by Traci Hall
“Friends that make out in the kitchen, by the window, where everybody can see?”
She’d seen that? Emma’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “You might have mentioned that before now.”
“Why?” Pep popped a crumble of bacon into her mouth. “I think it’s great.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. Jackson’s going back to the service, and now that Livvie is improving, who knows when that will be?” She’d forced her heart back under lock and key to focus on finishing her thesis. Everything else was out of her control.
After taking care of the dogs, Emma filled the coolers with ice. She filched a piece of bacon when Pep’s back was turned and couldn’t hide her laughter at doing something so silly. “What did you do?” Aunt Pepita asked.
“Nothing.” Emma covered her mouth.
“You have never been able to resist bacon.” Her aunt waved the spatula at her as if she were in trouble.
“Who can?” Emma shrugged.
“Good point. I’ve had two pieces already. Maybe I should fry up another package, so there will be enough for sandwiches?”
Emma held up her hands. “I promise, no more.” A knock sounded at the front door, and Emma opened it wide, welcoming Jackson and a very sleepy Matthew. “Just in time.”
Matthew sniffed the air and perked up. “Bacon?”
She exchanged a glance with Pep. “Universal. If we ever get attacked by aliens, we need to offer them bacon in exchange for peace.”
“I think I missed something,” Jackson said, stepping into the house and closing the door behind him.
He took Emma’s hand, and she resisted the urge to pull it free.
Her brain reminded her that he’d be gone in three weeks; her heart whispered to take a chance. Her mind remembered the bliss on Aunt Pepita’s face as she’d twirled around the kitchen in her velvet gown. Her words of wisdom that love makes you do stupid things. In Emma’s line of work, that was not real love. Real love needed to be able to stand the test of time. She squeezed Jackson’s fingers and then freed her hand as they reached the kitchen table.
Biscuits, English muffins, fried eggs, cheese, and bacon were arrayed in the center so they could build their own sandwiches.
“Coffee, Jackson?” Pepita asked.
“Please.” He sat next to Matthew, who was stacking together a sizable sandwich with both a biscuit and a muffin. “What is that, a quad-decker?”
Matthew shrugged and squished it down with the palm of his hand. “Delicious.” He bit into the creation, cheese dripping down the side.
She made a more traditional sandwich with egg and bacon on a biscuit, then went into her office to check her email one last time, searching for something from her professor in response to her last email.
Not ready to call Professor Collard back, she’d taken her possible career choices—including dog trainer, to be fair—and laid it all out for him to see. The years of study, her grades, her love for dogs, her desire to create a training shelter. Her drive to help people with anxiety, like her mom. She’d even complained about her grant requests not getting approved, which might be the boot he was looking for to kick her out of the program. Where did she fit, as a psychologist, with what she wanted to do?
Maybe he’d have an answer that she was too close to the problem to see.
Slinging the bag of dog adoption records, personality tests, and the matching questionnaires over her shoulder, Emma left her office and joined the rest of the group outside. Jackson and Matthew had corralled the dogs, getting all of them into her SUV. “Matthew, want to ride with me?”
“Yeah!”
She handed him a stack of rubber-banded brochures. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll be right there.”
Jackson had loaded the individual crates in the back of his truck, along with the coolers, the shade for the gazebo, and the folding table and chairs. He was in the truck and rolled the window down as she neared. “Thanks, Jackson. Looks good.”
“I wanted to help you for all you’ve done for me and Matty,” he said, his sunglasses in hand. She hated for him to cover the gorgeous green of his eyes.
“I was just thinking that I owe you big for your help today.”
He winked before sliding the glasses on. “I have a way you could pay.”
She blushed and hurried back to her SUV. Now she’d be thinking of his kisses when she should be focused on her dogs and finding them homes.
Starting the engine, she turned to Matthew. “Ready?” she asked.
“Yep.” Matthew grinned, early morning sunshine sprinkling rose and gold through the dark pine trees, coloring his face. “We’re going to find these pups a job.”
Downtown had a wide main street with shops on one side, and then a sidewalk and the parking lot for the beach and park, next to the pier. The bay was at their backs and their tent faced the street, which would be perfect for the Fourth of July parade later.
Between the three of them, they were ready for business by eight.
“This looks great.” Emma eyed the six large crates along the back wall of the tent for the dogs, complete with individual fans to keep them cool. They were content enough for the moment with their chewy rawhides. She had a long folding table with four chairs set up. Brochures, Heart to Heart Dog Kennel T-shirts and baseball caps were at one end, with the cash box on the other. She handed Jackson and Matthew a hat. “Here. Walking advertising, and it will keep you from getting sunburned.”
“Cool!” Matthew said.
Jackson shoved the hat in his back pocket. He wore a beige collarless tee, plaid board shorts, and leather flip-flops. Handsome.
But not hers. He belonged to the military, first and foremost.
As she looked at him now, his soldier’s body at ease, she wanted him with a pang of longing that went beyond desire.
“What are you thinking?” Jackson asked, his mouth close to her ear.
She shivered at his breath tickling her skin. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” He smiled with a touch of male arrogance. “Your eyes have a glint in them when you kiss me. Is that what you’re thinking about? Kissing? Or what happens after that…” He ran a finger down her lower back, and she considered tossing him to the dog beds and showing him that glint again.
Thankfully, the next few hours were busy with folks stopping by, and she didn’t obsess—too much—over the feel of Jackson’s mouth against hers.
Matthew talked eloquently to potential customers about the dogs. “I want to hire him,” Emma said from her seat beneath the shaded canopy.
“I’d like for him to finish high school,” Jackson countered, his hand on her chair.
“Very funny.” Emma peeked at him from behind her bangs. “I was thinking two mornings a week.”
He ran a hand over his short hair and rubbed the back of his head. “We can see how it goes, but Livvie will have to decide.”
She grabbed her water bottle and took a quick drink to erase the taste of rejection. “I’m sorry,” Jackson said. “I don’t mean to be abrupt. You are the bright spot in my days, Emma, and I am very reluctant to let you go.”
She smiled, but when he didn’t smile back, her stomach tightened with apprehension.
“I will have to let you go.” Jackson’s tone left no room for discussion.
Emma was the first to look away.
Honest to a fault, that man.
Chapter Eighteen
Around noon, she and Matthew had the dogs run through some of their tricks. Playing dead was popular with the folks walking by, as was waving a paw. She made sure the pups had plenty of water and weren’t overheated. She secured Romeo in the kennel after giving him a frozen watermelon cube.
“Why is this a support dog?” Emma turned to look at a young man, mid-twenties, with fine brown hair in a bowl cut. He pointed at Sweetie.
The golden Chihuahua sat up at the attention, his tail wagging against the floor of his crate.
“He’s very lovable. And extremely well-traine
d. Naturally compassionate. He’d be a terrific companion for someone with anxiety.”
The young man seethed, seeming to want an argument. “I mean, it looks like a regular dog.” He pulled one of her brochures from his pocket with a list of prices. “And it would be a lot cheaper, too.”
Jackson, all six feet of Marine muscle, straightened up in his seat across the open tent, but Emma shook her head and kept her attention on the young man. His inability to meet her eyes let her know that he was agitated on a deeper level.
“You sound like you’re familiar with service animals.” She put her hands behind her back and waited. If there was a chance to educate, she would.
He nodded, looking at the ground or over her shoulder, his gaze darting around the booth before he gestured to Sweetie. “Everybody knows what a Seeing Eye dog is—that ain’t it.”
Emma bristled but held on to her temper. “As it says in the brochure, a service dog provides a specific task for a person that they can’t manage for themselves. You’re right, a guide dog is a familiar service animal.” She turned to disengage and end the conversation, realizing that the man just wanted to argue. Since she wouldn’t approve an application from him, it was pointless to draw the confrontation out.
“I don’t think this little rat dog is going to help anybody cross the street.” He chuckled at his own joke. Sweetie plopped down with a whine.
“An emotional support dog is another option for treating anxiety. Sweetie here senses when a person is emotionally vulnerable, like having a panic attack, and will nudge the person back to the present moment and away from what was causing the anxiousness.” Right now, this guy was making the dog tremble. Emma gave Sweetie a bacon-flavored piece of kibble.
“That sounds dumb.”
Emma breathed in, out. Smiled. “Well, it’s not to the person needing the assistance.”
He dropped her twisted brochure on the table and walked out into the street with a smug expression—as if he’d won something.
“You all right?” Jackson asked. He came up behind her to put his hand on her shoulder. “That guy was a jerk.”
Emma was upset with herself for letting the man get to her. “I know better. Anxiety isn’t something that’s going to cause alarms or get government assistance. But mental health disorders are rampant, and a trained animal can be much more helpful than drugs.” She hugged her waist as she watched the young man disappear into the crowd.
Jackson planted a kiss to the top of her head, offering his own brand of comfort.
Emma looked up at him. “People have so many prejudices against mental health. One in every fifty-nine kids is diagnosed with autism. Dogs offer unconditional love and can be trained to soothe an outburst before it happens. PTSD isn’t just for war veterans. Rape victims, brain injuries”—she thought of Livvie—“car accidents.” Agoraphobia.
Jackson rubbed her back and whispered against her temple, “You talked to him. Not everybody is going to get it. You care, Em.”
She held her palm to her heart. “Being able to train a dog to help a person matters. If only my grant would get approved, then I could do more, reach more people.” Save more dogs.
Jackson smoothed circles with his palm. “I’ll be home on leave. I have serious skills with a hammer and nails. You wouldn’t believe what we have to cobble together out in the desert sometimes.”
He was leaving. But he might be back? To check on his sister and nephew? Her?
“You’re shaking, Emma. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not fine.
He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
She had no defense against his caring looks. She melted when she should be strong.
He took her hands and squeezed them, then pulled her close. “I owe you three kisses as soon as we’re alone.”
Emma smiled against his chest. “You’re keeping track?”
“Each time I’ve wanted to kiss you but had to hold back. It’s all I’m thinking about.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. Not that he’d asked her, but she’d thought about ways being with Jackson might happen. She could join him on base, wherever he was—but what would she do? Her business she’d built was here. Could she give up all she’d poured her heart into? A dog facility and a people practice required being in one place.
Jackson moved all the time.
Would he be willing to visit her in Kingston when he had leave or vacation? What about Livvie and Matty? Or the fact that he’d broken her heart before?
Emma moved back from his embrace with regret.
Jackson didn’t pressure her but dropped his hand to his front pocket, hooking his thumb inside. “I’ve been thinking, Em, since you want to build so badly, why not do it on Pepita’s property?”
Emma held out her arms to the sides. “It’s not big enough for what I want to do, which is a training shelter, not just a kennel.”
“And no other land will work?”
“You have no idea how much debt becoming a doctor accumulates,” she said with a light tone she didn’t feel, her muscles tensing up. “So I need the grant, even to make the garage bigger.”
He winced. “Got it.”
Cindy showed up with another vet tech from the shelter, stopping their conversation.
“Jackson, Matty, this is Cindy. She’s my right hand at the shelter.”
The bubbly brunette waved to each of them. “You guys must be dying—the food smells are all blowing this way.” Her hair was down to her shoulders today, her scrubs red.
Grateful for the reprieve, Emma patted her stomach, turning her back to Jackson. “I could eat.” She gestured to the cash box. “Price sheet is taped to the top, although so far we’ve mostly handed out dog treats and brochures.”
Cindy sat down. “We’ve got this.”
“Matthew, Jackson?” Emma asked. “Ready for a break?”
Matthew popped out his earbuds with a grin. “Yeah.” They left, and it seemed completely natural for Jackson to slip his hand over hers. She leaned her shoulder in to him, and they walked between the booths.
They ordered three specials from a guy with a red, white, and blue chef’s hat cooking meat over a black barrel grill—ribs, cornbread, slaw, and roasted corn, taking their plastic plates to the seawall and finding a place to sit on the cement. The seagulls squawked, in scavenger heaven.
One dove toward Jackson’s plate, and he jumped backward, the barbecue spilling on his shirt. “Oh man,” he said, wiping at the red smear.
“That bird wanted some lunch.” Matty giggled nervously and covered his own plate with his forearm.
Emma pointed to the wooden bathroom facilities. Crowds of people wandered around, everybody enjoying downtown and the pre-parade activities. “You can rinse the sauce off before it stains.”
“Good idea,” Jackson said, stripping off the beige T-shirt. Her mouth dropped at the expanse of tanned abs before her. He caught her looking and grinned before hurrying off toward the restroom.
She watched until his broad shoulders disappeared, then she and Matty gathered their trash and tossed it on the way to the bathrooms.
Emma washed the barbecue from her hands and got a look at the train wreck that was her hair. She smoothed it back in the braid as best she could and noticed the sparkle in her eyes. Did they really shine when Jackson kissed her? Get a grip, Emma Mercer. He is leaving. Jackson Hardy is not the man for you. Being around him, she couldn’t stop herself from touching him or wanting him.
There was something about knowing their time together was short, that it couldn’t be more, that made her want to store up each kiss. Dancing with fire? She knew she’d be burned, but she couldn’t stay away.
Chapter Nineteen
After lunch, and food overload, Matty napped in the corner on a stack of dog blankets, curled up with Romeo, fast asleep. He looked six instead of eleven, Jackson thought as he ended the call with Bonnie and slipped his phone into his back pocket.
Her news, though hoped for, still shook him—Livvie was off the machines tomorrow. So much could go wrong. What if it was too soon? There was no guarantee, but Bonnie seemed certain that this doc knew his stuff.
Emma met Jackson’s eyes and smiled. She reached out and squeezed his hand, offering solace and strength. “Are you okay?”
He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Yeah. That was Bonnie. Livvie’s procedure is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.” His stomach knotted, but he breathed out through the tension.
“Do you want to go? Matty can hang out with me.”
She was kind, always. “I think I’ll take Matty down to the market in Seattle. We’ll be five minutes away from the hospital, close enough without being in the way.” In case things went crazy, as life tended to do. You planned, but plans went haywire. Hopefully Livvie would wake up without complications. If she crashed…well, he couldn’t let that happen.
“That’s smart.”
“We’ll see.” He shifted restlessly. “I’ll let you know what’s going on.”
Cindy, seated on a dog crate, turned to Emma. “Hey, that cute little pug was adopted yesterday.”
“I have dibs on the spaniel mix,” Emma said. “Don’t forget. She’s going to be really special.”
“I don’t know how you know,” Cindy said. “But you’re right on the money.” She got up to pet King, who dozed in the largest crate they had. “He’s socialized and follows the commands, and I thought he’d be too shy.”
“Gentle soul, that’s all.” Emma relaxed in the plastic chair, the breeze from the fan lifting her braid and ruffling Bandit’s fur at his spot by her feet. “Sawyer will test both King and Romeo next week for their AKC Good Citizen certificates.”
Jackson admired her patience and dedication. That, combined with her innate compassion, surely translated into an excellent psychologist. People and dogs. And why couldn’t Emma, with her empathy and grace, help animals and people? Why was she so hung up on one or the other?
Cindy said, “If you guys are staying for the fireworks, you should keep your parking spot here. It’ll be a madhouse later on tonight.”
