Page 93 of Wag More Bark Less

“You really want to burn the dress?”

“Yes.”

I held out my hand for the lighter. “Do you trust me?”

She stared at my open palm for several beats before she finally pressed the lighter into it.

“Do you think Walter would watch Ellie for a few hours?”

Maggie’s eyebrows drew in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“It’s less incriminating for you if you don’t know.”

A ghost of a smile ever so slightly lifted her lips, gratitude glimmering in her eyes. She reached for my arm, gripping it as she stepped closer. She lifted up on tiptoes, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I stared after her as she hurried up the stairs. The sensation of her lips lingered several seconds after she disappeared inside to collect Ellie’s things.

I wadded up the dress and waited at the side of the duplex until Walter invited Maggie and Ellie inside. I stashed the wedding dress in the bed of my truck, unrolling the tonneau cover to both keep the gown from flying out during our drive and to keep it out of sight. The less Maggie had to look at it, the better.

I shot one text to Connor, verifying the lot of them were still in Denver on Opal’s birthday trip, and another text to the fire chief to let him know there’d be a controlled burn at the family farm within the hour in case anyone called it in. Burning the dress was illegal, but Dad taught me a few tricks about fires that might just save my ass.

Otherwise, the mayor might decide my next mandatory leave was a suspension.

But if this was what Maggie truly needed, I’d risk it.

Of course I would.

I was already breaking every other rule I had. What was one more?

“Walter’s going to watch Ellie,” Maggie said as she met me at my truck.

“Good.” I held open the passenger door and waited for her to get in. “We better get going.” I looked up at the overcast sky, praying the rain would hold off until the dress was nothing more than a pile of ash.

“Where are we?” Maggie asked when I turned off the highway and onto the familiar gravel road.

“The Farm.”

“Who’s farm?”

“My grandparents live over there,” I said, pointing to the main two-story log house at the back of the property. Flower baskets with orange and maroon flowers hung from the eaves of the covered porch, and a display of pumpkins was arranged on the steps. “And Connor lives there.” I indicated the smaller house, with the enclosed chicken coop tucked off in its own corner of the property.

“Why do you call it The Farm?” Maggie asked. “I don’t really see any farm things.”

“There’s a cow. Millie.”

“One cow?”

“She’s a rescue. There’s a barn near the burn pit. Plus, my brother has chickens.”

“Do you grow anything on this farm?”

“Oh, yeah. My grandparents have a massive garden. They’re in Denver this weekend with Connor and Opal, or I’d introduce you.” I put the truck into park near the modest barn tucked behind a patch of trees. It wasn’t much, but it held most of the gardening supplies, a small tractor, and with the attached overhang, gave the hay bales a place to stay dry. “But for what we’re about to do, it’s better they’re not here.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s illegal.”

I headed for the burn pit to assess the situation. If I wanted to burn this dress with the least amount of evidence, I needed to build a structure around the dress with dry wood. I searched the perimeter of the barn and found the pile of scrap wood I hoped Grandpa Dale hadn’t burned yet secured under a brown tarp.

I filled my arms and returned to the burn pit, only to discover Maggie sitting on a hay bale, the heap of a soot-stained dress in her lap.