In Service of Love

by Laurel Greer

  A service dog in training knows just what they need!

  Veterinarian Maggie Reid is focused on training service dogs and has no time for romance. Yet Asher Matsuda sends her guarded heart into a tailspin. The widowed single dad has vowed to put his grieving daughter first. He can’t be falling for a beautiful workaholic who hides behind her career. But every dog has its day and this stubborn duo is no different...if only they’ll take a chance on love!

  He stepped closer and brushed a stray curl off her cheek.

  “Asher...” Longing flickered across her face. Maggie bit her lower lip.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re flirting with me.” She said it softly, warily, as if she couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

  “Yeah.”

  Her brow furrowed. “And you’re at work.”

  “Is that the only reason you don’t like it?”

  As if by habit, she rested a hand on the dog’s back. Jackson sent Asher a dubious look.

  I know, buddy. Crashing hard, here.

  Her chest rose with a deep breath. Her earlier flush returned to her cheeks. “Who said I didn’t like it?”

  “A hunch.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and around him before rising up to steal a kiss.

  Clearly not. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he sank into the kiss. She tasted like mint and woman.

  His pulse kicked up. Drove higher as her hands skimmed his back.

  She murmured, a pleasure-filled sound that hummed along his skin.

  * * *

  SUTTER CREEK, MONTANA: Passion and happily-ever-afters in Big Sky Country

  Dear Reader,

  Characters often come to me fully formed, and Asher Matsuda is an example of that. The bisexual widower had a cameo in his brother Caleb’s book, Holiday by Candlelight. Given the advice he shared with Caleb, I knew Asher still believed in love, even after losing his husband to cancer. I had a sexy-as-all-get-out mental picture of a brawny bearded man shelving books and leading children’s story time. I also knew he was a loving father who was willing to make a life-altering change—moving across the country—because he believed he and his daughter, Ruth, needed a new start.

  Asher trusts his second chance at love will show up at the right time, for him and Ruth. Local veterinarian Maggie Reid doesn’t believe there’s ever a right time for that kind of vulnerability, but when the dog she’s training bonds with Asher and Ruth, she can’t help but wonder if the canine is onto something. There’s something irresistible about the kind-hearted librarian. Especially when he’s wielding a hammer in an attempt to make some extra cash to facilitate Ruth’s ski-racing team fees. The newcomers have Maggie questioning long-held beliefs. Does she have room for romance and motherhood—and a giant goofy dog—in her life after all?

  I’d love to hear your own goofy-dog stories. Come find me on Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest (laurelgreerauthor) to share your best canine adventures.

  Happy reading,

  Laurel

  In Service of Love

  Laurel Greer

  Raised in a small town on Vancouver Island, Laurel Greer grew up skiing and boating by day and reading romances under the covers by flashlight at night. Ever committed to the proper placement of the Canadian eh, she loves to write books with snapping sexual tension and second chances. She lives outside Vancouver with her law-talking husband and two daughters. At least half her diet is made up of tea. Find her at www.laurelgreer.com.

  Books by Laurel Greer

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Sutter Creek, Montana

  From Exes to Expecting

  A Father for Her Child

  Holiday by Candlelight

  Their Nine-Month Surprise

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To Carly and Elaine, thank you for the unflagging support, expertise and encouragement. I’m so fortunate to have you in my corner.

  And to Jackson—thanks for lending me your name and demeanor. Miss you, buddy. Who’s a good boy?

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Slow Burn by Caro Carson

  Chapter One

  Is that dog reading?

  Asher Matsuda did a double take before polishing the lenses of his glasses. Ignoring the mess of returned books in the library’s intake bin, he mentally scribbled “literate canine” on his overflowing never-thought-I’d-see-that list.

  A Great Dane, its short coat almost cadet blue in color, stared intently at the shelf of books in front of him. The dog had to outweigh his handler by half. The petite blonde woman wore scrubs. One of her pale hands rested on the service vest between the dog’s shoulder blades. She dragged a finger of the other along the spines of the true crime section.

  Huh. Her no-nonsense, curly bob and the serious tilt to her rosy mouth gave off the impression of a memoir reader, probably of political science or history-focused books.

  But if anyone knew not to put people in boxes, it was a bisexual, male librarian with a penchant for reading romance novels and blowing out electric guitar amps. And if Asher had a dollar for every time he’d been told he’d look more at home on a football field than behind a circulation desk, he’d have enough money to fund his ten-year-old daughter’s dream of being a Supreme Court Justice. When Asher and his late husband had named her after one of their modern-day heroes, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, they hadn’t anticipated Ruth would follow her namesake’s example so damn literally.

  He sneaked another peek at the towering, lanky dog and its handler, who had moved one row over into the nonfiction section. The Great Dane was now perusing the selection of WWII books as the woman played eeny meeny miney moe on the shelf above. Right around the Dewey decimal range for nineteenth-century Europe. Ha! His earlier prediction hadn’t been totally off base.

  She glanced his way, catching his gaze and fixing him with a look.

  Something along the lines of: stop staring, weirdo.

  He sent her an apologetic smile and ducked behind the desk to pull out the wheeled book return bin. The last thing he could afford was to be known as the creepy new guy. He and Ruth had moved to town a little under a month ago, not long enough for people to have gotten to know them yet. Sutter Creek seemed inviting, and his older brother, who’d moved here himself a year ago, would never have suggested Asher follow suit had he not believed it to be safe. But Asher had been out long enough that he knew the moment people realized he was bi, not gay, it often meant an even harder road to acceptance.

  He busied himself dealing with the minutiae of library work: checking books back in, processing patron requests, processing new arrivals. Shifting from a larger branch in Brooklyn to Sutter Creek, Montana’s tiny outpost, with its two-person staff, was no minor change, and he was still getting accustomed to the slower speed of small-town life. But his new position was an opportunity to essentially run a branch, a promotion that would have taken him another decade to move into in New York. He’d needed the challenge, and the raise, after being widowed.

  The front doors opened and his daughter bounced in, wiping her feet on the mat. A gust
of early October wind ruffled the posters pinned to the tackboard lining the wall across from the circulation desk. He’d had plenty of time to read the advertisements for community trivia night and Wing Wednesday at one of the local pubs, but hadn’t managed to explore any social options yet. Maybe now that Ruth was a month into the school year, he could look for a group of people interested in a regular jam session or a book club. He and Ruth had been welcomed warmly at the synagogue they’d started attending in Bozeman, but services were only held every second Saturday, and it was a bit of a drive. Better to make friends locally as quickly as he could, and ensure Ruth did the same.

  She waved, rushing forward. “Dad, guess what!”

  A canine yelp sounded from the other side of the library, between the shelves. Asher jerked his gaze from his approaching daughter to the dog, who was cowering at his person’s side. The corners of the woman’s mouth turned down and her shoulders slumped momentarily, before she straightened and motioned to the dog with an upturned hand.

  “Library voice, love,” he reminded Ruth. They had a good routine going. The elementary school was only a few blocks from the library, so she came to the branch after the last bell and did homework or read until closing time. Saved a hell of a lot on after-school care costs and let him keep an eye on her, too.

  She dropped her backpack on the floor and draped herself across the waist-high counter. Her feet swung, and the toes of her sneakers thunked dully on the front of the desk.

  The dog whined again, and Asher winced. But he couldn’t bring himself to go full taskmaster-librarian on her. When was the last time Ruth had bounded toward him like she had just now? Before Alex’s terminal diagnosis almost two years ago? He smiled encouragingly. “Remember, quiet body, too.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  He shuffled his armful of paperbacks onto the counter and tugged on his daughter’s windblown, dark brown ponytail. People got confused as to how Ruth had Asher’s Japanese grandfather’s stick-straight hair and Alex’s bright smile. One of the easier questions he got about his family. Science, and the generosity of Alex’s cousin, who’d been their egg donor and surrogate.

  He couldn’t be more thankful that Ruth had ended up with that particular dimpled grin. And it was dialed up to full wattage this afternoon.

  “That looks like the face of a girl who’s happy with the topic of her science inquiry project.”

  Her grin widened, future expensive orthodontic bills written all over her adorably crooked front teeth. “I am! It’s going to be epic.”

  Oh man. She was solidly in tween mode, and her moments of sounding older than she was never failed to amuse him. “Black holes?”

  She shook her head. “Skiing.”

  He blinked at her in puzzlement and adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt. “Say what, now? Wouldn’t that be for gym class?”

  “No, Dad. The physics of it. Racing. Did you know Olympians ski between 75 and 95 miles an hour?”

  He did. He also knew that avalanches moved at about the same speed, and ever since his older brother, Caleb, had been caught in one, racing down a slope had lost its shine. But then, without that avalanche, Caleb would still be in Denver, lonely and hurting. The charming Montana ski town—and the wonderful woman Caleb had fallen in love with—had provided a safe space to heal. Asher was hoping Sutter Creek would be the same for Ruth and him. The uncertainty of moving was a thousand times better than watching Ruth stare at the wall of her bedroom in the basement in his parents’ Brooklyn brownstone with tears on her apple-round cheeks.

  “I get bonus marks if I can test my hypothesis,” she said.

  “Hypothesis, huh? You sound like Papa.” Alex had been a high school science teacher. Damn good one, too. Ruth had been spouting four-syllable words since preschool.

  Her smile wobbled. “Can I take ski lessons? Harper and Fallon said there’s a team. With competitions and everything.”

  “Bit early in the season for that, honey.” He mentally added the cost of equipment rentals, passes and lessons to the ongoing tally of future orthodontia and college. Ouch. Even with his raise, going from two incomes down to one meant a strained budget. “The mountain doesn’t open for a couple of months.”

  Her toes collided with the desk again, and an animal whine sounded from over near the magazines. Weren’t assistance dogs supposed to be silent unless they were alerting to something? The cute blonde owner seemed to have her hands full.

  As did he, with almost five feet of precocious ten-year-old.

  “I know,” Ruth insisted. “But my teacher says I can hand in that part later.”

  Maybe his brother’s fiancée, who patrolled for the mountain, would be able to apply her employee discount to Ruth’s costs. Learning to ski might be affordable, but joining a racing team would be astronomical. “We’ll see, okay?”

  Ruth narrowed her hazel eyes. “That means no.”

  No, that meant moving across the country had dug way too far into what remained of Alex’s life insurance after paying funeral home and hospital co-pay bills. But Asher wasn’t going to lay that on his daughter’s shoulders. He knew how to stretch his salary. He also needed to make sure he wasn’t quashing her attempts to make friends, and she’d dropped the names Harper and Fallon a few times this week.

  “Skiing is a big commitment, Ruthie. Why don’t we go to the community center this weekend, see if there’s an activity a little less involved? Dance, or floor hockey.”

  She slid off the counter and crossed her arms over her teal fleece jacket. “You don’t feel like you’re flying when you do ballet, Dad.”

  “You might. Grand jetés are pretty impressive.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A ballerina would go max—” she stared into space for a second, lips moving silently “—4 miles an hour. That’s at least 70 miles slower. Not fast enough.”

  He shook his head. The kid had never met a fact she didn’t love, and her inner calculator was mind-boggling at times. But the speed demon desire was new. “We’ll see.”

  “Whatever.” She snatched her backpack off the ground and stomped around the desk toward the staff office behind him. “I have homework.”

  She slammed the door.

  The Dane howled, a mournful peal.

  “Easy, Jacks.” The woman emerged from behind a shelf with the dog on a short lead, tail between his legs. Her eyes sparked with irritation.

  “I’m sorry about the noise,” Asher mumbled. “I—”

  But before he could finish his apology, the woman froze in her tracks. The dog nudged her ankle with his nose, and a click sounded. She took one step forward, then cried out and crumpled to the floor.

  * * *

  Maggie Reid lay on the floor for a few seconds, mimicking the periodic collapses of a person with Parkinson’s. The Dane was nearing the end of his training, but for his itty-bitty issue with sudden noises. Good gravy. If being at a library startled the gentle giant, she had no hope of acclimatizing him to street noise.

  She sighed and rose on her elbows. At least in standing still at her side, waiting for her to use his harness to help her get off the floor, Jackson was following protocol—

  “Can I help you?” A rich baritone, rent with concern, interrupted her attempt to train her charge. “I don’t want to interfere if you have everything under control, but you went down pretty hard, and—”

  “I’m pretending,” she cut in.

  The librarian came to a halt a few feet away from her. His almost-black brows drew together, making his glasses slide down a bit. He shoved up the thick-rimmed, navy-colored frames and rubbed his fingers along his bearded cheek. From her semiprone position, he towered over her like a freaking pine tree. Wowza. Her friend Garnet had not lied when she’d described her brother-in-law-to-be as an academic mountain man.

  “Pretending?” he repeated, a faint New York accent bending the sylla
bles. He crouched beside her. His dark jeans stretched across muscular thighs, cuffed once, showing off some really pretty brown Chelsea boots. A hint of sage drifted to her nose.

  She held in an appreciative sigh. “I’m training Jackson here to be a service dog.”

  The wrinkles of concern relaxed around his brown eyes. “Ah. I didn’t realize.”

  She winced. “Of course, you didn’t. I’ve been training dogs for years, and most everyone in town is used to me affecting various physical needs during sessions. I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”

  She grabbed the dog’s harness and mimicked the deliberate motions of a person with neurodegenerative symptoms. Once on her feet, she used the clicker to let the dog know he’d correctly completed his task, then lavished him with whispers of “good boy” and ear scratches. After nuzzling the sweet beast once more for good measure, she stuck out her hand to the librarian, who had stood while she praised the dog. “Maggie Reid.”

  “Asher Matsuda,” he said, holding the books she’d dropped when she’d hit the ground. “But knowing Sutter Creek, that’s probably old information.” He took her hand in his large, warm grip. She shivered. A woman could find uses for hands like those.

  “I did know your name, but because of Garnet, not town gossip,” she said. Well, because of Asher’s almost-sister-in-law and town gossip, to be specific.

  “You know Garnet?”

  “Yep. I’m on the search and rescue crew with her.”

  “Dogs, veterinary medicine, search and rescue and—” he glanced at the instruction manuals in his hand “—cabinetry and flooring. You’re a woman of many talents.”

  And a busy one. The hour she’d cleared out of her appointment schedule to work with Jackson on running errands was almost up. She glanced at the clock over the circulation desk where, a few minutes ago, she’d been trying not to stare at Asher as he’d joked around with his daughter. Up until the slamming door, that was. But that was preteens for you. “My brother’s building a dog training facility onto the back of my clinic, and we’re trying to do some of the interior finishing ourselves.”