Page 122 of Hounded

She scooped it up, then took Indy’s, too. “I’ll get that put in,” she said before shuffling away.

Silence stretched between Indy and me. The other diners returned to their meals, and my focus drifted to thesunny scene beyond the window. Next door, two men stood outside the auto repair shop, discussing a parked minivan with its hood propped open. One of the men waved a bottle of lubricant while gesturing toward the car’s exposed engine.

My truck was overdue for a tune-up. I should have checked the fluids before starting a cross-country expedition. Maybe the brakes, too. It took a lot of stopping power to bring the three-ton C10 to a halt, and exponentially more with the fully loaded Airstream hitched to its bumper.

Several minutes later, our drinks and food arrived. Indy’s latte filled a stemmed glass cup, and my quadruple shot steamed from inside a small mug. I snagged a mini creamer from the bowl on the edge of the table and dumped it into the near-black brew, then swirled the mug before taking a sip.

Indy stabbed a straw through the cloud of whipped cream on top of his drink, then sucked down a mouthful. No sooner had the beverage hit his tongue than did his face wrench.

He made a gagging sound. “It’s not milk,” he rasped.

I chuckled and pulled it over for a taste. Not milk, but not coffee, either. Cloyingly sweet and cold, it reminded me of a melted chocolate bar.

“What’d you get?” He leaned to peer into my mug.

“You don’t want it,” I replied.

A pair of plates waited, laden with matching stacks of pancakes and piles of fresh blueberries. Indy attacked his with a vengeance, barely pausing to slice the pancakes into manageable cubes before stuffing them into his mouth.

“We could cut it off,” he said between chews.

I turned to find him staring at my neck. More specifically, he was scrutinizing the chain fastened around it.

“I don’t see a clasp,” he continued. “Is it supposed to be permanent?”

Reaching up, I rubbed my fingers over the steel links. “Itispermanent.”

Like last night’s talk about my “owner,” we’d discussed this before. Indy was no fan of my eternal servitude or the symbol of the contract that bound me to the will of a demon, but decades of debating had gotten us no closer to a solution.

“Have you tried bolt cutters?” he asked.

His next bite left a speck of whipped cream stuck to the corner of his lips, and I smirked.

Indy glanced around, perplexed. “What’s funny”

With a quick check to ensure no one was staring, I swiped my finger over the whipped cream, then dabbed it to my tongue.

Indy’s cheeks pinked.

“No bolt cutters,” I told him. “Eat your breakfast.”

The rest of the meal passed with small talk and Indy’s palm seemingly affixed to my leg. After my nerves settled, I took his hand and held it on the bench seat between us. He didn’t move any closer, and I breathed easy until we paid our tab and exited into the glaring sun outside.

I was still fretting over the state of the truck’s engine and told Indy as much when he stepped off the curb into the parking lot.

“I’m gonna grab some coolant and a quart of oil.” Ijerked my thumb toward the auto repair shop. “You want to come?”

His nose scrunched. “I think I’ll wait in the trailer. Fix my hair.”

I rolled my eyes. “Your hair looks fine, Doll.”

A smile teased his lips at the pet name, but it faded as he nodded toward the store in question. “Yeah well,thatlooks boring.”

Glancing around the lot and seeing no one nearby, I reached out and tousled his curls. He yelped and swatted my hand away before spinning to prance toward the Airstream. I watched his departure long enough to see him turn and stick out his tongue before he climbed the steps and entered the trailer.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hung my head low as I walked across the lot. My hound sniffed the air that smelled so different than Brooklyn. It was cleaner, and the blue sky seemed to stretch on forever. No buildings were taller than a few stories, and trees were scattered around naturally rather than being framed in cement sidewalks.

Entering the automotive store, a bell tinkled overhead. The counter spanned one side of the building, flanked by metal racks of tires and aftermarket rims. It was chilly and largely uninhabited besides the clerk hunched over a computer who didn’t so much as grunt to my arrival.

---