“Get that beast away from me.”
A sour-looking woman braced open the front door of the Happy Tails Veterinary Clinic on Juan Tabo Boulevard in Albuquerque, clutching a cat carrier holding a fat orange tabby. She glowered at Wiley, Cait Zapata’s rescued coyote-Husky mix.
Purse in hand, Cait looked back from the front counter and gripped Wiley’s leash as he sniffed at the woman. Cold air swept into the waiting room along with the new arrival, who let the door slam behind her.
“Sit,” Cait commanded Wiley. He ignored her and grinned at woman and her cat. Cait’s own feline, Ink, rested inside a carrier at her feet, black face pressed against the wire door, yellow eyes assessing the newcomers.
With a tight hold on Wiley, Cait handed over a credit card to the receptionist to pay for her pets’ annual checkups.
The newcomer settled into a far corner of the waiting room and clunked her pet’s case on the floor. She continued to grouse. “No one has any business keeping a coyote as a pet. My last cat got eaten by one. It was horrible.”
Cait looked over her shoulder and managed to smile at the blonde woman. “He’s part Husky and gets along great with cats. I’m sorry to hear about your cat.”
“So you admit he’s part coyote.”
Cait turned back to the receptionist, who pushed the credit card at her. “It was declined.”
“Sorry. Try this one.” She crossed her fingers until the charge went through.
“I’d like to board these two for a week. I’ll bring them in Wednesday morning,” she told the receptionist, who nodded. Wiley jerked his leash at the sound of the dreaded word—board.
The blonde grumbler issued a parting shot. “What a shock her card was declined. Only an irresponsible deadbeat would keep a coyote as a pet.”
Cait ignored the woman. She picked up Ink’s case and towed Riley out the door. Her latte-colored skin was tough from working as a newspaper reporter for the past thirteen years, the last eleven at the Albuquerque Star. She was used to dealing with the angry and the unhinged, including those with an ax to grind about the news media.
An icy wind eddied through her long black hair as she stowed Ink and Wiley in the back seat of her Jeep. Then it hit her why the first credit card hadn’t worked. Her bank had mailed her a new one after a big security breach had affected millions of consumers. The new card was still in an envelope on her kitchen table.
Wiley whimpered and scratched the back of her seat. Cait reached back and petted his head.
“They’ll give you treats and play with you. Mom needs a little vacation.”
“Arroo.” The canine lay down with his head on his paws.
She put the vet office encounter out of her head during the drive along the I-40 to her house in the historic little village of Carnuel, just east of Albuquerque. It was just an urban myth, she told herself, that unpleasant things come in bunches.
She turned her attention to the slow burn of happiness that filled her heart. Cait was tying the knot with her sidekick and soul mate—Albuquerque Police detective Jack Gallegos.
The big event was coming up fast.
That evening, her parents were coming for dinner all the way from their home on the Zuni Pueblo, 150 miles from Albuquerque. It was a rare occasion when both Ana and Ernie Zapata both made it out to Cait’s place. Ana taught advanced fiction writing courses for Arizona State University in Phoenix, where she stayed for months at a time. Her dad, a famed Zuni jeweler, worked at home, where he also cared for horses, goats, and in season, a large garden.
The Zapatas’ arrival would kick off a flurry of events.
In a few days, Cait and Jack would be wed at a ceremony at the Zapata home in Zuni, followed by a reception and feast. Later that week, they would repeat their vows at a service at the Sacred Virgin of Guadalupe Catholic Church in south Albuquerque, in front of Jack’s parents and his large clan, including a number of elderly relatives.
After the twin nuptials, Cait and Jack would take off for a Hawaiian honeymoon, necessitating the boarding of Ink and Wiley.
Feeling guilty, she addressed her animals. “You two will be fine.”
She exited the I-40, took a freeway frontage road in Carnuel and turned onto the dirt road to her house.
She frowned.
Her elderly neighbor from across the street stood cradling a shotgun by Cait’s mailbox. Glory Miller’s expression was grim as Cait braked and leaned out her window.
“What’s wrong?” The words choked in her throat.
“Two guys tried to break in. They gave up on the front door and went around back. I called 911 before I fired a warning shot. They came running and skedaddled in a black van. They shot at me on their way out.”
Sirens whined in the distance. Cait got out and waited with Glory for sheriff’s deputies to arrive, telling herself everything was going to be ok.