“Men,” Mary said with an indulgent smile. “Their overconfidence is adorable.”
“It must be nice. And it even seems to work,” Julie added bitterly, thinking of Melvin. Who’d have thought he could date a girl like the poor child? Did she have a clue about how much time he spent watching golf and football on TV, or how irritated he got if his hairbrush, wallet and keys weren’t lined up just so on his dresser at night?
“Not all of us guys have that kind of confidence,” Earl said, his face twisting into a rueful smile. “That’s why it’s hard for someone like me to get a date. When you present yourself as what you are—a short, chunky small-town cop—the winks and waves don’t exactly rain down on you.”
Julie looked over at Earl with fondness. They’d been couple-friends since their kids were young together, at first during summers in Pleasant Shores and then full-time. Melvin had seemed to enjoy the time they’d all spent together, but he’d often talked Earl down for his weakness for doughnuts and pastries, called him a living stereotype.
They’d drifted apart even before Earl’s wife had been killed in a freak accident, partly because of Melvin’s attitude. Still, Julie had always felt warm toward him. Earl wasn’t likely to hit the gym anytime soon, and yet surely there must be a woman who would overlook his Pillsbury Doughboy figure and see his heart of gold.
For herself, rather than seeking a man who’d overlook her flaws, she was determined to get rid of them. She reached over and set aside the intermittent fasting book. She was going to give it a try.
The bells on the door jingled again, and this time, Ria came in. “Do you still want to go to lunch, Mom?”
“Just as soon as she’s done finding her dream guy online,” Mary said, and then waved a hand, laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Not the kind of thing you want to know about your mom.”
“I’m not doing online dating,” Julie said, though with less conviction than she’d had before. If Earl had done it, it couldn’t be too bad.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Ria said. “You’re beautiful, and young, and you deserve happiness.”
Julie put her arm around her daughter, appreciating her kindness anew. “Thanks, honey.” But inside, she wondered how much Ria knew about her father’s shenanigans. If she knew he was seeing someone, would she tell Julie? Or try to protect her from potentially hurtful information?
“Let me see what kind of dudes you’re looking at,” Ria said, leaning closer, and Mary showed her RichSexyRetired. “Wonder if he really looks like that?”
“Wait a minute,” Julie said, struck. “Have you ever done online dating?”
Ria shook her head. “I have friends who’ve tried to talk me into it, but when do I have time to date?”
Julie recognized an excuse when she heard one. She worried about her daughter. She was too young to give up on men.
“You need to make time,” Earl said. “Don’t wait until you’re my age and all alone.”
“You’re not all alone. You have us.” Ria put a friendly arm around Earl’s shoulders. “Come over for supper anytime. The girls would love to see you.”
“You know I can’t resist your cooking, Miss Ria,” he said. “I’ll definitely stop over.” Then he looked at Julie. “If that’s okay with you. I know you’re living there now, too, or right next door. You must spend a lot of time together as a family.”
“It’s fine with me if you come for dinner,” Julie said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He looked at her for a moment longer. “Right,” he said, sounding a little less enthusiastic. “I’d better get back to work.” He gave a general wave and headed out the door.
As Julie gathered her things, she thought about how much better she felt with her women friends than she had either alone or with Melvin. With Earl, too—he was almost one of the girls, with his stories of dating woes.
She was still going to lose the weight, though. That was the way to snag a guy who would make Melvin crazy with jealousy.
Life wasn’t complete without a man in it. She hated to even have the thought, and Mary would flay her for it, but after all those years of marriage, she felt it to be true, at least for her.
She rang up the book on fasting and both Ria and Mary looked on.
“You’re really going to do that, Mom?” Ria asked.
“I might.”
“Let me know how it works,” Ria said. “I could always stand to lose a few.” She wandered off toward the new mysteries.
Mary leaned toward Julie. “If you’re making all your plans around trying to be what Melvin wanted,” she said, “seems like he’s still controlling you.”
“I know, I know.”
“Decide for yourself how you want to look and act. Don’t just try to live up to Melvin’s expectations.”
Julie sucked in a breath. “Maybe I am still being controlled by him,” she said, thinking again about how happy she’d been in the company of Mary, Ria and Earl. “But I don’t know how to stop.” She slid the book into a bag, tucked it under her arm and headed out for a last decadent lunch with her daughter. She’d start her diet tomorrow.
* * *
THURSDAY NIGHT ABOUT SUNSET, Trey pulled his truck into the parking lot of Trinity Bay’s small public beach. He looked sideways at Erica. Dressed in jeans, a dark T-shirt and black high-tops, she looked all of fifteen. “You sure you want to do this with me?” he asked her.
“Yes! You need a lookout.” She was bright, peppy, in a good mood. Her sister had had a good doctor appointment apparently, and Hannah was making new friends.
Erica was the type of person whose happiness came from the happiness of others. The complete opposite of his ex-wife, who’d barely noticed other people’s feelings. He couldn’t help admiring Erica for that.
They climbed out of the truck and walked down to the beach, taking it slow and craning to see if anyone was there. It was cool tonight, and they’d both pulled on dark sweaters before exiting the truck.
“I know sneaking around is no big deal to a cop like you,” she said, “but to me, this is fun. It’s like spying.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Although I’m taking it seriously, I promise. I know it’s important business. We have to make sure King is okay.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun. And I’m sure he’s fine.” He’d been trying to tell himself that since Erica had reported the conversation with the bike rental guy. Most likely, the kid had misinterpreted normal police dog training as something abusive. Training a working dog wasn’t like training a pet.
And if he wasn’t convinced King was being abused and needed his help, then why was he really here?
He had to admit the truth: he was looking for a reason King’s placement wouldn’t work. Looking for it because he wanted King back, so that when he left Pleasant Shores and returned to police work, King would be at his side. As an officer with a trained K-9 partner, he would be that much more appealing for his own department to hire back, or for another department to add to its numbers.
Without King, he was just another out-of-work cop.
He heard something in the bushes and twisted, but it was just a squirrel. Still, his back complained, and he grimaced. Unlike Erica’s sister, he hadn’t been getting the best of reports from his physical therapist and his doctor. “There’s a possibility that this could become chronic,” the doc had said yesterday at Trey’s appointment.
Well, a possibility wasn’t for sure, and he was trying to work a little harder at each session of PT. His therapist had given him another set of at-home exercises to supplement his sessions at the office, and he intended to surprise her by completing them religiously and showing big improvements at his next session.
He hadn’t gotten where he was in life by accepting other people’s predictions about his abilities.
“There he is!” Erica gripped his sleeve and pointed. “At least, there�
��s a guy and a dog.”
In the dim light, it was a little hard to tell, but then the dog barked.
Recognition of the sound made Trey smile. “That’s King,” he said. “Now, let’s watch and see what kind of training he’s getting.”
“Won’t the new handler see us?”
“We’ll pretend to be a couple of lovers,” Trey suggested, then wished he hadn’t when he saw Erica’s quick frown. “Sorry. Kidding.”
“No,” she said slowly, “it makes sense for us to do that, because if he glances over...” Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him.
“What the...?” He trailed off, engulfed in the sweet feel and smell of her. She wasn’t skin and bones after all, and she wasn’t fragile. Her back felt strong beneath his hands, her soft feminine curves nestling against him in all kinds of interesting ways. Some basic male instinct made him nuzzle her neck.
“He sees us!” She hissed out the words and shifted. Was she trying to move away or trying to get closer? He couldn’t tell, but he also couldn’t resist her. He pulled her tighter against him.
She turned so more of her was visible than him. “Duck down! He knows you and he doesn’t know me. I’m trying to shield you!”
That made sense.
Not that much was making sense with her clenched against him.
He tried to care that Cochran might see him, recognize him, report him. That would be bad. Sure it would, but compared to the fruity smell of Erica’s hair... He drew in another appreciative breath. “This is nice,” he murmured into her ear.
“Is he still looking?” Her voice sounded strange, choked.
He forced himself to open his eyes and focus on the officer and King. The guy had King in a sit-stay and was walking away. “No.”
She unwrapped herself and sat down on the breaker wall at the edge of the beach, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have jumped you like that. I didn’t think.”
“It worked.” Boy, had it worked. He sat down next to her and slipped his arm around her.
She tensed and glanced uneasily at him.
“Just keeping up the facade,” he said.
“Oh. Okay.” She seemed to be breathing slowly, through her mouth, almost yoga breathing. In through the nose, out through the lips. Yoga breathing or having-a-baby, labor breathing like he’d happened to see on a show about childbirth.
Truth to tell, he’d kind of liked watching that show, hadn’t been able to make himself click away, and now he thought about what it would be like if Erica were carrying his child. He’d definitely be the kind of husband who went along to every appointment and gladly coached her through labor and birth. Some guys were squeamish about that, but not him. He was into the miracle.
She shifted beside him. “So, anyway,” she said, sounding nervous, and suddenly he realized what was going on: she’d been affected by being close to him. Maybe? He could hope.
As for him, he’d never felt anything sweeter. He’d wanted to keep holding her forever. Felt like that was how long it would take to get to know her, to unpeel all her layers, to understand the woman she was beneath the professionalism and the guardedness.
They heard a command, carried to them on the breeze, and Trey put his focus back where it belonged, on King. At that point, Trey realized the dog had been made to stay for a long time, longer than Trey would ever put him through.
King was a pro, though. He stayed still, and then, on command, he trotted to his new handler.
Trey would have knelt and praised him, but Cochran yelled something, grabbed King’s leash and jerked it upward, forcing King into a sit position.
Trey’s fists clenched.
King obeyed, but even from this distance, Trey could tell his ears were flattened back a little. The dog wasn’t happy. That correction must have hurt.
“That was mean,” Erica whispered. “Why’d he do that?”
“King should’ve stopped and sat in front of him.” Trey forced his hands to relax. “It’s more of an obedience thing than a police thing, but some guys consider it essential.”
He was trying to give Cochran the benefit of the doubt, but it wasn’t easy. The guy uttered another sharp command—using German, it sounded like, which was common among police handlers—and King fell into step beside him.
Cochran put King through a series of maneuvers, giving orders in a sharp voice, offering no praise or treats.
King’s head drooped and his ears lay back.
Which wasn’t Trey’s business. Every handler did things his own way. King was a dog who needed to work, and for that to happen, he had to get used to a new handler, learn his style.
The officer put King into another sit-stay and walked away. This time, he waited an even longer time. Finally, he called King to him.
King trotted forward and sat directly in front of Cochran.
There was no praise, but at least he’d avoided a correction.
Cochran snapped his fingers and King stood and moved to his side, tail between his legs.
Trey’s heart felt heavy, like a rock. “Man, I hate to see him like this. I want him back.”
“Is there any way you can—”
“Nope.” Trey cut her off as a way of cutting off his own hopes in that direction. “Unless he absolutely won’t work for the new handler, they’ll leave him there.” His throat tightened on the last word.
“I’m sorry.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and hugged his arm. “It’s so hard to lose a dog. Especially when you see him being treated like this. I wish you could get him back.”
“So do I.”
All of a sudden King stopped, raised his nose to sniff the air. His tail started to wag.
“Uh-oh,” Trey said, and Erica’s hand tightened on his arm.
King gave a short, joyous bark and strained toward them. They were half a football field away, but King’s senses were keen. He’d caught wind of Trey.
Part of him wanted to tell King to go back, stop, halt, stay. The other part wanted to run forward and pull his dog into his arms.
Cochran shouted a correction, but King ignored it, pulling toward the scent he’d caught, the scent of Trey, his longtime, well-loved handler.
Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
Cochran’s voice rose into a scream. He yanked King’s collar—probably a prong collar—hard. King ignored what had to be severe pain, continuing to pull toward Trey.
Cochran got in front of the dog and kneed him square on his side, knocking him to the ground. Then he kicked King in the chest.
King let out a yelp.
Cochran kicked him again.
And then Trey was flying over the sand, legs pumping, shouting, the pain in his back barely at the edge of his consciousness. “Leave him alone!” he yelled.
“What the—” Cochran turned in their direction and let out a curse. “Harrison! What are you doing here?” He yanked King’s collar, trying to pull the whimpering dog to a stand.
Rage pounded through Trey’s head like wild horses. Enough was enough. “Give. Me. The. Leash.” His fists were clenched.
“Trey.” Erica’s hand was on his arm. “Sir,” she said to Cochran, “you need to hand over the dog, now. We saw you abusing him.”
“Abusing...” He cursed again. “Harrison, this is against protocol. You’re not supposed to be anywhere near my dog.”
“Protocol probably also dictates that you shouldn’t kick your K-9 partner,” Erica said hotly. “You may have hurt him, damaged his organs.”
“He’s not hurt. He’s a tough dog.”
“He’s my dog.” Trey knelt and ran his hands over King, checking for lacerations or broken bones. King licked his hand, his brown eyes fixed on Trey’s.
Cochran leaned down and grabbed King’s prong collar.
“Release!” Trey snapped.
Cochran yanked his arm away with a howl. “He bit me!” He clutched his arm, his face a mask of horror as he backed away.
And it all fell into place for Trey. The guy was afraid of dogs. Or, at least, afraid of King. That was why he’d trained with such harshness.
Strange for a man who feared dogs to become a K-9 officer. Strange, but not unheard of. Some men felt they had to overcome any and all fears; some feared only one particular type of dog and so normally worked with other types.
“Are you all right?” Erica went motherly, taking Cochran’s arm, studying it, patting his shoulder.
Trey wondered why she was acting so nice to the jerk, and then he understood. Clever girl. She was investigating the extent of damage King had done to Cochran.
“Your jacket’s ripped,” she said after a quick examination, “but it doesn’t look like any skin is broken.”
“I’m reporting this. You’d better believe I’m reporting this,” he said, glaring at them.
“Okay.” Trey sighed. He shouldn’t have done what he’d done, probably, but watching King get kicked without helping him wasn’t in his skill set. He could already imagine the consequences that would start to rain down on him.
“That dog’s not fit for police work,” Cochran blustered. “And neither are you. Spying on a fellow officer, stalking me... You’re out of line.”
“He wasn’t...” Erica started, then went quiet, knelt and scratched King’s ears. “Look. For now, we’ll just take the dog. We can work out the details later, during the day, when everyone’s not so upset.”
Cochran looked down at King and spit. Then he turned and stomped away, already punching numbers into his cell phone.
Trey stood and clicked his tongue to King, who struggled to his feet. He looked up at Trey, awaiting a command, mouth open and panting in what looked like a smile.
Trey tugged the dog against his leg, and the familiar weight and smell of him was a balm to his heart.
Cottage at the Beach (The Off Season) Page 10
