Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue by Dixie Cash Page A

somewhere to raise hell. Run down to Mexico. Lie on the beach and get yourself laid.”
    Justin had more important things to think about than deepening his tan or ending his long stint of celibacy.
    Avoiding giving his captain the answer Justin knew he wanted, he said, “My plans right now don’t include any ofthose things, but if something happens I think you’d want to hear about, I won’t hesitate to call you.”
    Justin dragged a frosty glass from the freezer, grabbed a beer and carried them outside to the front porch. A strong breeze from the north gave a welcome reprieve from the heat. Easing himself into one of the two matching rocking chairs, he poured his beer and tried to relax.
    So she’s really coming , he thought. He still found the whole thing a little hard to grasp. He was certain he wouldn’t be condoning this, or even allowing it, if Debbie Sue and Edwina hadn’t promoted it.
    Well, this psychic woman would have to prove to him that she possessed extrasensory perception or whatever. With the unlimited capabilities of the Internet to uncover his life from beginning to the present—his date of birth, his parent’s names, when he married, what he did for a living—a computer in the hands of any charlatan could pull up that data. He wouldn’t settle for just any old facts, either. Nor was he worried about how she might convince him she was legit. That was her problem, not his. She would have to knock him off his feet before he would fork over the money he had agreed to pay.
    Beyond that, what should he say when meeting a person who could look at you and possibly tell you your future and your past? What if she looked at him with a perplexing expression on her face? Would it mean she was just tired? Or would it mean she had a headache or was suffering from constipation, for chrissake? How would he keep from overreacting to her human actions?
    Turnup had been sleeping peacefully at the side of Justin’s rocking chair, but suddenly he raised his head and stared at the front screen door. Whining pitifully, he tilted his head to the left, then right, clearly listening to something Justin couldn’t hear. Apprehension began to sneak through Justin. He followed the dog’s gaze but saw nothing through the screen door’s haze except the living area of his home. “What’s the matter, boy?” He reached to touch Turnup’s head but the dog rose, his tail tucked between his legs.
    Before Justin could react, Turnup’s behavior changed as quickly as before. The dog began to prance around, never taking his eyes off the front door.
    “What the hell…” Justin muttered.
    Suddenly Turnup bolted from the front porch, ran into the yard and picked up something in the grass. With the object secured in his mouth, he returned. Ignoring Justin, Turnup placed the object in front of the door and rose on his hind legs, begging. Begging who? No one was present but Justin.
    Justin looked at what the dog had brought and his blood chilled. It was a ragged tennis ball. The same tennis ball Rachel had thrown a thousand times and laughed with delight when Turnup raced for it and brought it back to her. Justin hadn’t even known where it was.
    Rachel would sit on the porch in one of the rocking chairs and call out to him, “Baby, look at how smart Turnup is. He brings the ball right back to me every time.”
    Justin stared at the empty doorway for uncountable seconds. Finally he swallowed hard and softly said, “Rach? Honey, is that you? Are you here?”
    No reply. No sound. Even the wind seemed to have stopped. Justin looked at Turnup, who had given up on his pleading and now lay quietly again. Reaction burned in Justin’s chest. Adrenaline rush was something he recognized. But this time it wasn’t the life-saving response his body called for in his job. It was more primitive than that. It was anger.
    He sprang to his feet, the force of his sudden movement knocking the rocking chair backward. Turnup jumped, ran from the