Page 19 of Past Due

Chapter Five

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you down to the village?” Agnesa stood in the doorway of the whelping room while I nuzzled and loved on the puppies one last time.

“I’m sure.” I gave the puppy I had saved—Lucky—one last snuggle before returning him to the pile of fluffy puppies. “It’s not that far, and your dairy farmer friend said the roads are mostly dry.” I checked my watch. “I have enough time before it gets dark to find a room.”

“All right,” Agnesa said with a reluctant nod. “You have my information? You’ll call me when you get to back to your hostel in Shkodër?”

“Yes and yes.” I grabbed my backpack and slipped my arms through the straps. Buckling the harness across my chest, I said, “Thank you for packing my dinner. I’ll mail back the thermos.”

She waved her hand. “Keep it. Think of it as a souvenir.”

“I will.”

“You know how to get to the ferry tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.”

“And you know where to find the bus to Shkodër?”

“Yes.” Amused by her mothering, I asked, “Do you want to come with me to make sure?”

“Don’t tempt me! It’s been a while since I’ve left my mountain.”

“You’re always welcome in Houston.”

“And you’re always welcome here,” she said, engulfing me in a warm hug. “I enjoyed your company very much, Marley.”

“Same,” I said, hugging her right back. “Thank you for being so kind and welcoming me into your home.”

“Thank you for not suing me over that goose bite,” she teased. “Come on.” She gestured to the door. “You better get moving.”

I was halfway down the lane when I glanced back to find Agnesa watching from her garden. She waved, and I waved back one last time before hitching my backpack up a little higher and trudging toward the red gate. Saddened by the end of my visit to her farm, I closed the red gate behind me and started down the winding, narrow path back to the café.

When I reached the café, I stopped for some water and waved at the old man who had given me directions. He seemed surprised to see me again and nodded at me before returning to the hikers seated at the tables. There was a truck parked nearby, a dusty black Mercedes X-Class, and the grandson was in the bed of it, moving boxes toward the tailgate.

“Hey!” He called out. “You survived Agnesa!”

“She’s a peach!” I called back and waved. “Thanks for the directions!”

He laughed and muttered something I didn’t understand. I really needed to find an Albanian language course. After my visit with Agnesa, I intended to come back here soon.

Ignoring the voice in the back of my head that reminded me I could always ask Besian for one-on-one lessons, I fell in behind a trio of men talking rapid fire Spanish. The tallest of them glanced back and then did a double take. My stomach fluttered at his obvious interest, especially when he grinned and slowed his pace. I politely returned his smile and didn’t discourage him when he moved beside me.

“I didn’t see you on the pass,” he said, his Spanish lilted in a way that sounded almost musical.

“I was staying with a friend for a few days,” I answered, my Spanish obviously not as pretty as his.

“American?” he guessed upon hearing my accent. “Texas?”

“How did you know Texas?” I asked, impressed.

“I work for Repsol,” he explained. “I spend a lot of time at our office there.”

“The Woodlands, right? By the lake?”

“Yes!”

“I’m from Houston. Small world, huh?”

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