Butterfly Bayou (Butterfly Bayou 1)

As it was, he was disappointed when she stopped herself before she got to him. Her arms had been up briefly as though she was running to him and ready to throw her arms around him.

“Someone’s trying to open the back door,” she said, and he could see plainly she’d been crying. “Or something. I don’t know. It won’t stop. I wanted to call my sister. I’m stupid because I don’t know her number. She’s a button on my phone. There’s no damn button on a landline that says ‘Lisa.’”

He put a hand on her shoulder and wished he had the right to hug her. “It’s okay. I’m here and I’m going to take care of this, but I need you to go in the house and lock the door.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I’m going around the back of the house. I need to figure out if we’re dealing with a person or a critter. If that critter happens to be a gator who isn’t as lazy as Otis, I’ll be at the front door as fast as my damn legs can run and we’ll call animal control.” He’d grown up here but he didn’t wrestle alligators.

“Okay.” She sounded breathless, but it was obvious she was under control again.

“Why are the lights off, sweetheart?” He probably shouldn’t call her that, but he liked her and she was afraid.

She sniffled. “I don’t know. They went off after I tried to get the stove to come on and that’s when I heard it.”

He pulled his flashlight. “All right. Get back inside.”

She hesitated.

“I’m going to be okay. You get inside and I’ll figure this out. When I’m done out here, we’ll get your lights back on, too. If anything goes wrong, you call 911 again and lock yourself in the bathroom. You don’t come out until you’re sure it’s my deputy. Her name is Roxanne.”

Lila nodded and fled back into the house.

Armie drew his revolver and waited until she was fully inside. He crept around the side of the house. He really would run if it was a damn gator. They were nasty and smelled bad and had a million types of bacteria in those teeth of theirs.

He heard the sound that had terrified Lila. It was a scratching sound and then a low hurmph.

Damn it. He knew that sound. He stepped out and pointed his flashlight, shining it on the back of the house, where a big mutt of a dog was trying to get inside.

Armie’s gut tightened and he wished like hell he could find Bill’s kids and charge them with something. “Hey, Peanut. Where have you been, boy?”

He got to one knee as the dog’s head came up and his tail started to wag wildly at the sound of a familiar voice.

“It’s a dog.” The back door had come open. “I was that scared of a dog?”

She hadn’t been scared of a dog at all. She’d been scared of everything that had happened before. Terror like what she’d gone through didn’t go away easy. He should know.

Peanut laid a weary head against Armie’s leg.

“Yeah.” The sight of that dog made him infinitely sad. It reminded him that everyone got lost from time to time. “This is Peanut. He was Bill’s dog.”

She came down the steps, her feet in slippers. She had a robe around her and a flashlight in her hand. Her hair was up in a ponytail, but it was slightly messy. In the starlight she looked sweetly disheveled. “He wasn’t here when I got here. I wasn’t told a dog lived here. Where’s he been?”

“He was supposed to go with Bill’s oldest son.” He put a hand on Peanut’s neck and sure enough his collar was gone. “They promised me they would either take him home with them or find a place for him. He had a collar. He wouldn’t have been able to get it off himself even though he’s lost a ton of weight.”

She gasped and dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you telling me they dumped this dog?”

“That is the most likely scenario,” he concluded. “It happens a lot. They probably took him out a couple of miles, maybe more, and dropped him off. Some folks don’t want to be bothered with a shelter. They would rather discard the animal than explain why they’re dropping him off. Be careful with him. He’s been out in the wild for a while by the looks of him.”

People weren’t the only creatures who could get PTSD.

“Hey, boy.” Lila didn’t listen to a word he’d said. She held her hand out, palm down. “How are you? You made it all the way home.”

“He’s probably covered in fleas and ticks.” She would likely be horrified at the condition of the dog.

“Nothing a bath can’t fix. Well, I’ll have to pull the ticks off. I’ve got some tweezers.” She ran a hand over Peanut’s head when he didn’t growl her way. “And a set of latex gloves. You stink, boy. We’ll have to see if there’s some doggy shampoo in that old house.”