Page 37 of Will Bark for Pizza (Bluebell Springs #1)

TWENTY-SEVEN

KIRA

The trails in Bluebell Springs alone were nearly enough to convince me to move home.

I’d forgotten the peace and serenity they offered, especially the lesser-known trails near the farm.

The crisp mountain air recharged me from the inside out.

It didn’t matter that the sun was hidden behind a bed of clouds.

For the first time in a long time, my overactive nervous system finally calmed.

I felt at peace.

Grandma Connie’s words repeated in my head. Don’t put your life on hold. She meant Mom wouldn’t want me to stick a bookmark in the pages of my own book to save her bookstore. It was always her dream, and though she would have happily shared it with me, I never wanted it.

Until now.

Until it was days away from being erased from existence.

Except, there was nothing I could do to save it. The day after tomorrow, the going-out-of-business sale would start and that would be the end.

I needed a miracle.

I needed Mom to tell me what to do.

But she hadn’t revisited my dreams since the night that drove me to return home.

Husker’s zigzag pattern lessened as the hard-packed trail narrowed, turning rockier. He pulled me up the slight incline as my breathing became more labored.

I was out of shape, and the higher elevation wasn’t helping.

The cramps in my side were just another byproduct of hiding in my apartment this past year, struggling with the most severe case of writer’s block, mixed with a heap of guilt that I was stupid enough to fall for every lie Travis ever concocted.

If ever I put my life on hold, it was for that asshole.

Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt. Needed to burn said T-shirt.

Spotting a familiar wooden bench Grandpa made decades ago, I headed for it just off the trail.

I poured Husker a small bowl of water he probably wouldn’t drink on account of all the distractions around us, and sat to catch my breath and take in the view.

I took the mountains for granted most of my life, until I moved away to a place that had little more than rolling hills.

I loved the layers. The tree-covered mountains up close, the rockier, snow-dusted ones behind them.

If I moved home, I wouldn’t have to drive to find a decent nature trail.

But I’d move home a failure.

What would I even do once the book royalties dried up?

I pulled my phone from my pocket, curious how the release of Forever Forbidden was doing. How much additional time this nice bump in sales might buy me.

Before I could navigate to my web browser, though, a voicemail notification popped up.

Lila had tried to call, probably during family dinner.

Grandma Connie had a strict no cell phone policy during the larger meals—which would now be all of them, considering Beckett and his grandma were staying at the farm.

I still didn’t know what to make of Pauline Duncan.

No one would argue she was a generous woman, considering the surprisingly thoughtful gifts she brought along.

I thought Opal was going to faint from excitement at the coffee table book of Italy’s history.

But there was something about the woman that warned you not to cross her, as though she made a powerful ally, but a very bad enemy.

She told everyone over dinner she was here to check on her grandson and see how he was settling in somewhere new. Yet it felt like a half truth.

Or maybe I felt an enormous amount of guilt for kissing Beckett, and worried she somehow knew about it. Was she here to warn me not to hurt him? I suspected she had a pretty high standard on the type of woman who was good enough for her grandson, and I didn’t make the cut.

I navigated to the voicemail box on my phone and listened to Lila’s message on speaker.

“Hey! Hope you’re writing up a storm because I haven’t heard from you in a few days. No pressure or anything, but your readers are dying to know when Mateo’s story is coming. You ready to put up a preorder soon?”

Shit. My fault for writing a fucking love triangle and leaving one of the characters without a happily ever after.

“Anyway, I had an epic idea I wanted to run by you, so call me back soon. Love you!”

I meant to hit the call back button, but something caught my eye before I could.

“Blocked voicemails?” I murmured. I’d never noticed that feature on my phone before. Huh .

For curiosity’s sake—or maybe I was procrastinating heading back to the farm—I selected it.

An explosion of voicemails appeared on the screen, all from the same 402 area code. I was fairly certain I blocked this specific number earlier this week, when an unwanted text message showed up in my inbox. I scrolled through the long list as disbelief warred with anger.

Anger won.

“Twenty-five. Twenty-fucking-five?”

My stomach plummeted into my toes, and I suddenly felt sick.

The bastard had called me twenty-five fucking times since I blocked his number three days ago.

After a year of me not responding to a single message, call, or email.

What the actual fuck?

I refused to listen to a single one, but I opened the transcript of the most recent one, to be sure I wasn’t overreacting.

The cryptic message spelled out on my screen made my skin crawl.

Most of it didn’t make sense. Something about the FBI and how they were out to get him.

God, this again. It was obvious Travis was shit-faced drunk when he left it.

My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I set it on the bench beside me as I felt my throat constrict. Husker paced in front of me, both eager to get back to walking and also concerned for me. I hated how this still affected me so strongly. How it affected Husker, too.

I should call someone.

Aspen would tell me to change my phone number. Again.

Alyssa would insist I get a restraining order.

Lila would—well, it was hard to tell what she would do. She was a little unpredictable. She might tell me to delete all the messages so they no longer took up energy on my phone, or she might offer to sneak over to Travis’ house and put raw shrimp in his ventilation system.

Luke, if he wasn’t in the hating me mode, would do something reckless like drive to Omaha.

Beckett—

I shook my head, warding off the thought. It was enough to stop the tears from falling.

Beckett would do something chivalrous. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did.

He would do or say exactly what I needed him to do or say.

And that was the very reason I couldn’t involve him in any of this.

If I needed a sign, Nana’s surprise arrival was surely it.

It may as well be a blinking neon sign: Leave Beckett out of your hot mess. He deserves better .

Tears started to fall, and I knew what came next.

I braced for the panic attack that wrecked me, so fucking thankful I was more than a mile away from anyone who might find me. Bonus points for the ugly sobbing noises doubling as bear deterrent.

Small wins.

I don’t know how long I stayed there on that bench and cried. Only that the overcast sky grew darker, warning me I should head back to the farm before anyone came looking for me.

“Sorry, Bubbies,” I said to Husker, forcing a hug on him. He hated them, but for two and a half seconds, he gave in and let me hold him close. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

We headed back to the house and snuck in the mudroom door, finding the place quiet. Everyone would be gathered outside, around the firepit off the back patio, for the s’mores Opal insisted were nonnegotiable.

I didn’t know if I had the bandwidth for a large gathering tonight. Whether I could pretend everything was fine. But before I made that decision, I needed to wash away the makeup-smeared evidence.

A few feet before the staircase, I heard voices and froze.

“Spell it out for me, Joe. I like facts. What did she do?”

Pauline and Dad ? He missed dinner, but he must have shown up while I was out on my walk.

“There’s a second mortgage on the building. I don’t know how she got a lender to approve it without me, but she found one of those online deals.”

“That’ll be forgery charges.”

“Already filed.”

“Good. Smart man.”

“She cashed out the money before I ever knew about it.”

“From a local bank?”

“She had a friend on the inside.”

I glued myself to the wall just outside the formal dining room, hoping Husker cooperated and didn’t give us away.

Dad never told me about the insider at the bank.

What else didn’t he tell me? And why was he filling in a complete stranger about our family business? Giving her details he kept from me?

“Anyway, the bank account is empty. I had to deplete my savings to make the last payroll. That’s why the place is closed right now. I can barely afford to pay for the utilities. She took everything.”

“And no one can find her?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Joe.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Me too . It broke my heart hearing all this from Dad a few nights ago.

But the wound re-opened hearing him tell it again, and adding new details.

As if this made it all the more final. There really was no hope.

We’d sell as many books as we could this coming week, donate the rest, and close the door on Brenda’s Book Nook. Forever.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

“I have vendors still sending me bills, threatening to send me to collections if I don’t pay up.

One even threatened a lawsuit. It’s the biggest mess you can imagine.

I can’t let anyone take that on. It would be like handing over a sinking ship that has minutes left before it goes completely under. Who can save that? ”

Take on what, exactly?

Was Dad talking to Pauline about selling her the bookstore? Was that why he was being so honest with someone he met all of five minutes ago? Or had Beckett already had the two in touch before tonight? Was Pauline in town to make a new investment?

No, that didn’t make sense. Why would a woman who traveled the world on the regular buy a small-town bookstore somewhere she’d never been before?

Beckett mentioned his grandma was a smart businesswoman who’d done very well for herself over the years.

This didn’t seem like a smart business move—for anyone.

Fucking Margene.

“Beckett will have a number of local tenants to choose from before the sale is even final. I can help him vet them. Give him insight on which ones to steer clear from.”

“It’s the best-case scenario in a really shitty situation.”

“I’m selling to him below market value,” Dad said. “It’s just enough to pay off the second mortgage and maybe give the part-timers a severance check to thank them for sticking it out.”

“And here I was, worried he was getting too emotionally involved in his business decisions.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“His parents?”

“A problem he left behind a long time ago.”

“He’s lucky to have you, then.”

I heard the clink of an ice cube, as though someone took a drink. It was my cue to leave, but the next thing Pauline said froze me right in my tracks .

“What’s up with that daughter of yours? The redhead.”

Her tone made me flinch. I held my breath, desperate to know what this woman had against me.

Because with a question like that, she obviously had some reservations about me that weren’t entirely in my own head.

And why the hell did it matter? Beckett and I had agreed to just be friends. I didn’t need her approval for that.

That didn’t seem to stop me from wanting it, though.

“Still can’t get used to that hair,” Dad said, his tone amused.

“Beck’s prone to the redheaded curse. Just want to make sure she’s?—”

The sliding door to the patio opened, alerting me I was about to get caught if I didn’t move. Dammit . I scurried up the stairs, bribing Husker with the promise of treats so he didn’t give us away.