Pappy was breathing like a distance runner when he leaned down, and said, “This is the part you didn’t pay attention to. You thought you would never find yourself in that position. I distinctly recall saying if you ever were in that position, pretend to sneeze and your adversary would instinctively relax their hold.”

“Oh, I remember that part very well,” Sam purred. “Now that we’re even, what are you going to do about it.”

He told her.

Then he showed her.

Kyros did a wild pirouette to Alpha’s amazement as he waved his spatula in the air. “A feast this morning, Alpha, for the lovebirds.” He did another little dance as he imagined grandchildren sitting on his lap. Dark-eyed little boys, beautiful little girls who looked like their mother. Happiness at last on the mountain.

He banged pots, sliced, diced, and chopped for what he called the ultimate omelet. He continued to sing and hum under his breath. Many people thought an omelet was just eggs and vegetables. Not his omelets. People would kill to eat one of his creations. The secret wasn’t in the vegetables or the salt and pepper, it was in the spices. Greek spices. The treasure trove that he kept under lock and key in his spice cabinet.

“It would be nice, Alpha, if you would show a little more enthusiasm.” The wolf-dog eyed him, watching his every moment. Kyros tossed him a slice of crisp bacon, which the dog ate daintily.

At eight o’clock, Kyros placed the perfect omelet onto two plates, half for Alpha and half for him. “I guess they have other things to do besides eat,” he muttered to the dog.

At noon, Kyros was back at the stove, hands on his hips. He looked at the array of cooking utensils he had used to make lunch. He sniffed appreciatively as did Alpha. Everything would be ready by twelve thirty. He set the table in the dining room and added some fresh flowers from his garden. “Beautiful,” he said, smacking his hands together. Kollar and Sam both loved his grape leaf rolls. Everyone loved his grape leaf rolls. They all loved his fried apple and cabbage, too. His little new potatoes with the red skin glistened with the herbed oil he’d rubbed on them. They were to die for, or so his son said every time he ate them.

At one thirty, Kyros filled Alpha’s plate and his own. He had to force the food down his throat. He thought about sending Alpha with a message but changed his mind. Maybe he should go over and knock on the door. He nixed that idea almost immediately. Instead, he cleaned off the table and tidied up the kitchen.