by Sheila Kell
Tonya Beck, her only other full-time dog trainer, had majored in marketing and PR and knew her way around creating events that drew people to donate their money. Her payment was a small percentage of the overall take, which probably worked out better financially for Tonya, and not carrying another increased salary like Rick worked well on a daily basis for the organization.
Caitlyn had lucked out with those two employees. Not that she discounted the volunteers who’d arrive sporadically, but Rick and Tonya were more invested in the success of Helping Paws.
He nodded. “I can do that. Anything else?”
Taking another sip of coffee, she told herself to focus on the now. She’d take care of the finances later. She’d research the donation list. Someone had to have forgotten to send money like they’d promised. Trying to change her train of thought, she asked, “How’s the training coming with Cooper, Bella, Sadie, and Gabe? I saw most of their future handlers here quite a bit last week.”
The veterans who were scheduled to receive a dog were encouraged to visit and work with some of the pups after they’d returned from their six-month foster care, where the pups received basic socialization skills before their official training could begin. This allowed Helping Paws to pair the best match of dog and future handler. Once they’d been chosen, the veteran was then encouraged to work with the trainer and the dog so they were all more comfortable with each other. It also strengthened the bond between the veteran and dog before they were on their own. It wasn’t a requirement, and some vets lived too far away to come in on a regular basis, but the majority of the future handlers found a way.
While she managed the overall training, she’d allowed her two employees to take the lead on these four dogs, because they were closest to being ready. It had almost killed her to step back. She trusted them to do a good job, but she also missed working with the dogs at that level herself. Because she couldn’t completely step away from to training the dogs, she’d already started working with the younger ones that were still in the early stages of their development.
“We need a few more days to make sure they’re good and ready. Then the new handlers can do their formal instruction with them.”
By formal, it was a ten days block where the trainer made sure the handler could manage the dog, and the dog would respond properly. It didn’t matter if they’d been working with their dog all along, Caitlyn had required this final schooling since it provided the final evaluation of ownership.
Their dogs received instruction on working with veterans who had PTSD, traumatic brain injuries, and a host of other disabling injuries. Some had lost limbs; some had lost their hearing or their sight. There were just so many, and it broke her heart each time she had to deny someone because they didn’t have enough dogs ready or enough money to train them. It’s why she’d only focused on one group—veterans—for her dogs. Her chances of delivering were better than if she dealt with a broad group who needed service dogs. Of course she always referred them elsewhere, to a larger organization so they might get the help they required. If only she could snag a whale of a donor, she could then expand and help close the gap of need to availability.
A girl could dream. And this girl always did.
After her rape, she’d been adrift, not sure what she’d wanted to do with her life. Being a fashion designer no longer appealed to her. She didn’t like being around a bunch of people she didn’t know, and trust became an issue. A shiver snaked up her spine at the thought.
In the beginning of her life post-rape, many times she’d thought about ending her life. Then she’d met Brent Timms in a group meeting for people suffering from PTSD. The war vet had raved on how his service dog—who’d been lying quietly at his feet—saved his life. The more he spoke, the more she realized what she’d wanted to do… what she needed to do.
As a little girl, she’d always loved dogs and had trained all of hers. Yet, she knew she’d need specialized instruction before she could begin her own operation. So, she volunteered at a service-dog facility and learned all she could. After significant on-the-job experience and homework to learn the ins and outs from all angles, she felt ready to expand the program with her own operation. With money and Tonya, she branched out and opened Helping Paws, a 501C, with a slogan of “Working Pets for Vets.”
The land had been bestowed upon her—the first big donation she’d received—so she only had to worry about taxes for the land, but each year when she went to pay them, she discovered someone had anonymously paid them for her. It always warmed her soul with the much-appreciated generosity of strangers.
She didn’t promote her operation—it was too small. She already had more interest than she could ever hope to fill. Occasionally, she and the board of directors had turned down veterans due to concern that they wouldn’t care for the dog properly. She took choosing a match for her client to heart and investigated every possible aspect of the dog’s life once it left her care.
Drunks, those strung out on drugs, and plain old mean suckers got her concern and prayers, but they’d never get one of her dogs. Her latest reject—Neil Holbrook—had issued all kinds of vile threats against her. She shuddered at the hatred he’d spewed. His behavior only confirmed that she’d made the right decision to deny him access to one of the animals. The dog would’ve probably lived in fear, and she couldn’t have that.
Of course, in reality, she still lived in fear, even knowing her attacker was in jail. She’d mentioned to her staff to keep an eye out for Neil but didn’t know what else she could do. She went to the sheriff to tell them of the threats, but they pretty much blew the situation off. The deputy she spoke with assured her they’d do extra drive-bys of her place, which meant they’d do absolutely nothing. A fat lot of good that would do if Neil decided to show up and actually do her harm. She had to remember that unlike in the city limits with the police department, the sheriff’s department had limited resources and a large area to cover. Heck, when she’d called once for a possible prowler, it’d taken them eighteen minutes to arrive. It turned out to be a stray dog that jumped up on the windows, but still it had been a long, fearful wait for the cavalry.
But she couldn’t let it halt her from doing her job or living her life. Neil could just be a blowhard. They had clients relying upon them, and she’d never missed a deadline. Her team knew what they were doing. They were some of the best and loved what they did.
Trying to remember the thread of conversation she’d been having with Rick and being pleased he didn’t mention how long she’d spaced out on him, she sipped her coffee to appear as if she’d just been mulling over the topic and not letting her mind wander. Training. A few more days. That was right. “That’s fine. I’ll get them scheduled in so reservations can be made, since two vets live too far away to drive back and forth each day.” She set down her coffee cup. “I like this group of clients. I think our dogs are going to excellent homes, and they’ll be able to do a lot of good to improve the lives of these veterans.”
Rick nodded. “I’ll let Tonya know that you want to see her.”
And he was gone, leaving her alone with her random thoughts. They flitted through her mind, giving her a worry or two, then moved along with a sense of foreboding left in their wake.
She shook her head to clear it. Focus. She needed to be with the dogs. They soothed her.
Putting her coffee cup in the sink, she turned and cleaned up the paperwork from the table, stacking it neatly. After glancing to make sure she had collected everything, she went down the hallway to her office. It wasn’t fancy with its second-hand furniture, but she’d painted the room in warm colors and added artwork she’d purchased before she decided to be poor—she took a sickening low salary for her position—but happy.
Noticing more paperwork on her desk that she meant to file the day prior, she sifted through it and collected it all to put away. It was her least favorite job. She’d take cleaning a dog’s pen over filing any day. Most people would consider her “poop ov
er paper” philosophy backward, but she didn’t care. She hated filing.
With her back to the door, she squatted behind her desk and opened a lower drawer on the four-drawer, black metal file cabinet that stood in the corner. A floorboard creaked. Thinking Tonya had arrived, she swiveled toward the door. “Tonya, can you—” Her breath caught. She froze and her heart felt like it skipped a beat before it erupted into an erratic rhythm. Oh my God. He’s here. After all these years….
Images of them together—laughing, holding hands, and making love—flashed in her mind. This man stirred her to hope for impossible things and she’d ruined everything. With a racing pulse, she tried to appear unaffected by the hunk of man standing at her doorway. The man she’d done wrong. He’d changed in the years since they’d been apart. His T-shirt showed off that he was still broad chested, but his muscles were more defined than he’d been when in college. It’s possible she drooled looking him over.
His face looked more masculine, if that were possible. Lord, he still took her breath away. Then she gazed into his gorgeous golden-brown eyes. It was all she could do not to melt into a puddle right on the spot.
She slowly stood and put the papers on her desk, leaving them damp from her sweaty palms. “Matt—” She cleared her throat from the croak his name had sounded. “—what are you doing here?” How did he know where to find her? Only her father knew, and that tossed the contents of her stomach. Something had to be wrong. Her father wouldn’t have sent Matt to her just so they could see each other again.
“Caitlyn,” he started as he walked into her office as if he owned it, “it’s good to see you again. I’m here for two reasons. One, your dad was hurt.”
Fear rocketed through her, setting off tiny sparks of panic. Her initial suspicion had been right. Her dad. Hurt. She opened her mouth to ask what happened and how badly, but Matt forestalled her.
He put up his hands to ward off her questions. “He’s okay, but he sent me to you. You’re in danger, and I’m here to protect you.”
Danger? Protect her? Had he heard about Neil Holbrook? Surely not. Protect her. Had he lost his frickin’ mind? This had to be some scheme to get near her. Maybe her mind wasn’t thinking logically with all that information tossed at her at once. How could a person embrace that in two seconds? But her dad? Ignoring the second reason he was there, she asked, “What happened to Daddy?”
He put his hands in his front jeans pockets, making him look vulnerable. “He was beaten up pretty badly and then shot.”
“Shot?” she squeaked, her blood running cold. She grabbed the edge of the desk for balance.
He nodded. “He asked for you to stay here instead of going to see him.”
Some strength jetted back in her at that statement. Is that right? Humph. Her dad should know her better than that. Not go see him? Impossible. She loved him and he was hurt. “Well, he can ask all he wants. I’m going to see him,” she informed him.
Matt flashed that grin she’d once loved. “I figured you would, so I’m here to escort you, and I have a team already at Adam’s, ready for your arrival.”
Confused and still a bit flustered at his being there and all that he was saying, she shook her head. She needed space from him. He affected her too much. “I can drive myself. I’ve done it plenty of times.”
“Not with Travis Ripley’s brother looking for you.”
This time, she was sure her heart stopped for a moment. A tremble she couldn’t control began to take over her body. “What—what do you mean? Why would he look for me? I don’t know the man, nor do I want to know him.”
With a shake of his head, Matt seemed sincere when he answered, “He’s the one who hurt your father, because he’s looking for you.”
“Oh God, oh God.” She slipped into her office chair before her wobbly legs collapsed on her and she embarrassed herself. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. She wanted Matt to be wrong. Very wrong. Only, he appeared stoic and resolute. Strength radiated from him.
He was beside her, handing her a water bottle that he must’ve pulled from the mini-fridge in her office where she kept plenty of beverages for her and the staff.
Her hands shook so badly she almost had the water sloshing over the top, but it did feel good going down. After two swigs, she calmed a little. Maybe it was Matt rubbing his hand up and down her back in a soothing manner. As if suddenly realizing he was touching her, she stiffened and jumped from the chair—away from him. Holy cow.
“Thank you for… the water,” she stumbled to say. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d gone all this time not being able to accept a man’s touch, and she’d allowed Matt to soothe her like old times and put his hand on her. She shuddered at the idea of a man touching her. One man had ruined her life that way, and it hadn’t been Matt.
Not moving from where he’d parked himself behind her desk, he said, “Now you understand why I’m here.”
“But you didn’t help last time” almost popped out, but she stopped the vile statement. He didn’t deserve it when it was only her anger leading her thoughts. Instead, she took a deep breath and responded, “Again, I can do this myself.”
Maybe if she said it enough, even she’d finally believe it.
Matt started to speak and she held up her hand. “But I’m smart enough to know that until this gets sorted out, I—” She cleared her throat, preparing herself for her next statement that would surely please him unless he really listened to what she actually said. “I agree that I need help in protecting me and my dad.”
Having admitted it, her body felt lighter, but she worried about more than her safety.
MATT STOOD BEHIND a desk he assumed was Caitlyn’s and had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out, pull her tightly into his arms, and comfort her. She’d been fine with him until she’d realized he was touching her. Then she’d freaked and couldn’t put the distance between them fast enough. Was her aversion to touching relegated to him in particular, or men in general? There was a time when she asked for his touch. It seemed a lifetime ago, but it had been the case. And he’d always enjoyed giving her even a whisper of a touch anytime she was near.
Standing apart from him in her snug jeans and loose fitting, blue T-shirt that had Helping Paws imprinted on it, she was a sight to behold. She’d filled out a bit more than when they were in college. Back then, she’d had college girl slender curves, and now she had womanly curves. He swallowed hard. He enjoyed the sight of her mature body. Now there was something to hold onto. Not that he’d complained about her body before this maturing of her figure.
Trying to get his dick under control as his jeans tightened, he examined the rest of the woman he’d loved for ten years. In the eight years since they’d been split, he’d wondered what she looked like, and his imaginings didn’t do justice to the woman in front of him. With her brown hair streaked with blonde flowing down near the middle of her back, and those memorable bluish-green eyes wide, he wanted to jump to her, take her in his arms, and show her how much he missed her. She’d changed from a beautiful coed to a remarkable woman who could still affect him by just being around him.
Handling her was the last thing he wanted to do, but on the trip up, he’d decided he’d do it if necessary. She’d thrown him by agreeing to travel with him, so he quickly had to rethink his planned and practiced arguments to get her to agree. “Good,” he stated firmly, since she’d taken all his bluster by saying ‘yes.’
She fidgeted, and that bothered him. She obviously hadn’t forgiven him. He was damn lucky she’d even allowed him in the same room. Of course, he hadn’t really given her a chance to toss him out. When he’d arrived, a male employee greeted him and pointed him to the office. He’d convinced the guy she’d be okay with him and that he was an old family friend. He’d chuckle at how easy it was to get to Caitlyn if they didn’t have a serious fucking problem where shitty lack of security could get her killed.
For the next minute or two, she appeared to fight with her emotio
ns. He saw anger and fear cross her face—she’d never been good at hiding her emotions—before a “don’t even try it” mask appeared. He almost wanted to applaud her for making that happen, but didn’t figure she’d appreciate it.
“Matt,” she said with that slight southern accent he so loved. Then she released a sigh. “I appreciate you coming all this way to tell me about my dad, but next time just use a phone. I could’ve hired someone to travel with me for protection.”
An actual slap in the face would’ve felt better than her statement. He slammed both hands down on her desk and watched her jump. Crap. He hadn’t meant to scare her, only grab her attention. That was when the light bulb in his head went on and he realized that she’d agreed she needed protection but never agreed it’d be him. Well, fuck me.
“Look. Did you not hear that your attacker’s brother is the one who hurt your father?” Okay, he’d told Adam he wouldn’t share that unless he had to, but dammit, she needed to know the truth or she wouldn’t listen. “He was looking for you.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around her body. Her bluster was waning and she was beginning to look like a frightened rabbit. “Why is he after me?”
He swiped his hand down his face. He hadn’t slept much the night before, anxious to see her again. Not for this reason though. “It’s got something to do with the next parole hearing. Caitlyn, your dad wants me to protect you.”
“I get that I need protection, and I’ll somehow get it for both me and Daddy. My question is how did it end up being you that my dad chose?” Her soft words almost sounded like a plea.
A heavy sigh slipped past his lips. “I found your father.” His insides churned. “I ran off Ripley and got Adam medical help. He asked me because I was there and he’s worried about you.”
