pleased.
“It’s also the only hotdog I’ve ever had,” he admitted around a second bite. “What’s it made of? It’s meat, yes?”
“Some say they’re made of pork or beef, others say raccoon tails and possum lips.” Miranda couldn’t keep a straight face when Lucas stopped chewing and looked at her, his eyes wide. “I’m kidding,” she giggled. “These are all beef.”
“There’s a relief. I once ate roasted spiders in South America, quite by accident, of course. The experience put me off my grub for a week.”
“Ugh. Is that the worst thing you’ve ever had in the course of your travels?”
“Your American beer runs a near second. It’s weak as spit, and your pubs serve it cold, as if it were lemonade.”
“I can’t have you insulting American beer. When he was giving you my life’s story, did Bernie tell you that the one and only time I ever got drunk was on a single spit-weak American beer on my twenty-first birthday?”
“I apologize,” Lucas said. “And please know that the quality of American women more than compensates for the deficient quality of the beer.”
“I suppose you’ve sampled both quite extensively?”
“The beer, yes.” He went to the refrigerator again and withdrew a bottle of sparkling white wine. “As for the women, don’t believe everything you may have read about me in the gossip pages.”
“I don’t read gossip columns.”
“Beautiful and smart, too,” Lucas smiled.
Another irritating blush crept over Miranda’s skin. Lucas busied himself with cutting the foil on the wine and easing out the cork. It shot into the air and landed on the other side of the room, near an ancient wooden door held shut with a thick wooden beam. Miranda jumped at the sound of howling, followed by loud, eager scratching and sniffing on the other side of the door.
“Those are my pups,” Lucas said. “I haven’t seen them in three weeks, not since we began the Karmic Velocity tour. Would you like to meet them?”
“Sure.” She left her stool. Lucas took the wine and Miranda grabbed the two glasses and followed him across the kitchen.
“This is the Hound Room.” He tucked the wine beneath his arm so he could use both hands to heave the sturdy beam off of its brackets. He opened the door to the darkened room, and Miranda’s first instinct was to climb up on his broad shoulders.
“What the hell is that?” She almost shrieked when a pair of silvery-green eyes at the level of her chest approached her.
Lucas turned a knob and brought up the lights. “These are my pups.”
Miranda was pinned to the wall by a “pup” that was easily a foot taller than she, if it stood on its back legs. “P-P-Pups?” she gasped, eyeballing the dog and the rest of its pack. “They’re going to get bigger ?”
Lucas snapped his fingers and the dogs sat with military precision. Their tags chattered as they quivered with joy at seeing Lucas. “They’re Irish wolfhounds. Reg here is leader of the pack.” He scratched Reg’s ears. The dog’s soulful eyes closed in utter contentment, and the dog sniffing at Miranda left her to nose Lucas’s free hand, placing her head under his palm. He kneeled to give her a good rub under her neck. “This is Sionne, Reg’s wife. The other four, Emrys, Saeran, Owena and Spot, are their children.” As he said the names, the “children” came to him, each of the gangly, long-legged beasts receiving a huge dose of their master’s affection. “Walks?” Lucas said.
The full-throated howls of six Irish wolfhounds rattled the walls of the stone room. Miranda, a wine goblet in each hand, grabbed Lucas’s arm. He grinned at her. Rather than making her shrink away in embarrassment, his smile encouraged her to hold him a bit tighter.
“Are you afraid of dogs, Miranda?”
“Dogs, no. Ponies with fangs take some getting used to.”
Lucas steered her through a sea of tall dog. He removed the bar from a second heavy door and swung it open. Reg
“It’s also the only hotdog I’ve ever had,” he admitted around a second bite. “What’s it made of? It’s meat, yes?”
“Some say they’re made of pork or beef, others say raccoon tails and possum lips.” Miranda couldn’t keep a straight face when Lucas stopped chewing and looked at her, his eyes wide. “I’m kidding,” she giggled. “These are all beef.”
“There’s a relief. I once ate roasted spiders in South America, quite by accident, of course. The experience put me off my grub for a week.”
“Ugh. Is that the worst thing you’ve ever had in the course of your travels?”
“Your American beer runs a near second. It’s weak as spit, and your pubs serve it cold, as if it were lemonade.”
“I can’t have you insulting American beer. When he was giving you my life’s story, did Bernie tell you that the one and only time I ever got drunk was on a single spit-weak American beer on my twenty-first birthday?”
“I apologize,” Lucas said. “And please know that the quality of American women more than compensates for the deficient quality of the beer.”
“I suppose you’ve sampled both quite extensively?”
“The beer, yes.” He went to the refrigerator again and withdrew a bottle of sparkling white wine. “As for the women, don’t believe everything you may have read about me in the gossip pages.”
“I don’t read gossip columns.”
“Beautiful and smart, too,” Lucas smiled.
Another irritating blush crept over Miranda’s skin. Lucas busied himself with cutting the foil on the wine and easing out the cork. It shot into the air and landed on the other side of the room, near an ancient wooden door held shut with a thick wooden beam. Miranda jumped at the sound of howling, followed by loud, eager scratching and sniffing on the other side of the door.
“Those are my pups,” Lucas said. “I haven’t seen them in three weeks, not since we began the Karmic Velocity tour. Would you like to meet them?”
“Sure.” She left her stool. Lucas took the wine and Miranda grabbed the two glasses and followed him across the kitchen.
“This is the Hound Room.” He tucked the wine beneath his arm so he could use both hands to heave the sturdy beam off of its brackets. He opened the door to the darkened room, and Miranda’s first instinct was to climb up on his broad shoulders.
“What the hell is that?” She almost shrieked when a pair of silvery-green eyes at the level of her chest approached her.
Lucas turned a knob and brought up the lights. “These are my pups.”
Miranda was pinned to the wall by a “pup” that was easily a foot taller than she, if it stood on its back legs. “P-P-Pups?” she gasped, eyeballing the dog and the rest of its pack. “They’re going to get bigger ?”
Lucas snapped his fingers and the dogs sat with military precision. Their tags chattered as they quivered with joy at seeing Lucas. “They’re Irish wolfhounds. Reg here is leader of the pack.” He scratched Reg’s ears. The dog’s soulful eyes closed in utter contentment, and the dog sniffing at Miranda left her to nose Lucas’s free hand, placing her head under his palm. He kneeled to give her a good rub under her neck. “This is Sionne, Reg’s wife. The other four, Emrys, Saeran, Owena and Spot, are their children.” As he said the names, the “children” came to him, each of the gangly, long-legged beasts receiving a huge dose of their master’s affection. “Walks?” Lucas said.
The full-throated howls of six Irish wolfhounds rattled the walls of the stone room. Miranda, a wine goblet in each hand, grabbed Lucas’s arm. He grinned at her. Rather than making her shrink away in embarrassment, his smile encouraged her to hold him a bit tighter.
“Are you afraid of dogs, Miranda?”
“Dogs, no. Ponies with fangs take some getting used to.”
Lucas steered her through a sea of tall dog. He removed the bar from a second heavy door and swung it open. Reg
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