Texas Grit

She opened at eleven o’clock, which meant she probably arrived by seven or eight to prep for the day.

The festival worker should be long gone by then. Shouldn’t he? It was probably the brush with death two of his sisters had had recently that had Dade’s mind twisting over his thoughts, concerned about Carrie.

Because what if Nash had left that rose? What did that say about the man’s intentions?

Chapter Four (#u3f7271c6-60c1-5148-aa6b-7e97dc7d238b)

“Coco, come here, girl.” Carrie glanced around the backyard of her one-story bungalow, looking for her dog. Normally, she liked living in a suburb on the edge of the small town with its cul-de-sacs and third-of-an-acre lots. Tonight, she looked out into the blackness with apprehension. Was it always this dark outside on a weeknight? All the homes on her street were blacked out, and no one seemed to see the need to waste electricity by leaving a porch light on.

This had never bothered her before, but Nash had caught her off guard, setting her nerves even more on edge after dealing with Brett. Where was her dog?

Carrie stepped onto the back porch and called for Coco again. Her dog had run around the side of the house, which wasn’t unusual, but Carrie didn’t like it tonight. Out of habit, she’d dropped her keys next to the front door, along with her pepper spray. All kinds of worrisome thoughts plagued her. Technically, the festival wouldn’t pack up and leave until morning. Could Nash have figured out where she lived? He might’ve followed her home one evening. No. She would’ve known. She would’ve noticed an unfamiliar car or truck.

“Coco,” she repeated, louder this time. And then she listened for the sounds of the dog tags clanking together—the proof of rabies vaccination always jingled when she moved. All she could hear were cicadas and crickets, which sounded haunting tonight. Keep thinking along those lines and she’d really psych herself out. Okay, it was too late for that. It’ll be fine, Carrie.

Glancing into the shadows, a prickly sensation that someone was watching overtook her. This time she studied the dark corners of her yard. The glow from the back porch lit up barely more than her deck. Again, she asked herself if Nash could’ve followed her home. No way. She and Dade had talked for a long time after the encounter and they’d gone to the sheriff’s office. Her nerves were fried, and what she really needed was a cool shower, a good meal and sleep. It was time to put this awful day to rest and wake with a clean slate tomorrow.

The sound of a truck engine hummed from down the street. As the noise moved toward her, she whistled for her dog and made kissing noises. Those usually did the trick. Not tonight.

Carrie took a couple of steps back, placing her hand on the doorknob leading into the kitchen. As soon as Coco darted onto the deck, Carrie would be ready to usher her baby inside and quickly lock the door behind them. Why did her dog always exert her independence at the worst possible times?

Gravel crunched underneath tires as her neighbor’s truck engine roared and then died. The bungalow next door had been rented six months ago by a single guy who seemed intent on keeping to himself. After several fruitless attempts to stop by and introduce herself, Carrie wondered if he wanted to be on friendly terms at all. Tonight probably wasn’t the best time for a conversation and since he’d made no effort so far, she figured he might be a jerk anyway. He kept odd hours, even to her, and she hadn’t seen him outside since he moved in. He was gone for days at a time with no indication of where he’d been. Lights in his house were on at odd times. Carrie had noticed them when Coco was sick and needed to go outside during the night. He never had company—or at least he didn’t while she’d been home. She could admit that wasn’t often since she’d opened the sweet shop last year.

“Your trash keeps blowing into my yard,” an irritated male voice snapped. That was a nice introduction. He must’ve seen her in the porch light. She sure as heck couldn’t see him, and the thought sent an icy chill racing up her arms.

“Sorry. It’s the raccoons. I work long hours at—”

The truck’s door slammed a little too loudly, causing her to jump. Take it easy, buddy.

“Lock it up.” His voice was almost a growl.

If he was going to be this much of a jerk, she saw no point in introducing herself or trying to make nice, so she didn’t respond at all.

A few seconds later, she saw a light flip on inside his house. Guess he’d made his neighborly intentions clear. She blew out a breath. This had been one red-letter day for sure.

Coco’s tags jingled, and relief washed over Carrie as her little dog bolted into view, barking. Instead of hopping onto the deck, Coco diverted right and ran in a circle as fast as she could, disappearing into the shadows only to dart back inside the light. Her barks intensified with each sighting. Her reaction came a little too late to have an impact on Jerk Face. Coco was a sweetheart, but her neighbor didn’t have to know that, and she could sound menacing when she really wanted to. She looked more like a shar-pei than a beagle, which made her a little more threatening.

Even though Carrie was starving, she stood on the porch a few more minutes, almost daring her neighbor to come out and say something again about the noise. Her dog had been inside since lunch. She needed a little freedom, and Carrie was finding her bravado again after the encounter with Jerk Face. She didn’t have enough audacity to walk out front and check the mail, she thought, realizing she’d forgotten to do that on the drive in. It could wait. No way was she walking out the front door in the dark and to the middle of the cul-de-sac, where all the mailboxes were clumped together to make it easier on the mail carrier.

There were four houses to each cul-de-sac in this neighborhood and hers sat directly across from the Hardin place. Marla Hardin was Samuel’s aging aunt and he lived there with her.

Humidity filled the air, and the promise of a rare August rain hung low and heavy. Shiny white stars cut through the pitch-black canopy overhead.

Coco finally conceded her playtime was over and hopped onto the deck. Her tongue hung out one side of her mouth as she panted. She had the snout of a shar-pei—it wasn’t exactly created to thrive in the heat.

“Are you ready, sweet girl?” Carrie bent down and scratched her dog behind the ears. The eerie feeling of being watched crept over her, so she made kissing noises at Coco before scooting inside. She closed and locked the door behind them. Her purse hung off a chair in the eat-in kitchen, and she noticed crumbs on the floor underneath it. She’d mopped the floor before work, which meant that Coco must’ve dug into the garbage again.

She scooped them up. Odd. They had a distinct smell...like the ham-flavored training treats Carrie had stopped buying when the vet had said Coco was tipping the scale. Carrie thought she’d thrown them all out, but she must’ve forgotten a bag in her pantry. She glanced around, the eerie feeling returning. She thought about the pepper spray attached to her key ring on the credenza by the front door and decided to sleep with it next to the bed. The incident with Nash had really thrown her off-balance—that must be why she felt on pins and needles in her own home.

Coco followed on Carrie’s heels as she double-checked all the doors to make sure they were locked. She took a quick shower, ate a bowl of cereal and then climbed into bed. She’d always considered Cattle Barge a safe place to live in general, and especially after the horrors she’d endured when she was taken away. She’d never really thought about being a single woman living on her own and working long hours at the treat shop until now.

Between Brett, Nash and her unfriendly, keep-to-himself Jerk Face neighbor, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to look into having a security system installed. Coco provided some insurance against a surprise predator. She usually barked at strangers. But after Coco’s lackluster performance with the neighbor, Carrie decided her backup needed backup. Even so, with her dog curled up at the foot of the bed, warming her legs, Carrie felt a little safer. Unless someone tossed a piece of meat onto the floor, Carrie thought with an almost smile.

The next morning, she woke to the sound of Coco growling. Her dog was at the doorway to the bedroom, starting down the hallway. Carrie grabbed the small canister of pepper spray off the nightstand and threw the covers off.

Coco wasted no time darting toward the noise. Carrie couldn’t hear much of anything over the barking, but all she could think was so Jerk Face neighbor gets a free pass but the UPS guy is suspect?

It was the UPS guy, right?

She followed her dog to the front door, checking out the window for the brown van. To be fair, this was the same reaction Coco had to the postal worker and the guy who’d tried to deliver flowers once. Amazon delivered to her door, but she didn’t remember ordering anything online. Then again, she’d been busy, working extra hours since the festival, and sometimes she entered her home address when she meant to use the sweet shop’s.

Speaking of which, Nash should be packed up and out of town this morning. That was a relief. Too bad he couldn’t take Brett with him, she thought with another almost smile.

Coco was doing her mix of bark-howling, which had been so cute when she was a three-month-old pup. Not so much at a year.

There was no way Carrie was opening the door until she could confirm who was out there. She stroked her dog’s head, thinking Coco must’ve heard a squirrel. Wouldn’t be the first time this had happened. “It’s okay, girl.”

After double-checking and being perfectly satisfied nothing was going on, Carrie opened the door. A stuffed animal lay at her feet. She picked up the black-and-white orca whale. Brett.

She scanned the front yard. There were kids riding bikes around the cul-de-sac, and that was about it.

“Okay, puppy. Way to keep me safe from the neighborhood children. Let’s get back inside.” Brett was the only one who knew whales were her favorite. She checked her phone and found several texts from him. They’d be more apologies. More of him being frustrated that she wasn’t returning his calls. She’d deal with those and with him later. Now, she needed coffee.

Carrie walked by the trash can in the kitchen and tossed the awkward gift on top. Take a hint, buddy.

An hour later, she parked under a tree in the lot of the strip shopping center. The rain never came last night, so the air was still thick with humidity. She noticed the festival trucks were still there. Everything was packed up and looked ready to go across the street in the lot of Ventnor’s Park. Not another day of Nash, she thought with a groan. Going to the sheriff last night seemed like an even better idea this morning. A complaint was on record. If Nash irritated her, she had every intention of telling him she’d reported him.

The icy chill returned—it was becoming a little too familiar.

Focusing on her morning routine at the store kept her distracted. Carrie liked to be the first one in the shop. She could prepare the bank deposit and relock it inside the safe before anyone showed up for work. That way she could deal with money so her employees wouldn’t even have to know where it was kept. Protecting her employees was always at the top of her priority list.