CHRISTIAN
The sun was warm on his face and Dave’s shoulder bumped against his every few steps. That was about all Christian needed to call this day a win. It had started well—slow, easy sex with Dave when they had nowhere else to be, and then a video from Tristan of Diablo, coat gleaming and mane and tail freshly brushed. Though Christian also thought Diablo was looking a little too keyed up, like he needed a long run to settle him. Sometimes that damn horse reminded him of himself.
He’d watched the vid a few times, though after the first go-around, he’d muted it. Karl was talking in the background, and his low voice was oddly grounding. If Matt was the bedrock of the pack, Karl was the shield, constant, alert, and always where he was most needed. But then Colby had answered him, the sound of his voice scraping Christian raw.
Now, it was just him and Dave, and everything was good. They’d had breakfast in the same diner again, with the same servercalling Dave “darlin’” again, and now they were simply walking, the breeze ruffling Dave’s hair.
Christian paused to look in the bakery window, because, hello, cinnamon rolls, when Dave suddenly laughed beside him. He smiled before he even knew why Dave was laughing and turned to see what had him so amused.
A golden retriever had plopped itself down in the middle of the sidewalk and was refusing to get up. Its elderly owner was becoming increasingly agitated, trying to tempt it with treats, insulting its parentage, all to no avail. The dog simply thumped its tail happily against the concrete and lay there.
“Think I should growl in its ear? Might get it moving,” Christian said.
Dave’s grin widened. “You’d probably scare the crap out of it,” he said. “Literally. And there’s bound to be a bylaw about dog shit on the sidewalk.”
“Fair point.”
Instead, Christian checked in with the owner and scooped the dog up in his arms. The dog was completely pliant, except for the small and annoying fact that she kept licking his chin, like it was her mission in life. Each time he adjusted his hold to make it harder for her, she somehow wriggled just enough to reach her target again, and he strode along the sidewalk with a big hairy armful and a warm, wet tongue on his face that just wouldn’t stop.
“If you think I’m kissing you after that dog has, you’re out of your mind,” Dave said.
The owner chuckled. “Lucille’s stubborn, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m Frank, by the way.”
Dave leaned past Christian slightly to meet Frank’s gaze. “Nice to meet you, Frank. I’m Dave, this is Christian.”
“Appreciate the help, boys. My knees aren’t what they used to be. I haven’t seen you two before. You new in town?”
Christian tried not to show his impatience. He was happy to help the old guy, but he’d been enjoying time alone with Dave. Didn’t need to know anyone’s life story.
“Just passing through,” Dave said. “You lived here long?”
“All my life,” Frank said. “Born here, lived my whole life here, probably die—hold on, isn’t that a John Mellencamp song? But yeah, Silver Rock’s our home. It’s a good place, though it’s not what it used to be.”
Christian adjusted the dog in his arms to cover any involuntary reaction he might have given, just as Dave nudged him in the ribs. Evidently, they’d reached the same conclusion—Frank might turn out to be useful in their investigations.
Dave, ever easy with strangers, kept the conversation going the entire way back to the house, an older ranch-style home with a swing seat on the porch and neatly planted flower beds.
“Will you boys come in for a drink?” Frank asked, as Christian put Lucille down on the porch. She instantly sat on his foot, her tail beating the wood in a rhythmic pattern, big brown eyes locked on his face like he hung the moon. “Sara’s been baking this morning. She’ll be tickled to have company.”
DAVE
Inside, the house was cool and smelled of cinnamon and coffee. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, and the living room looked like it had been lived in for decades—soft rugs, well-worn armchairs, and a hand-stitched quilt tossed over the back of the couch.
Sara, a petite woman with smiling eyes and flour on her apron, greeted them like they’d been friends for years, not in the least taken aback to find two complete strangers accompanying her husband home from his walk.
“You’re just in time,” she said. “The cookies only came out twenty minutes ago, so they’re still soft. Now, coffee, or there’s iced tea if you’d prefer?”
“Iced tea would be lovely, thank you,” Dave said.
Christian shrugged as he sat down. “Black coffee, please.”
Lucille plopped herself next to Christian with a dramatic sigh, resting her head on his knee. Dave fought not to roll his eyes. He should have seen this coming the instant he realized the dog was female.
Christian looked down at her like she was some kind of mystery growth he wasn’t sure how to remove.
“She always like this?” he asked.
Sara chuckled. “She likes people fine, butthat”—she gestured at the dog, mooning up at him like a lovestruck teenager—“is not normal.”
