by Traci Hall
He shrugged as if the years of school and hardship meant nothing, and her temper brought heat to her cheeks.
“Well, that attitude is why I prefer to work with four-legged clients rather than the two-legged variety.” She dug her fingers into the fur at Romeo’s neck and narrowed her eyes at Jackson.
Matthew understood that just fine and laughed.
Jackson gave him a look that quieted him right down.
“I’m fine. Period. So, there will be no trading. What Matthew did was wrong, and there will be consequences at home. Unless you’d like to press charges?”
Matthew’s eyes rounded in surprise as he stared at his uncle. She wondered how well the two knew each other.
Emma forged ahead with her offer. “My plan was to trade the price of the dog out in labor. I need an extra pair of hands this summer. Cleaning the kennels, helping walk the dogs. I understand that Matthew is what, ten?” She guessed, having no clue. She’d been so focused on a career that she’d pushed aside stirrings for more.
“I’m eleven!” Matthew bounced up on his toes, silently pleading with his uncle.
“Sorry. Eleven. I won’t let him drive the truck or anything, but I could use a pooper scooper.” She expected a yuck, but Matthew grinned.
Jackson mulled that over, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “We aren’t getting a dog. I can’t promise the summer, because Livvie could be out and home within a month.” He searched her face, and she wondered what he saw—the baby crow’s-feet? The ten extra pounds? “Would you consider letting him work a couple days in lieu of calling the cops?”
Emma wasn’t the kind to rat—but maybe time around the kennel would show Jackson that she wasn’t a two-bit anything and could offer a real solution. He had to start with acknowledging the trauma.
“I’m at the kennel on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” she said. Tuesdays and Thursdays she was at the shelter downtown. Her weekends were split between training classes or the dogs, with any spare minute spent with Aunt Pepita or her thesis. “Let’s try it out. See how we fit—but it would be work.” She had zero time to be a babysitter.
Jackson frowned at Matthew. “It’s a generous offer.”
“I want to, Uncle Jackson.”
“We have a deal, then.” Jackson reached out to shake Emma’s hand, his expression hooded. There was a time when she’d known just what he was thinking by the way he looked at her. “Thanks for working this out with us.”
“You’re welcome.” His hand was big, encompassing hers, and she saw a trace of motor oil under the thumbnail. Her palm warmed, and she quickly yanked her hand back. Her mind tried to fit this Jackson Hardy over the one she’d loved in high school. The two men didn’t merge. Ten years had passed since then, and a lot had changed, for both of them. “Please, let me know if I can help with Livvie.”
“She’s at Swedish Hospital in Seattle. Head trauma. One of her good friends is a nurse there, so she has people sitting with her and checking in all the time. The doc suggested a normal routine for Matty, but now that school is out, we visit every other day—the nurses won’t always let him in, but we’ve gotten past them once or twice.”
Emma looked to Matthew, who kept petting Romeo. Poor kid.
“Yeah. Every time I hope she’ll be awake, but she isn’t. Not yet.” Matty turned to Jackson. “I can really work with Emma?”
“Yes.” Jackson stepped back. “But I meant what I said, no dog.”
Matthew’s shoulders slumped.
Emma stopped herself from telling Matthew that things would work out. Truth was, they didn’t always work out how you imagined. There was no guarantee that, even with therapy, Jackson would stop having nightmares, or that Livvie would heal without needing further treatment, or that a dog would be the answer. Truth was, sometimes you didn’t wind up with your first true love.
“Can we start day after tomorrow, on Wednesday?” Emma asked. “Matthew, with your help, I’ve got some agility games I’d like to try.”
“Agility?”
“Running, jumping, sliding.”
“The dogs slide?” Matthew reached down to pet Cinnamon, who’d left the shade to see what was going on. “Even Romeo?”
The golden retriever barked and wagged his tail.
“He’s not very graceful, but he likes to have fun.” She lifted her left foot. “Kind of like me.” She looked at Jackson, who used to tease her about it even as he’d guided her across the floor. “I’ve got two left feet, but I love to dance.”
…
Jackson remembered quite clearly the feel of Emma in his arms.
He watched, amazed at how easily she chatted with Matthew in a real conversation about something other than Spiderman. In the last two weeks that he and his nephew had been living together, that was all Matty cared about—aside from his mom, of course, which was a constant underlying worry. Spidey books, the movies—the kid’s room was covered in posters.
What had Matty been thinking? Breaking into Emma’s kennel. Taking money from his piggy bank. Leaving the house without permission. Jackson wasn’t cut out for parenthood, so Livvie had to get better before he messed something up.
“Did you hear that, Uncle Jackson?” Matty asked, his voice rising with excitement. “We’re going to teach the dogs to slide!”
Jackson squinted against the warm sun, regretting his derisive comments—he wasn’t surprised at all that Emma had her master’s degree, though he didn’t understand why she had a kennel. He owed her an apology, maybe more than one. It was a good idea to keep Matty’s mind off of his mother. “How is sliding useful?”
“Funny story, but true,” Emma said, her hazel eyes bright. A dog, part shepherd, brought a tennis ball over, and she took it while talking, not minding the spit. She lobbed it, and the brown and tan tail wagged before the canine darted after the yellow ball. “Hurry, Bandit!”
Emma wiped her hand on the butt of her shorts, ignoring the barking all around them. Bandit, huh? Maybe some retriever, if the tail was a clue. He’d thought service dogs had to have designer pedigrees, but hers looked like average mutts.
“An ESTD—emotional support therapy dog—was on a flight with a woman who suffered from terrible anxiety. Well, there were some problems with the plane, whatever.” She paused as Bandit brought the yellow ball back. She took it and threw it across the yard. This time all eight of the dogs chased after it. “The plane stops, but they can’t get to the regular terminal. They have to use the chutes to exit the aircraft.” She used her hand to make a downward motion. Matthew’s eyes were huge in his face.
“A slide from the plane?” Matthew asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “So, the woman is prepared to go down, I mean, she’s anxious, but she’s got her dog. Thing is”—Emma paused to hold first his gaze, then Matthew’s, then his again—“the dog is terrified and can’t get down. Well, the woman starts getting hysterical, and the dog is howling, and it’s just a mess. Instead of calming the situation, the dog added to the problem. So I try to get a little slide training in.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Because you never know.”
Emma’s smile animated her face, and she went from pretty to beautiful. Not that Jackson was noticing.
“What happened?” Matthew inched closer to Jackson and looked up to him for reassurance. “How did they get down?”
“They had to blindfold the dog, and the only one who could hold her was her owner.” Emma sighed happily. “The dog can be a best friend as well as a partner. Working together as a team.”
Jackson didn’t need a best friend. He needed his nephew taken care of until his sister was on the mend. Then it was back to the grind for another ten years until retirement. He noticed the oil beneath his thumbnail and wiped it off with the edge of his black T-shirt. As fourth generation military, the Marine Corp had his loyalty.
Bandit dropped the ball at Jackson’s feet. He nudged it toward Matthew. Romeo scooped it up and ran off, the dogs all running after him. Emma
laughed. “You snooze, you lose. Never a dull moment around here.”
Jackson turned at the sound of a vehicle crunching slowly up the pine-shaded driveway. A green and blue minibus parked next to his bike. A whooshing sound indicated the door was opening as the bus hydraulically lowered.
Emma waved at the driver as an older woman, so wrinkled she could be eighty or a hundred, got off the last stair, leaning on a bright purple cane. Dyed-orange hair that matched the slash of lipstick across her mouth was in direct competition with her cherry red sundress and purple sneakers.
Jackson grinned, remembering the spunky woman with great fondness. She probably didn’t have the same regard for him, and his grin faded.
“Aunt Pepita!” Emma walked toward the fence separating the yard from the driveway and stopped at the gate. The dogs rushed around in circles, yipping and barking hellos and the wolfhound emerged from the bushes, a yellow petal stuck to his head.
This was not the time to try to talk with Emma. Dang it, it was his birthday, Jackson thought, and he didn’t want to spend it punishing Matthew. “Come on, Matty. We need to get going.” The knowledge that he would get to see Emma again in just a few days lightened something heavy inside.
Emma pulled her attention away from her aunt, who listed slightly as she made her way toward the bright blue front door of the rancher. The old house was huge, especially compared to the three-bedroom Craftsman Livvie owned.
The bus left with a two-honk salute, and Emma whipped a card from the front pocket of her light-blue polo. Her fingers were long and slender, he noticed, her nails short and unpainted. No wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. “Here’s my number—house phone on the top, cell below. Nine is fine?”
“We’ll see you then.” He cleared his throat, aware of her subtle floral perfume. “Matthew?”
His nephew straightened and looked directly at Emma in a way that made Jackson proud. “I’m sorry about…you know, earlier.” He pointed to the kennel with one hand, the other petting a golden retriever mix Jackson thought she’d called Romeo.
“You made it right,” Emma said with a decisive nod. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Matthew.” She turned to him with a smile so genuine Jackson couldn’t help but smile back and wish that things were different. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
She opened the gate and eyed his motorcycle, careful to keep the dogs on the other side of the fence as the three of them left the yard. “Do you want me to drive Matthew home?”
Jackson reached down to the side compartment and pulled out a small, open-faced helmet that he handed to Matty. “No, we’ve got this. Do you like to ride, Emma?”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle.” She tucked her hands in her pockets.
He took that as a “no, thanks.” He’d learned overseas. “There’s nothing like it.”
Matthew climbed onto the back seat. “Especially when we go fast.”
Jackson pierced Matty with a “be quiet” look and swung his leg over the leather seat.
“Well, see you later then.” Emma hesitated as if she wanted to say more but shrugged instead and followed the path her aunt had taken to the house.
Jackson watched her go, noticing the curve of her hips, long legs that he knew for a fact looked great in a bikini. “See you.”
What a day. It had started with an email from his commander, wishing him a happy birthday and telling him to hurry back; his unit needed their best sniper. Livvie’s vitals hadn’t changed, which was a good thing, and now his nephew had tried to steal him a birthday gift for nightmares he didn’t have—from the one woman he still dreamed about. Oorah.
“I’m hungry, Uncle Jackson.” Matthew slid on his helmet.
“Then let’s get something to eat.” He put on his helmet, too. “Tell you what. It’s my birthday. No more talk about dogs, okay? Let’s go to the Winged Pig for burgers.”
“Yes!” Matthew thrust his fist into the air with a cry of victory.
“But, dude, you’ve got to change into something that fits. What made you think you could break into Emma’s kennel wearing camo that shows more skin than it covers?”
Chapter Four
Jackson stopped at the house so that they could each get cleaned up before his birthday dinner.
The three-bedroom was painted brick red with a brown roof and beige trim. Nothing fancy, but his sister had done a great job of making it a home. Military brats, they’d learned to be neat because you might be moving at the drop of a hat.
“Wash behind your ears,” he told Matty, closing the front door behind them.
Matty scuffed his way down the hall as if dragging a twenty-pound weight tied to his ankle. “La-ame!”
Jackson recognized himself in the stubborn set of Matthew’s shoulders. “And hurry so we get the good table.” Right by the window with the best view of the pier.
“Race you.” Matty ran the rest of the way to his room, his pout forgotten.
Goofy kid. Jackson stepped into the spare bedroom and went straight to the closet for a clean polo. He edged aside his service uniform, choosing the dark blue shirt over the gray. Time to do laundry again, he noted. Only two shirts left.
He unlaced his motorcycle boots, then kicked them off. Dressed in plaid shorts, leather sandals. Good to go.
Jackson stopped to study a collage of pictures in a three-photo horizontal frame on the dresser. He and Livvie as kids, Matty’s baby picture in the center, and he, Livvie, and Matty from Christmas two years ago when he’d flown them to Fort Lauderdale where they’d spent a week being tourists and hitting the beaches.
They Skyped occasionally, and he sent postcards, occasionally. Livvie was his next of kin and he was hers in any emergency. Like this one.
His eyes stung as he recalled her laughing face just last month when they’d Skyped for her birthday. He’d asked her what she wanted, and she said he could send her a hot, single guy to come clean out her garage. Next call was from the cops, and then Bonnie, her best friend who had Matty, but she couldn’t keep the boy. Jackson had flown out of Afghanistan within the week on emergency leave.
He centered the picture on the dresser.
“Uncle Jackson, are you ready yet?”
Jackson poked his head out into the hall from his bedroom. The home was cozy with a beige patterned carpet. Driftwood frames lined local beach pictures on the walls. Livvie’s career as a dental hygienist gave her weekends off to be with Matty and a steady income that provided a roof over their heads.
Jackson had gifted Livvie the down payment without batting an eye, joking that he just wanted a couch to crash on when he came by. He didn’t realize he’d need his own room and prayed that his sis recovered completely, and quickly. “Yeah, Matty. What’s taking you so long?” He sauntered out of the room like he had nothing better to do.
Matthew, dressed in shorts, sneakers, and a red T-shirt that actually fit, ran toward him with his head down, a football tackle. He moved to the side, caught Matty around the waist, picked him up, and dropped him on the fluffy blue couch in the middle of the living room.
“He-ey!” Matthew, laughing, bounced off the cushions. “I just let you win ’cause it’s your birthday.”
“Nice.” Jackson walked to the phone, pressed play on the answering machine, and waited for it to start as he rummaged for the keys to the truck under the pile of junk mail on the table.
It was Mitch. “Hi, Jackson. Hi, Matty. Just wanted to wish Jackson a happy birthday.” Mitch started singing in a high-pitched voice, the guys at the auto shop doo-wopping in the background.
Jackson hit stop and headed toward the door, keys in hand. “Come on, Matty. Good thing Mitch knows how to do an oil change, because singin’ won’t be how he makes his millions.”
“Funny…not.”
He locked up and followed Matthew down the front steps.
“Why are we taking the truck?” Matthew asked as they passed the parked motorcycle for the five-year
-old royal blue Dodge Ram.
“It might be late when we come home. I don’t trust anybody else on the road after dark, you know that.” He loved the motorcycle but wasn’t blind to the added risk at night.
Matty climbed up to the cab and buckled in. “Are you still mad at me?”
“I am not mad at you.”
Jackson started the truck with a rumble that sounded like it might need a new muffler sooner than later. He’d fix it up for Mitch as payback for the loan of the vehicles.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He left the dirt driveway and signaled onto the road, leaving the hills and winding down to the beach. Seattle was just a thirty-minute ferry ride away and had all the glitz of a big city but the baggage, too. Swedish was the best neurological hospital in the country, which made the traffic and congestion a fair trade, to his way of thinking. Livvie deserved the best.
Kingston retained a small-town charm despite the proximity to the Emerald City. Here, he and Matty liked fishing off the pier, and at low tide, they searched for starfish in an array of brilliant colors.
He couldn’t believe Matthew had tried to liberate a dog from Emma’s kennel! So what if Jackson didn’t sleep much? He grabbed a few hours here and there, a habit left over from active duty. When you did sleep, you had one eye open, or you risked never waking up.
The Marine doc had warned him about PTSD, but Jackson never dwelled on what had happened on the front. No time. No desire. No need.
Matty rubbed his tummy. “I want a cheeseburger and zucchini fries.”
“Who eats zucchini?” It was a joke they played every time they went to the Winged Pig. Jackson ended up eating half of the order, dipped in ranch dressing. Freaking delicious.
“Do you want birthday cake, Uncle Jackson?”
“No cake.”
“Do you want me to get the waitress to sing to you?”
“Do you want me to double your pages to read tomorrow?”
