Page 59 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
Luca carefully placed the truffle in a cloth bag. “This one is worth maybe two hundred euros. Not bad for a principessa!”
“Princess?”Naomi laughed. “I’m sitting in dirt wearing clothes that are three sizes too big.”
“Still a princess,”I said.
Her eyes met mine. I winked and she blushed and diverted her attention away.
We continued deeper into the forest, the dogs leading us through increasingly dense undergrowth. Naomi’s initial hesitation had disappeared entirely. She chattered with Luca about truffle cultivation, asked me about the different tree species, and generally embraced the adventure with enthusiasm.
“So the truffles form a symbiotic relationship with the tree roots?”she asked.
“Si. They help each other. The truffle gets nutrients from the tree, the tree gets minerals from the truffle. Very romantic, no?”
“Everything’s romantic to you Italians,”she said.
“This is true. We see love everywhere—in food, in wine, in dirt mushrooms.”
“In dirt mushrooms,”she repeated, shaking her head. “You people are impossible.”
Bella started barking frantically about fifty yards ahead, deeper in the forest where the trees grew closer together. Luca frowned.
“This is not her excited bark. This is her warning bark.”
I moved closer to Naomi instinctively. “Warning about what?”
“Could be anything. Wild boar, sometimes they protect their territory. Or other dogs, hunters who don’t respect boundaries.”
We approached Bella’s location carefully. She was backing away from a thick cluster of undergrowth, hackles raised, still barking. Rocco had joined her, andboth dogs were clearly agitated.
“What is it, girl?”Luca spoke softly to Bella, scanning the forest.
That’s when I heard it. Rustling in the brush, too heavy to be a small animal. Then snorting, the unmistakable sound of something large and potentially dangerous.
“Cinghiale,”Luca said quietly. “Wild boar.”
The boar emerged from the undergrowth with its nostrils flaring and legs sprinting forward then sliding to a stop. It was dark and muscular, with sharp upturned tusks. It was forty yards away, but it had clearly decided we were a threat to whatever it was protecting.
“Don’t move,”Luca whispered. “Sometimes they just want to warn us away.”
I wanted to believe him, but this boar had other ideas. It lowered its head, snorted once, and charged.
Everything happened in slow motion and lightning speed simultaneously. The boar coming toward us, massive and fast. Luca dove left toward the dogs. Naomi froze in place directly in the boar’s path.
I grabbed the thickest branch I could reach, a dead piece of oak about the width of a baseball bat, and stepped between Naomi and two hundred pounds of angry pig.
“Stay behind me!”
I swung one, twice, three times, landing effective blows that made the boar redirect with a loud crying whimper.
“Christian!”
“Stay back in case it turns around!”
Luca was shouting in Italian, trying to get the dogs away from the confrontation. The boar turned back like I expected, shook its head, and prepared to charge again.
I grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her toward the nearest climbable tree, a massive oak with low branches. “Go!”
“I can’t climb a tree!”
