by Traci Hall
“You have control of them now, but hold their leashes while I get the other two dogs, one at a time. Romeo is a little better at it than King, believe it or not, even though he is newer.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Hold them. If they move from their sitting position, repeat the verbal command to stay. If they don’t listen, then we will work on that command together, in the park.”
The dog park at the beach was segregated into sections of fenced area for large dogs and then another for small pups. It gave Emma a chance to get her pets mingling with strangers and new dogs in a positive way.
She opened the side door to greet Romeo. “Sit.” The dog wore a perpetual smile, but this was not playtime. “Stay.”
His body wiggled against wanting to follow the command and wanting to get out of the car and into the park. His nose lifted as he smelled the other dogs, and his tail thumped against the seat.
But—he sat. And stayed. Which was progress. “Very good boy,” she said, leaning in to check his leash before stepping back and saying, “Jump.”
He landed on the sidewalk and started toward the dog park, but she said, “Stay.” Romeo strained against the leash but then released a huff of breath and sat down with a low growl in his chest, his eyes darting from her, to the park, to Matthew, and back to her.
“Good boy.”
Matthew laughed. “He didn’t want to.”
“No. But he did, and that’s what we want to encourage.” She treated Romeo’s behavior with a piece of kibble. Shoulders back, she returned her attention to King. “Your turn, Big Stuff.”
King barked once, announcing he wanted out, before jumping down from the seat to the sidewalk.
“No, King. Let’s try it again.” Emma got the wolfhound back in the car, closed the door, and then walked next to Matthew to pet Romeo while talking to Bandit and Pedro. She ignored King. “Good dogs. We have to teach King how to wait his turn.”
Romeo whined and tore his attention from the dog park to the closed door of the SUV, where King had his nose pressed against the glass. King barked. “Woof!”
She shook her head. “Sit.”
He did.
By the time she opened the door again, King was sitting, but panting heavily. “Good boy. Now stay.” She held her palm up. His furry limbs quivered with impatience, and he scooted to the edge, his ears at attention. They had to master the verbal commands before she could even think about the whistle for him.
“Jump.”
This time, King was aware of his body, and her body, as he landed next to her on the sidewalk. “Good boy!” She scratched behind his ears and under his muzzle, giving him three pieces of bacon kibble.
Romeo nudged King with his nose, staying seated.
“Improvement,” Emma said, smiling. “Matthew, how are Bandit and Pedro?”
“They didn’t move an inch,” he reported.
“Give them a treat. Thanks, Matthew. I couldn’t do this without you.” He really was a great kid. Jackson had scored in the nephew department.
…
Jackson watched Emma and Matthew from a spot on the pier, his eyes tracking Emma’s auburn ponytail. He’d called the insurance company about a disputed claim for Livvie, then did some research on what he’d need to do if he had to stay longer than an extra month.
He’d called Bonnie, who said there had been no change in his sister’s condition. At this point, the doctors had decided to slowly reduce some of Livvie’s medication, keeping her under to see how she would respond. They specifically were worried about the wound in her head that they’d tried to fix with laser surgery. Nothing to do but continue to pray and wait.
So, being hungry for fish tacos—the best place was on the pier by the dog park—he figured, why not bring them all lunch?
He wasn’t spying but satisfying his curiosity. Uh huh.
He picked up three orders of fish tacos with pico de gallo on the side and a bag of homemade tortilla chips, then walked the half mile or so from the pier to the enclosed dog park.
They were temporarily out of his line of vision, and Jackson was tempted to turn back before Emma, or Matthew, saw him. He wanted to tell Emma that he did trust her with his nephew, that she could talk to Matty, if that helped him with his feelings about his mom.
There was nobody he trusted more when it came to emotions. Feelings.
He crossed the parking lot and heard Emma whistle for the commands before he saw them at the very far end. Two little dogs were yipping and yapping in the small dog park separated by a fence. Not Emma’s dogs, though. Pedro, Bandit, Romeo, and King all sat at attention as Matthew stopped before each one and held out his hand for a shake, then brought their paw up, as if checking out the nails. Strange.
Emma saw him and waved. “Hey, Jackson!” She wore army-green shorts loaded down with leashes and bags in the cargo pockets. Water bottles? Sneakers the same shade as her shirt.
He leaned his forearms against the top of the fence, the bag of tacos dangling from his fingers. “You guys hungry? I brought lunch.”
Matthew finished with the last dog and looked at his uncle with a grin. “I’m starving.”
“Join us?” Emma invited, unlatching the inner gate. “Matthew, you can release the dogs with four whistles.”
Matty gave a burst of four with the metal whistle, and the dogs bolted forward as if freed from an invisible tether. Jackson walked into the enclosed space, holding the bag high. “Impressive.”
“That smells delicious.” Emma eyed the bag approvingly. “The Greasy Fish?”
“None better.” Jackson followed her to a picnic table she’d commandeered for the dogs and their accessories. They had the large dog park to themselves. “You got the run of the place?”
“Yeah, there was a dog here bigger than King. A Newf, New…” Matthew looked at Emma for help.
“Newfoundland. About two years old and full of energy.” Emma cleared a space so they could all sit. Matthew took the same side of the bench as Jackson, so they faced Emma.
The dogs sniffed him hello before taking off at breakneck speed around the park and along the beach area. Hard-packed sand made it easy for them to run and play tag with the low-tide surf.
“Anyway, him and King went nose to nose. I was worried they would fight, but Emma gave King the command to sit, and he did—the bigger dog snuffled him all over. Slobber and everything.”
A smile twitched at the corner of Emma’s mouth.
“Nice,” Jackson said, imagining the amount of saliva a Newfoundland had. Maybe worse than a Saint Bernard. “You want to wash up before we eat?”
“We did already. There’s a hose by the tree.” Matthew rubbed his hands together. “Fish tacos?”
Emma took a plastic bottle from her side pocket and passed it to Matthew. “This too, please. Hand sanitizer never hurt anybody.”
Matthew didn’t complain before squirting some into his palm. She did the same and offered it to Jackson.
“Sure,” Jackson said. “Of course you’d be prepared. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a first aid kit somewhere in your pockets.”
Emma’s smile widened as she lifted a white box with a red cross on the front from a canvas bag. “No room in these shorts. I’ve got duct tape, super glue, safety pins, scissors, a pocket knife, and some rope.”
“You should have been a Girl Scout,” Jackson teased.
“Right.” A glimpse of something dark crossed her expression but then was gone as she told Matty, “Aunt Pepita taught me about the wilderness. My mom didn’t do camping.”
Jackson opened the paper bag and handed out tacos. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.” His mind flashed to Emma roasting marshmallows over a campfire, her slender body silhouetted by the leaping flames against dark shadows.
“It’s okay. It’s not a secret.” She snagged a tortilla chip.
“We should go, when Mom is out of the hospital,” Matty said.
“It’s been a while si
nce I’ve slept outside,” Emma said.
“We sleep in a tent!” Matthew quickly reassured her. “That way bugs don’t get you. Or bears.”
Chuckling, Jackson ducked his head and bit into a taco. Emma’s auburn hair, hazel eyes, and freckles across her nose seemed the same—he used to kiss those freckles until she laughed. She was the kind of woman who imprinted herself on a guy so nobody else would do. He’d dated, of course, but he’d kept his heart off-limits.
She spooned the chunky salsa onto her taco and brought it to her mouth, sinking her teeth into the soft flour tortilla.
Matthew devoured both of his tacos without saying another word, then looked up in confusion. “Who do I ask to be excused? My boss, or my uncle?”
“Boss,” he said.
“Uncle,” she said.
Jackson wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “You’re excused.”
“You can change into your swimsuit if you want to get in the water.” Emma pointed to the wooden building that housed bathrooms and a changing area in the park. “It’s important not to overdo the lessons. Let’s have some fun. Don’t go past your knees with the dogs, though, okay?”
Matty nodded.
“We’ll watch from here.” She studied Jackson. “Too bad you didn’t bring your suit.”
“It’s all good. I didn’t intend to barge in on your party.” Would she swim? Seeing Emma in a swimsuit the rest of the afternoon might be worth hanging around for.
“We’ve finished the training for the day.”
“I should head back to the house,” he said, hearing the regret in his voice. “But I’ll see you tonight. Thanks a lot, Emma.”
She bagged the taco trash and got up to walk it to the garbage can. “Thank you—lunch was a great surprise. Way better than the granola bars and fruit I’d packed. It’s such a gorgeous day; it really is too bad you have to leave.”
Matthew came out of the bathroom in his swim trunks and bare feet, walking past the picnic table toward the beach but stopping to face Jackson.
“Can you stay, Uncle Jackson?”
Emma studied Jackson’s attire as if mentally stripping him down. “You could roll up those jeans and toss the stick around. Matthew is almost as quick as Bandit.”
Matthew said, “Hey!” His face had healthy color, his narrow shoulders brown from the summer sun. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Matty took off at a run, joining in with the dogs who greeted him with barks, woofs, and licks.
“Why not?” Jackson asked out loud. “I could use a little fun.” He sat down on the bench and slipped off his boots, wadding his socks up and shoving them inside. He rolled up his jeans and took off his T-shirt. “You got sunscreen in there?”
“You bet. The spray kind. So just put your arms out and twirl.”
He chuckled, sucking in his breath as the cool spray hit his bare skin. “You going in?”
“Right behind you.”
She nodded toward the water and turned around, lifting her shirt over her head and slipping her shoes off by hooking the toes to the heel of the opposite shoe. She hadn’t bothered with socks. She wore a tankini swim top and kept her shorts on.
Jackson swallowed his disappointment that she wasn’t wearing a skimpy two-piece and followed her to where she’d joined Matty at the water’s edge. Her figure had curves it didn’t use to have, and he wondered what she must think of him, after all this time.
Bandit brought him a piece of driftwood that was covered in black barnacles, seaweed streaming from one side. Disgusting, smelly, but perfect for a dog.
Jackson tugged the piece from Bandit’s mouth and tossed the stick down the beach. “This is dog paradise.”
Matthew and Romeo were knee-deep in the water, splashing in the waves. Emma and King stood back, watching while Pedro raced from Bandit to Romeo to Emma and King then back again.
“Everybody should sleep well tonight,” she said.
Jackson retrieved the driftwood and threw it up high. “That would be nice. I can’t tell you the last time I had a good night’s sleep.” He regretted the sentence as soon as the words spilled from his lips. That’s what I get for being too relaxed. Watch it, Hardy.
He felt Emma’s eyes on his back. Instead of admiring his Marine-lean muscled torso, she was opening her mouth as if to dispense advice.
Matthew thought he had problems with nightmares, which was the reason they were all at the dog park to begin with. Jackson stopped mid-throw, looked back over his shoulder and said, “Keep your advice to yourself, Doc. I’m fine.”
Chapter Nine
The old kitchen smelled like garlic and tomato sauce, and Emma’s stomach growled. Appliances from the eighties, the last time Pep had them redone, still worked just fine. Painted white, three windows allowed plenty of light, and there was loads of counter space.
Emma hummed as she set the table, her feet bare, her damp hair up in a bun at the back of her head. She’d chosen a light-yellow sundress with orange flowers and reminded herself that she didn’t need to look pretty—the Hardys had both seen her in the mud. But she swiped copper shadow on her lids anyway and ran a hint of gloss over her lips.
Lemonade, iced tea. A big ceramic bowl of salad made with veggies right from their garden. Cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and romaine lettuce. Buttermilk ranch dressing. She surveyed the table, looking for anything she might have missed.
“Salt and pepper,” she said aloud, swiveling on her toes and heading to the cupboard.
A knock sounded at the front door, and her pulse jumped. Jackson had surprised her earlier, taking off his boots to play in the surf with the dogs that afternoon. A nice surprise, watching him and Matthew on the sandy beach.
A nicer surprise, watching the muscle on Jackson’s rock-hard physique as he tossed a stick to Bandit, the eagle tattoo in flight with each flex of his biceps. She’d watched him years ago, playing football, swimming, hiking. She’d known every inch of his body by touch. Was there anything as bittersweet as a first love?
His slip about not sleeping well made her certain that her choice to let him know her better was the right one. Building trust took time. There was no way for her to help without that foundation.
Another knock sounded, louder this time. Emma made for the living room, the four pups trotting behind her. Cinnamon kept looking up and back at her, as if wondering who it could be. They rarely had visitors.
Princess nipped at Lulu, who had stepped on her paw, and Lulu barked once. “That did not sound like an apology, Lulu,” Emma said, reaching for the round brass door handle.
The Hardys stood on the other side of the screen door, a bottle of wine in Jackson’s hand and a bouquet of flowers in Matthew’s.
“What a wonderful treat!” The simple joy she felt as she let them in was a reminder that it had been too long since she’d had company over. Friends mattered, but between school and work and the kennel, her best friends were her dogs, besides her aunt. Who’d been the last person to stop by? She couldn’t even remember—maybe Sawyer.
“We could smell dinner from the driveway,” Jackson said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had homemade lasagna.”
“It was fun, putting it together.” She shooed the dogs out of the way. “Come on, pups, let them in.”
Matthew handed her the flowers, a multicolored bouquet wrapped in green tissue paper, so he could pick up Cinnamon, who wiggled happily as she licked his chin.
Jackson, seeing her arms full of flowers, lifted the bottle of wine. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Pleased, she said, “That list is too long to even get started on.” The foyer led into the living room, which held a television and a couch, two recliners, and a bookshelf stuffed with romance novels and magazines. Jackson knew to go right, down the short hallway leading to the huge kitchen, which had a door to the back porch and yard.
Was it company that made her tummy tingle with anticipation, or was it specifically Jackson? Emma couldn’t banish his broad
shoulders and muscled torso from her mind. She gripped the bouquet so tight the plastic wrap crinkled.
Jackson put the wine on the counter next to the large white double sinks. “I brought a burgundy, to go with the Italian theme.”
“Perfect,” Emma said. “Though I’m not much of an expert.” She enjoyed a glass with dinner now and again but preferred tea.
“Me either.” He skimmed his palm over the top of his short hair. “I asked the guy at the grocery store.”
“Did you pick these tomatoes?” Matthew set Cinnamon down on the floor, so he could examine the kitchen table. “I love tomatoes.” He patted his stomach.
Emma turned to Matthew. “Yes, from the garden. The plants are loaded! Maybe we could gather them after dinner? You could take some home. If I remember correctly, you’re the weird kid who likes salad.” Emma moved the flowers to one hand and offered a high five with the other.
“Yep,” he said proudly, smacking her palm with his. “I’ve even got Uncle Jackson eating zucchini.”
“Deep fried,” Jackson clarified. “Manly veggies.”
“Well, do you mind using those man-skills to open the wine?” She pointed to the drawer next to the sink. “We have an old-fashioned corkscrew, so it takes some muscle.”
Jackson’s grin made his green eyes darken to jade and her stomach twist. Oh no, she thought. But then she countered with, why not? This was just an innocent dinner between friends.
Neighbors.
It’s lasagna, for heaven’s sake. Nothing serious.
Jackson pulled the drawer open, digging through the odds and ends until he found the silver wine opener that predated the kitchen appliances. “Got it.”
Emma turned to Matthew, who was studying the ceramic pots of herbs she and her aunt grew under the window. “I added some of the parsley and basil to our salad.”
“Yum.”
“Matty, Matty, Matty.” Jackson popped the cork from the bottle. “Wineglasses?”
“Cupboard to the left.” Emma checked the clock, put the salt and pepper shaker on the table, and asked, “Matthew, what would you like to drink? Tea, lemonade? Or iced water?”
