Page 113 of Wag More Bark Less

“Caramel for your thoughts?” Walter appeared, holding out a candy.

“You startled me,” I said, smiling and accepting the offering.

“You looked pretty deep in thought.”

“You caught me.”

“Everything okay?” Walter glanced toward Luke who was on a fast track back to our booth. “Do I need to smack him upside the head?”

I laughed, nearly choking on my caramel in the process. I concentrated on chewing and swallowing before I finally answered. “He’s been nothing but kind and wonderful. Too wonderful. More wonderful than I deserve.”

Stop saying wonderful, you loon.

“Oh, boy,” Walter said, a giant grin widening his cheeks. “You love him.”

Love.

The word lodged beneath my ribs.

“I don’t⁠—”

“I hope Mrs. Wilcox didn’t pay you off to sabotage our chili,” Luke said to Walter, gently clapping him on the shoulder as he approached our booth.

Walter cackled. “Nah, she wasn’t offering enough.”

“Good man.”

Luke moved behind the table, dropping his hand to my shoulder. Thankfully, he didn’t hear what Walter said, because I wasn’t even close to processing it.

I cared for Luke. I liked him a lot. But love? I wasn’t even capable of love. It might be months or years before I could fully let someone into my heart again. Either Walter was mistaking what he saw, or he was trying to rile me up. With the old man I’d come to love like a grandfather, it could go either way.

“How’s it looking?” Luke asked, nodding at the crockpot.

“I think your niece was on to something.”

I was still weirded out by that whole interaction at the pumpkin patch yesterday. But because Luke and Connor didn’t seem to think it was out of the ordinary, I let it go. Besides, it was neat to think that Grandpa wanted to share a secret ingredient no one in our family knew about and found a way to make it happen. Mom hadn’t been convinced cinnamon was what was missing. But after a couple hours of simmering, it was undeniable.

“I better sneak out of here before the mayor yells at me,” Walter said, winking. “Good luck!”

I focused on the details of the contest to drown out all the other emotions warring in my brain.

The official chili tasting wasn’t scheduled to happen for another half hour. First, a panel of judges would make their way through the booths, tasting and taking notes. Then, the contest opened to the general public. A combination of judges’ scores and popular public vote determined the top five winners.

“Sorry to leave you alone like that,” Luke said, replacing the lid to the crockpot. “Everyone wanted to talk to me all at once.”

“You’re a popular guy, Luke. Of course everyone wants your attention.”

“I saw you met Kira.”

I fidgeted with the sample cups, evening out the stacks. “I did.” Because I could sense his concern, I headed it off with, “And you’d be proud of me. I didn’t fangirl all over her. In fact, I didn’t admit I knew she was Diana Davenport.”

“We’ve always had a . . . challenging relationship,” Luke said, dropping into a camping chair behind the table. “But at the end of the day, even if we’re pissed at each other, I’d still take a bullet for her every time.”

“You’d take a bullet for anyone in Bluebell Springs,” I pointed out. “And I’m not just saying that because of the whole badge thing.”

“Who’s taking bullets?” an elderly woman asked.

I turned to find a couple in their seventies standing on the opposite side of the table. The woman adjusted her glasses as she peered into the pot. Considering the inside of the lid was dotted in condensation, I doubted she could see much.