“Ethan?”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep on doing it.”
Breathe, he told himself. And again. Don’t let Claire see how close you are to crumbling, too.
“Good. I’m glad. Just as soon as he’s healed from his wounds, I’ve got a home lined up for him.”
He had to work to keep his voice even. “He’ll do great.” He just wished...
“What?”
Clearly she’d read the dissatisfaction in his eyes. “I wish she would have taken him.”
“Who?”
“Naomi,” he clarified. “Trevor’s wife. I wish she would have taken him.”
“Me, too.”
He should have applied to take Janus home, but that was the problem. He didn’t have a “home,” a necessary component to being approved for adoption. He might have been able to pull some strings, but to be honest, then what? He had no idea where he was going, or what city he’d end up in, or what he’d end up doing. Before he’d left for Via Del Caballo he’d applied to a number of jobs, most of them working at veterinary clinics, but a few of them doing what he wanted to do—training dogs. Right now, Janus didn’t fit into his life. Better to let him go, to let him start over with a family to love him.
“Ready to look at Thor?”
“Sure.”
The dog hadn’t changed position since his arrival. He still lay huddled against the wall of his shelter. He couldn’t even see the dog’s eyes, they were buried so deeply into his paws.
“I put him on the end so I could interact with him on my way to and from the kennels.” She led him back the way they’d come. “It hasn’t helped. He’s snapped at me twice. I usually don’t neuter them right away, but I’m wondering if it wouldn’t help with this dog. To be honest, I’m at my wit’s end.”
He approached the dog warily, his experience with military working dogs—or MWDs—having taught him that it was often better to approach behind the safety of a fence first, so he once again walked around the corner of the row of kennels. All the dogs had passed a behavioral test, but still, she had a point. Neutering him might help, too. In fact, most MWDs were adopted out already spayed or neutered, but Claire took all dogs in, one of the rare civilian operations in the United States. Clearly, someone had pulled some major strings when setting up her operation, not that he cared. As long as the dogs were well taken care of. Thor looked good, he thought, approaching the kennel. Beneath the shade of a giant oak tree, the dog blended in with a shadow but his coat and his weight told Ethan all he needed to know. His lack of movement told him something, too; he was a dog that clearly didn’t want to be disturbed.
“He’s obviously eating well.”
“He is, but he waits to eat until I’m not around. I’ve watched him through my kitchen window. He picks at his food, too, I’ve noticed, eating a little here and a little there.”
“Any vomiting or diarrhea?”
“No. I had him checked out by a friend. She did a complete workup. Nothing wrong.”
He squatted down next to the dog’s run. “Hey, Thor, buddy. How’s it going?”
No response. Not an ear twitch. Not a wrinkled nose. Not even a tiny wag of the tail.
“What happened to his partner?”
“KIA.”
It was just a phrase—KIA—but it kicked him in the gut. He had to grab at the fence as the familiar anxiety returned, not that Thor noticed. Ethan could still smell the desert if he closed his eyes. Hear the sound of the incoming mortar just before it hit their encampment. Hear the screams...
Stop.
He couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t change what happened to Trevor any more than he could change the direction of the wind. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of oak and pollen-filled air and...Claire.
Mostly, he focused on the smell of Claire; vanilla with maybe just a hint of butterscotch thrown in. Woman were a rarity over there, especially pretty women, women who smelled good. He would focus on her and her kind eyes.
Three, two...
He got ahold of himself, just as he’d taught himself to do, with grim determination. His hands still shook, but he was able to focus on the dog again. “Do you have a whistle?”
“Do I...” He turned in time to spy her look of consternation. “In the house, I think.”
“Would you get it for me?”
She turned without another word, and Ethan watched her walk away. The scent of her lingered. Like dessert after Sunday dinner. Like home.
You are home, idiot. Back in the States.
No. Like when he’d grown up with his grandfather, back before he’d died. The best times of his life. And then everything had changed.
And if she knew how messed up you are, she’d stay in her house. To hell with the whistle.
That was the thing; nobody knew how messed up he was. Not even his superior officer. Not even the military shrink. Not even the discharge officer who’d asked him repeatedly if everything was okay.
No. Things weren’t okay. And it scared the heck out of him.
* * *
SHE FOUND A whistle with Adam’s help, her son insistent that he go outside and watch whatever it was Major McCall was about to do.
“Do you think he’ll have him attack someone or something? You know, blow the whistle and tear something to shreds.”
Her son might be bald. He might still be recovering from the hell the doctors had put him through to kill the cancer in his blood, but he was still a boy.
“No, Adam. I don’t think he’s going to do that.”
They emerged into the bright, spring sunshine. It’d been a year ago that Adam had been diagnosed. A year ago since her world had fallen apart. Hard to believe time had passed so quickly, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Though the cancer hadn’t metastasized, it was still a waiting game. So far the immune depression therapy had worked, but they still had a while to go before they’d be given the all clear—if they were given the all clear. Things could change at any moment, which was why she refused to get her hopes up.
“What’s wrong with him?” Adam asked Ethan, his baseball cap nearly falling from his head he bounced up on his toes so hard. “Are you going to put him through his paces?”
She had to give him credit; Ethan didn’t seem bothered by her son’s exuberance. Quite the contrary. He smiled down at him, even tapped the brim of his hat, just as she did, and it was then she noticed it.
His hands shook.
Her eyes shot to his. Was he nervous? Did Thor make him afraid?
“I’m just going to perform a little test.” He held out his hand for the whistle.
Yes. No mistaking it. He shook.
“Here.” The polished surface caught the light as it swung back and forth.
He snatched the whistle from her so fast she wondered if he knew she’d spotted his quaking limbs. Something about the way he turned away from her, too, as if he were afraid she’d look too closely. Little did he know. The man had held her attention since the moment she’d met him.
He blew the whistle.
Loudly. Shrilly. Unexpectedly. Claire’s heart nearly jumped from her chest.
“Ouch.” Adam covered his ears. “That was loud.”
And Thor didn’t move.
Claire stood, frozen, as a dozen little puzzle pieces fell into place. The way the dog ignored her. How he never rushed to greet her when she went outside. How he never came to her when she called his name.
He was deaf. She felt like a fool for never checking something so basic, so in-your-face obvious. Then again, Thor had been given a full physical, and a health clearance following that. He still bore the physical scars of his injuries. She’d just assumed his lack of attention was related to the physiological baggage he carried.
She t
ook a step closer to Ethan and said, “It wasn’t just his unresponsiveness that concerned me. There are other...issues, too.”
He tucked the whistle in his pocket. “Like what?”
“He seems...detached somehow. He never wags his tail. Barely shows interest in his food. Ignores me for the most part.”
He headed toward the entrance to the kennel.
She rushed to catch up to him. “Let me go in with you.”
Adam knew to stay behind. He’d been strictly forbidden from dealing with Thor, but that didn’t stop him from asking, “Can I go in, too?”
“No,” she told her son. “Stay here.”
She patted him on the head again, something she seemed to do more and more of late. Reassuring herself that he was still there. At least that was what one of the other moms at the hospital had told her when she’d spotted the gesture.
Ethan had rounded the end of the building. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Thor’s behavior.
Still, she heard herself say, “Be careful,” as he slipped inside the “doghouse,” as Claire liked to call it, a spacious room with a man-sized door leading to the dog run. Inside, an uneaten bowl of food lay in the corner. It worried her. Every day she hoped the dog would get better. Now she didn’t know what to think.
Thank God he made a house call.
Fate, she admitted.
Thor lay just outside the back door, and Ethan moved slowly, his footfalls light. There had been dozens of times when Claire had done the same and she’d always taken care to use a soft voice to announce her arrival. Now she understood why the dog had been startled to the point that he’d tried to bite her. She’d snap at someone, too, if she’d been taken by surprise.
“Hey, Thor,” she heard Ethan say. When she joined him, it was in time to see Ethan kneeling by the dog’s side, but this time the dog’s reaction was different. Normally he cocked an eye, maybe lifted his head in mute greeting, then went back to ignoring the world. This time he opened his eyes, immediately lifted his head, then stood. He moved toward the man who knelt beside him and sniffed, only to be clearly disappointed by his investigation. The dog’s head lowered. His shoulders appeared to slump. He lay down at Ethan’s feet.
“He’s missing his handler,” Ethan observed.
His male handler, she realized. She was just a poor second in the dog’s eyes. Not worth getting to know.
“He was injured pretty severely,” she said. “I’m thinking he probably lost consciousness. I would imagine he has no clue what happened to him.”
“Yeah, I had a friend send me his file.”
He’d done that for her? For the dog? Somehow, that took her by surprise.
He buried his fingers in the dog’s fur, held them there for a moment, and if she hadn’t been watching him closely, she might have missed the way he inhaled deeply. It was as if the dog’s presence reassured him. He ran his fingers through Thor’s coat, and she wasn’t sure if it was a professional gesture, or a personal one. Another deep breath and then he began to move his hands up and down the dog’s body, feeling for the scars now covered by hair, she realized. Another dog that’d been injured by a bomb blast. She’d seen far too many in the past three years. Thor had nearly had his leg taken off. The missing patch of fur right below the knee was the only visible sign of his injuries.
She knelt down next to Thor, too, touching him. Whatever Ethan’s problem was, she understood all too well the soothing reassurance of a dog’s coat. How many times had she come out and done the same thing, sometimes in the middle of the night, her son completely oblivious to her midnight visits?
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Their gazes met and there it was again. The sadness. It lingered in his eyes like a bad stain. “No sign of pain anywhere. That’s good.” He went back to examining the dog.
She had to inhale deeply, too, but for another reason. What was it with this man, that she found herself studying him just as intently as he examined Thor?
He seemed to have recovered himself now. He cupped the dog’s head. Thor looked up at him obediently. “We always do a complete physical before releasing a dog to civilian life, but it’s entirely possible the loss came later.” He lifted the dog’s lips, checking gum color. “Scar tissue can do more damage than the initial injury.”
Satisfied with what he saw in the dog’s mouth, he examined Thor’s ears next.
“So what now?”
“Damn. I wish I were back on base with all my instruments.”
“Do you need me to make a call? My brother’s wife has a friend who’s a vet, and she could bring her truck over.”
“No. That’s okay.” He moved Thor’s head so he could peer into the left side ear. “I can’t see any obvious obstruction. I’m betting scar tissue.”
He held the dog’s head again, lifting an index finger and seeing if Thor tracked his progress, similar to what a human doctor would do. His hands had stopped shaking. He had gone into full-on doctor mode.
“Looks good. I was thinking some kind of lingering pain might be causing his lack of appetite, but that’s not it. He’s unresponsive to pressure test, and his teeth look good, so no abscess in the mouth.”
He moved in closer to the dog, sat down next to him, stroking his head. Thor did something she’d never seen before then; he placed his head in the man’s lap. She saw Ethan freeze, and then his expression changed. His face softened as he silently communicated reassurance with his hand. And just like his human counterpart, the dog inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
Claire wanted to cry.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” Ethan said to the dog.
She moved in closer. “Sometimes I wish they could talk.”
He stroked Thor’s head absently. “Well, if they could, this one would probably tell us he’s depressed.”
“Is that possible?”
“They’re a lot like humans.”
“So what do we do?”
“It’ll take some time for him to adjust, and to come out of his depression.”
“If he comes out of it,” she added.
He nodded and Claire’s heart dropped. If he wasn’t in perfect health she couldn’t adopt him out to a new family. Well, she could, but it’d be more difficult to place an animal with issues. Nearly impossible, as a matter of fact. There would be interviews and screening and maybe even a trial period. Time. That was what it would take.
“Is he going to need special help?”
She’d forgotten about her son with his nose pressed up against the chain-link fence, but his words tore at her heart. “Special help” was what she called his cancer treatment. She hated the C word, avoided using it at all cost.
“He’ll need special training,” Ethan said, “to compensate for his lack of hearing. He’s used to listening for commands so we have to teach him to look only for nonverbal commands, arm movements. The good news is he already knows most of them. We’ll have to teach him some new ones, and teach him to constantly keep his gaze focused on his handler, but retraining him is possible. No more walking up to him unannounced. Make sure he sees you before you touch him. That should stop the biting.”
“That’s easy,” Adam said. “I can do the training, too.”
Claire shook her head at her son. “Honey, it’s not as easy as that. It’ll take a professional. What Dr. McCall is suggesting isn’t like teaching a dog to sit and stay. He’ll need to learn to listen without hearing. That means he can never be out of his kennel. If he can’t hear he won’t be able to hear us and learn boundaries. What if he ran into the woods?”
There was nothing but open land between the ranch and the coast. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. There were coastal towns, but the point being, if Thor got out, they’d be lucky if they ever found h
im again.
“I’ll help him learn.” Adam’s soft words pricked at her heart. Alas, her son was in no condition to take on the task of training a dog.
“No.” She made sure her word was firm. “We’ll have to find someone else to retrain him.”
“I know someone.” Ethan straightened.
Claire’s heart jumped in relief. “Who?”
The wrinkles next to his eyes reappeared. “Me.”
Chapter Four
She couldn’t have appeared more shocked if he’d announced his intention to drive his car to the moon.
“You?”
He faced her squarely. “I was thinking earlier that I might be able to help you out. At least for a little while, until I decide where I’m going next.”
Green eyes that were so beautiful he couldn’t stop studying them blinked, then blinked again. She had the world’s longest lashes, the tips of them touching the arch above her eyes. Sweeping black brows dropped down low in consternation.
“But you have your own life to get back to.”
“What life?” As sad as it sounded, it was true. Why else had he driven a hundred miles to see her? “I’m in between jobs right now, trying to decide which direction I want to go. I’ve actually been toying with the idea of training dogs, my way of still helping our country. I’d still practice medicine, but I’d like to learn that aspect of military dogs. Finding that type of job might take a little while, though. In the meantime I have a bit of money and plenty of time on my hands. Let me help.”
She started to shake her head, that pretty, silky black hair of hers falling over one shoulder, but her son interrupted her midshake.
“He could stay with Uncle Colt.”
She whirled around to face the boy. “Adam, no. We couldn’t impose on your uncle like that. Besides, your other uncle, Chance, will be coming home soon. He’ll need the apartment then.”
His Rodeo Sweetheart Page 3
