by D. C. Stone
Chris laid his head back on the pillow. “I’m good. What do I need to do first for him?”
“Get him a vet. It’d be better to do it before you leave here. He’ll need to continue recovery at a place that is familiar, somewhere he can settle and adjust. You don’t have to board him at a vet, but I recommend doing that for the first few weeks once you get to where you’re going.”
“Wait, you just said he needed to be in a familiar place. Is keeping him boarded at the vet’s really going to help?”
“He’s still recovering from bullet wounds, and even though I know you could take care of him, it’s best to leave this kind of trauma to a vet. Do you have someone in mind?”
He thought back on Nyack, a place he’d rarely been home to in the past sixteen years. His mind visually went through the town. He couldn’t picture a vet’s office, much less know one. “I don’t, but my family still lives there. Perhaps they’ll know of one, or I’ll do some searching.”
Fusko gave a clipped nod and stood. “Okay, then. I’ll check in with you tomorrow and we’ll start getting both of your travel arrangements in order. When you’re up to it, come on over and say hi to Dumb Ass.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Chris watched Fusko turn and reach for the door. He called out, “Hey, Fusko?”
Mike turned and glanced over his shoulder.
“Thanks. I mean that.”
Fusko smiled. “Anytime.”
Moving slowly and carefully, Chris reached to the side table and grabbed the phone. After a quick chat with the base operator, the familiar tone of ringing came down the line. It sounded so close, yet he was so far from his family. This was his life, the one he’d signed for. Growing up with his adopted brothers, they’d been as close as any bond without blood could get them, but he’d left it all at the young age of seventeen, and with Pop’s permission, joined the Air Force. Started his career. Met a new family.
The ringing abruptly cut off and Dwayne’s voice rumbled down the line, so sure, a little out of breath, and with a familiarity that had the air in his lungs seizing. “Yeah?”
“Dwayne,” he choked out and felt his world tumble. They were so damn far away…
“Chris? Where are you? I thought you were out of touch for a few weeks.”
“I’m—” His lungs quit working, the tightness in his chest, the pain, and stress of it all sending him into a coughing fit.
“Chris,” Dwayne said, his voice sounding worried.
He tried to answer, but once he started coughing, he couldn’t quit. Rivaling a smoker’s hack, he grimaced as pain shot through his back.
“Chris!” Dwayne shouted.
He tried to breathe steadily, the pain in his lungs excruciating. He pulled in air with a slow, measured inhale, then blew it out. The wheeziness didn’t sound healthy at all. “Give me a second.”
He took another deep breath, tested his voice by clearing his throat. Best to just get this over with. His brother would probably flip. And he didn’t want to think what reaction he’d get from Ma. “My team was attacked,” Chris said.
“Shit, you okay?”
He coughed. “Peachy.”
“Don’t be an ass. Seriously? Where are you?” Dwayne asked.
“Ramstein.”
“That’s Germany.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Dwayne sighed. “I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get there, but I’m sure I’ll know in a few hours.”
Chris tried to sit up, but pain spiraled along his legs again. “What?” he barked.
“I’m coming to you. Ramstein, right? That’s what you said?”
“Just like that you’re going to drop everything and come to Germany?” he asked, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice. He loved his brother, but seriously?
“You’re family, asshole.”
“Look, I’m sorry. They’ve given me some really good drugs and I’m a bit loopy at the moment.” No need to tell him the truth and let him know that his world was damn near falling apart, that he was falling apart.
“Tell me what you need.”
Loyalty and pride swelled in his battered body. This was Dwayne, his brother who’d drop everything and help. “For you not to get on a plane. I’m coming home.”
“You’re coming home?”
“Didn’t I just say that? Now, pay attention and keep up here, bro. Dumb Ass is coming with me. He’s hurt.” His voice cracked.
“Hell, Chris,” Dwayne said, “how bad?”
He took a deep breath. “Bad. Look, I called you first because I need you to tell Ma and I know you’ll be able to keep her calm. I also need a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Get my place open. I’ve got someone from the unit coming by to make sure Dumb Ass will have what he needs, and I wouldn’t normally bother you with this…”
“Consider it done. Anything you need. What else?”
“He jumped in front of me, the dumb ass.” As the memory of the attack and the implications of what his dog had done rushed through his head, Chris’s breath exploded out of his chest and his eyes stung.
“Who did? Who jumped in front of you? And what were they doing? Why?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” he answered, his voice rough and broken. “When I get home, you’ll hear all about it. We’ll be there in a week.” He hung up the phone, slammed his head back on the pillow, and fisted his hands, fighting to get stronger, needing to be resilient.
For himself.
For Dumb Ass.
Chapter Three
Samantha Eagen, formerly Juliette Graham, sat back on her haunches and took in the day’s work. As the weeks had passed and the distance between her and Manuel lengthened, she found she spent less time looking over her shoulder, waiting for him to jump out from behind a corner to drag her back south. She’d been able to settle—as much as she could in close to two months, get her license in the State of New York and a loan needed to get running, and outline a plan for the rest of her life.
Time counted down with the equivalent of a pay-to-use vacuum cleanser until she opened her own practice, her dream, something she’d worked toward for the past eight years, despite the minor—or major, depending on how you looked at it—hiccup. Heat from the sun shining inside sweltered around her and stifled the air into an almost suffocating noose. Yet, she couldn’t be more elated.
Tomorrow, she would unlock the doors and officially open Paws and Claws Veterinary Care. Over eight hundred miles from where she had learned that trust could be shattered in an instant, and away from her nightmare of a past, she was finally achieving her dream. Nothing, not the ninety-five-degree heat, the eighty percent humidity, nor the dwindling balance in her checking account could sour her mood.
She did it.
She’d escaped her nightmare only to start living her dream.
Tossing the paintbrush in the black bin, she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead and grimaced as she came away with a streak of cream-colored paint on the back of her hand. The walls had taken four days to paint. Four days of blistering heat, long hours, and exhausting work. But looking at the soft colors, the light baby-blue line leading along the waist-level molding, and the airy facility, she didn’t regret it. It’d been four days well spent, and she finished just in time. She had to double-check to make sure the rooms were stocked, the floors and counters clean, and then she’d be ready for business tomorrow morning.
A long time coming—this dream—and it was one she’d see through.
Sam pushed off the floor, taking care not to touch anything, seeing as her hands were covered in paint, and turned toward the main counter, looking for a rag she could wipe her hands with. The gray tile-covered counter separated the back of the facility from the wall of windows and the main entrance. Just outside was the town of Nyack, and activity in the small village bustled with energy.
People walked up and down the sidewalks along Main Street, peeking inside window displays, and as th
ey passed P&CVC, gazed inside with open curiosity. It didn’t bother her—much—she understood being the pseudo-newcomer that people would be curious. And seeing as she was over a day’s drive from Savannah, she was as outsider as an outsider could get.
And yet another thing she wouldn’t change.
It would take time for her to assimilate to the community. People here didn’t look at her with pity and sympathetic eyes. They also didn’t turn their heads away from what they knew was wrong in her life. Kids waved at her through the glass, police officers tipped their hats before helping little old ladies cross the street, and many stopped and introduced themselves. A town that bustled with being alive and happy to live. They looked out for one another and even when things got a little more on the rowdy side at night with the college kids swarming the local pubs, it was a town she felt safe in. Not completely, but she had hope she’d get to that point again one day.
Hope.
At least she had that now. After years of living in the shadows and darkness of fear, she could finally breathe again.
She grabbed a water bottle sitting on the counter and took long gulps. Besides getting her practice in order, she had to start planning what to do with her ever-changing body. She had a baby in there, a tiny human life that reminded her each morning of its presence as she expelled whatever dinner she’d eaten the night before. It’d been a game of seeing how fast she could make it to the bathroom before morning sickness set in, and one she was bound to win. She’d started setting her alarm for a few hours before she needed to get up, that way she could nibble on some crackers and head off any oncoming nausea. For the past week, it’d been working. But she still found the need to eat smaller meals more frequently, otherwise, that morning sickness turned into all-day sickness.
The blue phone on the counter shrilled, and she jumped, wrenched back inside her shop and away from the possibilities of happier memories. It took her a few seconds of staring at the phone, its ring unfamiliar, seeing as she’d purchased the thing last week and it hadn’t made a sound yet. The shop wasn’t open, and while she’d gotten fliers out and around town, she didn’t expect immediate acceptance from this wholesome, happy community. About the only person who knew her business phone number was the local pizza delivery place down the street. She stared at the phone as it continued to ring. What if it was someone looking to test the waters and make an appointment? She needed word to get out, and with the bills piling up, she needed it fast.
That last thought broke her out of her musings and she picked the phone up, wincing as she caught the smear of cream against the dark-blue handset. In her long thoughts, she had also forgotten to wipe her hands.
Crap.
“Hello, Paws and Claws. How can I help you?” she answered, resting the phone against her shoulder and reaching for a rag. Static crackled down the line and she waited for a beat before trying again. “Hello?”
A deep throat cleared. “Um, I’m looking for Paws and Claws.”
She wiped her hands and grimaced at the mess. “You’ve got her. This is Samantha. What can I do for you?” No matter how many months it’d been, it still felt weird to use her different name.
“I’m looking for the vet,” the deep voice asked. She liked the sound of his voice. Low, raspy, almost as if he didn’t use it much.
“This is her. How can I help you?”
The deep voice cleared his throat again, and the sound came through as if he were in pain. “I have a problem I need a vet’s help with.”
Sam brought her brows down and scowled for a moment at the phone. This guy sounded out of it. “As I said, I’m the vet. I’m Doctor Eagen. The only vet there is here. What can I help you with?”
“Oh,” he said, sounding … surprised? She scowled more and tossed the rag on the counter, turned, and leaned her hip against it.
“What can I do for you, Mister…?” she asked, growing a little impatient. She hated the older thought process some had, thinking a woman couldn’t do a man’s job. Maybe presumptuous for her to think that based on one comment, but she couldn’t help it. She’d dealt with the same old-school approach for years.
“The name’s Chris. Let me first just say I’m sorry, but this isn’t something I’m used to. And you’ve caught me off-guard. I’m feeling my way around without a flashlight in the dark, if you get my point.”
She lifted a brow. Something he wasn’t used to? She didn’t get it. “Okay, I get that,” she lied, trying to move this along. “Let me see if I can help you out. I take it you have an animal that needs to be looked at?”
“Yes, a dog.”
“Okay,” she said and nodded even though he was on the phone. Maybe it was a new puppy. Good for him, she loved puppies. “How old is your puppy?”
He made a strangled sound suspiciously close to a smothered laugh. She straightened her shoulders and stared at the doggie calendar on the wall. Her gaze moved over the month of August. Three puppies sat on the picture, a white, black, and brown lab, tugging on red yarn in a wagon. Cute.
“He’s not a puppy,” the attractive voice said through laughter. “He’s full grown. Delta Alpha is five years old.”
“Five?” she asked, then continued, skipping over the dog’s odd name. “When was the last time a vet saw him?”
“He’s currently under medical care here in Ramstein.”
Her eyes widened. “Germany?”
“Yes.”
Geesh, obviously a talker. “Um, Mr. Chris? I’m in Nyack, New York, not Germany. You know, the United States of America?”
He sighed, and it came out sounding tired, full of exhaustion. Immediately, her heart went out to him and his dog, but she didn’t know what she could do.
“I get that,” he said. “Look, I’m not doing this right. Let me start over. I’m an active-duty military working dog handler.”
Sam’s brows shot sky-high at this piece of news.
“The name is Chris Gonzalez, but please just call me Chris or Gonzalez. When people put a Mister in front of my last name, I look for my pop.
“About three weeks ago, my team was on a mission—classified, can’t say where—but what you need to know is Delta Alpha took three shots as he tackled me to the ground. They are medically retiring him and I’m bringing him home. I realize we haven’t gotten off to the best of introductions, Doctor Eagen,” he said, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment, “but you’re the closest vet to where I live, and I want him close. I owe it to him to not leave him in a place that is going to take me hours to get to.”
Her heart thumped erratically, and she curved her body over the phone as if to protect him. His words held immense pain when he explained all he’d been through, but his voice grew soft when he talked about his dog. Sweet. A little terrifying since he talked about a military working dog—something she had no experience in—but still … sweet.
“Okay,” she said when he grew silent. “I take it you’re coming home to Nyack?”
“Yeah.”
Shit, shit, shit. She really wanted to help but had no idea where to start, or where she could begin to understand how to treat a military dog, and further, while she could use the business, the added stress on top of everything else, including her pregnancy, she didn’t know if she could manage. She sighed. “Look, Chris—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Please, Doctor Eagen.”
Her heart clenched. “I don’t think I’m the right vet for you. I’m not even open yet, and I have no experience with military dogs.”
“You’re not open? But my brother said your shop was on Main.”
“It is. But I don’t open until tomorrow. And that isn’t the point. I’m sorry, I want to help you, but I don’t know how much help I can be seeing as I know absolutely nothing about military dogs.”
“I do.”
“You do what?” she asked, feeling like this conversation spun in circles, taking everything out of her. How could it be so difficult to communicate?
“I k
now plenty about them. Look,” he said, and let out another heavy sigh of exhaustion. “I haven’t been home in years. I know you don’t know me, don’t trust me, so all I can give you right now is my word that I will do most of the work when it comes to getting DA better. I just need you to monitor his care and help me come up with a game plan. I’m flapping my arms out here in the dark and have no clue where to start. All I know is you’re there, you’re close, and pardon me, Doc, but you just sound right. You have openings and I have a need. I won’t be in your hair, and outside of the initial business between us, you really won’t have to deal much with me.”
“How do you know I have openings?” she asked, somewhat disappointed in that last statement regarding her dealing with him. Also, strangely enough, she kind of enjoyed this weird conversation.
“You haven’t opened yet.”
“And?”
“Do you have a full house?”
“No,” she whispered, hearing the hope in his voice, the pleading.
“Doctor Eagen.”
“Samantha,” she said before she could think better of it. Why? Why did she do that?
A pause, then, “Samantha. That’s nice,” he said, and her stomach took a tumble. She hated to admit it, but she liked the sound of her name coming from him.
“That’s not the point, Chris. I don’t know if I could help you. Military dogs are in a whole other group of care.”
“Not Delta Alpha. You’ll be fine. He just needs some attention. I’ll tell you all you need to know before I leave him in your hands.”
She rubbed her eyes. Dammit, she could use the business, but an MWD? She had no clue where to begin. Sure, they were the same animal she treated on a daily basis, but they were trained to kill, could be violent, and were a hell of a lot scarier.
“Does he bite?”
“On command,” Chris answered, and she heard the smile in his voice. She couldn’t help but match it. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll bring his muzzle. Although I doubt you’ll need it. He’s injured pretty bad.”
