CHAPTER 35
Micah sensedNaomi’s sadness and wished he could take her grief away.
Hugging her earlier had been spontaneous. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t thought it through. He’d just seen her standing there—exhausted, anxious, trying so hard to keep everything together—and his body had moved before his brain caught up.
But he didn’t regret it.
Even now, Micah still caught traces of her scent on his clothes. Something floral—lavender, maybe. Or maybe something softer he couldn’t name. Every time he caught a whiff of it, something in his chest tightened.
He forced his attention back to the man approaching as they walked to the kennel.
The guy looked harmless enough, like the kind of person you’d pass on the street and forget five minutes later. His truck was older but well-maintained. His clothes were clean. Nothing about him screamed “threat.”
But Micah’s instincts were already on alert.
Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was everything else that had been happening. Or maybe it was the way Good Boy’s body had gone tense the moment the man stepped out of the vehicle.
Good Boy wasn’t growling. Wasn’t barking. But he wasn’t wagging his tail either.
The canine just stood beside Naomi, staring at the man with an expression Micah couldn’t quite read.
He didn’t act like a dog who was seeing his long-lost owner for the first time in days.
The man stopped and smiled. “Afternoon. Thanks for letting me come.”
“You’re the one who called?” Naomi’s voice was steady, but Micah heard the strain underneath it.
“That’s right. I’m Arthur Bleakman.”
“I’m Naomi King, and this is my friend, Micah.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Then the man’s gaze dropped to Good Boy, and his smile widened. “There he is. Hey, Roscoe. Hey, boy.”
Roscoe.
Micah filed the name away and watched the dog’s reaction.
Good Boy—Roscoe—didn’t move or respond. Instead, the dog stayed where he was, leaning slightly into Naomi.
The man seemed to notice, and his smile faltered just slightly. “Guess he’s mad at me, huh? Can’t say I blame him.”
“What happened?” Micah asked, his tone neutral but firm.
Arthur looked at him, taking in the uniform, the badge. Something shifted in his expression. Not necessarily guilt but maybe caution.
“I had a dog sitter watching him while I was out of town,” Arthur explained. “I was on a work trip—I sell copy machines. Anyway, I was gone about ten days. I called to check in, but the sitter wasn’t answering her phone. Long story short, I found out she bailed on me. Left town. Let Roscoe loose, I guess.”
“That sounds reckless and cruel,” Naomi said.
“It was. I’m considering taking her to court.”
“Where are you from?” Micah asked.
“About twenty miles south of here. Little town called Ridgeway.”
Arthur’s explanation sounded plausible. Dog sitter flaked out. Dog got loose. It happened.
But something about the story didn’t sit right with Micah. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, however.
