Primal Force

by D. D. Ayres

She felt a twinge of shame. She’d been ogling him as if he were some book cover model showing off his perfect body for her enjoyment. But he was all too human. His arrogance was more likely the shield of a proud man who had lost, and suffered, and survived.

  Jori set her breakfast aside uneaten. Suddenly all she wanted to do was make his life better. If he’d let her.

  Jori put her SUV in gear, wincing as the gears of the 150,000-plus-mile vehicle clunked before meshing. Trust her to fall for the moody guy who wouldn’t know a good time if it fell on him. Maybe if she fell on him …

  That’s just prison talking, Jori.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Maybe if we paired him with Bruno?”

  “Bruno’s not ready.” Kelli Miller, owner of Warriors Wolf Pack, sat with her sneakers propped on the desk in her office. “Besides, the dog chooses the vet. That’s our policy.”

  Jori nodded. Samantha had practically Velcroed herself to Battise the first day. She wouldn’t leave his side even when beckoned by other vets. “But Mr. Battise said, I quote, ‘I’m not a doodle kind of guy.’ I don’t think he even likes dogs.”

  “That’s your impression?” Kelli’s lips twitched as if she knew something Jori didn’t. “Hold that thought.” She rose from her chair.

  Immediately the coal-black Lab mix named Troy, dozing at Kelli’s feet, sat up and thrust his muzzle forward as he gazed up at her for instruction. Kelli made the sign for stay then went to push her office door closed before turning back to lean against it as she faced Jori.

  “Veterans come to us for help. We don’t need them to be grateful, happy, or all fuzzy about what we do. Mr. Battise came for a reason. What do you know about him?”

  Jori shrugged. “He suffers from PTSD.” And he was hot. But she doubted Kelli wanted to hear that.

  “Anything else?”

  Jori shook her head. “Unlike the other veterans, he doesn’t talk much.” And then only in intimidating terms.

  “Then I suggest you make it your business to get to know him. I’ll pair you two together today for individual work. Once you know his story, I’m sure you’ll be able to find a way to make Samantha work for him. That’s the most important part of our job.”

  Jori knew this was true but wasn’t at all certain about her ability to fill that need with Battise. “Shouldn’t he be with someone who has more experience, like you?”

  Kelli eyed her appraisingly. “You’re a certified service dog trainer, Jori. You’re a natural with our animals and they know it. I understand why you have trust issues. But WWP believes in you. Don’t you think it’s time you trusted yourself enough to do the job you’re qualified for?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” WWP had a motto they lived by: There’s a useful place for everyone and everything. She had more reason than most to know that it was true. Now she’d been assigned to prove it. To Battise.

  However, getting close to a man who could kick-start her libido with just a glance was going to be a challenge. Getting him to talk about himself when he seemed to think “Hi” was a complete conversation was going to be even harder.

  Jori reached down to scratch Troy behind the ears. “I’d better go. Class is about to start.”

  Jori’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket as she entered the main room. She glanced at the display. Her mother. Again. Time to stop avoiding the inevitable. She took a deep breath before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Thank goodness. I was getting worried. I’m trying to respect your boundaries, Jori. But honestly, it’s not easy when you won’t even return my calls.”

  “Sorry.” Jori felt her throat tightening. “Hang on.”

  Jori caught the eye of Maxine, one of the volunteers covering the front desk, and made finger-walking movements before she ducked out a side door onto the parking lot. It was empty of people. She wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Mom, I’m really busy. We’re graduating a class of veterans and their new service dogs this week.”

  “That’s nice.” While a worthy cause, her mother didn’t think WWP was an appropriate full-time job for her college-educated daughter. At least she had stopped saying so each time the subject came up. “This won’t take a minute. Did you receive Kieran and Kaitlyn’s wedding announcement?”

  “Yes.” Jori searched for a more enthusiastic response to her older brother’s upcoming nuptials next month. “The intertwined K’s are a nice touch.”

  “Aren’t they? Your brother and his bride are working so hard to make their day special. Eureka Springs in December will be gorgeous. They decorate the town like a Victorian Christmas village. Oh, and the bridesmaids’ dresses are in.”

  As her mother continued, Jori’s mind wandered. For nearly four years, fear and worry and bewilderment had been the subtext of every conversation. So far, there was no new normal. Only awkward moments like this. Maybe if she went home for a few days after the wedding they could begin to reconnect. Maybe at Christmas—

  “Wait, Mom.” A name in her mother’s ramble jerked her thoughts back to the present. “Did you say Erin Foster is a member of the wedding party? When did that happen?”

  “Last week. After Kaitlyn’s sister was told she can’t travel due to complications involving her pregnancy, so Erin offered to step in as maid of honor. They are sorority sisters, after all. By the way, Erin’s a Tice now, remember? She married Luke Tice right after … the unpleasantness. I sent you pictures of the wedding from Soiree Magazine. Remember?”

  “Uh-huh.” Jori hadn’t read any of the social news her mother had bombarded her with for the past four years, all about the wonderful lives being lived by her former friends. But that wasn’t the reason this news surprised her. “I can’t believe Erin would agree to be involved in anything to do with the Garrisons.”

  “I don’t know why you’d say that.”

  Exasperation colored Jori’s tone. “Maybe because she’s married to one of the attorneys in the D.A.’s office that prosecuted my case?”

  “Now, Jori, Luke isn’t in the D.A.’s office anymore. He’s in private practice, and running for state senator. So, see, it’s all working out nicely. The wedding will give you a chance to reconnect.”

  Jori rubbed at the knot of tension that had drawn her eyebrows together. Her mother was a relentlessly upbeat person who never admitted to a problem until it slapped her in the face. She just hated to be the one to deliver the blow.

  “Kieran and I talked about this, Mom. He understands why I won’t be at his wedding.”

  “Well, I don’t. No one would dare spoil a wedding day with old gossip.”

  Gripping the phone tight, Jori dropped her voice into a desperate whisper. “Get real, Mom. Everyone will gossip about me if I’m there. Your daughter’s an ex-con.”

  The stunned silence on the other end sent shame arrowing through Jori’s middle. Why had she answered the phone? “We’ll talk later. Got to go. Love you.”

  Jori held her eyes wide to prevent tears from forming. She’d learned the first week of incarceration that showing vulnerability of any kind identified an inmate as weak, and therefore a potential victim. Too bad she hadn’t learned that lesson before Brody Rogers entered her life.

  In her darkest moments she had wondered if her fate would have been any worse if she’d shot her fiancé. Everyone seemed to understand crimes of passion. But when she was arrested after Brody’s accidental death in a car wreck, their friends had scattered like roaches before Raid. Controlled substances were found in Brody’s body and more in his car, along with lots of cash. A warrant had been issued that night allowing police to search his apartment in Fort Smith—and her apartment in Fayetteville, because the lease was in Brody’s name. Drugs were found in both places, enough to get her arrested and charged with drug possession with the intent to distribute.

  The statewide news media had had a field day with the scandal of two prominent families caught up in a sordid drug story. Few besides her family believed her when she said that Brody had hidden cocaine packe
ts in her closet without her knowledge. In fact, she didn’t know anything about his dealing. The judge certainly hadn’t believed her. She’d been sentenced to ten years. Eligible for patrol after three and a half. That was six months ago.

  Jori sighed as she pushed through the door into the building. She was learning to live with the stigma of being a felon. That didn’t mean she would inflict it on her family.

  When she reached the training room and saw that Battise and Samantha weren’t with the other vets, she backtracked to the main room to ask for his phone number so she could remind him he was late.

  “Let me make that call.” Maxine grinned and pushed a handful of dreads off her shoulder. “Any excuse to talk to that man will do me fine.”

  “Okay. Just don’t expect a friendly response.”

  Maxine nodded. “I know. He rubs you the wrong way. Personally, I wouldn’t mind which way he rubbed me. But I’m not the one he’s been sniffing around.”

  Jori rolled her eyes. Corny canine references between staff members were a daily event. “He’s not dogging me.”

  “No, he’s been stalking you with his eyes.” Barbara, another volunteer, looked up from feeding the guinea pigs they kept in cages in the main lobby. All sorts of household pets were kept at the facility as part of the training of their service dogs. “And you’ve been watching him like he was going to suddenly morph into Wolverine.”

  Too true. But Jori wasn’t about to own it. “Whatever. Let me know if he’s not coming, Maxine.”

  * * *

  Class was well under way when the door to the practice room opened and Battise entered with Samantha.

  Jori frowned when she saw that the service dog wore a traditional collar that hadn’t come from WWP. Her gaze followed up the leash to the bronze hand holding it and finally up to Battise’s face. There was little to read there, aside from the light of challenge in his sludge-gold eyes. He was probably waiting for her to say something about his being late. But Kelli had given her a mission. Make nice and get to know him.

  “Good morning.” She smiled brightly as she left the ring of trainers, vets, and dogs to engage him. “Kelli’s just reviewing how to use the gentle lead.”

  His heavy shoulders jerked up and down beneath a clean navy-blue tee, drawing her eye to the inked feather visible below the hem of his left sleeve. “Didn’t bring it.”

  Jori held on to her smile. “Not a problem.”

  She bent down. “Hello, Samantha.” She gave the dog a treat from the pouch at her waist and cooed affectionately as she detached the leather collar. “Such a good girl. Did you have a good night with your new handler?”

  Samantha looked back at Battise, as if she understood Jori’s question. He didn’t meet her eye.

  Jori produced a gentle lead from a pocket of her cargo pants. It was made of a flexible loop worn around the top of a dog’s muzzle and a second strap that went under the chin and clipped behind the dog’s head. A dog could bark, eat, and even pick up an object in its jaws while wearing it.

  When she had given Samantha another treat, she looked up at Battise and held out her hand for the leash. “May I?”

  He handed it over without hesitation. The jolt of surprise she felt as their hands touched was a purely involuntary response to a passion, she told herself, she had no use for.

  “Heel, Samantha.” She tugged the leash lightly and pressed the clicker used to train dogs when they had to respond to more than one handler in the environment.

  To her amazement Samantha didn’t budge. The canine continued looking up at Battise. “Give her permission to leave your side.”

  Law frowned at the dog. “Geh—uh, go on, Sam. Go with Jori.”

  Samantha licked the hand he had used to emphasize his point before turning away obediently.

  Law watched the pair walk away in misgiving. He should have left the dog at the reception desk, as he’d planned. Regardless of Yard’s advice, he was leaving without a dog. So what was he doing standing here, when he needed to be headed to the airport to catch his booked flight to Richmond, Virginia?

  He knew the answer. He was behaving like a POG, lusting after something he couldn’t have.

  When he’d noticed Jori at the convenience store this morning, something about her posture had caught his attention. It was so unlike the friendly young woman he’d seen at WWP the past three days. With shoulders hunched and a thumbnail hooked into her teeth, she’d looked as if her day hadn’t begun well and wasn’t going to get any better. That shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.

  He’d nearly stopped to speak to her. But then she’d bent to pull something off a lower shelf. Better to keep moving, he’d told himself. Her problems. No need to make them his.

  Then he’d caught her reflection in the glass doors of the refrigerated cases. The intensity of her gaze had grabbed him by the short hairs. He’d frozen, not certain how he should react to that frankly lustful gaze aimed his way. His body didn’t hesitate. His dick had gone hard as a lead pipe.

  Something like humor tugged at Law’s mouth. Even after her friendly wave he couldn’t think of a goddamn way to respond that wouldn’t end up involving the clerk calling the police about two customers engaged in a lewd display of public affection.

  At the checkout line, he’d behaved like an asshole. All to cover up his real feelings. He wanted her. Bad.

  That’s why he was here now, staring at her ass while barely registering the presence of the other vets, dogs, and trainers. He checked his phone. Three hours until his flight. It was an hour’s drive to Little Rock’s airport. He should leave now.

  To his surprise, his stride carried him toward, not away from the class.

  Across the room Kelli welcomed Jori back into the semicircle of people. “Why don’t you give us a quick refresher on the gentle lead, Jori.”

  Jori ignored Battise as he took up a position a little apart from the rest, his back to the wall. “We use gentle leads because even the tiniest tug on a leash will turn your dog’s head in your direction for commands. This type of leash is a bonus for someone in a wheelchair, or an amputee using one or more prosthetic devices. You won’t get jerked off your feet, or out of a chair by a stubborn animal. Not that we have those here.”

  To demonstrate, she took a few steps then made a sudden right turn, surprising Samantha. After the slightest tug on her leash, Samantha instantly changed directions.

  “Very good.” Kelli waved her back into the group. “Right now one of our puppy raiser families is training a hundred-and-five-pound black Lab named Bronco. Their seven-year-old daughter Harley can completely control him on a gentle lead.”

  “And a little child shall lead them.” Abe, a Vietnam vet in from Michigan and the eldest of their clients in this graduating class, was missing his right leg above the knee. He wore a T-shirt that read: THIS SHIRT COST ME AN ARM AND A LEG. I GOT IT ON DISCOUNT. His new dog was Ginger, a big blond shelter dog who was part Lab and parts unknown.

  When each veteran had been allowed to test his skill with the gentle lead, Kelli stepped in again. “Before we break up into individual sessions, do any of you have problems or successes from last night that you want to share?”

  Seth, a fresh-faced twenty-eight-year-old from Vermont in a wheelchair, raised a hand. “Does falling out of bed at three a.m. constitute a problem?”

  “Depends on what you did while you were down there,” Abe answered. “I’ve been known to locate quarters and missing socks while lying there waiting for help. Even found a busted TV remote under my sofa one time.”

  That drew a round of friendly laughter from all five vets.

  Seth reached out to pat the big chocolate Lab sitting by his chair. “Johnny, here, is stronger than he looks. Between us we had me back in bed in no time. Then he climbed in beside me and laid on the outside. Guess he didn’t want to be awakened by me falling out a second time.”

  Kelli grinned and patted Seth’s shoulder. “So you’re happy with Johnny?”

/>   “Beats all the hell out of spending the night on the floor, or calling my parents for help.”

  “Or using them toddler bed rails,” the man beside him contributed.

  After each of the other vets had related a story about his first night with his dog, Jori glanced at Battise. At least he was still here.

  She approached and offered him Sam’s leash, which he took, if reluctantly. “Is there anything you’d like to share, Mr. Battise?”

  “Share with you? Sure, sweetheart.” A toothy grin appeared in his beard. “But right here, in front of God and everybody?”

  The other men smirked or tried to hide their smiles. Right. She’d handed him a big slow-pitch softball of a line that didn’t mean anything. She just shook her head and moved away.

  “All right,” Kelli said briskly. “We’ll take a break to allow our dogs to be walked and watered. Then we’ll begin our day’s one-on-one training. Mr. Battise, you’ll be with Jori. Abe, your trainer will be Will.”

  As Kelli paired up the remaining vets and trainers, Jori’s heart began to pound in slow heavy strokes. Battise was looking at her with the light of battle bright in his gaze. She smiled but made the gesture for drinking. She needed a moment to collect herself if she was going to go one-on-one with him all afternoon. At least he hadn’t left.

  The drink machine was located in the hallway. Abe and Ginger had beaten her there.

  Abe rolled his chair back out of her way while Jori dug in her pocket for change. “That was a nice bit earlier about the soft leads.” He cupped Ginger under the chin, stroking her with the familiarity that one would expect from a longer association. “Did you two put that together to make the rest of us feel better?”

  “What are you talking about?” Jori fed the machine her change.

  “That business of Sergeant Battise pretending like he doesn’t know how to handle dogs. Since the others bought it I guess I’m the only one who recognized him.”

  She collected her bottle. “What do you mean?”

  “He was all over the news about three years ago. Military K-9 police. CID. Special agent. Wounded in Afghanistan. Got a medal and everything.”