Page 17 of High Density

“Who is this?”

I glance over my shoulder to see him standing right behind me.

“Ginger. At least that’s what we call her. I don’t know who she belongs to. She was brought in by a Good Samaritan who found her on the side of the road, injured. No collar, no microchip, and no record with any of the other vets either.”

Despite looking at JD with obvious distrust, she starts furiously sniffing the air.

“She smells the brisket,” he rumbles.

“Brisket?”

My mouth is already watering before the smell of smoky barbecue hits my nostrils.

“Like I said, I took a chance. Picked up dinner at The Smoking Gun in town. Figured if you’d already eaten, it’d probably keep for tomorrow.”

“Good thing I haven’t eaten yet then.”

I get to my feet and take the paper bag from his hands and am about to head to the kitchen when he stops me.

“Hold on.” He reaches inside the bag and comes up with a chunk of meat. “Peace offering,” he adds by way of explanation.

I continue to the kitchen, set the food down on the counter, and pull down a couple of plates. When I turn around, I see JD crouched down a few feet from Ginger’s bed, sitting perfectly still as he holds out the piece of brisket in the palm of his hand.

Ginger is only able to resist for a few seconds before her sniffer starts scanning the air and she eases closer. First, she cautiously butts JD’s fingers with her nose, but then slowly stretches her neck so she can snatch the meat from his palm.

“Good girl,” he mumbles as he gets to his feet, not even attempting to pet her.

But as he joins me in the kitchen, I see the dog’s eyes following his every step. He certainly got her attention.

“Drink?” I ask, pulling open the fridge and hoping I have one or two beers left. I spot a couple rolling around in my vegetable drawer. That illustrates the current sad state of my kitchen. “I have beer, cranberry juice, or tea.”

“It’s a beer kinda day.”

That sounded loaded, but I wait with the question burning on my lips until I have the bottles open and hand one to him, holding up the other. He taps my bottle with his.

“Cheers.”

I take a sip and set it on the counter while I unwrap the dinner of brisket, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. I stifle a moan as I plate the food. It looks and smells delicious.

Pointing JD to the kitchen table, I slide a plate in front of him and hand him some cutlery. Then I take the seat across from him.

“So…what makes this a beer kinda day?”

“After dinner,” he says, his eyes pleading.

Must’ve been a doozy then.

I nod and dig in, enjoying my food and not caring in the least I must look like a pig, the way I’m scarfing it down.

“God, that was good,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair as I cover my full belly with both my hands.

“Best barbecue around,” he agrees.

His eyes are on me when I lift mine.

“I needed that,” he shares, and I have a feeling he’s not just talking about the food we shared. “We got called out on a search. Twenty-two-year-old woman went missing up on Swede Mountain. We found her, but she didn’t make it.”

“Oh no…” I lean forward and reach out a hand to cover one of his.

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