Page 15 of Hounded

“I didn’t.”

He glanced back as though expecting me to tell him now. When I didn’t, he wagged his brows and grinned. “Mysterious.”

Home, my hound whined, and I wanted to stay. I wanted to tell Indy my place was here, but I’d already pulled up my roots. My whole life was packed in the plastic totes in the bed of my truck, and this trailer no longer bore any trace of me.

It was better that way, I told myself. We both deserved a fresh start.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked.

Indy pulled out a movie,The Labyrinth, complete with David Bowie in his teased wig and tight, white pants that I had heard no end of commentary about over the years.

Rather than reply, Indy held up the DVD. “Have you seen this before?”

I nodded.

“Is it any good?”

My gaze drifted to the sofa, recalling nights spent curled up with Indy’s head under my chin and the smell of him sweetening every breath. Whatever was playing on the TV was secondary to our closeness and tender kisses. I would sit through anything that gave me an excuse to be near him.

“You’ll love it,” I said.

He grunted and popped the case open, then fed the disc into the player.

As he settled onto the couch and tore into the bag of potato chips, I felt increasingly like an intruder. Music filtered through the television’s speakers and, when the title menu filled the screen, I headed toward the door.

With one hand on the knob, I paused to study Indy’s profile. Long lashes ringed his eyes, and his nose turned up slightly at the end. He had full lips I would have given anything to kiss, to show him the sentiment I resigned myself to whisper.

“Welcome home, Doll.”

Descending the steps, I wandered out onto the narrow, paved road in the wake of a passing golf cart. My brain was abuzz with all that had happened today. Emotions lurked, feelings I didn’t dare unpack. Not now. Maybe not ever.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I tensed, expecting to see Moira ringing me again. I pulled it out while forcing my face into a mask of apathy that cracked the moment I read the name scrolling across the caller ID: S. Sullivan.

I put the cell to my ear and answered on a long exhale. “Hey, Sully.”

“Hey, yourself. How’d today go?” Her voice was full of cheer and a degree of nosy fascination that became more pronounced in her next question. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

I trudged ahead, angling toward the parking lot where my truck was parked. “No. Not interrupting.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “You sound bummed. Wanna talk?”

“What about?”

“What about?” she echoed, incredulous. “Seriously, Lore? Get in your truck and get over here because I’m envisioning you moping around the RV park feeling sorry for yourself, and it’s a real drag.”

I halted my stride, suddenly too self-aware.

“You at the gallery?” I asked.

She laughed. “Where else? You aren’t the only creature of habit in this town. We should grab an early dinner, too. Keep the meat on your bones.”

My stomach grumbled, reminding me of the gala servers laden with delicacies not offered to hellish house pets.

“I could eat.”

6

Indy

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