looking to get involved, and for some reason he didn’t think she was, either.
“Just to have something to share when I sit around with my friends and talk about you.”
“A daily occurrence?”
“Practically.” She shifted into First and grinned. “You’re very hot.”
He ignored that. “Pia was saying something about a man shortage. Is that true?”
“Sure. It’s not so bad that teenage girls are forced to bring their brothers to prom, but it’s noticeable. We’re not sure how or when it started. A lot of men left during the Second World War. Not enough came back. Some people attribute it to a rumor that the site of the town is an old Mayan village.”
They drove through town. Dakota took the road that headed up the mountain.
“Mayan? Not this far north,” he said.
“They’re supposed to have migrated. A tribe of women and their children. A very matriarchal society.”
“You’re making this up.”
“Check the facts yourself. In the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, part of the mountain opened up, revealing a huge cave at the base of the mountain. Inside were dozens of solid-gold artifacts—Mayan artifacts. Although there were enough differences between these and the ones found down south to confuse scholars.”
“Where’s the cave now?” He hadn’t seen anything about it in his travels or research.
“It collapsed during the 1989 earthquake, but the artifacts are all over the world. Including at the museum in town.”
Something he would have to go see for himself, he thought. “What do matriarchal Mayans have to do with the man shortage in town?”
She glanced at him, then turned her attention back to the road. “There’s a curse.”
“Did you hit your head this morning?”
She laughed. “Okay, there’s a rumor of a curse. I don’t know the details.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Something about men and the world ending in 2012.”
“Dr. Hendrix, I expected better from you.”
“Sorry. That’s all I know. You might ask Pia. She mentioned something about doing a Mayan festival in 2012.”
“To celebrate the end of the world?”
“Let’s hope not.”
Talk about a crazy history. A Mayan curse? In the Sierra Nevada mountains? And to think he’d been worried that small-town living would be boring.
PIA CAREFULLY COLLECTED cat food, dishes, cat toys and a bed that Jake had never used. Jo, the cat’s new owner, had said she’d bought a new litter box and litter. After making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Pia got the pet carrier out of the closet and opened it.
She expected to have to chase Jake down and then wrestle him into the plastic-and-metal container, but he surprised her by glancing from it to her, then creeping inside.
“You want to go, don’t you,” she whispered as she closed and secured the front latch.
The cat stared at her, unblinking.
Crystal had said he was a marmalade cat—sort of a champagne-orange with bits of white on his chin. Sleek and soft, with a long tail and big green eyes.
She stared back at him.
“I wanted you to be happy. I really tried. I hope you know that.”
Jake closed his eyes, as if willing her to be done.
She picked up the tote holding his supplies in one hand and the pet carrier in the other. She took the stairs slowly, then put Jake and his things in the backseat of her car.
The drive to Jo’s only took a few minutes. She parked in front of the other woman’s house. Before she could get out, Jo had stepped out onto the front porch, then hurried down the steps.
“I’m ready,” the other woman called as Pia got out of her car. “It’s weird. I haven’t had a cat in so long, but I’m really excited.”
Jo opened the back door of the car and took out the carrier. “Hi, big guy. Look at you. Who’s a handsome kitty?”
The cooing singsong voice was nearly as surprising as the words. For a woman who prided herself on running her neighborhood bar with a combination of strict rules and not-so-subtle intimidation, Jo’s sweet baby talk was disconcerting.
Pia collected the tote and followed Jo into her house.
Jo had moved to Fool’s Gold about three years ago and bought a failing bar. She’d transformed the business into a haven for women, offering great drinks, big TVs that showed more reality shows and shopping channels than sports, and plenty of guilt-free snacks. Men were welcome, as long as they knew their place.
Jo was tall, pretty, well-muscled and unmarried. Pia would guess she was in her midthirties. So far Jo hadn’t been seen with a man, or mentioned one from her past. Rumors ranged from her being a mafia princess to a woman on the run from an abusive boyfriend. All Pia knew for sure was that Jo kept a gun behind the bar and she looked more than capable of using it.
Pia stepped into Jo’s and closed the front door. The house was older, built in the 1920s, with plenty of wood and a huge fireplace. All the doors off the living room were closed and a sheet blocked the entrance to the stairs.
“I’m giving him limited access for now,” Jo explained as she walked through to the kitchen. “The sheet won’t work for long, but it should keep him on this floor for a few hours.”
Pia trailed after her.
Jo put the carrier down on the kitchen floor and opened the door. Jake cautiously stepped out, sniffing as he went.
“The house is really big,” Jo explained. “That could scare him. Once he gets to know the place, he’ll be fine.”
“He must have loved my apartment,” Pia murmured, thinking of how small it was.
“I’m sure he did. Cats like upstairs windows. They can see the world.”
Pia set the tote on the counter. “You know a lot about cats.”
“I grew up with them,” Jo said wistfully, then leaned down and petted Jake’s back.
Pia half expected the cat to take off one of Jo’s fingers with his claws. Instead Jake paused to sniff her fingers, then rubbed his head against them.
He’d never done that to her, she thought, trying not to be offended. Apparently being a cat person helped.
Jo set out dry food and water on a place mat in the corner of the kitchen. Jake disappeared into the laundry room. A minute or so later, there was the distinctive scratching sound of litter being moved.
“He found his bathroom,” Jo said happily. “He’s all set. He’ll figure out the rest of it. Come on. Let’s go sit in the living room while he explores. I’ve been working on a new peppermint martini recipe. I’d like it ready for Christmas. You can tell me what you think.”
A martini sounded like an excellent plan, Pia thought, trailing after her friend.
They sat on a comfortable sofa, across from the huge fireplace. Jo poured liquid from a pitcher into a shaker, shook it, then tipped the startlingly pink liquid into two martini glasses.
“Be honest. Is it too sweet?”
Pia took a sip. The liquid was icy cold and tasted of peppermint. It was more refreshing than sweet, with a hint of something she couldn’t place. Honey? Almond?
“Dangerously good,” she admitted. “And I’m driving.”