Chapter 2

“Ah, mi mal perrita! Why do you run, chiquita? It is of great danger! You are too little to…”

The man’s broken tirade stuttered to a stop as he tipped his head back to look up to Troy’s six-foot-four-inch height. “Me siento. I apologize for mi perrita, my little dog. She is a bad one sometimes. She mostly stay right by me, but today she goes flying away all at once! Gracias—thank you—for catching her.”

He reached out to relieve Troy of the burden. Troy felt an inexplicable surge of reluctance to relinquish the little animal. Its weight was slight, but felt comfortable and warm resting in the crookof his arm.

“This little mutt’s yours? What’s her name? Don’t you think maybe you should keep her on a leash or something?” He didn’t need to check to feel sure the dog was female; everything about her simply shrieked femininity, from her dainty feet to the smooth, rounded head with its delicate features.

“She was wearing a new collar I got for her, but I think I put it on too loose. She wiggled out while I was dealing with some customers and took off like a bullet. I was very afraid my little friend would be lost or made dead!” The younger man’s face was full of distress. “I do my best to take good care of her. She is mi amiga especial, my special friend. We have shared many adventures.”

Troy eased his hold on the dog, but kept a hand ready to capture her again until she was secure in her master’s grip. “You mentioned customers. Do you work in a store or an office?”

“I have a taco cart.” The young man squared his shoulders as he made the statement, pride in his tone and posture. “Already I have paid back my uncle of the dinero he give to me to buy it and I put more in the bank now every week. In time, I will have my own restaurant, but for now, it’s a good business. Do you maybe want to have lunch? This time it will be for free, since you saved Burrito Belle for me. It is just down the block, across from the park.”

Something in the other man’s demeanor touched a nerve in Troy. He, too, was a self-made man, and the struggles he’d endured as he clawed his way through college and into a good job were still fresh in his mind. “Why not? I need to eat somewhere and I happen to like tacos. Lead on.”

“Mi nombre es Juan. The name of my stand is Burrito Belle’s Comidero. Come and I will fix you un taco especial.”

“I’m Troy. I work in the AmBank building.” Troy extended his hand. Juan’s grip was surprisingly strong. He was not a large man and appeared quite young, but he had a dignity and strength of character Troy had to admire.

As simply as that, a friendship began. Within a few days, it became Troy’s habit to stop by Juan’s stand almost every day when he went out for his midday walk. Clearly, Burrito Belle thought he was a great guy, even if he had stopped her runaway adventure. Maybe she’d even intended for that to happen. Who could say? When she cocked her head and looked up, her black diamond eyes alight with mischief and meaning, it was easy to believe she understood a lot more than an average dog ever could.

Troy had never cared for small dogs. He’d harbored the opinion that to be a real dog, a critter had to weigh close to forty pounds minimum, be able to devour about a quarter of a beef at one setting and do something useful like terrorize the nosy neighbors or keep salesmen away from the door. Chihuahuas had barely existed in his world, probably only ensconced in the designer bag of a blonde starlet look-alikeor a clone of the current Latina diva.

But Burrito Belle had plowed right through his prejudices the first moment he met her. She stole his heart as deftly as a street urchin in Juarez could heist a pack of gum or a candy bar. She was just too damn cute. Juan didn’t seem to mind that his fur-girl had a new hero in the person of Troy. If anything,he encouraged it with sly comments in rapid-fire border Spanish and tidbits slipped to Troy to pass to her.

The diminutive dog was popular with most of the customers and somehow the health inspectors never seemed to object to her being there where Juan served food. Usually, she perched atop a folding stool near the ornate old cash register and regarded the activity swirling around with keen attention. If anyone was so incautious as to reach too close to the money drawer, she gave a sharp, warning yap, and the offender jerked back quickly. Those teeth were small but needle sharp and she showed them with a lifted lip when she barked in that particular tone. The rest of the time she kept her nose well away fromthe covered trays of meat and salsa, the alcohol-lamp warmed tortilla shells and the rest of the ingredients.