by Traci Hall
Jackson took the phone into his bedroom but then decided to see if there was a breeze on the small wooden deck at the back of the house. He opened the slider and figured it was cool enough—his bedroom was not a place where he liked to hang out these days. He sat at the round bistro table with three matching chairs and dialed Emma’s number.
She answered on the first ring. “Jackson? How did it go today?”
“Hello to you too,” he said with a chuckle. It warmed him to know she cared. “I’m supposed to tell you that Matty didn’t call Dr. Smith stupid?”
Emma burst out laughing, the sound bringing a smile to his face after what had been a rough few days. “Good.”
He’d have to press for that story later. Jackson sat back, kicking his boots off and arching his toes. It was that eerie time of dusk, right before dark after the sun had gone down, when it was easy to believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night. As a soldier, his job was to protect against the boogeyman.
The small backyard was fenced with six-foot wooden planks that wrapped around the back and sides, with the garage at the rear of the property. Plenty of room for Matty to run around. Some of the boards were loose; two were missing. It had been on the list of things for him to eventually get to, but now that they had Bandit, it had jumped to the top.
“Hey, can dogs have popcorn?” he asked.
Emma was quick to answer. “A few pieces won’t hurt.”
“With extra butter, you know, movie style? At the rate Matty and Bandit are sharing the bowl, it’s about a half bag each.”
“I’m glad I don’t have pooper-scooper duty.”
“You’re my witness. Matty said he’d do it.” He stretched his legs out and lifted his face to the soft wind through the trees. Night jasmine and pine, with a hint of skunk.
“True.” She laughed softly, encouraging confidences. “How’s Bandit doing?”
“He’s a good dog. As you know.” Look at him, telling her that her own dog was good. Nice, Jackson. Smooth. “Thanks for dropping off the crate and dog food. Matty’s got two of those clicker things. Says he’s going to ‘work’ with me and Bandit tomorrow.” Matty had told him this with no small amount of pride.
“He’s got the instructions on how to practice with Bandit. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two of training before the dog understands what you need. But after seeing him the other night? I’d say Bandit’s already got a good idea of what to do. I’m glad that I was there and able to click when he licked your face to wake you up. It’s a start, and Bandit is very smart.”
“It’s got to be something besides a lick.” He scrubbed his cheek with his palm.
The tone of her voice dropped to husky as she said, “Since when do you not like kisses, Jackson?”
Was she being flirty? He eyed the phone—maybe he’d caught her after a glass of wine. “I prefer any tongue exchanges to be with a female human—as you know.”
She laughed so hard that the dogs started barking on her end of the phone.
“So what are you doing home? You’re single, pretty, intelligent. Shouldn’t you be out on the town on a Friday night?”
“Ha! I am in the living room with my research books, a mug of herbal tea, and five dogs all around me, waiting for me to accidentally drop a piece of cracker.”
“Way to live it up, Em.”
“Professor Collard’s deadline has made me realize how much I’ve put into this. I’d forgotten that I have ten articles published on various dog-person relationships, and how dogs are a viable alternative to medicine. Not that the pharmaceutical companies want to hear that, and don’t get me started on insurance. Grr.”
“I can relate. Nothing can happen with Livvie without it being cleared through the insurance company, which seems backward. Shouldn’t the doc get the last word? I’ve already got major bills coming in. The accident happened a month ago, and Livvie’s got great health insurance.”
“That’s one good thing, then, huh?” She shifted the phone, and static crackled. He pictured her on the couch surrounded by hopeful pups.
“When do you need your thesis done?” He saw the stress she was under, and it amazed him how well she handled it all—he’d be a mess. He only had to juggle Matty and was still behind on laundry.
“I’ve got all of July, all of August, then he wants the rough draft. Can you believe I turned in an assignment with a paw print on the back?”
Jackson started to laugh. “Was that the catalyst?”
“Yeah. I can’t blame him.”
He hated to ask, but he hoped for something positive. “What’s new on the grant front?”
“I’m up to nine rejections. But what’s the point? My property sold. Dream gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“You can get other land, can’t you?” He saw parcels for sale all over Kingston.
“This was perfect, though. No buildings on it, and right next door to Aunt Pep’s place so we could combine them. I’m sounding like a whiner, Jackson. This could be the real reason why I don’t have a date.” She laughed.
He loved how she never took herself too seriously. “Where’s your aunt?”
She sighed. “Out with Harold at a dance at the senior center, while my last date was…” She stopped, and he imagined her brow furrowed as she thought back. “Right before last Christmas.”
“Six months is too long, Em.”
“I keep telling myself that I will make time after I get my doctorate.”
He could see her in the middle of a laughing household, then imagined himself as the man next to her. He bit his tongue before he offered to take her out to dinner.
She cleared her throat as if embarrassed. “I’ve shared my lame story. What was your last date like?”
Jackson reached back into the memory banks but nothing story-worthy jumped out—most free time was spent cleaning gear or playing video games in the tent. “Dating isn’t my thing.”
“I thought you’d be a Romeo,” she said in low drawl. “A handsome soldier like you.”
She thought he was handsome? He puffed his chest a little. “I’ve always put my career first. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dated, but I’ve kept things casual.” Nobody compared to Emma Mercer.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Her gentle voice was as soft as the feel of her hair between his fingers.
“No time. It’s all about the job.”
“You can’t work twenty-four hours a day, Jackson. Even I take beach breaks with Aunt Pep. What else did you do?”
“Overseas is where I learned to love motorcycles. Some of the other guys and I take ’em apart and put them back together again. For speed.”
She groaned. “And here I was worried about you getting shot. Now I can add reckless driving over sand dunes to my imagination.”
“We’re careful.” Sort of. “You say the word and I’ll come take you for a ride.” He imagined the feel of her arms around him and almost stood to grab his keys.
“I don’t know…” she said.
“I’ve been all over the world, seeing the sights. It’s an amazing place.”
His sessions with Dr. Smith had made him examine his reasons for joining the military, and for staying—he was, subconsciously, nothing without the military. His dad’s death had cemented that path for him in his mind, and the love he’d had for Emma, who loved with her whole heart, had scared him. She had made him want something different, which would have disappointed three generations of Hardy men.
At the time, he’d convince his teenaged self that he’d broken up with her so she would fly. “I really thought you’d leave Kingston.”
“You’ve said that before. Why would I leave Aunt Pep?” She scoffed into the phone. “I didn’t have a happy home until she took me in at fourteen. No mom, no dad. You know this.”
He did. Their grief over having no parents had been a tragedy in common. Which made him think of his strong, loving sister, who would not abandon her son, not even in death.
Not if she could help it.
“I talked to Livvie’s neurosurgeon. He wants to meet face-to-face on Wednesday.” How long could they keep her going with no change, or hope?
“Will you take Matty with you?” She paused, and he heard her take a sip of tea.
“I’ll ask him, but I see his frustration—the doctor doesn’t think he should be there at all, and he’s gruff with Matty, when Matty just wants his mom, you know?”
“I do understand.”
He’d been tempted to text or call Emma on many different pretenses over the weekend but had stayed strong. Therapy had shown him why he’d broken up with her so abruptly in high school—he had known, on a heart level, that Emma could be The One. And that didn’t fit his life plan back then. Knowing the woman she was now brought fantasies of what they might be like if he hadn’t left. Would it be a life of lasagna, chicken salad, and romantic comedies? Stargazing at the beach? Saving dogs? He straightened in the stiff-backed metal chair. Kids?
She was his Achilles heel. He could be a super soldier, proving his mettle against the enemy, but one welcoming smile from Emma and he was tempted to toss it all.
He could recall each time she’d put a hand on his knee or a comforting touch on his wrist. Her pink mouth releasing warm breath against his cheek, the light floral scent of her perfume.
Emma was a hundred times smarter than him, genuinely cared about other people, and smelled like flowers. He was all boots, jeans, God, and country. He did not do feelings especially well—hence, the nightmares, according to Dr. Smith.
“So,” she said, as if on cue. “What did the good doctor say?”
“He wants me to continue writing down what I remember from my dreams. Even if it doesn’t make any sense, eventually, ideally, it should all come out.” The doctor had asked him to be patient and not give up the work.
“Will you see him again next week?”
“Yeah.” His goal was to get better. Emma’s remark that his dad would be proud of him, no matter what he did for a career, made him question his actions. Was he proud of himself? There were things he’d done in the name of war that happened in the line of duty. There was guilt because he hadn’t saved Remi, or McMahn, but in that situation, nobody could have. It was time to let go.
He was very aware of wanting to be his best self in caring for Livvie and Matty and not just to make his parents proud, but because he loved them.
“And you told him about Bandit?”
Jackson squirmed guiltily on the bistro chair. “No.”
“Why?” Her tone rose with surprise.
“I didn’t want to start a discussion on ‘reasonable expectations,’ like last time. I get it already.” Having a service dog would not provide a miracle.
He heard her suck in her breath. “Reasonable expectations. In regards to what you get from a service animal?” Her exhale rattled the earpiece. “I will have you know that studies prove—”
Jackson’s laugh rumbled from his belly as he pictured her sitting on the floor surrounded by books and dogs and fuming because of Dr. Smith’s referral to her working animals as teddy bears.
“You are so easy, Em. I’m giving Bandit a try. I’m also going back on the ‘no caffeine after noon’ regime. And yeah, listing out what I remember from the dreams.” It wasn’t easy, but he was determined.
Her breathing returned to normal. “You have it together.”
“No, but I’m trying.” It was so comfortable talking with Emma. He wished they were sitting next to each other—here, or at her place, so he could see her nose crinkle or her smile widen before she tilted her head back to laugh.
“Oh, I put Sawyer’s phone number on the paper I left with the training instructions, in case you had a question and wanted to talk to a guy about it.”
“Uh, no.” He crossed his stretched-out legs at the ankle. “The reason I was uncomfortable,” he gritted his teeth but admitted, “was because I didn’t want to seem weak to you.”
“That could never happen, Jackson. Your emotions do not make you a weak person. Every time you share it’s a sign of strength.” Her voice thickened. “Thank you.”
A crash sounded, and Jackson jumped up, peering through the sliding glass door. “Dang it. Looks like I’ll be buying two new lamps tomorrow.”
“Oh no! Is everybody okay?”
“Boys will be boys,” he said, not too upset as he watched Matty with the broom and Bandit following with the dustpan. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“All right. Call me if you need anything before then.”
…
Emma hung up the phone, regretting her words. Call me if you need anything? How about just call? To talk, to share stories, and get to know each other again?
King plopped his nose into her lap and stared at her with compassionate canine eyes. “I know,” she said. “Unrequited affection sucks.”
She and Jackson had chemistry—the sizzle of heat from just a slight touch was enough to make her hot all over. But there were a hundred reasons why she couldn’t act on that attraction; she had to protect her heart.
Looking back over the years, she’d sometimes wondered if their relationship had been built on mutual tragedy, and here they were again, with his PTSD and Livvie in the hospital, she stressed to her maximum capacity. The difference being that now she understood Jackson’s bravery, and seeing how he put his family first? She sighed.
Cramped after sitting so long, Emma brought her empty mug to the kitchen to concoct a half-herbal, half-black tea to keep her focused instead of sleepy.
It didn’t help that her research subject was on sleep apnea—she was fascinated that the dogs could be trained to wake the sleeper, and she’d emailed the author of the paper to ask a few questions for her training program at Heart to Heart Dog Kennel. It tied in to her thesis subject on dog-human interactions, which was another step closer to getting her project finished.
If she didn’t fall asleep first. Was Jackson watching a movie with Matty? Kicked back on the blue couch…
Blue, like Professor Collard’s eyes. His disappointment prodded her to keep going. She couldn’t let him down.
Grabbing a bag of unsalted almonds, she took her tea back to the couch and curled up with Sweetie at the crook of her knees, Pedro and Cinnamon on the opposite end of the couch, Romeo by the door, and King on the floor at her end of the couch. She was proud of Jackson for not sounding angry about Matty breaking that lamp…
Focus on something other than Jackson.
At eleven o’clock, Aunt Pepita waltzed, literally, through the front door. In an aqua velvet gown, floor-length and off the shoulders, her aunt was a reminder of 1950. Lawrence Welk. Big band era.
Emma set the pamphlet she was reading down on the coffee table. “Have fun?”
“As always.” Her aunt swirled across the floor, somehow missing Romeo’s wagging tail. “You should come next week.”
“I’m not even thirty.”
“I’ll loan you a dress.”
Emma wouldn’t be caught dead in aqua velvet. “Thanks. I’ll pass.”
Emma heard Aunt Pepita open the refrigerator and entered the kitchen to see her aunt bent over, poking around the bottom shelf.
“Harold asked me to marry him.”
Emma froze and stared at Aunt Pepita, who’d discovered a bottle of sweet Moscato behind the cranberry juice and lifted it up.
Appropriate responses flitted around her mind but soon disappeared. “What?”
Aunt Pep grinned and nudged the fridge closed with her hip. “Join me in a toast?”
“Uh, congratulations!” Emma got down two glasses and set them on the kitchen table, took the wine before her aunt dropped it, and gave her a huge, heartfelt hug. Married? Free-spirit, love ’em and leave ’em Aunt Pepita, married?
Pep pushed free with a coy smack to Emma’s arm. “And what makes you think I said yes?”
Speechless, Emma decided she’d better just pour the wine.
“He claims
to love me, but I think he’s jealous.”
Emma thought back to the men at the senior center. Women outnumbered them four to one, so available guys were nabbed immediately. “Of who?”
“Ernie.”
“The bus driver?” Ernie was in his late sixties, to her aunt’s eighty-something.
“He can dance. I had no idea.” Her aunt sipped her wine, her eyes half closed with some memory that made her glow.
“Ernie,” Emma clarified. Fat and bald with a mustache?
“There was music and the lights were low…” Pep’s voice trailed off. “Ernie and I were dancing, and then Harold cut in.”
Emma could imagine Harold’s surprise at having to fight for Pepita’s affections.
“When I admonished him, he clutched his chest. I thought he was having a heart attack, but as it turned out”—she displayed her left hand, which remained devoid of jewelry—“he was reaching into his jacket for a ring.”
“Where is it?” Emma grabbed her aunt’s fingers.
“Aren’t you listening? I didn’t say yes.”
Emma downed her wine and poured a second glass. Heck, she might need another bottle.
“Ernie drove me home.”
“In the senior center bus? Like always?”
“Pfft. He saved my stop for last.” Pepita closed her eyes and twirled, bumping into the kitchen table and making the dogs woof in warning. “He kissed me.”
Emma’s eyes welled, and she blinked back tears. Her aunt looked so happy that it made Emma wish for a love of her own. A man without green eyes or broad shoulders. No eagle tattoo. A man who wouldn’t choose his career over her.
“Poor Harold,” she said. “You really do care for Ernie.”
“I do.” Pep opened her eyes and held her wineglass close to her chest. “I really, really do.”
“I’m happy for you, Aunt Pepita.”
Her aunt offered a dreamy smile, held out her glass for a refill, and then danced her way down the hall. “Sweet dreams, Emma.”
She lifted her glass toward her aunt’s back, crushed velvet hips swaying from one side to the next. “Sweet dreams.”
Emma finished her wine on the back porch, looking up at the moon and stars. Stars always made her think of Jackson, their very hot kiss in the kitchen, the way they’d fit as if no time had passed at all. Her hand on his muscular arms, her hip to his, his fingers caressing her lower back. The musky scent of his cologne.
