In the Dog House (Appletree Cove)

by Traci Hall

  Matthew laughed. “I’m glad you’re here, Uncle Jackson.”

  “Me, too, Matty.”

  Later, after a thick, juicy burger with blue cheese, mushrooms, and a double side of zucchini fries, they parked at the pier and walked down to the beach to watch the moon over the Cascade Mountains. White peaks of snow, even in summer, instead of the flat, dry desert of the Middle East. He felt a pull toward his men, but Livvie and Matty were his priorities.

  “I guess we should get home,” Jackson said. What would Emma do if he called her tonight? Her business card burned a hole next to his wallet.

  Matty shrugged. “Can we watch a movie?”

  “What do you want to see?” He pulled his keys from his front pocket.

  “I don’t know. Emma is nice.”

  “Where did that come from?” He ruffled Matty’s wavy hair as they walked back to the truck. It was like the kid read his mind.

  “She could’ve been real mad at me, but she wasn’t. I didn’t want her to call you, though.” Matty climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Good thing she did.”

  Matthew snickered. “I told her to call the cops instead. You were going to kill me.” He shuddered, his cheeks shadowed in the dark.

  “That would explain the worried look on her face when I picked you up.” Jackson reached over and lightly pushed Matty’s arm. And the way Matthew had dressed for his breaking and entering? She could have called child protective services. They were both lucky Emma was a nice woman.

  Matthew laughed and rubbed his skinny biceps.

  Emma’d always had deep compassion for others, and he knew her offer of assistance toward Livvie was sincere. What could she do? What could any of them do? His sister had to heal on her own. If only he could take on that burden.

  They rode home in companionable silence, and Jackson parked in front. They climbed the steps to the home, and Jackson stretched his tight shoulders—he was used to more physical activity. Maybe he’d buy weights for Livvie’s garage now that he’d cleaned it out.

  “You pick the movie.” All in all, a good ending to his birthday. “We can go early to see your mom tomorrow, and watch the fish guys toss the snapper at the market.”

  Matty went inside. “Okay. Can we bring Mom flowers?”

  “You know they aren’t allowed in ICU.” Matty’s small face pinched together, and Jackson pulled him close. “But we can text Bonnie in the morning and see about some plastic ones, or silk?”

  “Okay.” Matty pushed back from Jackson, trying to be tough. The tubes and machines were scary to him as an adult, so it was easy to imagine what it would be like for Matty. Livvie’s hospital room was kept sterile, and there was no room for personal items like get well cards or pictures.

  “Bonnie says that people sometimes remember things from when they are in a coma. It’s important that we tell your mom how much we love her.”

  “Okaaay.” His tone, on the verge of tears, suggested a permanent subject change as he shuffled into the kitchen to make microwave popcorn, filling the house with the scent of butter.

  Jackson cracked open a locally made beer. He rarely drank, and never to excess, but sometimes the amber malt just tasted good. “Spiderman? Again?”

  “It’s my favorite!”

  “Fine.” Jackson didn’t really care what they watched. This time with Matty was special, and he promised himself he’d be better about staying in touch once Livvie came home. He didn’t let himself think about any of the negative outcomes of her accident and the coma.

  Fighting for liberty, training with his marine unit, was all-encompassing. Being a soldier required a man’s full attention or he risked losing not only his own life but those of his team.

  Spiderman was a one-man show, a hero who ended up winning the day but losing the girl. Jackson could relate. At eighteen, he’d met the perfect woman, but the timing wasn’t right. Ten years later and it still wasn’t right. Seeing Emma after all this time had dredged up memories of love, but that was all they were. Memories best packed away again.

  “Can we watch one more?” Matthew settled next to him on the big L-shaped couch.

  Jackson must have dozed through most of the first movie. “How many Spidermans did they make?” They could stay like this forever. Two dudes just hanging out and enjoying some cinematic miracles where the good guys got to win. In real life that was not always the case.

  Drowsy, he scooted his back against the couch, bunching a pillow under his head to get cozy as he fought the weight of his eyelids. He liked the warm comfort of the television in the background, tethering him to the here and now. Matty against his side.

  His eyes closed. Just for a second.

  A barrage of gunfire sounded from the right, and Jackson peeked over the embankment, his rifle at his side. Hot sun beat down. The desert amplified heat, making the corners of Jackson’s mouth crack and bleed.

  He brought his canteen to his lips and sipped. The lukewarm water did little to quench his thirst, but he forced it down. Dehydration killed, his captain said. You mess up? You risk the safety of the unit. Brothers-in-arms, teammates.

  Jackson’s brothers were the ten men in a six-foot by ten-foot hole they shared, sniping the enemy before they got close. Remi, from his right, handed him a fresh canteen.

  “Your turn for shut-eye.”

  “No. I’ll stay.” He stared out at the desert. Gold and gritty sand. Smoke from oil fires in the distance.

  “Captain’s orders,” Remi drawled. “Thirty minutes.”

  Jackson, head down, made his way across the hard-baked dirt to the tent and crawled in, asleep before fully inside.

  A bomb exploded next to the tent, shrapnel tore back the canvas sheet and splintered the poles.

  Jackson startled awake and grabbed his throbbing leg. Shit. He looked at the rip in his camo. The flesh wound, cauterized by the shot. No blood.

  I’m fine. He turned to look at the others sleeping. God, not sleeping. That kid from Iowa, half his body gone. Not screaming. Dead.

  Dead.

  Remi came running toward the tent for Jackson. “You okay?”

  He nodded, his mouth so damn dry. “Iowa. Hansen?” He shook his head and pointed to the blood-filled cot.

  Another shrill whistle signaled incoming mortar, and Remi forced Jackson down, underneath the bodies of their brothers. He fought against the gore, the rising bile in his throat.

  God, no—get up. Get up!

  “Uncle Jackson. Wake up!”

  Jackson pulled himself from the rubble, the thunderous bombs reverberating in his ears, making his head throb.

  “It’s fine, I’m fine.” His voice was scratchy and gruff. The desert. He moistened his mouth with a dry tongue, expecting the taste of blood, but there was none.

  Matthew pushed against his chest, his face red with anger.

  Jackson blinked in surprise. “Hey. What did you do that for?”

  “Emma’s dogs can help you.”

  “I just told you, Matty. I’m fine.” I can handle this.

  …

  The dogs Emma chose for the Emotional Support Therapy Program had to be compassionate in nature, smart, and empathetic.

  Tonight, all eight were in the house as she and Aunt Pepita watched another romantic comedy. Her aunt loved the movies, knowing good and well she’d get a happy ending after the roller coaster of laughter and tears.

  They’d watched a lot of them after Jackson had left her for the Marines. How was it that seeing him again could bring back all of those emotions? She’d grieved, healed, and moved on in the last decade, for heaven’s sake. And yet…she slammed the door on those memories and went to the kitchen.

  “Ice cream, Aunt Pepita?” Emma called.

  Emma wore flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, her feet bare. The summer was cool at night, shaded by the mountainous trees. If you breathed really deep, you could smell Puget Sound through the open, screened windows.

  “We still have peanut butter choc
olate?”

  Emma opened the freezer. “Yep. And chocolate chip mint, too.”

  The shuffling sound of her aunt’s slippers preceded her to the kitchen. “I want a scoop of each.” She wrapped a thin purple paisley robe around her ample frame, tying it at the waist as she entered.

  “I love that about you.” Emma laughed softly and took down two bowls.

  Pepita Mercer was Emma’s great aunt on her dad’s side. Emma had never met Nick Mercer, but Aunt Pep brought him to life with pictures and memories.

  Emma fixed the ice cream, and they sat down at the end of the table opposite each other. Pepita reached for the stack of paper napkins she’d filched from the local coffee shop and handed some to Emma before tucking one over the front of her sweatshirt.

  “I’m going to donate the twenty-five dollars I won at beach bingo to Heart to Heart.” Pep tugged at the lucky green shamrock posts in her ears.

  “Keep it. We have enough for this month. Besides, you’ll need a stake for your trip to the casino next week.” The senior center organized themed mini-vacations throughout the year.

  Pepita spooned ice cream into her mouth and closed her eyes, making a humming noise of contentment. “Did you hear back about the grant money?”

  “No. Not yet.” If the new kennel proposal was rejected again, she was tempted to hire someone experienced in grant writing—which also cost money. But she could do so much more if only she had the land. Just last week, Cindy had turned away two dogs because their no-kill shelter was full.

  “How many did you send out?”

  “Twelve, and we’ve had a half dozen rejections, at least.” Emma let the cool chocolate melt on her tongue. “Professor Collard called today. I have an appointment with him first thing in the morning.”

  “About?”

  “I’m assuming my last report on sleep apnea.”

  Pepita zeroed in on her over the table. “Don’t think I’m so old that I didn’t recognize Jackson Hardy out there today. That man has always had a nice tush.”

  “Aunt Pepita!” Though, if forced under oath, she would have to agree. She’d learned her lesson the hard way with Jackson, and it had left a scar.

  “Is he back in town to stay?”

  “No, so forget any matchmaking ideas. He’s in the Marines, but poor Livvie was in a car accident. Jackson is taking care of Matthew, his nephew.”

  “Cute kid. I saw him from the bus.” Pepita’s brow furrowed as she hunched over her bowl. “Too bad about his sister. Well, if anybody can help them through a tough time, it is you.”

  “It can’t be me.” She hadn’t told Pep about Jackson not even noticing her last week at the school because, dang it, it had stung—but that was the emotion she needed to remember, not the warmth in his green eyes as he’d taken her hand in thanks. “Jackson has his hands full,” she said, taking another creamy bite. “Matty tried to steal Romeo today.”

  Pepita gestured with her spoon, flicking small droplets of chocolate to the table. “What? Why? For his mom?”

  Emma was careful to compartmentalize her emotions. “No, she’s in a coma at Swedish, and Jackson, here to take care of Matty, is having PTSD episodes that he doesn’t remember.”

  “Why didn’t Matty talk to you about it rather than break into the kennel? I’m assuming he saw you at school or something.”

  “Last week, at Kingston Middle.” She knew what it was like to have nothing around you under your control, to be in the center of a tornado as your world twirled and tumbled. “His plan was to leave a twenty and give Jackson the dog so that he would be forced to accept it and, thereby, get help.”

  “Not a bad plan,” Pep said. “You can’t give back a birthday gift.”

  “Poor kid is grasping at straws.” Matty couldn’t do anything for his mom, and Jackson had his own issues. “Thought I was going to have a heart attack when I came home to find the lock jimmied open on the kennel.”

  “The dogs are fine,” her aunt said with a dismissive wave. “It’s you I worry about. Juggling your business with finishing up school. Maybe you should take a break from the kennel and tie up the loose ends. You’ve spent years, and you are so close.”

  Emma winced. Not normally the kind to drag her feet, she’d discovered while doing research for her doctorate on dog-human relationships that animals were excellent alternative medicine for many behavior disorders, including agoraphobia. Her mother had suffered terribly, and her fear of leaving the house had ultimately caused her early death.

  “I’m not giving up,” Emma said. “I study when I can.” There was a growing need for service dogs. Instead of finishing her doctorate, she’d started a viable business that needed to expand in order to turn a profit.

  The lot next to this one was for sale—if only she had a spare hundred grand. That was so far out of her reach it might as well have been a million. “It isn’t just the degree.” Tension rose like a tide, and Emma took a deep breath. Calm. Center. “It’s the internship afterward, then the year or two of practice under a mentor, before I can get my certification.”

  “Doctor Mercer has a nice ring,” Pepita declared.

  Emma held her hand to the thumping pulse at the base of her throat. “It is overwhelming.” Matthew’s attempt to break Romeo out of the kennel had released a torrent of memories that wouldn’t go back to their assigned crates, not only of high school but her upbringing. She swirled her spoon around the empty bowl. “What if a therapy dog could have helped Mom?”

  “Oh, sweetie. You have got to let it go. Your mom, bless her soul, was afraid of her own shadow.”

  “I know—now.” Years of therapy later.

  Pep peered over the frames of her orange glasses. “Your poor mother didn’t have your strength.”

  Emma had been raised indoors, taught to be cautious of everything from the UPS driver (who might kidnap her and sell her to bad men), to beautiful lilies (poisonous if somehow mixed with water or a pot of coffee), yet she never questioned her mother’s love.

  By the time her mom had gone to the doctor for severe stomach pain, the cancer had spread from her ovaries to her breasts. She never did come home. And Emma was put in foster care at twelve. The two years that followed became a fight for survival.

  Judge McDaniel, who knew her from her juvie cases (once for running away, once for shoplifting) had pleaded with her to think of someone to contact or else she risked becoming a long-term ward of the state. Two months later, Aunt Pepita had made a home for her fourteen-year-old great niece, although it had taken years before Emma trusted that she was safe.

  Jackson had shown her what it meant to love another person romantically, wholeheartedly—and on the flip side, the heartache when they let you down.

  Pepita tapped her spoon against Emma’s ceramic bowl to get Emma’s attention. “You are a woman with a lot to offer. You have the ability to help other people with anxiety disorders because of who you are, and that includes how you grew up.”

  They’d had this conversation a dozen times and then, like now, her aunt’s words soothed old hurts. “Thank you.”

  Pep released a dramatic sigh. “Though I wouldn’t mind some little ones running around the place.”

  Emma bristled. “We have eight under the table right now.” Her hands were full with the dogs’ training regimen and growing client list—a family had to wait, and she was okay if that family was of the canine variety.

  “You know what I mean. And you aren’t getting any younger.”

  “I am not even thirty yet.” Emma already felt as if there weren’t enough precious hours to get everything accomplished.

  Pepita rinsed the bowls and put them in the dishwasher. “And not that you asked my advice, but if a certain hottie comes asking you to go for a ride on his motorcycle, I’d say yes.”

  “Jackson Hardy is the last person on this earth that I would go anywhere with.” He’d shown her love but then snatched it away.

  Pepita leaned back against the kitchen sink with her
arms crossed. “Are you holding a grudge? I thought you said you were over him. If that were true, you wouldn’t mind offering to help him out. He’s a soldier, Emma, in need of assistance.”

  “He doesn’t think anything is wrong. Stubborn as always.” Emma shook her head. “I am so over him. And I am helping him out, by the way. Matty will be working off his ‘crime’ at the kennel with me.”

  “Oh, that’s good. You can talk to Matty, then, or rather, listen, which is what you are so wonderful at doing. Especially to me. I’m sorry if I nagged, dear.”

  Emma smiled at her aunt. Wild orange-ish red hair curled in all directions, and she matched her clothes by vibrant colors rather than patterns. She nagged because she cared. “You’re pretty wonderful.”

  Her wrinkled cheeks flushed. “Oh, stop. Now, let’s take these beasts out to the kennel and get them ready for bed. Come!”

  At the magic word, all eight dogs exploded from beneath the long table and headed toward the back door and the treat jar. They knew the routine.

  Thanks to her aunt, Emma’s dreams that night were filled with a green-eyed hottie in jeans on a motorcycle, and Lulu riding in a sidecar wearing sunglasses and an aviator scarf. Emma wore Jackson’s football jersey and watched from the bleachers.

  Chapter Five

  During the summer, Seattle was lush and green because of the rain and the mountains, and the three months of summer were pure heaven on earth.

  Everything seemed to be in colorful, fragrant bloom. Tuesday morning Emma walked into Professor Collard’s office at the University of Washington on the Seattle campus with the brightness of the season lifting her step.

  He wasn’t at his desk, so she waited in the hall and scanned her email on her phone. Nothing from the shelter that required her attention. She’d called Swedish Hospital but they couldn’t give her any information on Livvie Hardy. Her role, if anything, would be support for Jackson and Matthew—they were supposed to come by tomorrow morning. What would it be like, having Jackson around?

  “Emma!”

  She looked up at the familiar deep voice of her professor. From London twenty years ago, he retained an English accent and had a penchant for vests. Bright blue eyes glittered at her from beneath black brows, and he had a full head of black hair.