Hound Dog & Bean (27 page)

“Nope. No dogs,” she explained. She did let him know the dogs he and H.D. had rescued were doing well. It was touch and go for a week or two. One of the puppies—not the runt, interestingly—had died. Its little heart had just stopped. But with everyone helping the mother feed them using little bottles of formula, the rest had bounced back. One of the Shelties—a black and white—had gotten quite attached to H.D., and it was pretty common for little Rammstein to accompany H.D. when he came over to Bean’s place.

“Why did you call him Rammstein?” Bean had asked.

“Well, I had a Sheltie once named Ramses, remember? So it’s kind of to honor him. And then there’s this German heavy rock band called Rammstein that simulates anal sex on stage—”

“Ohmygod,” said Bean.

“The keyboard player wears a gimp mask.”

“What’s a gimp mask?”

H.D. laughed. “A leather mask with zippers for the eyes and mouth.”

Bean’s eyes popped. “Whoa!”

“And in their finale they have these hoses built into the groins of their costumes and they ‘cum’ foam all over the audience.” H.D. was giggling by this point.

“Holy crap, H.D. And you’re naming a puppy after them?”

“Why not?”

“No,” Elaine said, bringing Bean back to their conversation. “It’s not dogs. Unless you count one
Hound
Dog.” Her voice had a serious tone, and so Bean invited her to the tiny break room in back.

“What’s going on?” he asked, after closing the door to give them some privacy—and trying not to worry. What
was
going on?

“Look…
Bean
. Do I call you that or do I use your real name?”

“For you? You call me whatever you want. Although you’ll confuse a lot of people if you call me Dean in the shop.”

“Fine,” she replied. “
Bean
. I just wanted to tell you that I like what’s going on between you and H.D. He obviously likes you. A lot.”

That made Bean smile, his heart quicken. “I like him a lot too.” He more than liked Hill. He was pretty sure he was falling for him. But he hadn’t said it out loud. Instinct had told him that could be a big mistake. That it might scare Hill off. In fact, Bean had to be careful not even to allow himself to
think
the L-word.

“
Bean
. What I’m trying to say is that in all the time I’ve known him, I have never seen him… spend time with a man. Not once. I’ve never seen him date. Ever. A man is lucky if he can get H.D. in bed more than once.”

“What are you trying to say, Elaine?” Bean swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Don’t hate me,” Hill had said. Bean could
hear
H.D.’s words…

“I did tell you I was a slut. Are you going to be okay with that?”

“I’m saying I’m witnessing a miracle,” Elaine replied. “And I like it. Hell, I’m exuberant. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s… he’s
happy.
”

Bean grinned foolishly.
Oh, thank God.
“I think you just made my day. My year maybe.”
My decade!

“I think you’re good for him,” Elaine said

“I think he’s pretty good for me,” Bean returned.

“Well, then. Good. Mara says the same thing. She says she’s never seen
you
so happy.”

“Mara said that?” Really. That surprised him.

“So here’s the thing, Bean. Don’t fuck this up.”

Bean goggled at her. Elaine pretty much didn’t seem like the kind of person to drop the F-bomb. And what the hell did she mean by that?

“Well, I wasn’t planning on fucking up anything, Elaine.”

“Let me give you a warning.” She leaned across the small lunch table and fixed him with a deep, penetrating look. “Hold off on the L-word.”

The comment startled Bean. Hadn’t he been thinking about that very word only seconds ago?

“That’ll scare him off faster than anything. I waited a
year
before I said it, and he and I both knew it was only platonic. He knew I only meant it in friendship. If we hadn’t
just
opened Four-Footed, he might have bolted.”

A year?
Thought Bean. A year?

“Not that H.D. has that many friends. He avoids them.”

“Why?” Bean all but cried.

“Because in his experience, dear Bean, friends leave you vulnerable. A lot of people who’ve claimed to be his friend have wound up hurting him.”

Like Billy….
Bean nodded. “We’ve talked about that.”

“You have?” She seemed surprised.

“Some,” he said.

“Interesting. That tells me something. He likes you even better than I thought.”

He nodded solemnly.
Well, that’s good news. But don’t use the “L-word?”
Her advice startled him.
Will I
ever
be able say it? What if I mean it?

“Oh God,” Elaine groaned. “You’ve already used it, haven’t you?”

“No!” Bean rushed to assure her.

“Good.” She sighed. Nodded. Took a long drink of her coffee. She looked at him again in that deep way that made Bean feel like she was looking right into his head. Then: “Oh, shit. You’re already in it, aren’t you? You’re in love with him?”

“I—” Bean stopped. Why was he feeling so funny suddenly? Like panicking? “I—I don’t know, Elaine. God. It sure feels like it.”

“Well, then.” She smiled. “Good. Good. I’m glad. He
needs
to be loved.”

Bean breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been scared there for a moment, and he didn’t know why.

“I’m glad it’s you. You’re a good man, and you could get him to trusting again. But wait before you say it, okay?” She took another sip of her coffee and gave him a thoughtful look. “You ever fish, Bean?”

“Excuse me?” He was confused.

“Do you ever go fishing?”

“Fishing?”
What?
“Like for fish?” What the hell did fishing have to do with anything?

She chuckled. “Yes, Bean. For fish.”

He shrugged. Thought about it for a second. “Not really. Once or twice maybe. Dad never had time for much father and son stuff. When I was a kid, he took me deep sea fishing once when we took a family vacation to Hawaii. He caught one of those really huge ones. With the big fin on its back. Had it stuffed and put it over our fireplace.”

“People still do that?” she asked.

“They did then. That was thirty years ago.”
It’s in his man-cave now, though.

“Well, that’s more than H.D. has ever had,” Elaine informed him. “He never knew his father at all. He certainly never went on a family vacation to Hawaii.”

Bean nodded grimly. “I gathered as much.”

He looked up and, dammit, she was doing it again. Looking at him in that studious way. As if she was examining him. In any other case, it would have made him uncomfortable. But he saw she was only looking out for Hill, and that was okay by him. “Fishing,” he said. “You were asking me about fishing.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “Well, my dad
did
take me fishing. All the time. Lake fishing was his favorite, and he taught me a lot. Those are my best memories of him: fishing. Just sitting with him, hardly talking. Hours and hours. God. And when we did talk? We could say so much without hardly saying a word. Bean, fishing with Dad was the best. I loved it. I still love fishing. I’m taking Mara this weekend.”

Mara? Fishing?
He found that hard to imagine. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“It has
every
thing to do with what I’m trying to talk to you about.” She took another drink of coffee. “This is
really
good.
What
is this?”

“Elaine!” he snapped, exasperated.

She raised her brows at him and somehow he knew he wasn’t getting one more word until he answered.

“Dammit. It’s the Finca Santa Teresa coffee from Chiapas Mexico.”

“I need to buy a bag of this.”

“I’ll give you a bag, Elaine. But talk.”

“Okay… fishing,” she said. “Fishing takes a lot of patience, Bean. You cast out your line, patiently wait for that nibble, and when the line jerks, you grab your reel and
yank
it up at an angle so you catch its mouth. If you do it too soon, you take the risk of losing your fish. He’ll swim so far away he might never come back. Sometimes, though, if you do it just right, he’ll swallow the whole damned thing—worm and all. If he does that, then you got him.”

Of course, she was talking about Hill. He saw that now. It was interesting advice. And he knew she was sincerely trying to help. He still had to tease her, though. “Are you trying to tell me to keep it slow so I can get H.D. to swallow my worm?”

“If you think you’re shocking me, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that. I’m used to our Hound Dog remember.”

Our Hound Dog.
He liked the sound of that.

“What I’m saying is that if you go too fast, he’ll run and he might never come back—”

Oh, and that would hurt!

“—but if you time it right, you just might be the one to get him.”

Bean felt his heart fill with hope. “Elaine. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. I might have made a mistake if you hadn’t’ve dropped by. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Alexander. I love that boy. I want to see him happy.”

Bean jumped up and gave her a hug.

“Oh my,” she said, and blushed.

“Is it okay if I tell you that I love you?”

She grinned. “Honey, you can say that
any
time you want to!”

H
OUND
D
OG
and Bean were sitting in the courtyard outside The Shepherd’s Bean drinking their morning coffee (it had become their ritual over the last few weeks) when H.D. asked the question.

“You know, you never explained the deal-e-o about those paintings inside. What’s going on with the boy and the dancing goats?”

Bean sat back. “Only the origin of coffee.”

H.D. leaned in. “Say again?”

Bean nodded.

“The origin of coffee?”

Bean gave a second nod. “Yup.”

“Okay. Explain.”

“Well,” Bean said with a wave of his hand. “As the myth goes, there once was an Ethiopian shepherd boy by the name of Kaldi. Kaldi was a poet, and he loved to play his pipes and make up songs and wander with his goats all over the mountain. Then one day he lost them. Kaldi looked and looked. He was frantic. What if something happened to them? What if they’d been eaten up?

“Finally he heard their bleating in the distance, and he ran to see what was going on. To his surprise, when he came around a bend in the path, there—under the canopy of the rainforest—were his goats. Well his mouth just fell open, for to his
great
surprise, they were prancing and dancing and leaping about.

“Kaldi figured they must have had a spell cast on them. Maybe they’d been possessed by demons. He didn’t know what to do.

“But then as he watched, he saw they were eating from a tree with big red cherries on it. They were chewing the glossy leaves as well as the berries, and Kaldi was worried that they’d been poisoned. Why, his father would skin him alive!”

H.D. started to chuckle.

“But the goats did not die, and he finally got them to go home, even though it took him forever to settle them down for the night.

“The next day, Kaldi had no sooner opened the goat’s pens when they
ran
back to the rain forest. He took off after them, and lo and behold, they’d gone right to the coffee trees—and of course, that’s what the goats were eating. Coffee.

“Well, Kaldi was curious now, and seeing how the plants didn’t kill his goats, tried some of the cherries himself. To his amazement, he soon felt the most powerful rush, and in no time he was leaping about, prancing and dancing just like his goats. He was bursting with energy, and he sang songs and had a grand old time.

“That night Kaldi told his father about the magic trees and slowly word spread all over the country. Before long a monk—who had been having trouble staying awake for his morning prayers—heard about the magic fruit and tried it himself. To his delight, he found that he not only could stay awake during his morning prayers, but the little cherries helped him have even better devotions. Soon the whole monastery was using the fruit. And not long after that, they discovered a way to use the beans to make a delicious beverage….”

“Coffee,” H.D. exclaimed! “I love it! Did this really happen?”

Bean shrugged. “I don’t know. If it did, it happened over a thousand years ago. I like to think it’s true.”

“Me too!”

H.D. leapt to his feet, took a big swallow of coffee, and began to dance around their table. In no time the people sitting around the little courtyard were laughing and clapping. He was as good a dancer as he was a fighter, and egged on by the crowd, he began leaping and spinning and even threw in a few cartwheels. His dreadlocks whirled around his head as he spun about and soon a young girl about ten years old with long brown hair was dancing with him, giggling and twirling and having a wonderful time. When they finally stopped (to a round of applause) she pantingly told them it was the most fun she’d ever had at the shop. She didn’t care much for coffee unless it had tons of sugar and cream, but her two dads loved it.

Bean shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me, H.D.” Could his beautiful lover enchant anyone?

Panting himself, H.D. sat back down and took another drink of his “magic bean” brew. “Thanks. Why didn’t you join me?”

“I do have a reputation, you know,” he said, gesturing to his patrons.

“That you’re a fuddy-duddy?” H.D. asked and began to giggle.

For some reason the comment stung. “Do you think I’m boring or something?”

H.D. waggled his thick eyebrows. “Not in bed,” he said with a grin and then leaned in and kissed Bean right in front of everyone.

Bean cheeks pinkened, and he looked around, but if anyone noticed, they certainly didn’t seem to mind. In fact, at least one gave him a wink. And who should it be but the little girl with the dark hair.

“So who did the paintings?” H.D. asked, bringing Bean’s attention back to his lover.