Thirty-Three and a Half Shenanigans
Page 52

Both of our vehicles were parked at Maeve’s, but we decided to leave Mason’s car and drive my truck home. He offered to drive.
“Is everything okay, Mason?” I asked after a couple of minutes of silence passed between us. I turned sideways in my seat to study him.
He flashed me a guarded smile. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you had an unexpected meeting with your boss, and you were quiet as a church mouse throughout dinner.”
“I’ve got a lot of pressure on me at work. Nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t dismiss your feelings because they’re related to work. Tell me what’s goin’ on. Why did he want to talk to you?”
Mason took a deep breath. “He’d heard about an investigation I’m working on, and he wanted to know more about it. I told him what I could, but I got a dressing down.”
“Does this have anything to do with J.R. Simmons?” I’d wanted to ask him since I first heard of his troubles at work, but hadn’t been sure how to broach it.
“No.” His voice was hard.
“I’m sorry.” I unfastened my seatbelt and slid into the middle seat, re-buckling and leaning into his side.
He glanced at me and kissed my temple before wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “What worries me is how he found out. Only a handful of people know.”
“What are you investigating?”
He hesitated for several seconds. “I can’t talk about it, sweetheart. Official business.”
“How can it be official business if your boss doesn’t approve?”
He turned down our hidden drive, the headlights bouncing off the front porch. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
He was hiding something important from me, but I was hardly in a position to demand answers, and the last thing I wanted to do was add to his stress. Still, I had to ask my question again, especially after my encounter with Hilary that afternoon. “You’re sure this doesn’t have anything to do with J.R.?”
I was worried he’d be offended that I hadn’t accepted his first answer, but he sighed, then answered, sounding tired. “No, Rose. I’d tell you if it did. Okay?”
“Okay.” It wasn’t really. Something big was up, but without knowing what it was, I had no idea how to console him.
Mason parked in front the house and kissed me, wrapping his arms around my back to pull me closer. I tangled my hands in his hair as his hands slid under my sweater.
“I love you, Rose,” he murmured against my lips.
I tried to tug his coat off and whacked my hand. “This steering wheel’s in my way,” I said, reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Let’s go inside.”
“Gladly.” But first he kissed me again, his mouth and hands driving me crazy.
He opened the door and helped me out, then pushed me back against the truck, kissing me senseless.
Suddenly he lifted his head and turned his face toward the front porch. “Something’s wrong with Muffy.”
He was right. I was used to her barking when we came home, but this time she sounded much more urgent and panicked than usual. I’d been too wrapped up in Mason to notice.
The light of a lamp shone through the living room window, giving the first floor a warm, homey glow—a sharp contrast to Muffy’s alarmed cries. I knew she hated being left at home all day, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t come home to get her before we ate dinner at Maeve’s. But unless her separation anxiety had leaped to new levels, something was seriously wrong.
Mason ran up the steps, and I followed him, but as soon as he realized I was behind him, he spun around, his face hard. “Rose, go back to the truck.”
“Not if something’s wrong with Muffy!”
“Then please just stay at the bottom of the steps.”
“What if someone broke in? I need to get her. She’s clearly upset!”
“Rose, please,” he pleaded as he unlocked the front door and pushed it open. I waited for my little dog to run out to me like she usually did, but her barking only grew more desperate.
I started up the steps, but Mason turned to face me, pointing at my feet. “Wait there.” Then he went inside, leaving the front door open.
The fact that I couldn’t think of a single time he’d ever issued me an order was what kept me in place.
Several seconds later, Muffy’s barks turned to high-pitched whines, and it took everything in me to not run inside to see what was wrong with her. I was in tears when Mason walked out the door with Muffy in his arms. He hugged her close as he stroked her head.
“Why was she upset?”
“She was shut in the hall closet.”
“What?” I asked in dismay.
His body was rigid, and he looked furious. “Someone broke in through the back door. They must have locked her up.”
My poor little dog was nearly hysterical. I started to cry. “How long was she in there?”
His gaze softened as he handed her to me. “I don’t know, but she’s safe now. Her front paws are a little raw from scratching at the door, but I think she’s okay. I’m going to call Joe and ask him to check this out.”
I wanted to ask him why he was calling Joe personally, but he’d already stepped away and pulled out his phone. Their conversation was short and he spoke low enough that I only heard bits and snatches. “. . . break-in . . . I’m not sure . . . she’s fine . . .”