food that would go to waste now. She’d only enjoyed a few bites before theirpleasant mealtime conversation had gone south. How had that happened, anyway? She’d transitioned rather quickly from complimenting his cooking to sniping at his supporters. Could she be down on politics in general or was there a reason she’d drawn a bead on his campaign in particular?
The rumble of her SUV brought him to his feet. Ben crossed the kitchen to peer through the window shutters. The backs of two heads were visible through the wind-shield above the tailgate. The head with long, floppy ears turned toward the house just as the vehicle exited Ben’s driveway. He would have bet dollars to donuts he was being stared down by that blasted dog.
Simba whined.
Ali checked the rearview mirror and noticed her pet looking backward, toward the house.
“I know, girl. You’re tired of spending your evenings back there lying on a rug when we should be getting ready for the Round Up.”
Volunteer rescue workers came from across the Southwest each summer for their very own faceoff. The full morning of climbing, rappelling and confronting obstacles determined the best of the best in ability and preparedness. And when it came to master and canine teams, Ali and Simba were the gold standard. The two excelled in the competition, working as one against the clock, moving together instinctively. They did it for fun—the glory was just gravy.
Gravy.
Her stomach grumbled. Pizza again. Yuck.
“I should have taken him up on that offer of a to-go plate.”
As Ali began the long drive back into town she acknowledged feelings of regret for some of what she’d said. It was too soon to be so blunt. She hadn’t given him a chance, been too judgmental. She’d accused the popular motivational speaker of being gullible, for heaven’s sake!
“Wait a minute. There was nothing wrong with what I said,” Ali tried to convince herself. “But there was nothing right about it, either,” she gave equal time to her conscience.
Simba whined again, still watching the road behind them.
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
Eyes like Moon Pies stared from the folding wire travel crate in the rear of the SUV.
“Okay, I’ll call and apologize.” Ali kept her gaze on the road. She reached for her bag in the front passenger seat. Nothing. She glanced to her right. The space where her handbag should be sitting was empty.
Oh, nice.
Pressing the brake, she pulled to the side of the road while she counted all the valid reasons for going back. Then she examined the only argument she could come up with for waiting until Monday. The fine for driving without a license beat her pride by a mile. She whipped the Land Rover into a lefthand U-turn, wishing she was headed back to the three-story mansion to eat pork instead of crow.
“I’ll keep it short and sweet. Just offer a quick apology, grab my purse and get the blazes out of Dodge.”
She cut the headlights and swung into the wide, circular driveway. The main level was dark except for a chandelier glowing inside the foyer, above the doorway.
She’d been gone about fifteen minutes, just long enough for the sun to set. Had Benjamin already managed to clean the kitchen and lock up for the night? The man was annoyingly efficient. Clearly, he wasn’t that thorough about everything since he knew so little about his financial backers.
“Enough already,” she warned herself. With the windows down on such a pleasant evening Simba was safe and comfortable inside the Rover.
Instead of making a beeline for the front walk, Ali veered to the side of the magnificent home where the west-facing overlook beckoned. Three steps up and she stood atop the flagstone surface that had been positioned for a perfect glimpse of the horizon. The sky was dark, dark blue with only a thin line of red-orange above the earth, a shallow puddle of color left by the sun.
Security lights had sprung to life in the gardens below, casting
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