Page 21 of High Density

The gorgeous woman who opens the door is clearly his sister. They share the same dark eyes and generous mouth. She grins wide and pulls me into an unexpected embrace.

“I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you,” she whispers next to my ear. “And I apologize in advance for the spectacle you’re about to witness.”

“Uh, nice to meet you too,” is all I can think of to say, a bit flummoxed by the odd apology.

“All right, Una,” JD rumbles. “Unhand her already.”

“Hello to you too, brother dear,” his sister returns as she releases me and focuses on JD, who shakes his head at her, wearing a barely-there smirk.

I’m led into the house, where we find James and Ama working side by side in the kitchen. James greets me with a simple, “Doc,” and a nod, but Ama goes right into hostess mode.

“JD, get our guest a drink, yeah? Beer, ice tea, lemonade, water?”

“I wouldn’t mind an ice tea, thank you. Can I do anything to help?” I add immediately.

“We’re almost done. Hope you don’t mind game meat; James made his venison poyha.”

I’m not sure what poyha is, but it looks like some kind of meatloaf James is cutting in thick slices. It is being served with some kind of succotash—a blend of pan-roasted corn, lima beans, squash, onion, and red peppers—dirty rice, and some kind of apple slaw.

“Sounds delicious,” I mumble, accepting the glass of tea JD hands me.

“I hear you’re working the rodeo?”

I turn to James. “Yes. Phil Jericho called and asked if I would. I’m not sure of the details but, apparently, Mackey Livestock is under some scrutiny, and rather than let them bring their own vet, Jericho thought it prudent to get an impartial vet instead.”

“Animal cruelty. Heard about that,” James comments. “And I’m pretty sure Jericho is more concerned with his reputation than he is with the welfare of the animals. Always covering his ass.”

“You don’t like him,” I conclude, taking a sip of my tea.

Ama snorts. “Understatement of the century. Their rivalry goes way back. Have you heard of Indian relay racing?” she asks me.

“Three-horse relay with one bareback rider? Yes, I’ve seen it. Quite impressive, and dangerous.”

“Yeah. James and Phil were daredevils back then. Always trying to beat each other, until one race—JD was a toddler—James got trampled and ended up with half a dozen broken bones. I told him if he ever got in the ring again, he’d seen the last of me. I’d walk and take our boy with me.”

“Only fucking way for that bastard to win that trophy from me,” her husband grumbles. “Steered his horse right at me. Once a cheat, always a cheat. Watch yourself around him.”

Apparently, the injury extended beyond the physical, and that part hasn’t quite healed. A man’s ego is a fragile thing. I curb the grin that wants to form.

“So noted.”

“Dinner,” Ama announces, passing out dishes of food to carry to the table.

I end up with the bowl of dirty rice and set it on one of the trivets on the dining table. Then I’m directed to take the seat next to JD, who is sitting across from his sister. It reminds me a lot of growing up at the farm, sitting down at the table for familydinners. Instead of passing around the bowls of food, the plates are sent around, and whoever is closest to a dish doles out a portion.

There’s a strange energy at the table, and I think it’s coming from Una. She hasn’t really said much since I walked in the door. When I catch her eye across the table, she shoots me a nervous little smile.

“Eat,” James orders, when everyone has their plate in front of them.

I immediately dig into the poyha, which I’m very curious about. It looks like meatloaf, but has some whole kernels of corn, and the moment I put that first bite in my mouth, I’m immediately in love with the savory flavor with a hint of slight tangy sweetness I can’t quite place.

“This is delicious,” I tell James. “It has an almost sweet aftertaste”

“Chopped cranberries,” he volunteers. “Pairs well with game.”

“It sure does.”

“It’s Una’s favorite,” Ama shares. “Her father made it in honor of her.”

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