I should have kept my distance.
That philosophy had worked for me my entire life. And sure, Walt and I had been good friends. Maybe his death had left a hole in my life, but it would have gone away eventually, just like it had when my mom died. I’d been on my own for most of my life.
Then Kara showed up. Feeling the same loss I’d felt, and I’d let my walls drop just a little.
Huge mistake, clearly.
We needed that damned lawyer to weigh in on this whole thing so we could get it figured out. If Kara rightfully owned the cabin, I’d find somewhere else to live. I glanced at Tuck from the corner of my eye, knowing I could never take him from the only home he had ever known. Especially not when his owner had just passed away.
So if Kara got the cabin, she’d get Tuck too, and it would just be me again. The thought landed heavier than it should have.
When I’d been growing up, I’d taken pride in how far I’d come on my own. I liked the idea that I was self-sufficient. I didn’t need anyone or anything except my two hands. Needing people had always seemed like a liability, something that could be taken from you without warning.
I was having a hard time reaching that feeling again. But I would. I always did.
I didn’t feel any better at the end of my walk than I had at the beginning. The sight of the cabin I’d lived in for a year didn’t feel as much like home when I knew I could lose it.
Walking around to the front of the cabin, I realized Kara’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I hadn’t thought I could feel any lower, but my heart sank. I stepped inside, only to feel the heavy silence. I kicked off my boots and went to look in Walt’s room—Kara’s room now. Her boxes were still there, but a small suitcase was missing.
The room shouldn’t have looked empty without it, but it did. Or maybe it just felt that way.
My eyes caught on a framed picture on Walt’s night table. It was of his wife, who had died decades before I met him. He’d been without her all that time and still kept her picture where he could see it as he fell asleep. Like proof that loving someone once could last an entire lifetime.
Maybe that was why he’d orchestrated this whole thing. He hadn’t been a social guy either, but he’d had the great love of his life.
I hadn’t.
Whatever his intentions had been, the plan had failed.
I threw myself onto the couch. Kara’s too-soft blanket was still draped over it and I ran my hand over the fabric. Tuck laid down on the floor, resting his big head on my foot. “I know, buddy, I miss her too.”
Whatever bullshit I had told myself on my walk, she belonged here.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I had the urge to talk to someone and get some advice. I don’t think I’d ever had that urge before, and I was pissed that I had so few people I could think of to call.
“Sheriff Lawson.”
“Hey, Hank.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“No.”
“Two social calls in one week, that has to be a record.” He paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Kara left. After the conversation at the diner about Walt maybe setting this whole thing up, we fought, and she’s gone.” I spit the information out quickly before emotion could leach into my voice.
“Was the fight about the cabin, or the two of you?”
I sighed. “The important part was about the two of us. She doesn’t trust herself.”
Another pause. “Let me ask you something. You ever go fishing with a guide?”
I frowned. “Once or twice, what does that matter?”
“I’m getting to it. The guide knows the water. Knows the season. Knows where the fish might be. Takes you to a good spot.” He paused. “Did he make the fish bite?”
I frowned, seeing where he was going.
