by Jillian Hart
Lord, help me to do this. She gathered all the strength she had. She could walk into that courtroom, sit beside her sisters and ignore the reporters. She was strong and tough. Not once would she remember being perched in her chair beside a defense attorney with her world in tatters. Colbie’s hand slipped around hers as Liam let go.
She turned to him at a loss, unsure what to say. He’d witnessed her panic attack, the remnants of which were still quaking through her. But did he ask questions? No. Kindness softened his deep eyes and made him amazing.
Just amazing.
With Colbie’s hand in hers, she set her chin, squared her shoulders and walked into the courtroom as if the past had no claim on her.
* * *
At times his fellow colleagues miffed him, and it burned through the morning session. Liam sat in the back where he could watch the entire courtroom, not that there was much going on other than opening arguments and preliminaries. He was on assignment, so he was interested in the case but he had a hard time concentrating. He could still hear Brooke’s gasp of pain at Tasha Brown’s question. Interrogating family members outside the courtroom. He clenched his jaw, hands fisting.
Fine, so he felt protective of Brooke. He would respond the same way toward anyone in a similar situation. And if a little voice in the back of his head wanted to argue, he simply ignored it.
She hadn’t glanced his way once all morning. He had a perfect view of her, seated with her family down front. They nestled together in an unbreakable circle around Brianna. Brooke’s sleek dark hair glinted in the lights, and he remembered the feel of her arm, fine-boned and soft beneath his hand. Asking her for a quote hadn’t even occurred to him. Why had Tasha done it?
The Backdoor Burglars had been big news a while back, before he’d moved back home. Thieves had preyed on restaurants when employees were cleaning up for the night. The robberies escalated until several people were killed and more were injured. He’d been out of the country, but his grandfather Ed Knightly had covered the series of crimes. A real tragedy.
He recognized Juanita’s family, a young woman killed in the robbery, her mother teary-eyed and trying to stay strong.
“Hey, Liam.” Roger, a fellow journalist, interrupted his thoughts. “Want to grab lunch?”
He blinked, realizing the session had adjourned for noon recess. He hadn’t even noticed it. Some reporter he was. He tucked his notes and laptop into his briefcase. “Sorry, can’t. I’ve got to buzz home and check on my dog.”
“You have a dog?” Roger’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You?”
“Hey, what’s wrong with me?” He eased off the bench. “I’m a good dog owner.”
“Yeah, but you are gone a lot. Won’t that be a problem?”
“Why would it? Oscar used to spend his time locked in a cage, and now he has a whole house. Where’s the problem in that?”
He got ahead of the crowd streaming toward the doors, catching one quick glimpse of Brooke. She bent to speak to Lil, dark hair cascading over her shoulder, strain tightening the muscles along her delicate jaw line. The trial was obviously taking a toll on her. It was a lot for a family to go through.
“Hey, maybe there’s no problem. What do I know?” Roger kept pace with him as they broke out into the wide corridor. Noise and people streamed around them. “My mom had a dachshund, and that little wiener dog ate the entire house whenever she left him alone. That’s all I’m saying.”
“The only danger would be if Oscar ever learned how to open the fridge or the pantry doors.” He thought of the ham incident and grinned. That dog was sure livening things up. “See you in an hour.”
“Right. Good luck!”
“I don’t believe in luck.” God had led him to Oscar, God had put the wish for a dog into his heart and God would not abandon him now. Liam headed down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to steal another glimpse of Brooke. The crowd was too big—he couldn’t see her. He stumbled out the door and into the bright May sunshine, fighting the feeling he’d left something important behind.
His cell sang a cheerful note as he started his truck’s engine. One glance at the screen had him grinning. It was a text message from Colbie.
Mom told me about your need for a dog trainer. Brooke is great with dogs, she’d written. Call her, text her, just don’t hire anyone else. Promise?
I don’t need a trainer, he tapped out with his thumbs. His dog was unruly but overall just fine. And on the off chance Colbie was playing matchmaker, he didn’t need that, either. He knew how to hold his ground.
Famous last words, Colbie wrote. I’m sending Brooke’s cell # anyway.
The drive home was quick and uneventful. He lived in an older section of Bozeman where the neighborhoods were tree-lined and straight out of the 1940s with white picket fences, carefully manicured yards and Craftsman-style homes. He parked in front of the detached garage, hopped up the back steps and turned his key in the lock. The ringing bark of welcome put a spring in his step as he swung open the kitchen door.
A golden streak launched toward him, emitting a high-pitched whine of relief. Eighty pounds of Lab hit him in the chest, rocking him back on his feet. Paws settled on his shoulders, his knees gave way and he stumbled as the dog plastered canine kisses across his face.
“I’m glad to see you, too, buddy. Now, down.” Laughing, he grabbed two paws and lifted them off his suit jacket, wiped his face with his sleeve and pushed through the door.
That’s when he saw the kitchen. Disaster. Air squeaked out of his lungs in shock. He blinked, but the scene remained. Trash littered the tile, the garbage can overturned and empty. One ladder-back chair remained in place at the small nook table, but the other three sprawled on their backs in various places around the room. One was missing a leg.
“You ate part of a chair?” He jammed one hand through his hair, too stunned to do anything more than stare. Cushions had been torn off the chairs and were almost intact with white flashes of stuffing showing. One cupboard door hung askew.
“I can’t believe this.” He shook his head, stunned by the devastation. A mini tornado could not have left as much damage. “Oscar, how could you?”
The Lab whined and sat on his haunches. Doggy brows furrowed sorrowfully. Big chocolate-brown eyes beamed a message that seemed to say, “Forgive me. I was bad.”
“Oh, Oscar.” Liam rubbed the pounding tension settling in behind his left temple. How could he be mad at that face? He could only hope the rest of the house hadn’t suffered the same fate.
Chapter Three
“How are you holding up?” Her big brother Luke leaned in to ask, his voice so low it was difficult to hear him in the bustling sandwich shop.
“Fine.” All morning she’d endured sympathetic looks and comforting hugs and encouraging smiles from her family, but no one had said the words aloud. Pain clamped around her ribs. Her hands shook as she dug in her purse for a couple of twenties to help pay for the family meal.
“I’ve got it,” her oldest brother, Hunter, grumbled, standing in front of her in line. He fished a credit card from his wallet. “Put your money away, Brookie.”
“I should at least pay for my own sandwich.”
“Not going to happen.” Hunter was used to being in charge. As the oldest son, he’d borne the brunt of their father’s failures. Their youngest brother’s death had been the last straw. Hunter had grown harder through the years until it was almost impossible to remember the laughing, good-humored boy he’d been. They had been The Three Musketeers, she and Luke and Hunter roaming the hills and fields on their family’s land. Those long-ago happier times felt far away.
“You don’t look fine.” Luke’s voice turned gruff, another strong man uncomfortable showing his caring side. “You haven’t looked fine since you stepped foot inside the courtroom door this morning.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She’d meant to sound firm, but her voice came out strangled. The memories were a noose tightening around her th
roat, one she could not loosen.
“Leave her be, Lucas,” Hunter grumbled as he handed his card across the narrow counter to a smiling clerk in a green apron. “We all know life isn’t fair. No sense in dragging all that up again.”
Relief filtered through her, loosening the imaginary noose enough so she could breathe. All her life Hunter looked out for her, taking care of her, both he and Luke.
“I didn’t mean to drag up any bad stuff.” Luke’s brawny arm slid around her shoulders, hooked her by the neck and gave her a brief brotherly one-armed hug. “Just trying to help.”
“Stop helping.” Hunter shook his head and dug cash out of his pocket for the tip jar. A hint of a grin hooked the corners of his stern mouth. Growly on the outside, soft on the inside. “Go fill the cups, would you, Brookie?”
“Some things never change no matter how long you are away.” She shook her head, also fighting to hide a smile. “Bossy, bossy, bossy.”
“Someone has to be in charge. Why not me?” Hunter quipped as she grabbed the stack of cups on the counter.
“Why does it always have to be you?” Luke good-naturedly argued, his voice trailing after her as she headed for the soda machines.
Her brothers’ banter faded into indistinct rumbles blending with the other conversations in the busy shop. In their way, her brothers were trying to help and she loved them for it. She extracted one cup from the stack and stabbed it beneath the ice dispenser, and the anxious knot in her middle eased a notch. She had been away from home too long. She missed them all so much.
“Looks like you could use some help.” Colbie sidled in to steal two cups from the stack. “Brianna seems to be holding up well. It can’t be easy to have to relive what happened to her that night.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not.” She feared her sharp-eyed half sister’s comment had a double meaning, that Colbie was also gently wondering the same about Brooke. She closed the door on her memories, leaving them buried. She filled the cup with root beer, glancing over her shoulder. Bree and her identical twin, Brandi, sat at a table near Lil. Bree’s handsome fiancé towered at her side, his strong arm around her as if determined to protect her from the world.
Nice. She was so grateful her sister had found someone to love her, someone honest and good. Brianna deserved a happy future.
Her phone erupted into an electronic tune, surprising her. Who could it be? Root beer sloshed over the rim and onto her knuckles as she clapped on a plastic lid. Most people who would call her were in this restaurant. She thought of the applications she’d sent out before boarding the bus in Seattle. Oh, what if it was someone about a job?
“I’d better get this.” She opened her bag, heart pounding, fingers fumbling. Please, let it be a good job, she prayed.
“You go ahead. I’ll finish up.” Colbie shooed her away with an encouraging grin.
A little swish of hope beat through her as she stepped away. All she needed was a job to get back on her feet—that was all. Just one job. Any job. Her former position hadn’t paid well, but it had included her room and she didn’t need much to get by. She found her phone by feel in the bottom of her bag and checked the number.
Not an out-of-area phone call, she saw from her phone’s screen, but Liam Knightly’s name. He’d sent her a picture. Odd. She hit a button and a vivid image of a living room popped onto the display. Her jaw dropped at the image in full Technicolor. She stared unblinking at a living room in complete disarray. The couch had no cushions, lamps were toppled and DVDs were scattered all over the floor. Had he been robbed?
Wait a minute. She remembered a certain yellow Lab and the ham incident. Had Oscar done this? A grin stretched across her face. She couldn’t help it. That dog could sure destroy a room. Clearly a natural talent, poor boy.
Another chime, another picture. This one appeared to be of a spare bedroom made into an office. A desk’s empty surface shone beneath a sunny windowsill, a printer, a telephone and paper lay on the floor surrounding it. One closet door hung lopsided off its frame. In the corner of the room sat a yellow dog on an overstuffed chair, front paws propped on one chewed-up arm, a deliriously happy grin on his canine face.
“That’s a cute dog.” Colbie glanced over her shoulder. “Why did he do that to the room?”
“Separation anxiety. How did Liam get my number?”
“It’s a mystery.” Eyes sparkling, Colbie sashayed away loaded down with soda cups.
It was no mystery at all. Brooke rolled her eyes. A text message filled her screen.
I need professional help, Liam wrote.
That’s a private matter between you and your therapist. Her thumbs flew across the keys.
Funny. Just what I need. A comedic dog trainer.
She huffed out a breath. I’m not a dog trainer.
Colbie said U were.
She sighed. Colbie is a meddler.
That doesn’t change the fact I need a dog trainer. U interested?
The image of his face, of the amused, easygoing gleam in his striking blue eyes, came to her as easily as if he stood in front of her. Definitely a bad sign and a hint that maybe she should turn down his job offer.
But, come to think of it, she could use the work. Clearly Oscar could use some help adjusting to his new home. Her thumbs tapped out an answer. Maybe.
I’ll pay whatever U want. His words seemed frantic. Just help me.
I’m not sure U can be trained, but I can try.
Me? What about Oscar?
For his sake, I’ll do it. She hit Send, shaking her head. So, she had a job of sorts after all.
Her phone chimed with Liam’s next text. Great. Whew. I need your help desperately.
With a little training up, I think you will make a fine dog owner, she typed and hit Send.
“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a decade.” Hunter ambled up, carrying two loaded trays of sandwiches. “Got a boyfriend we don’t know about?”
“He’s not even a friend and that’s the way it will stay, so don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something I don’t.” Brothers. She grabbed the rest of the sodas and joined her brother at the two tables the family had claimed. After she handed out the drinks, her cell chimed again.
Me? I don’t need training. I already know how to sit. How to fetch.
She could imagine the manly crinkles in the corners of Liam’s eyes as he grinned, typing those words. She eased into a chair, tapping out an answer on the keys. It’s a start. Text me your address and I’ll swing by after court.
“Brooke, we’re waiting on you to say grace.” Hunter frowned as if annoyed as he stacked the emptied trays. His annoyance was pure show. His dark gaze shone with gentleness.
“Oops.” She stuffed her phone into her bag and bowed her head as Hunter began the prayer. She added silent thanks for her blessings of family and a plea for poor Oscar. If things didn’t work out, she would hate for him to go back to living behind barred doors. She shivered, breaking a little inside at the memory. She knew exactly how heartbreaking that existence could be.
* * *
Squinting against the late afternoon sun shining in her eyes, she pulled to a stop at the curb. The small pickup she’d borrowed from Brianna idled roughly as she put it in Park.
This was Liam’s house? She studied the bungalow shaded by two broadleaf maples. The front porch framed two spacious windows and a front door, giving the home a smiling look.
A bark erupted the moment she opened the truck’s door. A golden blur streaked across the tidy lawn as she rose to her feet.
“No, Oscar! No!” Liam’s laughter held no sting as his command echoed in the front yard. He raced into sight but not fast enough to stop the golden blur from springing over a row of low shrubbery.
She caught sight of ears up, tongue lolling and bright canine eyes gleaming. She braced for impact, just in case. “Oscar, sit.”
Did it work? Not a chance. Paws hit her sh
oulders, a tongue swiped from her chin to her forehead and she sat down hard on the sidewalk, eighty pounds of dog in her lap.
“Brooke, are you all right?” Liam’s concern, Liam’s hand on her arm, his caring blue eyes meeting hers.
“I’m fine.” A dog’s happy kiss swiped across her face again and she laughed. Really laughed. After a hard day dealing with ghosts of her past and worries of how the trial was affecting Brianna, Oscar’s exuberance felt like a gift, a true blessing that was as welcome as the warm May sun and the song of the breeze through the maple leaves. “Oscar, you are a great boy. Do you know that?”
Chocolate eyes twinkled a happy answer. The big dog leaped and danced on the sidewalk, caught a whiff of her purse and tried to stick his nose beneath the leather flap.
“Oscar?” Liam caught his collar. “No more destruction. You’ve maxed out your daily limit, buddy.”
“I think he’s going for the dog biscuits I picked up on the way over. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Careful. Leather is edible, at least to him. So are most materials known to man.” He held out his free hand to help her from the ground. She reached without thought, her palm sliding against his. A jolt of awareness whispered through her, the oddest of sensations, a charged sweetness. What on earth? She’d never experienced anything like that before.
Did he feel this, too? She couldn’t tell. His face remained unchanged as his hand fell away from hers, leaving her palm tingly. Somehow she made her feet work, falling into stride beside him. Oscar bounded between them on the walkway, sniffing her purse.
“How is Brianna holding up?” Kindness layered Liam’s question. “This had to be a hard day of remembering.”
“Yes, but she’s awesome. She’s been through a lot of trauma but she’s handling this better than I could in her shoes.”
“Have she and Max set a wedding date yet?”
