9. Paxton

CHAPTER 9

Paxton

The swing groans with each sway, its mournful echoing piercing my eardrums, distracting me from anything but the whereabouts of the damn WD-40. I’d bet it’s still in the garage next to the four-wheeler. That’s the last place I remember using it.

I drag my foot to halt the painful squeal and slide my hat back on.

“Does that grate on your nerves as much as mine?” I ask Riggs, lounging on the porch, before I push off to fetch the spray. When I return, he’s sprawled on his back, undisturbed, and blissfully showing off his manly parts.

I fiddle with the chains, lubricating and adjusting the swing until its high-pitched screech dissolves into silence. Well, now that I’m up, what else is squeaking? I open the screen door, and a tiny noise slips out, so I spray it. On a mission now, I go through the house and test every door.

A tap on the screen door interrupts me as I’ve moved on to caulking around the new cabinets. So much for a relaxing weekend . I peek my head out from the kitchen, knowing it’s one of the neighbors. If it was someone unfamiliar, Riggs would’ve let me know.

Mrs. Dayton waves excitedly. She owns the ten acres adjacent to mine and lost her husband recently, so I’ve lent a hand around the place. She reminds me so much of Grams.

“Come on in, Mrs. Dayton,” I call out.

She comes in holding a cake, Riggs trailing close behind. It’s an odd shape that I can’t make out. I set down the caulking gun and rinse my hands. She slides it on the counter and claps once. “It’s Riggs’s birthday, and I wanted to make him something special.”

It is?

I tilt my head, staring at the bone-shaped cake. Do I even know when his birthday is? She’s old, but every time I’ve been around her, she’s sharp as a tack, so I don’t think she’s confusing him with another dog. But it’s possible.

“Well, not his actual birthday. But his gotcha day birthday. It was three years ago this weekend,” she adds.

How does she remember that?

Riggs sniffs the cake. Yeah, buddy, someone remembers important dates. Your partner sucks, I guess.

“Did you forget?” she asks with a hint of disappointment, sensing my confusion.

I rub my beard. Were all my exes right? Is this why they called me a self-absorbed asshole? I think back to when I got him. I remember the day. It was in April. We had been working together for months, training. Graduation was one of the most important days of my life. I put more effort into this dog than I ever did in college.

Fuck. And I forgot it was this weekend.

The first weekend I had him, I brought him here to work more with him. Amanda was so mad. My girlfriend, at the time, didn’t understand the time and commitment it took to be a K-9 officer. She thought after graduation, we’d have more time together. I never promised her that. Secretly, I enjoyed my time with Riggs more than I did with her. I wasn’t sad when she left. But that weekend, Riggs met Mr. and Mrs. Dayton. It feels a lot longer than three years.

“Thank goodness you have me.” She rubs Riggs’s head, then walks into my kitchen to grab a plate. “This was made just for him. I found the recipe on Pinterest. I took a taste. You definitely don’t want any.” Her face contorts in disgust as she cuts a piece. Riggs sits, his tail sweeping the floor. He knows it’s his.

He can smell it.

We watch him devour the piece of cake until he licks the plate clean, which takes all of two minutes. It smells like peanut butter.

“Thanks for doing this. After his morning, he deserves the whole damn cake.”

“Oh, don’t do that. He might have some unfortunate runs ,” she warns with a chuckle.

Noted.

“You mentioned this morning. I thought y’all got in last night.”

“Nope.” I flick my wrist to glance at the time. “We got here about an hour ago.”

Her brows furrow. “Well, I thought I saw some car lights in your driveway during the night. It wasn’t you?”

I shake my head. “Nope, I was home in Austin.” There was a bit more to my night, but she doesn’t need details. All that matters is I wasn’t here.

“It was probably someone lost.”

“Probably.” I pick up the plate and place it in the sink, then stash the cake in the fridge just in case Riggs decides on a midnight snack. “You have anything you need done this weekend, let me know. We head back to town tomorrow night.”

“No. You boys just enjoy your time off. I know how hard y’all work.” I walk with her to her bright red golf cart she rode over. She gives me a hug, and off she goes.

I look down at Riggs, and I swear he’s giving me the worst judgment expression a dog can muster. I bend at the knees and rub behind his ears. “Yeah, yeah. Happy gotcha day, buddy. Three years is a long time in dog years. I hope you still love me.”

He licks my face, pushing his way on top of me. I have to roll out from under him. He bows and barks once, ready to play.

“All right, buddy, you ready to play your favorite game?”

He perks right up.

“Hold on,” I say, running inside to grab my side piece from the dining table, double-checking it’s snug in the holster, and finish off the last of my cold coffee. He positions himself at my side when I walk back out, ready for my signal.

Let’s play seek.

“Ready?” His eyes lock on mine, and he lets out a bark. “Three…two…one…find her.”