you.”

  A tear leaked from Amanda’s eye. “Oh Momma, I love you so much.”

  “It’s no time for crying now. You’ll ruin your makeup.” Rebecca snatched a tissue from the dresser and dabbed her eyes. “You ready?”

  Ryan arrived. “The coast is clear. Matt and Father Don are in place.” He escorted them to the studio where Jack and Alan waited with Angelica, a halo of white roses perched precariously on her head, fixed in place with bobby pins. “Wow, girlfriend. You sure you want to carry a Chihuahua? You look as pretty as a China doll.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Matt and I met because of these dogs.”

  The day before, Rebecca used the slicker brush and ensured there would be as few loose hairs on the dogs as possible. Instead of flowers, they would carry Chihuahuas. The boys wore pink bow ties and Sara in a ruffled pink silk frock. Rebecca glanced out the window. “It looks like everyone’s seated. Jack, Alan, you ready?”

  Jack kissed her on the right cheek and Alan on the left. “We’re ready whenever you are. It’s your day.”

  To the tune of Pachelbel’s Cannon in D Major, her two dear friends started the march with Angelica in front of them—the majestic Komondor with unfaltering roses perched on her head, a perfect prelude to Rebecca’s entrance. Amanda, holding Gordo, proceeded behind them. Ryan, with Sara in his right arm, looped his left through Rebecca’s right as she cradled Bruno in the opposite arm. “You ready, Mom?”

  With a deep, happy sigh, Rebecca took her first step down the path to her new life. “Ready. Give me away, son.” She immediately caught Matt’s eyes as his smile flashed white in the sunlight, Patches resting in one arm. The guests stood, watching. With Ryan beside her, she smiled at the expectant faces. Among them, she saw Sally and Ralph, with Brad to her right, and Maude, Barbara and her brother, Phil, who had flown in from China, to her left. Jack and Alan would stand to her far left with Angelica and she watched Amanda take her place as maid-of-honor.

  Now with a clear line of sight, she could gaze on nothing else but Matt. She thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen as he stood in a black tuxedo and pink bowtie, which matched her dress. With Patches tucked under his arm, almost like a football, he looked as strong and powerful as any quarterback. She giggled. No one would dare to “razz” Matt about his little Chihuahua.

  As she stepped up to him, his adoring eyes gazed down at her and he whispered, “You are breathtaking.”

  “Thank you.” She winked “You look delicious.”

  “Sounds like a promise.”

  She giggled.

  Ryan moved beside Matt as his best man and in his deep bass, Father Don stepped up and took charge of the service. As his voice rang out, Rebecca could think of nothing else but the wonderful man who stood beside her and her great fortune that he had come into her life. Matt repeated the vows and slipped a circle of diamonds on her finger, complementing her engagement ring.

  Handing Bruno to Amanda, in a steady voice, Rebecca spoke her vows as she stared into Matt’s shining baby blues. She slid a bold platinum band with five sparkling diamonds on his finger.

  The priest carried on with the service. “Now that Matt and Rebecca have given themselves to each other by solemn vows with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce them husband and wife in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.”

  Matt took her in his arms and gently placed his lips to hers. Rebecca had asked him to make the kiss short and sweet since the kids would be there but he savored the moment with a slow, deliberate, searching kiss. Rebecca melted in his arms and she swooned as he slowly pulled his head back, love in his eyes.

  “Oh my.” She sucked in a breath to clear her head.

  Father Don led the applause and asked them to face the audience. “Allow me to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.”

  As the guests applauded, Angelica caught the scent of a person passing by walking a dog. With boisterous barks, she pulled away from Alan and sprinted off to confront the intruder. Leaping from Amanda’s arms Bruno and Gordo joined in the hunt. Jack and Alan raced after Angelica but were quickly overtaken by Ryan. He threw Sara into Jack’s arms. “Here. I’m gonna catch that rag-mop.”

  Matt and Rebecca ran down the aisle, Patches yipping, squirming to be a part of the action. The guests all turned to watch Ryan as he dove for Angelica only a step before she reached the Bassett Hound and his terrified owner.

  Skidding across the grass, Ryan took charge of the lead while simultaneously grabbing Bruno who was close behind. Amanda, dress hiked up, baring her knees, came running on the balls of her stilettos, screaming. “Gordo—Down—Down, I said—Down, dammit!” Gordo plopped down in the grass, silenced by his obedience training.

  Matt, holding Rebecca’s hand and the squirming Patches, arrived just as the dogs had been restrained. “Whoa, Ryan—You consider playing defense?”

  Standing, Ryan grinned. “Nah. I like catching the ball too much.”

  Rebecca gaped at the hole in his trousers, grass in his hair and green stains on his white shirt. “Oh dear. The tux shop isn’t going to like that.”

  Matt turned to the woman walking the Bassett Hound. “I’m sorry. We just got married, would you like the join the reception?”
/>   She chuckled. “No, thank you, but congratulations.”

  The dogs restrained, Maude took charge and had everyone move to the reception area under the white tent while Rebecca tried to brush off Ryan for pictures. She stood back with a critical eye. “Just hold Sara in front of the grass stain.”

  She turned and looked at the ring of roses that now hung down over Angelica’s nose. Rebecca pulled out the bobby pins and though they had lost several petals, she spruced them up and pinned the crown back in place.

  Jack picked up Bruno’s pink bowtie which only needed a brush off. Glancing around, Rebecca figured it could have been worse. “Let’s get the pictures taken before the next disaster.”

  Everyone pulled together with the dogs yipping excitedly. Rebecca gazed at Matt and swiped a blade of grass from his forehead. “We nearly made it without incident.”

  The camera flashed. “Now we’ll have a great story to tell.”

  Matt bent his head and shuttered his eyes with those long lashes. As his mouth covered hers, Rebecca swooned against him. Oh no, she would never tire of the fluttering butterfly wings that swarmed inside every time her husband kissed her.

  THE END

  Excerpt from The Highland Duke

  Coming March 2017 from Hachette Book Group’s Forever Imprint

  Chapter One

  Hoord Moor, Scotland. 21 August, the year of our Lord 1703.

  The dead Highland soldier stared vacantly at the thick, low-hanging clouds. Akira clutched her basket tight to her stomach. Concealed in the tall moorland grass, this man needed no healing. Now only the minister could offer help to redeem the hapless warrior’s soul.

  Death on the battlefield bore none of the heroics she’d heard from fireside tales. Death on the battlefield was cold and lonely, dismal like the mist muffling the shrill calls of the buzzards.

  And for naught.

  Gulping back her nausea, Akira turned away. A breeze rustled through the eerily tranquil leas as if putting to rest the violence that had occurred not more than an hour ago. She scanned the stark meadow, searching for men who might have need of a healer’s attention. She cared not whether they were Government dragoons or Highlanders. Anyone suffering from battle wounds this day needed tending, regardless of politics.

  A deep moan came from the forest beyond the tree line not ten paces away. She jolted, jostling the remedies in her basket. “Is s-someone there?”

  When no answer came, she glanced over her shoulder. Her companions had moved on—women from the village of Dunkeld who had helped tend the wounded before red-coated soldiers marshaled the men into the back of a wagon. Where they would go from there, Akira hadn’t asked, but she hoped they wouldn’t be thrown in a prison pit, at least not before their wounds were healed.

  The moan came again and, with it, a chilly gust that made her hackles stand on end.

  Cautiously, Akira tiptoed into the trees, peering through the foliage to ensure she wasn’t walking into a trap. A telltale path of blood skimmed over the ground, leading to two black boots beneath a clump of broom. Had the man dragged himself all the way from the battlefield to hide?

  “Are you injured?” she asked warily, her perspiring palms slipping on the basket’s handle. Could she trust he wouldn’t he leap up and attack?

  “My leg,” said a strained voice.

  There was no disguising the pain in his tone. “Goodness gracious,” she whispered, dropping to her knees in the thick moss and pulling away the branches and debris that covered his body.

  Vivid hazel eyes stared up at her, wild as the Highlands and filled with agony. His gaze penetrated her defenses like a dagger. She’d never seen eyes that expressive—that intense. They made her so…so unnerved.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He shuttered those eyes with a wince. “Shot.”

  Akira’s gaze darted to his kilt, hitched up and exposing a well-muscled thigh covered with blood.

  “You a healer?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Aye.” She peered closer. Puckered skin. A round hole. “A musket ball?”

  His trembling fingers slid to the puncture wound. “’Tis still in there. It needs to come out.”

  Care of musket wounds far exceeded her skill. “I-I’ll fetch the physician.”

  Opening his eyes, the man clasped her arm in a powerful grip. The pressure of his huge hand hurt. Gasping, she tugged away, but his fingers clamped harder, and those eyes grew more determined.

  “No,” he said in an intense whisper. “You do it.”

  She shook her head. “Sir, I cannot.”

  He released her arm, then pulled a knife from his sleeve. “Use my dagger.” The blade glistened, honed sharp and shiny clean against his mud-encrusted doublet.

  She shied away from the weapon. “But you could die.”

  The mere thought of performing surgery after the loss of her last patient made her stomach turn over. And it had been Dr. Kennedy who’d carved out the musket ball in that unfortunate patient’s knee, though she’d tended the lad through his painful decline and eventual death. Regardless of the physician’s role, the man’s passing had taken a toll on her resolve.

  “Do it, I say.” For a man on the brink of death, he spewed the command like a high-ranking officer. “I cannot risk being found. Do you understand?”

  Licking her lips, she stared at the wound, then pressed her fingers against it. He was right; the ball needed to come out now, and if he refused to let her find a physician, Akira was the only healer in Dunkeld skilled enough to help him.

  He hissed in pain.

  “Apologies.” She snapped her hand away. “I was feeling for the musket ball.”

  “Whisky.”

  She glanced to her basket. “I’ve only herbs and tinctures.”

  “In my sporran.”

  The leather pouch rested askew, held in place by a belt around his hips. Merciful mercy, it covered his unmentionables. Moreover, he was armed like an outlaw, with a dirk sheathed on one side of his belt, a flintlock pistol on the other, and a gargantuan sword slung in its scabbard beside him. Who knew what other deadly weapons this imposing Highlander hid on his person?

  His shaking fingers fumbled with the thong that cinched the sporran closed.

  She licked her lips. “You expect me to reach inside?” Goodness, her voice sounded shrill.

  “Och,” he groaned, his hands dropping. “Give a wounded du—ah—scrapper a bit o’ help, would you now?”

  Akira scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. Merciful fairies, the Highlander did need something to ease his pain. Praying she wouldn’t be seen and accused of stealing, she braced herself, shoved her hand inside the hideous thing, and wrapped her fingers around a flask. She blinked twice as she pulled it out and held it up. Silver? Gracious, a flask like that could pay for Akira and her family to eat for a year or more.

  She pulled the stopper and he raised his head, running his tongue across chapped lips. “Give me a good measure, lass.”

  His fingers trembled while he guided the flask in her hands, drank a healthy swig and coughed.

  “I’m ready,” he said, his jaw muscles flexing as he bared his teeth—straight, white, contrasting with the dark stubble and dirt on his face. Dear Lord, such a man could pass for the devil.

  The faster she worked, the less he’d suffer. With a feather light touch, she swirled her fingers over the puncture and located the hard lump not far beneath the skin. Thank heavens the musket ball had stopped in his flesh and hadn’t broken the bone.

  Though she’d never removed a musket ball before, she had removed an arrow. Steeling her nerves, she gripped the knife and willed her hand to be steady. “Prepare yourself, sir.” But still she hesitated.

  He grasped her wrist and squeezed, staring into her eyes with determination and focus. “You can do this, lass.”

  Setting her jaw, she gave him a sharp nod. Then she returned her gaze to the wound, quickly slid the knife through the musket hole with
one hand, and pushed against the ball with the other. The Highlander’s entire body quaked. A strained but whispered wail pealed from his throat.

  Blood gushed from the wound and soaked Akira’s fingers. Gritting her teeth, she applied more pressure, pushing the knife until she hit lead.

  I cannot fail. I will not let him die.

  She gritted her teeth and forced another flesh-carving twist of her wrist. The ball popped out. Blood flooded from the wound like an open spigot.

  The man jerked, his leg thumping. Akira dove for her basket and grabbed a cloth. Wadding it tight, she held the Highlander’s leg down with her elbows while she shoved the compress against the puncture with all her might. Looking up, she stared at his eyes until he focused on her. “Hold on,” she said. “The worst is over.”

  Though he never cried out, the Highlander panted, sweat streaming from his brow. Not blinking, he stared at her like a yellow-eyed wildcat. “Horse.”

  Akira pushed the cloth harder, the muscles in his thigh solid as steel. “The soldiers took all the horses.”

  “Damnation!” He swore through clenched teeth, his breathing ragged. Then his stare intensified. “I will pur—chase…yours.”

  The man could die with his next breath, yet he still issued orders as if in charge of an entire battalion of cavalry. His tone demanded she respond with instant agreement, but she could not.

  “I can barely afford to feed my siblings. I have no horse. Not even a donkey—not that I’d let you have it if I did.” There. She wasn’t about to allow this Highlander to lord it over her as if he were the Marquess of Atholl.

  His eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Buy one.”

  “I told you—”

  “There is…coin….My sporran.”

  Akira glanced at the man’s sporran again. She’d have to sink her fingers deeper this time. Though she might be poor, she was certainly no harlot. Fishing in there was as nerve-racking as carving a musket ball out of the man’s thigh. With a grimace, she tried shifting his belt aside a wee bit. Curses—the sporran shifted not an inch.