“This way,” I say, starting toward the porch before he has too much time to inspect the crooked fence posts or the stack of lumber leaning against the barn that’s been sitting there for three months.
The wraparound porch creaks softly under our weight when we step up onto it. The boards are old but solid, and the porch light throws a warm glow across the railing and the row of mismatched chairs lined up against the wall.
Cole pauses for half a second, glancing around again like he’s taking everything in.
I lead him across the porch toward the front door.
And push it open.
It swings inward without resistance.
Behind me I hear Cole mutter something under his breath.
“What?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder.
“You don’t lock your door?” he says.
“It’s the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
He swears quietly under his breath as he follows me inside.
The farmhouse smells like wood and coffee and the faint lingering scent of hay that never really leaves no matter how much I clean.
The lights are already on in the living room, and the second we step inside the animals react.
A blur of fur launches off the couch.
“Whoa.”
Hank barrels straight toward us, his tail wagging so hard his entire body moves with it. He skids to a stop in front of Cole and immediately leans his full weight against his leg like they’ve been best friends for years.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, scratching behind his ears. “Miss me?”
Hank ignores me completely in favor of inspecting Cole.
Cole looks down at the hundred-pound rescue mutt currently pressing against him.
“This one yours too?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Hank sniffs his boots once, then looks up at him with the same soulful expression that convinces half the town to give him snacks he absolutely does not need.
“This is Hank,” I say.
Cole nods slowly.
“Hank.”
Cole is still standing in the middle of the living room when the rest of the welcoming committee arrives.
The first one through the hallway is Daisy.
She trots into the room like she has been personally waiting for my return all day, tail wagging gently while she makes a soft little whining sound the second she sees me. Daisy doesn’t run. She doesn’t jump. She simply walks straight over and presses herself against my legs like she’s making sure I’m actually here.
