by Sandra Owens
“If you’re calling Dalton to come in here, I’ll leave,” she said when he picked up the desk phone receiver. This needed to be a conversation between the two of them, nor did she want him and Dalton to gang up on her.
He dropped the receiver. “Don’t you think he’s owed an explanation?”
“Yes.” She sat in the chair across from his desk. “But you and I need to talk first.” It shouldn’t hurt that he didn’t ask how she was, since he rarely did, but there it was. Would that longing to believe that he cared about her enough to show concern, even if it was only a hint that he loved her, ever go away?
From the time she’d come to live with him, she had told herself that he loved her. Of course he did. She was his daughter. She’d always made excuses for him. He hadn’t expected to have a young child dumped on him without notice, and he could have refused to take her in. Because he did, she’d always felt grateful that he’d given her a home, but there was resentment she tried to keep buried that a child shouldn’t have to feel grateful to a parent for doing the right thing.
It was a hard pill to swallow, but it was time to accept that she was simply an obligation, that he didn’t love her. Maybe he didn’t know how. She’d often wondered why he’d never married, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he would discuss with her. He was a good-looking man, and she knew he dated, but he never stayed with one woman for very long, never brought anyone home to meet his daughter.
“Explain why you ran out on your wedding, leaving Dalton standing at the alter in front of your guests. Do you know how embarrassing that was for him? For me?”
“I’m sure it was, and I’m sorry.” That wasn’t true. “You know what, I’m not sorry. I’m not in love with Dalton, but I liked him well enough. Although I think I would have eventually regretted it, I would have gone through with the wedding because it would have pleased you.”
“And the reason you didn’t?”
“I overheard him telling Ron that you promised him shares in the brewery if he married me. Those were my shares, Dad. You promised me.” The hurt that he would do that to her was still as painful as when she’d heard Dalton telling his best man why he was marrying her. How could her father do that to her?
“And the problem is? The shares will stay in the family when you and Dalton marry.”
She counted to ten, then to twenty before replying. He’d skipped right over the fact that she wasn’t in love with Dalton. Why didn’t he want her to be happy? Why did he think it was okay to promise her something, and then betray her?
“The problem is you promised me shares in the brewery, and now you want me to marry a man I don’t love and give him my shares.” Tears burned her eyes, and she willed them away. She would not cry.
“Why don’t you love me?” She hadn’t meant to ask that question even though she’d wondered all her life why she didn’t have her father’s love. The only answer she could think of was that he resented having a child dumped on him.
“Where’s all this coming from, Peyton?”
So, he wasn’t going to answer, not that she was surprised. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and needing to leave before she cried, she stood. “I’m done here.”
As she walked to the door, she tried not to hope that he would stop her, maybe tell her that he did love her, but all she heard behind her was silence. She told herself not to look back, but she couldn’t help it.
When she was twelve, she’d walked into his home office, and he’d been staring at a photo with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. As soon as he noticed her, he’d put the picture face down on his desk. She’d asked what he was looking at, wanting to know what was making him sad, but he’d refused to answer. Several times after that, she’d searched for the photo, never finding it.
That hurt, whatever caused it, was in his eyes now. She took a step toward him. “Dad?”
He blinked, then shifted his gaze to her. “Just go, Peyton.”
So be it. She would go because her heart couldn’t take any more of his rejections.
* * *
Noah wasn’t sure why he ended up back at the waterfall and with the dog in tow. Jack must have let go of the leash, because the damn thing had raced after him, jumping in the car when he’d opened the door.
“I met the prettiest princess, sitting right up there on top of that boulder,” he told Lucky. Had that been only yesterday? Seemed like years ago. “She was something else.” And now he was talking to a dog. Maybe he should see a therapist.
Lucky pulled against the leash, trying to get to the water. It was probably against the dog training rules to let him do what he pleased, but since for all intents and purposes, Noah was officially AWOL, what did rules matter?
He followed Lucky to the edge of the water, and both of them stared at the wedding gown still floating in the pool. Lucky growled. It did look like a ghost, just floating there, so he didn’t blame the dog for being suspicious.
Seeing the gown led his thoughts to Peyton. Was she okay? When he’d put his number in her phone, he purposely hadn’t sent it to his phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to call her. Because he knew he would be. Now he was sorry. He just wanted to know that she was all right.
Since he knew where she lived, he could stop by, tell her he was checking on her. Although, if Jack had reported him as being AWOL, the navy would soon find him, and he’d go to prison, never knowing if Peyton was safe. He didn’t even know if she was worried about being safe.
“We need to go,” he told Lucky. He had to stick around and make sure Peyton didn’t need to make a desperate phone call. Unless karma had decided not to give him a break, Jack would wait a day or two before reporting him missing. If going back meant he had to learn how to train Lucky for a brother in need—that wasn’t at all a bad thing—and if he had to haul his sorry ass to a therapist he’d refuse to talk to, then that’s what he’d do.
Why had he used that word, almost guaranteeing she wouldn’t admit she was desperate and call him, no matter how much she needed to?
He doubled-timed it up the trail with Lucky at his heels. The first place he had to go was back to Operation K-9 Brothers. He was as certain as he could be that Jack wouldn’t report him. At least, not yet, but he had to make sure.
As soon as Noah opened the door, Lucky jumped into the car, parking his butt on the passenger seat. “I guess you’re stuck with me, dog. Not sure how lucky that makes you.” Noah heard Peyton’s voice in his head admonishing him for not using the dog’s name and sighed. “I mean Lucky.”
With his tail wagging like a flag in a hurricane, the dog tried to cross the console. “No, you can’t sit in my lap while I’m driving.” Noah pushed him back. “You don’t have any respect for personal space, do you?”
Lucky tried to climb on his lap again. “Dumbass dog. Get back in your seat.” He lowered the passenger side window halfway, and that did the trick. Lucky stuck his head out the window and kept it there the rest of the way to Operation K-9 Brothers.
He found Jack hosing down a kennel. “Need help?”
“Yeah, you can clean the last three. Put Lucky in this one while you work.” He stepped out of the kennel, handing Noah the hose. “I’ve got some paperwork I need to get done. When you’re finished, we’ll put the dogs back in their homes.”
Noah glanced around. “Where are they now?”
“In the playpen.”
“They have a playpen?”
“Yeah. I give them a little time together to play each day while I clean their kennels.”
After Jack left, Noah put Lucky in the just cleaned kennel, then started hosing down the next one. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could check on Peyton. Or maybe he should stay out of her life. The last thing she needed was a screwed-up man who had nothing to offer. Not that he was looking for a relationship, he was just worried about her. Needed to know she was okay.
Lucky had his nose pressed against the fence, watching Noah’s every move. “Nice place, huh?” He didn’t know what training therapy dogs involved, but Jack had a topnotch operation going. The individual kennels were large, with the concrete part under a roof for shade, then a grassy area giving the dogs plenty of room to roam around. Each kennel had dog beds on frames, lifting them about a foot off the floor. The food and water bowls were attached to the kennel fencing. He assumed that helped keep ants out of their food.
He’d thought Jack would get on his ass for taking off, but he hadn’t said a word. Noah wished he had, getting the lecture he knew was coming over with. What magic his commander thought being here, cleaning kennels, would accomplish was a mystery.
Soon, he would have to return to his team, and just thinking about another deployment woke up the biting ants. What if he made another deadly mistake? That would be the end of him.
Hello, darkness...
“Stop it,” he muttered when the words to Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sounds of Silence” streamed through his mind. His team got a kick out of his always coming up with a song that fit any situation, and he’d had fun doing it. Not so much anymore.
At the same time he finished cleaning the kennels, Jack returned. “I’m suspicious of your perfect timing,” he said.
Jack chuckled. “You should be. Let’s get the dogs back in their homes, then we’ll spend some time working with Lucky.”
Still nothing about him taking off earlier. Noah eyed his friend. Was he doing that on purpose, waiting for Noah to bring it up? If so, Jack was going to have a long wait.
They got the dogs back in their kennels, then Noah, with Lucky on his leash, followed Jack to a large fenced in area. “How’s a therapy dog different from a service dog?”
“Good question. Service dogs are trained to perform tasks that their handler can’t do. Pick up things, open doors, things like that. A therapy dog is trained to provide emotional support. They go to places like hospitals and retirement homes, and spend time with people. In our case, though, we’re training them for our brothers and sisters, and they’ll provide that support for a specific person, especially ones suffering from PTSD.”
“Okay, but what if a person needs a dog that can do both those things?”
“And some do. We’ll do extra training when necessary.”
“What does it cost to have a therapy dog?”
“Nothing, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.” Jack glanced around him, and Noah could see the pride in his eyes at what he’d accomplished. “It’s all about sponsorships to cover the cost, and I work hard to keep the money coming in. Not my favorite part of all this, but most of our brothers and sisters can’t afford the cost of one of these dogs. I don’t want that to keep them from getting the help they need.”
Jack had found his calling, and Noah envied him. The man they’d loaded into a helicopter, not sure if he would live, had created a new life that gave him purpose. Add to that he’d found Nichole. During the little bit of time Noah had spent with them, it had been obvious that they loved each other.
“How’d you meet Nichole?”
“That’s a funny story. I’ll tell you over a beer later,” Jack said, grinning.
Noah bet it wouldn’t beat how he’d met Peyton. Not that anything was going to happen with her. And not that he was going to share his funny meet story because he was never going to see her again, a decision he made at seeing the way Jack grinned when thinking of his fiancée. Noah didn’t have it in him to make a woman happy. He didn’t know Peyton well, but he did know she deserved a man who could make her smile.
“The first thing you need to remember is that these dogs aren’t pets,” Jack said. “That includes Lucky. They’re not military dogs trained to go to war, but they are working dogs with a job to do.”
“Got it.” That worked for him since he had no desire for a pet.
“You will be taking him home with you each night—”
“Why can’t he stay here?”
“Because during the time you spend training him, you’re his handler.”
“Do the other dogs go home with their trainer?”
“Some do, some don’t, but that’s not important to you. You and Lucky are a team. When you’re working with him, you need to be focused, so put all the shit going on in your head aside. I know that won’t be easy, but learn to do it. If you think that’s impossible, remember this. We’re SEALs. Discipline is our middle name.”
“What if I can’t?” The shit in his head was always there, like it or not. Although, his dark thoughts had left him alone when he was with Peyton.
“You can, and you will. That reminds me. You have an appointment with a therapist Friday morning. You can explain then why you took off this morning.”
It was only by calling on all that discipline Jack spoke of that Noah didn’t walk away again.
Chapter Eight
“Does your father know you’re asking me for a job?” Kenneth said.
“I haven’t specifically mentioned applying to you, but my father is aware of my reasons.” She wished she had it in her to lie. “You’re aware of my reputation and qualifications, Kenneth. I’d be an asset to your brewery.”
“So, that’s a no? I’m sorry, Peyton. As much as I’d like to offer you a job, no can do. I don’t have any desire to deal with Gerald when he finds out you’re working for me. Sorry.”
“Well, thanks anyway.” Not.
That was what she got for having Sutton as a last name. The microbrewers all knew each other, and Gerald Sutton had been a fixture in the industry in Asheville for close to thirty years. Like Kenneth, they all knew who she was.
There were more breweries on her list to try, but she’d listed them in the order of the ones she’d most like to work for. After walking out of Mountain Top Brewery, she took a pen from her purse and crossed out number seven on her list.
As much as she didn’t want to leave Asheville—it would break her heart to have to leave the city she loved so much—when she got home, she’d research other towns well-known for their microbreweries. Places where the Sutton name did not put fear in the eyes of the cowards she’d talked to so far.
Okay, not that she blamed them. If she owned a brewery and Peyton Sutton came calling, asking for a job, she’d say a hard no, just like all the ones she’d visited so far. Because...Gerald Sutton.
So, where did that leave her? Continue down the list or wave a white flag? She’d visited the best ones, the ones she’d hoped might want a master beer brewer working for them enough to not be afraid of the repercussions. Because every damn one of them knew she could brew beer with the best of them.
Could she work for any of the breweries farther down on her list? She could put them on the map, make their good beer amazing. She just knew it. Or, maybe it was time to break away from her father. Go someplace where she could make a name for herself without his influence. What to do?
If she left Asheville, she’d never see Noah again. Not that she expected to, but there was always a chance it could happen. His mouth on hers as he kissed her popped into her mind. She wanted to kiss him again, and then some more. What if he was the only man in the world who could make her tingle? If so, that was just sad, since she would never see him again.
Thinking about a hot SEAL and his tingly kisses wasn’t going to solve her job problem, though. She scanned the rest of the names on her list. No more today. She just wasn’t up to it.
On the way back to her loft, she stopped at her favorite Vietnamese restaurant and got an order of pho and spring rolls to go, along with a bowl of beef and vegetable noodles. If she did end up moving, it had to be somewhere that she could live downtown with easy access to the restaurants and shops.
But she didn’t want to move.
“Hey, Joseph,” she said at seeing the man in his usual spo
t on the sidewalk.
“There she is.” A smile appeared on his weathered face. “How’s Miss Peyton today?” he said, picking up his beat-up guitar.
“Great.” That was always her answer, and usually, she was. The disabled vet had enough problems without hearing about hers. “What are you going to play for me today?”
“See if you can guess what this one is.”
It was a game they played, and because after brewing beer, music was her jam, she usually guessed right. For that reason, he delighted in trying to stump her. He never sang, so she had to come up with the song title from just his playing the guitar.
When he finished, she grinned. “That was ‘Killing Me Softly With His Song.’ One of my favorites.”
“I thought for sure I had you with that one. You’re too young to remember that song.”
“No way. Roberta Flack is awesome.” She took the noodle bowl out of the to-go bag and gave it to him. Then, like she always did, she dropped a five-dollar bill in his cup.
“Thank you, Miss Peyton. You have a nice day.”
“You take care of yourself, Joseph.”
“I’ll do that.”
When she’d first met him, she’d tried to bring him food every day, but he’d refused to have any part of that. “Not your charity case, Miss Peyton,” he’d said. So, after some intense negotiations, they’d agreed that she could occasionally bring him something and he would play a song for her. That had evolved into the guess-the-name-of-the-song game, one they both enjoyed.
As for the five dollars she dropped into his cup four or five times a week, when he’d fussed about that, she’d told him to get over it. When he’d still resisted, she’d held the bill up, and then had let it go to blow away with the wind.
“That’s your two choices, Joseph,” she’d said. “It either goes in your cup, or I give it to the wind.”
“Guess in the cup then, but I don’t have to like it.”
