“SMS?” Emily asked.
“Stupid Man Syndrome,” Sara said.
“It’s more like stupid woman syndrome.” She paused. “The Los Angeles intern still wants to trade places.”
“Yeah?” Sara took a big hunk of cookie dough. “She tired of treating the pink Pomeranians and hairless cats of the rich and famous?”
“I guess her family lives in Idaho somewhere, and she misses them, she wants to be closer to home.”
Sara looked up, eyes sharp. “Wait— You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
Sara set the cookie dough down. “You’re going to do it? You’re going to trade places and go back to L.A.?”
“Hello, have you been listening? She wants to come here for the same reason I wanted to stay in Los Angeles. We miss home. We miss Dad. We want to be closer to home.”
Sara gave a slow shake of her head.
“No?” Emily asked. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean there’s no we. I like Sunshine. You can see the stars at night. And I thought people would judge me, but as it turns out, there’s a huge shortage of lesbians here and I’m in huge demand. Everyone wants the token lesbian friend. And I thought you were coming to like it, too. You’re back with Dr. Sexy—” She broke off at whatever she saw on Emily’s face. “You’re not?”
“No.”
“But on your first date, you came home with your panties in your pocket.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said softly.
“Emily.” Sara looked distressed, for her. “Are you sure?”
She thought of what Wyatt had said that first night they’d gone to dinner: You’re not the only one thrown off their axis here, Emily. We never intended to see each other again. Hell we didn’t even know each other’s last names. And that worked for me.
It had been a month and a half, and never once in all that time had he alluded to changing his mind. There was no future for them. It wasn’t because he was a commitment-phobe either—he’d been engaged. Which brought her to her last problem—the expression on his face every time Caitlin’s name came up. He’d loved her. Maybe still did for all she knew. He hadn’t let Emily in enough to discuss it with her. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
“You really shouldn’t make any hasty decisions on this. Give it some time before you talk to your boss—”
“I e-mailed him.” Emily gestured to the laptop sitting so innocuously on the kitchen table. “I told him I’d switch.”
Sara just stared at her, disappointment and frustration clear. And worry.
“I know,” Emily said. “It’s risky.”
“No,” Sara said with a slow shake of her head. “The risk would’ve been to stay.”
Dell was gone when Emily got into work, working one of the ranches he’d contracted with up north. She waited for Wyatt to say something about the internship, about the switch, but he didn’t.
The reason for that didn’t feel good. She wasn’t sure if he was relieved, happy, or just plain indifferent about her decision. He’d been damn careful to keep things in the moment.
She needed to do the same.
When she got home that night, she fed Sammy, Q-Tip, and Woodrow, and then opened the fridge for herself. She was standing there staring at its contents when Woodrow went to the back door and whined.
“Now?” Emily asked. “I just let you out.”
Woodrow pawed at the door.
“Okay, okay, hang on.” She heard Sara come in the front door. “Hurry,” she called out to her sister. “We’re going for a walk!”
“We?” Sara asked, coming into the kitchen. “I hope that’s the royal we. Or you and the mutt. Not me.”
“You.” Emily grabbed the leash. “It’s almost dark, I need an escort.”
“Oh sure, take the butch lesbian, she’ll save you.”
“Accusing me of profiling isn’t going to get you out of this.”
Sara sighed and out they went, heading down the street. Woodrow paused at every single bush and tree, but made no deposits.
“What, do you need an invitation?” Sara asked him.
When they got to the next property over, the ranch house where Emily had first thought maybe Woodrow had come from, the dog hunched in the middle of the grass.
“Crap,” Emily said.
“Literally,” Sara said, and fanned the air. “At least it’s dark now.”
“No, I mean crap, I didn’t bring a baggie to scoop that up with—” She broke off when a long, unhappy howl of a dog sounded.
And then another.
At Emily’s feet, Woodrow whined.
“Our neighbors have dogs?” Sara asked.
“I don’t know. They’re never home.”
A few more barks sounded, and Emily looked at the house. Still dark. Quiet. Woodrow finished his business, but before they could move, a truck came down the street.
“Uh-oh,” Sara said when it slowed.
Yeah, uh-oh. The truck was coming to the house. They turned off their flashlights and ducked behind a bush just as it pulled into the driveway.
Emily scooped Woodrow close and held her breath.
“We’re going to get arrested for not picking up dog poo,” Sara whispered. “We’re going to end up as someone’s bitch.”
“Shh!” She went back to holding her breath. Beside her, Sara did the same.
And then, in the silence, her phone lit up like day with a call.
Shit. Emily reached into her pocket and reflexively swiped her thumb across the screen to answer instead of hitting ignore.
The truck door opened. Two long legs appeared out of the truck, heading around the back of the vehicle instead of the front.
Emily sucked in a breath. She could see boots. Denim-clad legs.
And a gun at a lean hip.
Oh, God. Her heart leapt into her throat.
“Run,” Sara whispered.
The three of them ran like the hounds of hell were on their heels, Sara and Emily in terror, Woodrow barking like he was out for a joyride.
“Did you see—” Emily started.
“I saw,” came Sara’s grim reply.
“Cop?”
“Doubtful,” Sara gasped as they flew. “This is Idaho. Everyone and their grandma is armed.”
“Except for us,” Emily managed.
“I’ve got a knife in my pocket.”
Emily gave her a startled glance. “What?”
Halfway back, Emily got a stitch in her side and had to stop, hands on her knees, gasping for breath.
“That’s . . . pathetic,” Sara said, stopping besides her, but looking no better off.
Footsteps sounded, though it was hard to tell from which direction they came. It didn’t matter. They both gasped and started to run again. Emily flew right into a brick wall.
Wyatt.
He absorbed the impact without moving and wrapped his arms around her. “What the hell?”
“Yeah,” said a different male voice, from directly behind them this time. “What the hell?”
Big, Scary Neighbor Guy, Emily thought, shaking in her sneakers.
Wyatt flicked his flashlight upward and revealed the man who’d gotten out of the truck at the dark house.
Yep. It was indeed Big, Scary Neighbor Guy.
Woodrow got in front of Emily, backing his tush right up to her calves, standing on her feet as he barked sharply at the man.
Emily scooped him up and hugged him. “Good boy,” she whispered. “Brave boy.”
“Who are you?” Wyatt asked her neighbor.
“I’m the one who found Lucy and Ethel here in my bushes.” His gaze went to Sara, and then Emily, and finally Woodrow. No flicker of recognition for the dog, which was a relief. No way could she have given him Woodrow.
“The question is,” the guy said, “who the fuck are you?”
“We lost our kitten,” Sara said. “We were looking for her and you scared us.” She flashed a smile.