I loved it that he thought the same about my house as I did (though his mill was fabulous I’d disagree that my place was half a notch down, they occupied the same notch with maybe my acres being slightly higher).
But on that reminder, I said a swear word under my breath and hurried to the door.
I opened the screen, used my key then opened the door.
Dempsey and Swirl bounded out it a flurry of furry glee that Mom was home.
I did not worry about Johnny being there. Both my dogs had no issues with strangers unless I had an issue with a stranger, and usually they just acted protective and alert until I gave them the vibe they could be friendly.
This, obviously, didn’t include Kent who they hated, but they were allowed to do that for obvious reasons.
That said, neither of them had been overtly friendly with him even before he showed his psycho side (this included Dempsey when he was still a puppy, but definitely when he became a full-grown dog), but I’d already made a mental note to assess my dogs’ reaction to anyone in order to make better choices about who I allowed to spend time with me . . . and them.
Thus they shuffled around me, panting, licking and wagging with their violently moving tails, and seeing company they shuffled around Johnny, adding sniffing to their panting, licking and wagging.
Apparently, Johnny got the stamp of approval.
“Friendly,” Johnny muttered, bending to them to grab as many head rubs and ear scratches as their excitement would allow.
“The mountain dog is Swirl, the boxer, Dempsey.”
“Hey, boys,” he rumbled, low and rough and sweet.
He didn’t have pets.
But he liked dogs.
That tingle again slid down my spine.
It became clear to Johnny at the same time it did to me that the dogs were ignoring the call of nature in order to get pets from a stranger back and forth with saying hi to Mom, loathe to go off and take care of business when all this goodness was on the porch.
So before I got to it, Johnny lifted an arm, snapped his fingers, pointed down the steps and commanded, “Go.”
They looked up at him, ears perked then they went dashing down the stairs, and it was noses to the ground as they looked for the perfect spots to take care of business.
“Let’s get inside,” I said, bending to grab the handle of one of the six packs.
“Babe, do not even think about it.”
Half bent at the waist, I twisted to look at him.
“Sorry?”
That got me a full, white smile before he said, “Leave them. I’ll get ’em. Just get your ass inside.”
I nodded, straightened and went inside.
My cool, dim foyer closed around me as Johnny entered behind me and I threw my keys and purse on the table at the side.
I also spied Kelly, my fat, fluffy ginger cat, sauntering across the foyer.
She stopped, took me in, dismissed me entirely, took in Johnny, then walked to him, slid the side of her body across the leg of his jeans, then showed him her backside.
“That’s Kelly. She’s a flirt. Jill and Sabrina are around here somewhere. Sabrina’s the sleek gray. Jill’s the scraggly, long-haired gray and black tiger with a white chest. She’s tiny and she’s shy. You probably won’t meet her.”
Unless he came again. Jill got bolder the more a scent filtered into her sphere.
I felt his regard, so I looked from Kelly, who was not too pleased he was ignoring her invitation to scratch her booty, then again she didn’t understand the concept of him carrying two six packs, to him to see him staring at me.
“You named your cats after Charlie’s Angels?” he asked.
“They don’t fight crime. They mostly just shed, eat, nap and make me feel inferior. But they’re still beautiful.”
The white flashed through his beard again as he slowly shook his head.
I turned toward the hall, ordering, “Follow me. We’ll get those beers in the fridge and I’ll get the Crock-Pot sorted. Then I’m sorry, but I have to change, go out and get the horses in. But after I do that, I’ll get down to the guacamole so we’ll have something to snack on while we wait for dinner to finish up.”
“I can get your horses in.”
I was at the kitchen counter, opening a drawer to get some forks out, but I stopped to look at him where he was, closing the fridge door on his beer.
“That’s sweet, Johnny, and Amaretto is a love, but he’s also protective of Serengeti, who’s a diva. And she sometimes doesn’t feel like behaving. So if she doesn’t, he’ll stick with her. That means it can be a pain to get them in.”
“Grew up with horses, Izzy. We had them with Dad. Granddad had them too. Dad’s last died six weeks after he did, a week before I sold Dad’s place, or she’d have come to the mill with me. I’ll be able to handle it, and if I can’t, I’ll just come back and get you.”
Being good with keeping it just as having some company and sex with Johnny Gamble seemed easy when I was talking to Deanna.
It was a lot harder when I was actually with Johnny. Especially when I just kept learning more and more how wonderful he was.
I mean, he wouldn’t even let me carry in a six pack of beer.
“That’d be great. And that’d mean we can get to the guac faster. My chicken enchiladas are relatively famous in my circle. My guac is revered.”
He gave me his uneven grin and muttered, “Lookin’ forward to that.” His attention went to the back door, came again to me, and he said, “I’ll be back.”
I watched him disappear before I went to the Crock-Pot and took the top off.
But I didn’t immediately dig in to separate the meat.
I looked out the window and watched Johnny saunter in his faded jeans, which fit somewhat loose just hinting at all the goodness they covered, and dusty boots, but he’d put on a denim shirt, which was a nice touch. It said he was coming over to a woman’s house for dinner and he made the kind of effort the kind of man Johnny Gamble was would make, but he wasn’t going to show in a T-shirt.
I also watched when he stopped to welcome both dogs with firm rubdowns when they found him, and I kept watching as he carried on his way, the dogs dancing beside him, toward the stables.
I did this thinking it took me from probably fifteen to thirty minutes to get the horses inside and settled in for the night, depending on how cooperative Serengeti felt like being.
So I did this thinking that if there was a Johnny-type figure in my life, it would be really nice.
I loved my horses and never thought a second about the time it took to take care of them.
But having someone help would be lovely.
I’d never lived with Kent. Perhaps subconsciously knowing something wasn’t right about him, and Charlie stating about two months into the relationship, “Sorry, Iz, there’s just something off about that guy,” made me cautious. But even though we’d been together for over a year, we never took it to that place.
I’d never taken it to that place with any guy, not Kent, not the two longish-term boyfriends I’d had before him.
Maybe I’d find someone like Johnny who knew how to deal with horses.
Maybe I’d find someone who wouldn’t mind throwing in a load of laundry too.
And maybe I’d find someone who also wouldn’t mind throwing it in the dryer and folding it after.