And Ridge was off the hook.
Chapter 18
Early on Sunday morning after her night with Ridge, Kaia went to see Granny Blue.
The front porch was typical of the small adobe houses in Cupid, covered with a red tile roof awning, and just wide enough to accommodate a rocking chair. The cane-bottomed rocking chair in question was weathered and creaky. It rested atop the jute rug Granny had woven herself.
A short square table squatted beside the rocker. Atop the table rested the rainbow yarn of a newly started knitting project; a white candle burned halfway, a deck of Tarot cards worn thin from use, and a tin of cherry-scented pipe tobacco.
Granny Blue didn't smoke, but Pawpaw had, and she kept the tobacco to sniff when she got lonesome for his smell.
Through the open front door, the sounds of Benny Goodman's "Moonglow" scooted out.
Kaia stepped onto the porch and immediately set off a chorus of barking, yipping, and whining as Granny Blue's exuberant pack galloped out to greet her.
Laughing, she plunked down on the wooden planks and allowed herself to be covered in hounds, five dogs in all.
Mixed breed rescues. Smoke, Sage, Aggie, Tim, and Molly. She petted and cooed to each one in turn as the rest surrounded her, sniffing her hair, wriggling their bodies, wagging tails, hopping on her back.
Grandfather Alzate, who had a natural affinity for animals, was the one who'd taught her to love and cherish all God's creatures.
One of her favorite memories was the day when she and her grandfather found a litter of motherless infant kittens living in a drainpipe. The local vet had decreed they would not likely survive and warned Kaia not to get attached to them. Even her parents hadn't been optimistic about the kittens' chances, and they warned her not to name the babies.
But Pawpaw had other plans. He vowed those kittens would live, and he helped her pick out the names. Mittens for the gray tabby with white feet. Dusk for the full gray one. Fluff for the smallest one with an excess of fur.
He showed her how to hold them delicately, how to make a soft warm bed for them, how to feed their tiny mouths milk from an eyedropper. He taught her a Native American healing song to sing to them and told her fiercely, Never be afraid to love with all your heart, Kaia, girl. Death can steal us away at any time. So love now. Love hard. And never apologize for it.
From that moment on, Kaia had gone all in. Loving each and every animal that crossed her path with a fervency that sometimes troubled her parents. And with each pet that died, she grieved, but the animal's passing never stopped her from loving anew.
But while she loved all creatures, great and small, dogs were secretly her favorite. She loved dogs for their sheer enthusiasm and die-hard loyalty.
"Hello, hello." She greeted each exuberant dog in turn. "I love you too."
In unison, they licked her face.
"Guess what?" she confided in them. "The most amazing thing has happened. You're not gonna believe."
"That must be Kaia squeaking the boards on my front porch." Granny's voice drifted through the open door. "The dogs go mad for you."
"That's because I have treats." She giggled and took five small squares of dried liver from the front pocket of her shirt and doled them out.
The dogs quivered with delight.
Granny Blue appeared in the doorway. "Ah, water has rolled in," she said, in that cryptic way of hers, referring to the fact Kaia was born in Pisces, a water sign. "And here I was so thirsty."
The dogs turned and raced into the house, Kaia following.
Benny Goodman cut off in midswing as Granny lifted the arm on the record player, and switched it off. Sighed nostalgically. "Nothing like vinyl."
"Morning, Granny."
She pulled Kaia into her arms for a fierce hug. Hugging Granny wasn't easy. Kaia had to bend so low her chin almost touched the top of Granny's head and cradle her thin shoulders carefully so as not to hurt her frail bones.
If a good stiff wind kicked up, it would blow tiny Granny Blue halfway across the desert.
Her grandmother wore a faded brown calico housedress, and well-worn, leather-soled moccasins. The open room that served as living room, kitchen, and dining room was lit only by sunlight shining in under the partially raised shades. The Saltillo floor tiles had been designed in the pattern of a medicine wheel. Kaia knew the medicine wheel four directional quadrants by heart-physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental. She didn't know how much of the old lore she believed, but she trusted Granny Blue's wisdom.
The room was minimally furnished-a rustic couch handmade from piñon wood and topped with goose down cushions covered in colorful Native American designs, a round antique end table, another rocking chair, and a square table circa 1980, painted University of Texas burnt orange that served as a stand for an old tube TV. In the corner of the room was a kiva-style fireplace.