“So the rifle’s the only thing missing?” I ask.
“Don’t know. We’ll find out when we get there. That’s all she mentioned over the phone.”
It only takes us a few minutes until we’re on his property.
Hercules spots us and lets out a few excited grunts as we jog around the barn, but neither of us stop to give him much attention. I feel bad about forgetting his scraps this morning, even if I know Weston would’ve fed him.
I hope Marty remembers to put anything left over from breakfast and fit for pig dining in the bowl I left on the counter.
We arrive at Weston’s truck in no time and jump in.
Faye’s house is several miles up the next road. I used to follow Marty and Weston over to her place often.
It’s a big white house with a huge wraparound porch and a fenced-in backyard. All summer long, she’d have a croquet game set up in the back, and we’d spend long, humid evenings playing it for hours on end.
Except when she’d feed us snacks.
Her cupcakes were always bigger than my hand and her lemonade brought a steady flow of thirsty kids to her yard.
I glance at West. Why hadn’t I ever thought about how he never stayed home very often? He was practically glued to Marty, especially during summertime.
His dad worked for Earhart Oil, and his mom had a job at the grocery store.
Maybe that’s it.
They were busy people with erratic schedules. Always gone, always working, and he would’ve been home alone if it wasn’t for friends next door.
“Looks like Drake beat us here,” Weston says as we take the last corner and see the squad car in Faye’s driveway. “He’s the town sheriff now since old Rodney Wallace stepped down.”
“I heard. He married Bella Reed after Jonah died, didn’t he? Gram told me all about it, including Edison’s big escapade, helping save Bella.”
“Yeah, fuck, this town’s got its fair share of four-legged heroes. That was before I came home. You still hear folks talking it up at the Bobcat fairly often. Uncle Grady calls it the start of the weirdness happening around Dallas the last few years. You remember Tory Three Names?”
He looks at me and I nod, smiling.
“How could I forget? She always tried giving me a few pointers on dancing. I fell on my butt so many times I think it left permanent bruises.”
“She’s got her own studio in town now. Present from her hubby, Quinn Faulkner, if you remember him. Faulk pitched in a lot when my uncle had his tiger trouble, and before that when Ridge the movie star settled down here.”
“Yeah, Quinn’s a nice guy.” I shrug. “You know, I may have been gone for a while, but I keep up with what’s happening. And who’d ever turn down an Edison update? That horse is like the town mascot. Way more than the bulldog.”
That wins me a grin. My heart does a somersault.
I only wish Weston smiled more.
“Don’t know why the hell they named the football team the Dallas Bulldogs,” he says. “Can’t remember ever seeing a bulldog around here, just mutts and those big old mastiffs Dean Coffey tried breeding years ago.”
I laugh, remembering how everyone in town obsessed over those monster-fluff puppies.
“Didn’t Tory wind up with the one Dean kept? I thought I heard he was helping her with that goat business...”
“Sure is. Owl’s the best boy you could ever want, goofy name aside,” Weston says with a chuckle.
A minute later, we’re pulling into the familiar winding driveway. He parks the truck and we both climb out.
The screen door bangs open a second later as Faye rushes out to meet us with the sheriff following her, a big strapping man with blue eyes a shade lighter than Weston’s.
“Oh, goodness, tell me I didn’t just give you that old gun, did I?” she asks, sounding hopeful. “If I just forgot and I’m panicking over nothing...”