Page 50 of Ridin’ Dirty

A utensil holder.

Storage containers.

Baskets and jars for the pantry.

It was all shit that would catch my eye when I scrolled through social media posts; shit meant to turn an ordinary home into a place deserving a spotlight on The Home Edit; shit I didn’t have the luxury of buying. Until now.

An hour and a half later, I moved on to the bedroom.

Not the guest room but the primary, as I had no intention of moving into the spare room. His bed was far more comfortable than mine. Pistol could sleep at the clubhouse for all I cared.

I purchased a kick-ass linen duvet, a knitted throw blanket that was to die for, and the highest thread count sheets I could find.

Remarkably, I was no longer angry.

But I was on a roll, and I saw no reason to stop.

It was time to think bigger.

I bought a headboard and footboard for the bed that would soon be too well dressed to remain a mattress on wheels. The coordinating nightstands made it into the cart, too.

It was almost eleven o’clock and I was still in the house by myself when I considered the couch on which I sat. It took me approximately two seconds to decide—we could do better.

Couch.

Side tables.

Lamps.

Area rug.

I bought it all.

Then I thought I heard something.

I froze, holding my breath as I listened for another noise.

There was a scratch and a whine at the door.

Still, I didn’t move, sure the sound of a dog meant Pistol would walk in at any moment. I was so focused on shopping to my heart’s content, I didn’t really stop to think about what I would say to the man upon his return.

Except, as I waited for the knob to turn, for Pistol’s boots to announce his arrival, and for Reaper’s nails to click against the hard floor, it never came.

Reaper barked and scratched at the door again.

With a frown, I stood slowly and made my way toward the kitchen.

I found the light switch on the wall and flipped it up, causing the bulb outside to illuminate the back step.

Reaper’s head jerked and she barked once more. I opened the door, and she immediately raced inside and circled her way around my legs. She was whining again, and when she barked it sounded somehow desperate.

“What’s going on, girl?” I asked, peeking my head outside.

There was no sign of Pistol.

Another whine. Another bark.

Whatever high I was floating on a moment ago was gone.