by Kate Kinsley
Zeus deserved a nice long evening walk and I craved seeing Michael again. I craved more than just that but the rest would have to wait until we were alone—not that that would stop the gossips.
Speaking of gossips—I shot a glare at Mary Brimley’s house, just in case she was creeping behind the drapes watching me, before I knocked on the front door.
Michael answered. “Hey. Everything okay? I missed you this morning.”
He missed me? That was possibly the second best thing I’d heard all day. The first being that Carson thought I had nothing to worry about when it came to Zeus.
I smiled at Michael. “Yeah. Everything’s great. I talked to somebody who knows about dogs who are suffering from post-traumatic stress. And he says that Zeus just needs to be left alone when he’s scared and hiding. That he’ll come out when he’s ready.”
Michael nodded as Zeus moved closer to him. “Hmm. Good advice. Sometimes you just need to leave someone alone until they’re ready.”
As he reached down to pet Zeus, I knew what he was saying was directed right at me and the fact I kept coming around even when, in the beginning, he’d rather I didn’t.
I heard what he was saying but it didn’t mean I agreed with it. I cocked up one brow. “If I had left you alone, last night wouldn’t have happened, now would it?”
He sent me a sly glance. “Yeah. I guess.”
No guessing about it. I was right. I was right about something else too. If I hadn’t pushed my way into Michael’s life, he wouldn’t be petting Zeus right now, both of them looking more content together than they ever had apart.
Michael glanced up from concentrating on rubbing the dog’s ear to look at me. “I want him.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, confused.
“I wanna adopt Zeus.”
My eyes widened. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
“What about your dad? Does he even want a dog?”
“I can handle my dad. Don’t worry about that.”
I believed him.
I’d seen firsthand yesterday in his bedroom how well Michael had handled his father, while I cowered on the floor behind the mattress. I had confidence he’d be just as effective when it came to Zeus.
I let out a short laugh, surprised, but in a really good way. I didn’t think this was the right time for a victory lap, so I managed to control myself—mostly. Well, at least on the outside.
I did allow myself a small smile as I said, “I’ll fill out the paperwork.”
Chapter Nine
As I stood at the door, Zeus by my side, I had to think how much had changed in so short a time.
The first time I’d knocked on this door I’d been royally pissed over the whole poop incident. The second time I’d been hesitant, nervous facing my schoolgirl crush.
Now—was it really only a week later?—I was confident. Happy.
I glanced down at Zeus. “You ready to move into your new home, boy?”
He looked up at me with his deep chocolate brown eyes and thumped his tail against the porch, the floorboards of which had been recently scraped of flaking paint. A new gallon of fresh white exterior porch enamel sat in the corner.
A smile twitched up my lips. If I had to guess, I’d bet that paint was waiting for Michael to apply it. The grass was also mowed and the tall weeds trimmed around the hedges and foundation.
Many changes indeed. And even though it was making me sad to say goodbye to my canine companion, it was time for one more change.
I raised my fist and knocked.
When the door swung in, it was Mr. Timmerman who filled the open space.
I swallowed my yelp of surprise and said, “Um. Hi. Michael is expecting me.”
The older man tipped his head. “He told me.”
“Oh. Good. Is he, uh, around?” I asked.
Yeah, not too awkward. Right.
“He’s out back putting up the last couple sections of fencing.” The man tipped his head toward the rear of the house.
“We’ll just walk around and—”
“Hang on. I wanted to say something to you first.”
Crap. So close.
“Oh. Okay.” Why did I feel as if I’d been summoned to the principal’s office?
And how the hell did all the males in the Timmerman family have the power to emotionally transport me back to my awkward teen years?
“I, uh, just wanted to say I appreciate what you did. What you’re doing.”
Since I was pretty sure—or at least hoping—he wasn’t talking about my boffing his son I said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“He’s better. He’s not quite back to being like his old self again but he’s definitely getting there. And that happened when you started coming around. Thanks for being Mike’s friend.”
Friends. Yup, Michael and I had been friendly every night for the last three nights in a row. Usually more than once.
Again, that was hopefully not what the father of the man I was doing was talking about. And once I pocketed the embarrassment of those thoughts, I had to feel good about things. To have confirmation from family—not just my own opinion—that Michael was seeming better, was everything.
“Oh, sure. Of course. We enjoy spending time with Michael.” I included Zeus in that we.
The man’s gaze dropped to the dog. “I heard the dog has had a tough time of it himself.”
What’s this? Did mean old man Timmerman have a heart after all?
“He has had a rough go. But he’s doing good. He and Michael get along well.”
The old man nodded, but I swear I saw a glimmer of emotion, possibly an unshed tear, in his eyes.
He did have a heart even though everyone assumed he’d buried it along with Michael’s mother thirty years ago. Zeus had brought the old man’s heart back to life, when I hadn’t even given the poor guy a chance.
That, above all of the other amazing feats Zeus had accomplished in his life and during his military career, might be this dog’s biggest skill. His superpower. Healing human hearts.
“We’re gonna head around back and see Michael.” I tipped my head to the side of the house.
Time to get out of there, before we both started crying. That would be way more than I was ready to share with my lover’s father at this time.
He nodded and Zeus and I skedaddled.
I was more than relieved to find Michael working in the yard. And that he was shirtless and looking oh so fine only added to my sheer happiness from just seeing him.
“Hi,” I said.
He looked up from the tool he’d been using to attach the picket fence section to the upright post sunk in the ground.
“Hey.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes as his gaze moved from me to Zeus. “My best girl and my best boy are here.”
I froze at what was probably just an off the cuff expression, even though it felt like more.
He moved close and leaned in for a kiss. I accepted his quick peck on the lips happily, but I still couldn’t get the question out of my mind.
After setting down the tool and ruffling the fur on the back of Zeus’s neck, Michael straightened and said, “Okay. What’s wrong?”
“What?” I asked, surprised. “Nothing.”
“Something is up.”
“How do you know?” I asked, frustrated he could read me so well all the time.
“This frown for one.” He tapped the space between my brows with his forefinger. “And that you’re not talking a mile a minute, like usual.”
I pouted and that frown, no doubt, grew deeper. “I don’t talk a mile a minute.”
He cocked up a brow and waited. As usual, I caved first when faced with his silence.
“Okay. Sometimes I might,” I admitted.
Again, he waited, the amused expression becoming increasingly familiar.”
“Okay, fine.” I huffed out a sigh. “I was just wondering, if what you said means, you know, that I am. Am I? Your girl? Because, you know, I
’m fine either way. However you want. We can keep it casual—”
“Stephanie.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.” Michael smiled wide before he pulled me in close with a hand on each of my hips.
This kiss was much more than a peck. This was a binocular worthy make-out session that I was sure Mary Brimley would be enjoying if she were home. That I couldn’t care all that much if she was or wasn’t was testament to how all-consuming Michael’s lip-lock was.
When he finally broke the kiss and leaned back so he could see my face and I his, he said, “And, yes, you’re my girl. Actually, you’re my woman. And I’d better be your man.” His brows drew low in warning.
“You are. The only man in my life. Believe me. Well, you and Zeus.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled. I was more than happy to keep it that way for a long, long time. Possibly forever.
Also By Cat Johnson
If you enjoyed Dog Days by Cat Johnson, check out the full-length standalone novels set in Mudville. And don’t miss Carson’s story in BAD DECISIONS.
KISSING BOOKS
RED HOT
HONEY BUNS
ZERO FORKS
MISTER NAUGHTY
BAD DECISIONS
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About Cat Johnson
ABOUT CAT JOHNSON
Cat Johnson is a top 10 New York Times bestseller and a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance that usually features hot alpha heroes (who often wear combat or cowboy boots) and the sassy heroines brave enough to love them. Known for her unique marketing she has sponsored pro bull riders, owns a collection of camouflage and western wear for book signings, and has used bologna to promote romance novels.
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Achilles Heals
Navy SEAL Senior Petty Officer Robert “Axel” Axelson and his bomb sniffing dog Achilles have just under six months left of their tour in Afghanistan when they are both injured on a reconnaissance mission. Axel needs to recover before he can join Achilles back home, but Achilles gets loose at the airport and goes missing.
Margaret Caldicott is on a run when she stumbles upon an injured Achilles. She tends to the bleeding dog and nurses him back to health, naming him Lucky for having found him when she did.
Finally arriving stateside, Axel searches for Achilles and finds him at a dog park with Maggie, but she’s unwilling to part with the pooch. Loathing soon becomes admiration, and feelings emerge from their skepticism. Could Axel have found more than his missing dog or will he be bound to weekend visitations?
Chapter One
Axel
Today marks the one hundred and eightieth day of my year-long deployment.
Only one hundred and eighty more days to go—one hundred and eighty days before my tour in Afghanistan is over.
My career as a SEAL has been a long, and dare I say dicey, ten years. When I first joined the Navy, I swore I’d be in it for the long haul. But seeing what I’ve seen…
Don’t get me wrong.
I love being a Navy SEAL.
I love my brothers like they were blood… I just feel like it’s becoming a younger man’s game. I can’t do all of the things I used to be able to do. My body won’t move in the direction my mind wills it to so easily anymore. I’m getting tired, and that’s how men get killed. As much as I hate to admit it, it may be time to hang up my hat and become an instructor or something other than active combat.
Swinging my legs from my bunk, I stand and stretch my arms over my head. My joints crack and pop as I twist—something that’s becoming a common occurrence. Achilles, my dog partner, stares at me from the bed, his head resting on his front paws. I move across the room and pull on a pair of fatigues and a T-shirt. Strolling to the bathroom, I take care of my morning rituals and exit with Achilles exactly as I left him. “Achilles, come.”
He hops off the bunk and stands in front of me. “Sit.”
Achilles does as I command and stares up at me, awaiting more instructions. “Such a good boy,” I mutter as I scratch his head. “Down.”
He lays down but stays alert, his gaze still focused on me. I crouch down and push him on his side, giving him a good belly rub. His head rolls back, and his eyes close, a low moan rolling from his chest. I chuckle as I scratch, his back leg beginning to twitch. Stopping for a moment, I reach over and grasp a pig’s ear I have stashed in my bag, along with a brush. As I turn back, he lifts his head as if to say, Why did you stop?
“Stop being so dramatic, Achilles. Look what I have?” His ears perk up when he spies the brush, and he scrambles to sit up.
Brushing Achilles is one of the highlights of his day.
And mine.
Being a German Shepherd, his hair tends to knot up if I don’t groom him at least twice a week. I toss him the ear for him to gnaw on as I stroke, making sure to check his toe pads for any cuts or injuries. Brushing him is very relaxing, and I almost forget there’s a war going on outside my small barracks.
I touch the spot on his leg that gave him his name. He’s black and brown with the exception of a single white spot on his back-right paw—right where someone’s Achilles tendon would be. The foster family that raised him sounded out other names, but this one just stuck.
When I’m satisfied he’s knot-free, I toss the brush back in the bag. “C’mon, Achilles. Time to go to work.”
He follows me out of our barracks and we jog toward the main meeting room.
Waiting for us around the large round table is my team.
My unit consists of five other men. We’ve been together since the team formed six years ago. I was pulled from another SEAL team to create this one, and I couldn’t have asked for a better group of soldiers to work with. Professional to a fault, each and every one. We make the perfect unstoppable unit.
And… they all love Achilles.
He’s never starved for attention, that’s for sure.
It takes a certain kind of dog to function in Afghanistan. The hot desert terrain requires a dog with tremendous drive and a keen sense of smell. A dog that thrives on working and a search dog without drive is about as useful as a sniper rifle without bullets.
When you’re out on patrol, it’s the service dog’s job to be up front. He needs to be focused and motivated.
That is Achilles.
He has everything a perfect service dog could have…and then some.
“Well, don’t you look handsome,” Master Chief Martin Harris coos to Achilles as we enter, bending to scratch his ears. Achilles lifts his head to give him better access. He’s such an attention whore.
“What’d I miss?” I ask as I take a seat. Achilles strolls around the table to get his daily fill of pets and scratches, and the boys oblige.
Martin turns his attention to me. “Not a thing, Axel. We were waiting for you.”
After he’s made his rounds, Achilles settles by my feet. Martin begins to brief us about our detail.
Today is recon day and we’re tasked to go about four clicks to the north and survey the mountains where a convoy of supplies is coming through later tonight. He doesn’t anticipate any problems, but if the Taliban catches wind of the transport, they could be lingering above out of our line of sight. This is where Achilles shines. We were chosen specifically for this task force because of his qualifications—his expertise.
“Seems easy enough,” Rorke Cahill, our demo expert, mutters under his breath.
Eddie Maguire, our sniper, knows better and shakes his head. “I don’t like it. Too many crevices along the road. They could set up anywhere and we’d be blind.”
“I agree, which is why we’re going to check
it out first,” Martin answers as he stands, placing his palms flat on the table. Master Chief didn’t get to where he is for being a cowboy. He is meticulous with his strategy and planning, and would never put us in jeopardy for being careless.
Nikolai Petrov, our medic adds, “We got this! We’ve got the best nose in Afghanistan. I’d trust that dog with my life any day of the week.” He’s right. Achilles is spot on when it comes to sniffing out bombs or insurgents. He lives for the praise… and treats.
“Alright. I want to leave the base by sixteen-hundred. Be back here and ready to go ten minutes prior.”
We all stand and exit.
Since we have some downtime, I take Achilles out for a run and do some training exercises with him. Simple tasks like doing an agility course to recreate real-life situations and practicing commands for listening and direction. It’s good to keep him sharp, and he loves running and chasing things.
Later that afternoon, we gather our gear and head north into the mountains. Traveling in two bulletproof Humvees, we leisurely drive toward the convoy route and set up. Later, when the convoy of supplies passes the ravine, we’ll follow them back.
Once at the location we exit the truck. “Eddie, you’re on overwatch,” Martin informs him. Eddie unpacks his sniper rifle and climbs to a location just over the pass on the west side, with his back to the sun. Perfect place to perch. He’ll be able to see anyone coming up behind the convoy from there, and the glare of the sun will protect his location. James Fuller, our tech expert, and Nikolai explore the east side of the pass. Rorke and I check out the base of the canyon, using Achilles to sniff out any traps.
We conduct a careful search of the area and are satisfied there aren’t any IEDs planted along the road. Achilles’ pace is methodical, and he didn’t expend much energy as he worked. And he’s the only dog I’ve ever worked with that’s found every single test ‘find’ I’ve hidden.
