Page 4 of Will Bark for Pizza (Bluebell Springs #1)

My dog was pacing, convinced I would leave him behind. He did the same thing when I filled my suitcase this morning, just a bit more dramatically.

“I’d never leave you behind, Husker,” I said, returning to my Jeep. I unsnapped the tether from the purple paddle and left the cord behind. I’d be fine without it in water this calm. But Husker’s life jacket was nonnegotiable. “You know that.”

“Wait, Husker’s going with you?” Lila’s tone perked up.

“Of course.”

“I didn’t take him for a swimming dog. He likes the water?”

“Actually, he hates the water.”

“Okay, I’m lost.”

“He loves being on the board, just not the getting wet part.”

I set the phone on the Jeep’s bumper and crossed my fingers that the doggie life jacket still fit. Though I felt fairly confident he could swim without it, it made me feel better for him to have one.

After letting out the straps, the bright yellow and black jacket snapped closed around his torso with just enough give. Husker gave me the most pitiful look, as though the other dogs would make fun of him for this. But he’d forget all about it once we were on the water.

“Maybe you’ll get some writing done while you’re out there,” Lila said, her tone both encouraging and nonchalant, as though she didn’t want to push me, but knew I needed a solid nudge. “With the change of scenery, and all. Your Veltori vamps do like mountains. ”

“Maybe.” I told her I was suffering from writer’s block, because it was easier than admitting the truth. Diana Davenport would never write another book. I just didn’t know how to tell her, or anyone else. “Do you need anything from me?” I asked her of the book launch.

“Feel free to respond to reader comments. They’re loving this latest book and already begging for Mateo’s story. Seriously, babe, a love triangle?” Fuck, I did that, didn’t I? “But otherwise, I’ve got it covered.”

“Thanks, Lila. You’re the best.”

“You wouldn’t have hired me otherwise,” she insisted. “Send me a picture of Husker in his life jacket. I need to see it!”

“He’s allergic to pictures on a good day, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Once the call ended, I made a few pitiful attempts to fulfill Lila’s request. Husker refused to look at the camera for a single one, and all of them were blurry.

Maybe I could try again when we got back to shore.

Until then, I slipped my phone into the center console of my Jeep.

It was better for my sanity if I left it behind.

Better for my bank account if I didn’t drop another one in the lake.

“Ready, Bubbies?”

I locked up the Jeep, slipped my keys into a waterproof bag I’d secure to the board in a minute, and led Husker to the edge of the lake.

He waited on the shore until I got into the chilly water; thankfully I’d chosen to wear shorts.

There was nothing worse than soggy jeans, especially when the sun dropped and the temperatures cooled.

I let out a hiss at the icy water making contact with my bare skin, but it was a welcome shock. Like a reset button on my fried emotions.

I turned the board so it paralleled the shore, giving Husker more real estate to hop onto. I waited until he was mostly settled before I knelt onto the board. Even with no wind, it was too risky to stand until I felt confident my dog wouldn’t capsize us.

After unclipping his leash and tossing it onto the dock, I used the paddle to push us away from the shore.

The lake was mostly deserted, aside from a stray boat on the opposite end where the water was deeper.

Ghost Lake held true to its name. If I didn’t know some of the locals who lived in the houses across the water personally, I’d suspect they were ghosts themselves, for how little they were on the water.

I caught a glimpse of a couple of tents farther down the bank and was instantly taken back to the countless family camping trips we enjoyed out here on Uncle Karl’s land. Life was so much simpler back then. My brothers didn’t hate me, Mom was still alive, and my parents were happy.

The bookstore wasn’t fucking going out of business.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Out in the center of the lake, Husker settled into a lying position, like a sphinx affixed to the front end of my board. Alert but relaxed.

Not a single book floated in the lake.

I took my first deep breath since I hit the road this morning.

I don’t know how long we stayed out on the water— minutes, hours, days?— only that when I seemed to blink for the first time, the sun had dipped behind the mountain range and goosebumps danced across my bare arms.

“Shit, we better get back to shore,” I mumbled, carefully standing. I paddled faster on my feet than on my knees.

It wasn’t until I turned the board around and pointed us to the shore that I noticed the second vehicle.

A black truck tucked against the trees, nearer Uncle Karl’s cabin, but it wasn’t his.

Karl had been stubbornly driving the same 1991 Chevy pickup for decades.

As a mechanic, he had plenty to say about the newer models and all their fancy computer components.

My pulse doubled. Had I been in such a trance that I didn’t hear a truck pull up? Or were we simply on the other side of the lake? Maybe the truck was there the whole time, and I didn’t notice it.

A man walked out from the clearing of trees and onto the dock. He was on his phone, reminding me that my own was locked inside my Jeep.

I sucked in a deep breath, refusing to let fear take hold.

Travis made me afraid of everything. At one point, I was too scared to make the trip home by myself, as though some terrible fate might befall me should I travel alone.

It was one of the reasons I almost didn’t attend Aspen’s wedding last summer.

Which reminded me, I owed my bestie, Alyssa, a call too.

“I’m done being afraid,” I said, quietly but firmly.

Husker looked up at me, then back to the man. Though he was an incredibly affectionate dog who would more likely lick an attacker to death than bite one, he looked more like a German Shepherd than a Husky. It was often enough to make someone think twice.

I took in all the details I could—jeans, a gray T-shirt that stretched over earned muscles, work boots, short dark hair, tattoos on one arm, probably in his thirties, around six foot if I had to guess.

Husker, who was content to stay in one position the entire duration of our paddle, chose that moment to fixate on a suspicious growth of pondweed. A low growl followed his tenuous lean over the edge of the board.

“Bubbies, leave it!”

One minute I was upright on the board.

The next, I was underwater.