The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Hercules, on the porch, tracking mud all over it like the impatient little cannonball he is.

There’s also no vehicle in the driveway or parked along the side of the house.

...weird.

I didn’t hear anyone driving away, and there’s no one going down the road in either direction. It could’ve already turned off the service road, but I would have heard it if someone was speeding away that fast...wouldn’t I?

Am I just hallucinating? Freaking out that much over the amazing disappearing pig?

I look at Hercules and frown. “Are you a watch dog or an escape artist?”

He snorts glumly, sniffing the porch one last time before he trots over with his dark, humanoid eyes staring up and gleaming.

I don’t think it’s possible, but I’d almost swear his curlicue tail is wagging.

“Little dude, Weston is not going to be happy with you. This has to be like the fifth time you’ve busted out since I’ve been here.” I still give him a friendly pat on the head, which wins me a joyful snuffle. “We’re gonna work on our manners, okay? West has enough going on. He can’t be fixing your pen every week. You and I are going to—” I stop talking because I notice something else that’s very not right.

The front door to the house is open.

Not the screen, but the actual door. I know it was shut this morning. Locked.

“Weston?” I shout, somewhat foolishly because if he was home, he’d have surely heard Hercules going nuts.

Keeping the pig at my side—which doesn’t take much effort when he trails me like a lab—I walk to the door and gaze in through the screen.

I see the bookcase in the corner, the top is all shelves, the bottom is a small cabinet and—

Holy hell. Both cabinet doors are hanging open with books and papers scattered across the floor.

My heart stops, stunned into deadly silence from the chill blowing up my back.

Someone broke in.

I reach for my phone, but realize I left it on the kitchen counter as I charge to the B&B.

Well, shit. This is every bad horror movie plot, and it’s getting too close to Halloween for comfort.

“Come on, guy. We’re not ending up like we’re too stupid to live,” I whisper, running a quick hand down his back and hoping he’ll follow.

He does, shadowing me at a quick trot all the way.

I won’t dwell on the bitter irony, Weston pouring so much energy into fixing Faye’s place that he left his own wide open.

But who the hell would want to come after his stuff?

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Faye and I are both huddled on his front porch, while Herc lounges in the grass nearby, nosing around for food.

When Weston arrives ten minutes later, he’s followed closely by Drake’s gold-and-black Interceptor SUV painted with the sheriff’s crest.

“I told you to stay home,” Weston barks gruffly, climbing out of his truck.

My stomach flips over.

Yeah, technically he told me to stay home when I’d called him about the break-in, while Faye was busy talking to Drake on the landline, but I never had any intention of listening.

“We didn’t go inside,” I say defensively.