Wondering what had gotten into her, wishing he could clear his mind of distractions and relax, Gordian glanced to one side of him, then the other, and frowned at the utter impossibility of it. The dogs tended to favor him at mealtime, and were flanking his chair like bookends, staring up at him with their bright, brown, pleading eyes.

He reached for a wedge of his toast, broke it in half, and gave each of the dogs a piece. As usual Jack, a brindle male and the larger of the two, sucked his down whole and went back to staring at him. Considerably more high-strung, Jill excitedly sprang onto all fours and spun in a full circle while gobbling her portion, slamming her backside into the legs of the table.

Gordian's breakfast settings rattled and bounced, coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup and flooding the saucer underneath it.

He released an aggravated breath.

"That's how you always get yourself in trouble, you know."

Gordian turned, and saw Ashley reappear from inside the house to the recorded accompaniment of Fats Waller's stride piano.

"Hmmph," he said, dabbing up the spilled coffee with a paper napkin. "What do you mean?"

"I mean feeding the dogs off the table," she said. "Besides being against Julia's orders, it's sure to cause a disaster."

He frowned.

"You know how these poor dogs were treated at the track? Before Julia got them from the placement center? They were literally running for their lives."

"Yes, I do know, but that's not the point--" she said.

"Grayhounds are given six chances to either win, place, or show before being 'retired.' Which is generally a euphemism that means they're put down, unless the rescue people can get hold of them first."

"Roger, that's still beside the--"

"They spend all their days penned up in something like a three-by-three-foot crate, except for when they're turned out to eat or relieve themselves. Wind up with pressure sores, swellings on their joints, bald spots from rubbing against the walls of the crates, not to mention--"

"Roger--"

"And besides, I've seen Julia break her own 'no table scrap' rule at least a dozen times this week."

Ashley gave him a long-suffering smile and sat in the chair to his right.

"She's their mother," she said. "Which makes that her prerogative."

Gordian watched as she reached for the thermal pitcher on the table, and freshened her coffee. She was wearing an open blue denim shirt over a peach-colored T-shirt, jeans, and white tennis sneakers. The smart angular cut of her light brown hair was the latest fashion collaboration between herself and Adrian, her stylist, accenting her high cheekbones and sea-blue eyes in a way that seemed like nature's consummate design.

"I wouldn't feed them off the table if they didn't beg," he said.

"And they wouldn't be begging if you didn't feed them. Or haven't you noticed that they never park themselves anywhere near me while we're eating."