The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Weston’s face tenses, his jaw set, drawing my eye.

Holy crap. It’s like he gets hotter when he’s worried or angry or switching into bodyguard mode.

Why do I find it so irresistible?

“No, Aunt Faye, unfortunately you didn’t. It was hanging over the fireplace when I moved your bookshelf the other day, just like always.”

“See, Drake,” she says. “I told you so. Someone busted in right under my nose and—” She stops talking as her gaze lands on me. “Rachel? Rachel Simon, it is you.”

Before I know it, she sweeps forward, eclipsing me in a giddy hug.

“Come here and say hi to your other aunt! I heard you were in town. I’ve been meaning to get over and see Thelma as quick as I can. How’s she doing?”

She’s already enveloped me in her solid arms. Buxom and tall like all the McKnights, she’s always made me feel small in this happy, protective way, and still does as her hug tightens.

“I’ve been so worried about your granny, but my little sales kept me so busy I’ve barely had time to follow up with anything else.” She releases me with a smile that takes up her face, still grasping my upper arms gently. “Oh, it’s good to see you, girl. You look as adorable as ever—and like a lady, too. I’ve missed you tagging along with Marty and Weston so much. I always loved when you kids would drop by out of the blue.”

She drags me over to Weston and Drake Larkin.

I’ve heard a lot about Sheriff Larkin, but this is the first time we’ve met in person. He gives me a welcoming smile.

“Weston, this young lady gets prettier by the day, don’t you think?” Faye says, elbowing West in the side. I laugh at the shock on his face—mostly to hide how I blush—as she prattles on. “Oh, and Drake, this is Rachel Simon, Thelma’s granddaughter. She’s been out east for a few years now for schooling and helping keep our national treasures intact.”

“Really?” Drake says amicably.

“She hates it when you butter her up,” Faye jokes, lowering her voice to an exaggerated whisper I can still totally hear. “She’s with the Smithsonian! Isn’t it magical to have one of our very own somewhere so prestigious?”

“Sure is,” Drake replies. With an affable nod for me, he says, “Nice to meet you, Miss Simon. Your reputation precedes you around here.”

“You, too,” I reply, both happy and a little miffed that meeting the sheriff saves Weston from more fun torture by Faye.

“Aunt Faye,” Weston says. “Is the entire case gone, or just the gun?”

Faye’s weathered face sags as her smile melts away.

“Just the gun. The case is hanging there, like always, but it’s empty. It was the first thing I noticed.” Faye waves a wrinkled hand and starts toward the house. “Come inside and see for yourself. I was just about to take Drake over for one more good look when you two showed up.”

Her house is exactly like I remember, oozing old charm, enhanced by her floral print furniture with doilies draped over the backs and arms, plus large braided rugs on original dark hardwood floors.

A white crown molding runs across the green-striped wallpaper, a neutral backdrop for so many wonderful old treasures.

I always adored looking around her house like a museum, getting lost in the old oval pictures and last century furniture that makes the place glow.

I haven’t forgotten the gun they’re talking about.

The rifle was maintained religiously and displayed inside a large wood and glass case bolted to the stone fireplace in the living room. Sure enough, the case is still there, but weirdly vacant.

I’m no expert on antique guns, but even I know a Model 1873 Winchester rifle is a collector’s holy grail. It was successfully marketed as the gun that won the American West by its manufacturer.

A specimen in near-mint condition like theirs is worth its weight in gold, easily running into five figures.

“That gun belonged to my great-grandfather,” Faye explains, shaking her head sadly as she stares at the empty glass case. “It was the family’s pride and joy for three generations. I offered it to Weston last year, but he told me to keep it here until I was ready to move.”

“I did,” Weston says glumly. “And it was here last week, inside the case.”

“You said the back door was unlocked?” Drake asks, heading for the kitchen.

We all follow him.