Page 27 of Cooped Up for Christmas

So after I did the breakfast dishes and a quick tidy up of the guest rooms—in case they came back early—I headed for the staff lodgings because, thank you very much, I fancied a nap.

My eager footsteps stalled as I stepped into our kitchen and a deep low growl resonated through my bones. My gaze snapped to Mason’s bed which, for some reason, Coop had put in the kitchen. And yup, there the slavering beast was, all curled up. And growling. At me.

“Seriously, Mason? I gave you Mexican food!” I took a step closer and he lifted his head. The growl continued to rumble.

I glanced at my bedroom door. I could see it from here. Could I sprint all the way across the kitchen before he caught me and tore me limb from limb? Dare I risk it?

Damn Coop for bringing a dog. He’d said Mason was a sweetie pie. A sweetie pie! Really? Did sweetie pies growl at their unarmed Mexican food smugglers?

I spotted the doggie treats on the counter; they were a couple steps away too. Dangerous, but probably worth it. I sucked in a breath and made my move.

The second I touched the dog treat bag, Mason’s energy shifted and he licked his chops. I riffled around in the bag as I came closer, just to hold his attention. He tracked my every move. Good. No more growls. Closer… Closer…

Once I reached his side, and his attention was still on the bag, I pulled out a treat and let him take it from the palm of my hand. I tried to avoid the drool-cicles, but failed.

“See? I’m your friend, Mason.” I patted him on the head and he grinned at me and everything seemed totally fine.

But then, something happened. Something horrible.

Ever see the movie Alien?

Yeah. That.

From the curl of Mason’s body, a diminutive alien began to slowly unwind. My heart thudded. My eyes were locked on that horrific sight. Yeah, an alien, just like the one in the movie, except this one had a Chihuahua’s face and tiny needle-sharp teeth and a really horrific, high-pitched bark.

Oh yeah. I was much more afraid of this one. I took an instinctive step back, but Lola, for that was certainly who this was, had a lot to say to me.

Fortunately, no hable Chihuahua, so I had no idea what she was going on about, but once I gave her a treat she stopped yapping. So, that was good. I was able to make it to my bedroom unmolested.

Before I indulged myself in a twenty minute nap, I called Farley to let her know I found Lola. I didn’t tell her where, though, because, yeah.

The popstar wasn’t quite as gracious when she returned to the house and I had to show her where Lola was hiding—because, frankly, I’d been unable to detangle the two. As we stepped into the staff kitchen, Farley screeched. “That monster has my dog!”

“No. He’s very gentle.” I reached in. Mason growled. “Okay. He’s just very protective of Lola. You see? He won’t hurt her. They’re friends.”

“He’s enormous! What if he eats her?”

“He’s never eaten a Chihuahua,” I said with supreme confidence, because I knew it to be true.

In the end, we could not extract Lola from Mason’s arms. Neither dog would allow it. We had to wait until Coop and his party came back from the mountain, so he could pry Lola from Mason’s hold, which was no easy feat, with Lola fighting him like that.

And then, after the Chihuahua had been returned to her owner, Mason pouted all evening.

* * *

The guests went straight to bed after dinner—now that was a Christmas miracle—so the staff got an early night. I was just getting into my book when someone knocked on my door. Don’t you hate when that happens? I blew out the required annoyed snort and got up to answer it. I didn’t bother to think about what I was wearing.

I should have thought about what I was wearing.

Because it was PJs. Flannel, of course, with little smiling bacon slices all over it. A onesie. With feet.

Of course, it was Coop at the door. He had a bar of soap and a towel flung over his shoulder, but whatever he was going to say seemed to lodge in his throat when he took me in. He laughed. Just once. Just a, “Hah!” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I, ah, never knew you liked bacon so much,” he said, once he recovered his composure.

“Can I help you?” I asked in a frosty tone. I refused to think about the mud mask I’d almost put on.

“Yeah. Please. I need to take a shower and the other bathrooms are being used. Do you mind if I use yours?”