Page 47 of Will Bark for Pizza
The table in the middle, where the coffee drinkers and book club members gathered, was scratched and marked up, as though someone had let a classroom of kindergarteners loose with permanent markers and butter knives.
Mom would be sick.
But perhaps the most heartbreaking discovery of all was that the corner reading nook I spent so many days hiding in was missing its eclectic mix of throw pillows and folded blankets. It wasn’t even a nook anymore. It was now filled with racks of cheap touristy trinkets Mom would never be caught selling in her store.
“What the fuck, Margene?”
Husker sniffed every surface and bookas I paced throughout the store. I ran my fingers along the spines, catching dust the farther back I went, and my anger for Margene Miller instantly renewed.
Mom would never allow dust in her shop.
Mom would never allow any of these bullshit changes.
Margene was the assistant manager when Mom was still alive. They werefriends. She took over after Mom’s passing. No one thought anything of it. Why would they? Hell, she was invited to family dinners at the farm, and even showed up for a few. Dad relied on her to keep Mom’s dream alive. Hetrustedher. We all did.
And now the greedy bitch was likely hiding out somewhere in Mexico with all the money she stole.
I wasn’t a vengeful person by nature, but if it was the last thing I did, I’d find her and make sure she answered for the way she wronged my family. Maybe I didn’t have enough money to buy the bookstore myself—not that I had a damn clue how to run one—but I had enough saved to hire a private detective, and a good lawyer.
“Hell, maybe that’s how I’ll get back on Luke’s good side,” I said to Husker. He looked at me, his quirky head tilt suggesting he was trying to make sense of what I said. Or maybe he recognized my brother’s name. Husker was a momma’s boy through and through, but he sure loved hisguy timewith my brothers.
And now Beckett.
Warmth filled my chest as one of the forbidden scenes I considered writing this morning flashed in my mind. One where my heroine’s hands were tied to the bedposts with silk scarves, and a shirtless, tattooed, bearded hero was above her?—
“For fuck’s sake, Kira,” I grumbled.
Where the hell did that come from?
Sure, the man was sexy. But even if he weren’t incredibly off-limits, considering his connection to my entire family, I wasn’t ready to go there with any man. Not even one as tempting as Beckett Campbell was proving to be.
I might need to consider cutting this trip short.
But dammit, I couldn’t fathom leaving now. Not after seeing what a mess Margene made of the store. Not without knowing the fate of Mom’s special place. I felt a personal conviction to stay and see it through, no matter how fucking bad it hurt to watch. I owed everyone that much.
As I circled back toward the front, I noticed a single paperback sitting on the large book club table. A book I felt certain wasn’t there a minute ago. Or was it?
I took a healthy sip of my iced coffee, hoping for a desperately needed caffeine jolt. I hadn’t managed a good night’s sleep since the night before Mom appeared in my dream and insisted, in her own way, that I come home.
“What should I do, Mom?” I asked, looking up at the ceiling.
It didn’t matter that the store was closing, or that Dad would be holding a big going-out-of-business sale that would leave the shelves looking ransacked. Years of calling this bookstore a second home had instilled the habit of putting away any book that was left out.
I reached for the book and nearly dropped my coffee.
It was mine.
The only book not on a shelf in the entire store, and it wasmine.
Husker sat, looking at me expectantly, as though the book were a treat.
“This is the first book I ever published, Bubbies,” I explained, feeling tears well up in the corners of my eyes. “And no, you can’t eat it.” I’d caught him licking a book more than once.
My Diana Davenport career didn’t really take off until after Mom passed. But I published my first book,High Stakes, before then. Besides Aspen and Alyssa, Mom was the only other person in Bluebell Springs who I shared my secret pen name with. She was sworn to secrecy, but she sent me a long, gushing text after reading my first book, begging me to do a book signing at her store.
Before I could tell her yes, a man passing through town on his way home to Boulder slid through a stop sign. There were a lot of accidents during that ice storm, but that was the only fatal one that day.
I carried the book to the paranormal romance section, searching alphabetically by last name, and gasped.
