Page 95 of Wag More Bark Less

“She did that to your dress?” Anger surged through me at the audacity of this woman.

“Yeah.”

I’d been witness to a lot of cruelty during my time as a police officer. But this took the literal fucking cake. I was outraged for Maggie, but also relieved she no longer had to deal with someone who clearly harbored a lot of resentment and jealousy toward her. If the woman could do that to an expensive wedding dress, what else was she capable of?

I stared at the crackling fire, forcing myself to keep that calm, neutral mask I wore so easily when the uniform was on.

The smoke was darker than I liked, and I reluctantly let go of Maggie so I could use a poker stick to tend to it. The chemical odor was strong enough to raise concerns should the breeze pick up. With any luck, the rain would move in before anyone thought much of the smoke.

“I’m still listening,” I said, looking back at Maggie. Her gaze was locked on the blackening fabric.

“This dress was the only part of the wedding I felt I had any say in, and she resented me for keeping it from her. Or maybe she just didn’t think I deserved her son.”

“What did dear ol’ Jason do when you told him Mommy Dearest tried on your dress?”

“He was standing guard outside the door.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“That was the breaking point for me—not the way he treated Ellie like she was an inconvenience, not the way he hadn’t touched me once since the proposal, not even the way he allowed his mother to take control of planning our entire wedding. No, it took seeing Luanne in the only thing that was truly mine and Jason protecting her from me to finally push me to do what I should’ve done all along and leave.

“I couldn’t fathom a marriage where my partner sided with his mother over his wife, so I called it off, packed up my things, and headed for Bluebell Springs to catch my breath before I face my well-meaning family. The thought of being smothered, even with love, was too much to handle. So”—she looked at me—“here I am.”

The dress had collapsed in on itself, no longer resembling the gown Maggie once loved. The wood was half-burned through, and soon, those logs would fall too.

“You deserved better than that.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips.

“I was so attached to the idea of this epic love story we’d someday tell our grandkids that I refused to see the truth that was right in front of me.” She stared at the fire, and I watched the flames’ reflection dance in her eyes. “Maybe we don’t all get our fairytale ending.”

I knew what she meant, and yet, despite the bitterness I still harbored, I wished like hell I could give Maggie the love story she yearned for. But in three weeks’ time, she’d drive away to be with her family and that would be it. I hoped someday she found it. She deserved a love story of epic proportions. But God, I hated how jealous I was of the man who got to write it with her.

Fat raindrops bounced off my arms, and I looked up at the overcast sky to the clouds that were noticeably darker than before.

“C’mon,” I said, tugging Maggie by the elbow toward the overhang near the barn. I could watch the fire from here and keep us both dry.

I pulled a couple of hay bales off the stack against the side of the barn to make seats for us as the light rain turned to a steady rhythm against the tin roof. The fire burned despite it, and we sat there, side by side, my arm around her, and watched in comfortable silence as the flames battled the falling moisture.

Maggie slid a hand onto my thigh, and I sucked in a breath. Her touch was hotter than the flames, and yet, I didn’t care if I got burned. Didn’t I already determine I would?

“Luke?”

I looked down at her, discovering an entirely different kind of fire glistening in her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“It’s just a fire.”

She turned, slipping a hand inside my open flannel jacket as one corner of her mouth lifted. “You know that’s bullshit.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but my words wouldn’t have mattered because Maggie reached for my cheek and pulled me down until our lips met. I no more had power to resist her than the sun could resist the pull below the horizon each night. It was a soft kiss of gratitude. At least, the first one was. The second was a deeper, longer kiss that left me wanting—needing—more. And by the third, I was ravenous for her.

“Maggie,” I panted. Breaking apart the last kiss nearly took me under, but I had to know she was sure. “I don’t know if we should⁠—”

“Please?” She whispered her plea, but her eyes did most of the begging.

“Now?” I wanted this woman. God, how I wanted her. But I wasn’t going to be the asshole who took advantage of her on such an emotional day. I wouldn’t ruin the friendship we’d been lucky to stumble into because we let a moment of misplaced lust call the shots.