“What’s that for?” Bree asked.
“She keeps letting herself out of the crate. She’s too smart for her own good.”
“Collins is going to have fun with her.” Bree had chosen Deputy Laurie Collins to be Greta’s handler.
“She’ll settle down once she’s working. She’s bored.” Matt had been training the dog to get her ready for the academy. Boredom indicated she was ready.
Taking Matt’s hand, Bree led him toward the bed. They climbed in, and she fell asleep in his arms.
When she woke, pain shot through her leg. Her foot was asleep, and her legs hooked at an unnatural angle around a large object. She opened her eyes. While they’d slept, Brody had stretched out on Bree’s side, leaving little room for her.
Matt rolled over. “Is there a bed bigger than a California king?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Bree extricated her legs from around the big dog. His brown eyes opened. She patted him and whispered, “You’re a good boy.”
His tail thumped.
Matt groaned. “What time is it?”
She checked the time on her phone. “Five o’clock. Go back to sleep. I have to go. Luke will be up soon.”
Her nephew always fed the horses in the morning. And high school started at ridiculous o’clock. Still bone-weary, Bree got out of bed, pulled her gym clothes from her bag, and dressed. She walked around the bed to kiss Matt goodbye before leaving. Brody rolled into the space Bree had vacated.
She drove to her farm in the darkness. A mile from home, she passed her neighbor’s abandoned farm. The place had been empty for only a few months, but a tree had fallen on the porch roof, partially caving it in. Without a homeowner to maintain it, would Camilla Brown’s farm decay that quickly? Bree found the thought depressing.
She arrived home at five fifteen. She stepped out of the SUV and stood at the edge of the grass, breathing in the country air. The barn and meadow stretched out behind the house, and Bree reveled in the sheer span of space around her. Nine months ago, she’d lived in Philadelphia. Now, she couldn’t imagine returning to the city.
So much had changed in a short period of time.
As exhausted as she was, Bree detoured to the barn. Three horses blinked at her as she walked down the aisle. She stopped to pat the nose of her niece’s sturdy little horse and her nephew’s bay gelding before slipping into Cowboy’s stall. The paint gelding had been her sister’s mount, rescued from the kill buyer at the livestock auction. Bree stepped close and leaned her head against his neck. The scents of hay and horse comforted her.
Cowboy wrapped his neck around her and nibbled at her pocket.
“I don’t have any carrots. Sorry.” She straightened and scratched under his mane. He bobbed his head in approval.
With a sigh, Bree gave him a final pat, left the stall, and locked up the barn. She crossed the backyard and went into the house, quietly easing the door closed and resetting the alarm. The light over the stove glowed, and Bree found a note on the counter. Dinner is in the fridge—Dana.
Bree’s former partner and best friend, Dana Romano, had retired and moved to Grey’s Hollow to help Bree raise her nephew and niece. Luke, at sixteen, would be at home for only another two years, but Kayla was still in grammar school.
Nails scratched on hardwood, and Ladybug trotted into the kitchen. She didn’t have Greta’s energy—or her coordination—and slid straight into Bree’s knees. The dog weighed sixty pounds, and Bree braced herself against the wall to keep from being knocked down. Bree crouched to give the slobbery dog a big hug. While Greta might still be a little threatening, there was nothing even remotely intimidating about Ladybug. She was squishy and soft and had never met anyone she didn’t consider her best friend. Her stump of a tail spun in a crazy-fast circle. The dog always greeted her as if they’d been apart for years instead of hours. Bree was grateful that Matt had tricked her into adopting the chubby pointer mix.
Bree’s black cat, Vader, sauntered into the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter. He stared down at the dog in disgust.
Bree rubbed behind the dog’s ear. “Don’t mind him. He’s a snob.” She straightened and gave the cat a scratch on her way to the fridge.
Unconcerned with the cat’s opinion, the dog stretched out on the floor and watched Bree grab a bowl of pasta from the refrigerator. Standing in front of the sink, Bree ate a forkful of cold ziti. Nine months ago, eating cold leftovers alone would have been normal. But this morning, loneliness hit her hard. She’d learned to like coming home to a rowdy family dinner, with Luke shoveling an unbelievable amount of food into his mouth at a rate that gave Bree indigestion and Kayla telling terrible jokes and giggling so hard she could hardly eat.