Free Rage Factor by Chris Rogers Page B

room, she felt as antsy as Mud, and wondered if her ears were twitched forward, too.
    The door opened. Parker’s wide grin beneath the dark mustache settled Dixie’s fluttering stomach right down.
    “You’re home! Great!” He scooped her off the floor in a one-armed bear hug, his other arm filled with grocery bags. “How was the game?”
    “I lost, and it felt wonderful.” Dixie pulled him tight. Holding him felt so damn good, she prolonged it, nuzzling her face into his cool neck.
    “Hey, lady,” he said softly. “For a greeting like this I’ll come home late more often.” His lips covered hers in a lingering kiss that quickened Dixie’s blood.
    Mud nosed insistently between them. Parker ignored him for a moment, then slowly released her. Dixie could have stood there for hours.
    “I suspect Mud’s enthusiasm is for the steak he smells in this bag.” Parker scratched Mud’s ears as he set the packages on the counter. “You, however, must have learned to sniff out champagne.” He crooked his elbow around her neck, gently forcing her to look up at him. “What gives?”
    “Champagne? What are we celebrating?”
    “What gives?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
    “Can’t I just be glad you’re home? I missed you.”
    He held her for another moment, testing the truth of it in her eyes, it seemed.
    “Missed me after, what, fourteen hours? I like that.” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he let her go and started unloading the grocery bags. “I called your cell number.”
    “I know. I was in court for the jury verdict. Can’t let the phone ring in there, and it won’t fit in my gym shorts.”
    “Heard Coombs got off.” He cocked a finger pistol, aimed it out the window, and made a popping noise with his mouth. “Maybe now I’ll get a shot at the bastard.”
    Parker was joking, of course. At least she hoped he was. He unwrapped the champagne bottle and, beaming at her, displayed the label with a flourish.
    “Whoa!” Dixie didn’t buy the good stuff often, but she knew what it cost. “You made a sale today?”
    “Not just
a
sale, sweetheart.” He emptied the grocery bags: fresh asparagus, cucumbers, lettuce, red bell peppers, and three huge ribeye steaks. “A big sale. A
very
big sale.”
    “So tell me.”
    “Welllll.” Rinsing the vegetables under cold, slowly running water, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Notice how I draw out the suspense?”
    Dixie menaced the butcher knife at him. “A dangerous habit, Dann. Tell me!”
    “Okay, okay!” He encircled her and captured the knife, then began slicing a pepper into skinny strips. “Remember last week I told you about a guy I met having lunch at the Clear Lake Hilton? Berinson. Always wanted a fishing boat, but his wife refused to be a weekend widow, and she likes to entertain a lot. Now they’re retired.”
    Dixie rubbed a wooden salad bowl with olive oil and crushed garlic. She wasn’t much of a cook, but doing the easy tasks made her feel less like a door prop when Parker was performing his kitchen magic. He finished the pepper and started slicing a cucumber.
    “The Berinsons came into the shop today. I took them out on a boat—actually I showed them three. The first was aweekend fishing craft, perfect for the bay area. He loved it, she hated it. I think he’d’ve bought it anyway, but next week they’d be divorced. Don’t need that on my conscience.”
    He tossed the vegetables into the salad bowl and unwrapped the steaks. Mud paddled closer and rested his muzzle on the ceramic tile counter, his eager nose practically touching the meat. Dixie nudged him aside. She tied the asparagus bundle with string, stood it up in a microwave jar, added water and a dash of salt. She looked up to find Parker watching her.
    “Did I ever tell you you’re a beautiful woman?” He continued before she could answer. “When you’re sixty-five, Dixie, you’ll still be beautiful, but
that
woman …” He nodded at Mud. “Even Mean Ugly Dog is