Page 16 of Wag More Bark Less

A yawn assaulted me as I flipped the burner to off, as if I needed the reminder that I was running on fumes. I should take the out my younger brother was offering. Today was my only scheduled day off for a week. Inventory at Dad’s hardware store would take the three of us most of the day, and I was already dead on my feet.

But the only acceptable excuse to bail on family was a police emergency. For everything else, there was coffee.

I plated the bacon next to a pair of sunny-side-up eggs and a lightly buttered piece of toast. The only thing missing was some fresh melon from the local farm stand. Maybe I’d pick some up later, when we were finished at the store. I felt a second yawn down to the fucking tips of my toes. Melon tomorrow, then.

Pulling the silverware drawer open, I froze.

The hairs stood on my arms.

A familiar sensation of being watched made me stiffen, mentally clocking how many steps I needed to take to retrieve my nine mil. Too many. I motionlessly scanned the counter for the nearest weapon, should I need it.

But half a second after deciding on the butcher knife, something black and furry came into focus in my peripherals. My tight shoulders instantly sagged with the releasing tension.

The dog I guessed was some kind of Bernese mountain dog/border collie mix sat right inside my open sliding-glass door, head tilted in curiosity. A pink and gray sock hung from her mouth. Her tail lightly swished against the hardwood when I made eye contact.

“Ellie, what are you doing here?” I tensed once again, my gaze lifting. “And where’s your mom?”

I waited for Miss Mayhem to parade through the opening, ready to give her a lecture about keeping to her side of the deck. But after several seconds, no one came.

I relaxed once again.

“You smelled bacon, huh?” I guessed.

Ellie’s tail swished a little quicker, and she trotted closer.

“What’s with the sock?”

Sitting, she looked up at me expectantly.

“Do you want bacon?”

After letting out one of the most dramatic doggie sighs I’d ever witnessed, she nosed my hand.

“You want to play tug of war?” Wicket’s favorite game was tug. He could play for hours and never tire of it.

But when I tugged on the sock, it fell from Ellie’s mouth and dropped into my palm. I stared at the raccoons reading books, and one corner of my mouth rose in amusement. Were all Maggie’s socks so whimsical?

“If your mom blames me for stealing her sock, you know I’m ratting you out, right?” I said, scrubbing my hand behind her head. She gave my hand a lick, and then her gaze traveled toward the plate resting on the counter.

“Oh, I see. You came prepared to barter.” I broke off the tip of one of the smaller strips of bacon and offered it to her. She took the offering gingerly, as though the treat was fragile. “We used to have to lock Wicket out of the kitchen until we were finished cooking if bacon was involved,” I told her, taking my plate to the nearby table tucked in the corner of the kitchen. She trotted after me, sitting obediently nearby, but not too close.

A pang of guilt for my obvious overreaction hit me square in the chest. The hours-long argument I had with Maggie seemed foolish now. Ellie was nothing like the dog my previous tenants had—not that it was even the pup’s fault. Dogs required exercise, stimulation, and attention. None of which her owners provided enough of. I could count the number of walks they took her on during their year-long lease on one hand. Which was why, I suspected, she quietly but studiously chewed through every inch of wood she could find.

I tore off another piece of bacon and handed it over. “For a dog who dropped out of school, I thought you’d be more . . . mischievous.”

Ellie gave me a steadfast look, one that seemed to say well, that was stupid of you, wasn’t it?

“Eleanor Suzette Holland, what are you doing over here?”

My pulse tripped at the sight of Maggie Holland standing in my doorway, sheer curtain fluttering in the morning breeze behind her. An oversized hoodie hid all but a sliver of her bright pink shorts, making it all too easy to picture her with no shorts at all.

Fuck me.

Ellie dipped her head, caught.

“This is your fault, really,” she directed at me, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Bacon’s one of her weaknesses.”

I was staring.