Lane looked up at the home turned business. “Actually, I own it.”

A strange look crossed the deputy’s face. “Interesting.”

Interesting? Lane shrugged. “Maybe stop by sometime and grab a bite. Ms. Byrdie is the cook/baker extraordinaire, and you won’t find a better meal in all of Walton.”

“I believe that.” His lip tugged up at the corner and sent Lane’s pulse thrumming.

“Lane, honey, everything okay?” Ms. Byrdie’s voice called from the back porch.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Evening, Aunt Byrdie.”

Lane’s stomach somersaulted. “Wait. Did you just call her Aunt Byrdie?”

The deputy’s shoulders raised a fraction. “Surprise?”

“Well, now that you’ve met your neighbor, don’t just stand there. Come on in and get the last piece of cobbler before it’s too late.” Aunt Byrdie spun around and let the screen door slam shut behind her.

Charlie waited, trying to discern the surprise—no, shock—covering Ms. Kent’s face. If she didn’t know—

“That means Sheriff Huggins is your—”

“Uncle,” Charlie finished her thought as Bane squirmed in his grip. He clipped the leash on the dog and set him down. “Aunt Byrdie is my mother’s sister.”

Ms. Kent’s face paled. Why?

“This might be a wild guess, but from your expression I’m guessing Aunt B didn’t mention anything about me?” Charlie couldn’t deny the sting of that thought. He’d asked his aunt and uncle to keep his moving to Walton quiet to avoid any rumors of nepotism—at least until he had a chance to prove his value to the force.

“Actually, she did mention her nephew, but I was expecting”—her brows pinched—“well, I don’t know what I was expecting. And you’re my neighbor?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Charlie tilted his head toward a row of bushes with large white flowers. “Just on the other side of that picket fence.”

The screen door swung open and his aunt appeared. “I can’t fight these boys off forever, y’all.”

“She’s not lying either,” Lane added.

Charlie grinned and followed Ms. Kent up the steps of the two-story house with the wraparound porch.

“Ms. Kent, is it okay if I tie him up out here?”

“Yeah, sure, but please call me Lane. We’re, uh . . . neighbors after all. I think Ms. Byr—I mean your aunt keeps some doggie treats around for some of the customers.”

“The last thing this little tyrant needs is a reward for his mischief.” Charlie tied Bane’s leash to the railing and gave the dog a warning look to behave before stepping through the back door of the Way Station Café.