by Traci Hall
Pepita gave the signal and Matthew, Cinnamon, Bandit, and Princess all crawled forward. She blew it again, and they all froze in place, except for Cinnamon, who took three extra steps.
Emma snapped her fingers. “Come on, Cinnamon. Next time.”
The Pomeranian lifted her head regally as she took her spot next to Romeo, who gave her a sympathetic lick.
Matthew was out, then Princess, which made Bandit the winner. The dog seemed to know it, too, and ran directly to Pepita, who pulled a bone the size of a chicken drumstick from her skirt pocket.
Bandit took his prize to the shade beneath the cherry tree. Pepita got up and presented each of the dogs on the side the same treat, and when she came to Matthew, she handed over a wrapped Twizzlers stick.
“You played well, Matthew, but Bandit is a Freeze whiz. Wins every time.”
Matthew accepted the candy with a thank-you.
Jackson handed out the cups of slushie—blue for Matty, cola for the rest of them. “Having fun?”
“Oh yeah.”
He didn’t bring up the book report due, but he knew Matty would get to it. They had it on the calendar in the kitchen.
Matthew offered the licorice to Jackson. “Want a bite?”
“No.” He’d lost his sweet tooth about the time he discovered girls and acne, and then there was Emma, just the right amount of sweet. “Thanks. Nice bruise.”
“I was chasing Romeo and hit the maze.”
Emma looked at him with an apologetic shrug. “We put some ice on it.”
“No worries. Part of running with the dogs.” He scuffed his boot along the grass. “Well, uh, thanks again for today, but we should get going.” Jackson didn’t want to, and that was a problem. He wanted to suggest pizza and movies—maybe another game of tag, to prolong the camaraderie.
“Next Monday, the dog park on the beach. Bring a swimsuit, a towel. Can you swim, Matthew?” Emma was asking his nephew while looking over his head at Jackson.
“Yes,” Matthew said. “Mom made sure I had lessons.”
“Livvie and I grew up swimming in pools all over the world.” He looked at Matty. “Your mama was part fish.” He regretted that his parents weren’t alive to see their grandson. An ache lingered, but he pushed fear for his sister aside. He had to have faith that she would be okay.
Bandit, done with his treat, sauntered toward Jackson and Matthew and nudged Matthew’s hand with his long brown nose before doing the same to Jackson.
“No more treats.” Jackson showed his hands.
“He’s saying hi. Pet me,” Matthew said, giving the dog a scratch behind the ear.
Jackson dropped to one knee to look the dog in the eyes. “Congratulations on the win, boy.” He used both hands to give Bandit a good rub across the back before standing up again. “We had a golden retriever growing up.”
“You did?” Matthew asked. “What was his name?”
“Goldie. Your mom got to name him; otherwise it would’ve been something cool, like Maximillian. Or Thor.”
Emma and Pepita laughed while Matthew nodded. “Mom is such a girl.”
“Hey,” Emma said. “Nothing wrong with girls.”
“Goldie’s a silly name.”
“Who do you think names the dogs around here?” Emma asked, pointing between Pepita and herself.
“But you’re different.” Matthew finished his licorice and shoved the wrapper in his pocket. Jackson made a note to check all pockets before doing laundry. “You’re a professional.”
Pepita stood and brushed golden straw from the back of her shin-length skirt, sucking the last bit of frozen cola from the cup. “Thank you, Jackson. That was just right.” She lifted the whistle to her mouth.
The dogs watched. Waiting. Bodies tensed and at the ready.
Pepita blew three times, and the dogs raced for the garage like greyhounds on a track. Jackson looked at Emma. What the hell?
“Dinnertime,” Emma said, holding up her whistle. “A trained dog is a happy dog, for everybody.”
“I believe you,” Jackson said with a drawn-out drawl. “I just saw Bandit win a game of freeze tag.”
Emma laughed. Matthew raced behind the dogs and Pepita and left Jackson to walk next to Emma.
She smelled like warm sunshine and fresh-mowed grass. Did she ever make time to go down to the beach like they used to? “Thank you for the maze and the slushie.” She shook the mostly empty cup. “Matthew really did great today,” she said.
“Thanks for not calling the cops on him.” He glanced at her sideways. Her long legs kept stride.
“Ah, he just wanted to get something special for you.” Her sweet voice told him that she’d forgiven any trespass. “For your birthday. How was it?”
“We went out for burgers.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, fighting the ridiculous notion to touch her hand. “That was plenty good enough for me.” He’d had birthdays pass forgotten in a desert where he was grateful to be alive.
She put her fingers against his arm, the skin warm. His gaze lifted to her face. Would her mouth be as soft, her kiss taste like cola?
“How’s Livvie doing? Matty and I talked a little bit today about his mom and…” She let her words trail before saying, “I am happy to talk to you, and Matty, if you need someone to listen.”
Was she being a friend, or offering her professional services? His shoulders tightened as they walked in tandem. “We’re fine.”
“I know that you’re dealing with a lot right now, and I’m just letting you know you aren’t alone.”
“Thanks.”
“If you don’t want to talk me because of, well, high school”—he sensed she was holding back an eye roll—“I can recommend someone else. Another counselor.” She snuck a peek at him. “I know an amazing psychologist who deals with PTSD.”
The friendliness he’d been feeling evaporated, and Jackson stopped walking, waiting until she looked right at him. He lowered his voice, determined to get his point across. “There is nothing wrong with me, got it? I don’t want to ‘talk’ to somebody. I’m going back to Afghanistan in two weeks.” Their command expected a batch of new recruits at the end of the month, and he needed to be there to make sure they were trained right.
Livvie had to get better. If she didn’t, he would have to rethink his game plan. He would have serious questions for the doctors when he went to visit his sister tomorrow.
Emma’s hazel eyes narrowed, and her smile faded. She stepped back and lifted her chin, creating an additional barrier between them. “Matty is afraid. He’s worried that you, his sole custodian, might not be okay. I’m sorry if that messes up your timeline, Captain Hardy.”
Chapter Seven
Friday morning, Jackson dropped Matty off with Hunter, his friend from school. He met the mom and exchanged phone numbers, something Matty swore was normal and okay, before catching the ferry to Seattle and the hospital to visit Livvie and get some answers.
His nephew was torn between swimming or visiting his mom in the hospital—where most times, he wasn’t allowed to see Livvie. Jackson promised him that if there were any change, he’d come right back and get Matty.
All night, he’d rehashed his harsh words to Emma—he’d pushed back because he felt cornered. He didn’t have the time to deal with supposed nightmares.
What if Livvie wasn’t better within the month? He could take a longer leave, maybe, but the thought of his men on patrol without him didn’t sit right.
The hardest question to ask was, what if Livvie never got better?
Jackson entered the hospital and took the elevator up to the ICU. His sister was alone in her room, hooked up to the ventilator and IV bags. Her eyes were closed with purple bruises beneath them. Her mouth was the same pale color as her skin. A sob caught in his chest as he sat at her side, covering her fragile hand with his calloused one.
When their parents died, they’d had only each other. “I love you, sis.” He bowed his head, begging her to wake up. To come b
ack from wherever she was behind the bandages on her head. “We need you.”
The blip of the machines was ceaseless.
He’d done some research on medically induced coma patients and how some came back with memories of their loved ones. Some came back with brain damage. Some didn’t wake up at all. His eyes burned as he stared at Livvie, willing her to feel his love for her. “And Matty—Liv, you are a rock-star mom. You’ve done a great job. He misses you. Loves you.”
Her hand beneath his twitched.
“I hope you’re taking the time you need to heal in there, Liv.” Emma’s words came back about him having his own timeline…seeing Livvie now, so helpless in the hospital bed, he knew that he was kidding himself.
Two weeks. Even if she woke up today, she’d need therapy. His parents had left them too soon, and they used to dream about having more time together as a family. Yes, his unit needed him, but his sister did, too.
He’d send off the email to his commander when he got back requesting an extension. Bracing his shoulders, Jackson listed new priorities. His family came first even if it meant having to retrain the new recruits after he rejoined his men. Those lives were also his responsibility, and he didn’t take that lightly.
…
The next day, Jackson watched Matthew reading a book on the creation of Spiderman from the window of his sister’s garage. His nephew sprawled on a lounger in the backyard, feet bare.
The school said one book a week, a single page report per book—didn’t matter what subject. At first it had been a struggle to get Matty to read, but it was getting easier for them both as his nephew accepted the new routine.
Jackson counted the screws in a small box and wrote the number down on a scrap of paper. Not that Livvie would ever utilize this as a shop, but at least she had room to park whatever car she might buy, along with their bicycles.
Matthew hadn’t heard Jackson’s warning to Emma when they’d left Heart to Heart Dog Kennel the other day, and Emma hadn’t given anything away as she’d waved goodbye with a promise to see them on Monday.
Why did he want to call her so badly?
Emma was kindness personified. The girl who’d overcome a tragic childhood had become a woman of integrity. Her passion for wanting to save the dogs—all of them—made him want to pitch in and start building. That she trained them to comfort others, as she had a special gift, was the perfect choice. He’d been an idiot to think she’d live in the big city—she didn’t want that. Had she ever?
Maybe it had been an excuse, his excuse.
She made him wish for things…like picnics and barbecues.
“Don’t go there.” Jackson shook his head, shut the drawer, and pulled his smartphone from his back pocket.
He powered it on and slid down the list of contacts, his eye on Matthew. Both feet stretched out in front of him, the open book on his lap as he snacked on carrot sticks. Weird kid.
He pressed Emma’s number and listened to the phone ring. She answered on the third trill. “Hello?”
“Hey, Em, it’s Jackson.”
Silence. Then. “How are you?”
He didn’t blame her for being cautious after his outburst. “All right. I wanted to let you know I’ve decided to extend my family leave for another month. Means I’ll go back around the first of August.”
“I see. Any change with Livvie?”
“Nah.” His throat ached, and he coughed. “But even if she was woken up tomorrow she’d need time.”
“I don’t know how things work in the military—will you be okay?”
“I have personal time saved up. Three months paid emergency leave before I have to worry about that. Benefit of working for the government. It ain’t all glory,” he joked.
“Thank you for calling to let me know,” she said in stiff tones.
His apology was next on the tip of his tongue when she said, “I know you didn’t plan on a family, well, kids, but Matty seems like a good boy. He’s going to need you, Jackson. I’m glad you’re there.”
“I’m sor—”
“I have to go. Bye.”
Jackson’s stomach tightened, and the responsibility that was drilled into a Marine from the second you set foot in boot camp weighed down on him. His team, his duties, his country.
Instead of diving down that rabbit hole, Jackson thought of Matty. Not Matthew as a cute and chubby baby, or as an energetic toddler or smart six-year-old, but Matthew now. Big eyes in a youthful face, growing like a weed.
“Screw it.” Jackson closed the garage door with a snap of the bolt. He knew how to be a damn good soldier, but no one had trained him to be a good father figure. “Matty, how ’bout some pizza? You’re never gonna bulk up if you keep eating those carrots.”
…
Emma and Pepita followed the short trail from the SUV to the bay, each carrying a bag of stale bread. They’d done this ever since Emma had moved here from Atlanta. Their spot had a long wooden bench, perfect for viewing the distant Cascade Mountains, and a seawall between the park and beach where the gulls perched.
Maybe because Emma hadn’t been allowed outside while growing up, she loved the outdoors now, especially the water. Rivers, lakes, the ocean or bay, the movement and sound soothed her soul.
Her aunt made her way down the path, leaning on her cane. The floral print summer dress had large front pockets, and she wore red flip-flops on her feet. Aunt Pepita sank down on the bench and lifted her purple toenails from her afternoon pedicure, a white flower on each big toe.
“You should have come with me,” Pepita said. “My treat, for all you do.”
“I don’t have time for manicures or pedicures,” Emma said, her own toenails naked. She sat down, too. “And polish with my job is a waste.”
“A woman should take time to feel pretty—not that you need any help, with those cheekbones,” Pepita declared. “It’s nice to be pampered.”
Emma breathed in the salty air from the bay and opened the brown paper bag of bread scraps. Seagulls gathered on the old seawall in front of them, separating the park area from the sand below. “I know, fill the spirit as well as the mind and body. I got my hair trimmed yesterday. Does that count?”
“How would I know? It’s always in a ponytail or stuffed in a hat.” Pepita tossed breadcrumbs on the wall. A seagull squawked to keep the other gulls away and tapped it up in its orange beak.
This was her happy place. The waves on the beach, the smell of salt and fish, the cool air from the mountains. It never mattered how hot the day had been, evenings were perfect.
At fourteen, Emma’s arrival at the rancher had been culture shock. She was raised in downtown Atlanta, and the expanse of nature around the yellow house had seemed daunting. Her aunt had welcomed her great niece with warm hugs, long walks, and lots of unconditional love.
Emma rolled a few crumbs of bread between her fingers to make the piece bigger. “You remember Lucky Charm?”
Pep had granted Emma access to her bookshelves, the back porch, and the ever-present pitcher of iced tea. Her aunt had won her over forever when they’d found a stray dog, matted and filthy. Emma knew her aunt would never agree to keep the mutt, but instead, Pepita had gotten out her herbal shampoo and a hose. After a spirited discussion and multiple trips to the thesaurus for the word lucky, they’d decided to name her Lucky Charm.
“She was the first.” Her aunt grinned. “Little did I know that rescuing one would lead to converting the garage into a kennel. And possibly a whole new training shelter! The dogs are great, but you need to find someone to love.” Pepita tended to be one-tracked.
“I have no time right now, Aunt Pep.” Matty being so great made the idea of family and kids somewhat appealing in the far distant future. But now that Professor Collard had essentially put her on probation for her doctorate? “Romance has to wait.”
“I think you should give Jackson another chance.”
She whirled on the bench. “Are you kidding me?” He’d left her for the Mar
ines. “He is career military. Nothing has changed about him in the last ten years.”
“A lot has changed, for you both.”
“I’m not that love-struck girl anymore, thank God.”
“He’s a hottie.”
“So you keep saying.” Jackson was cute, no—handsome. Cute was for babies and puppies, and there was nothing cute about Jackson’s muscled physique.
“The problem is,” Pepita continued, throwing a crumb to a large gull. “All of your schooling has given you this ideal of what being in love should be.”
Did Aunt Pep have a point? She’d learned in her psych classes that love was often confused for other emotions that didn’t usually stand the test of time. Sexual desire, lust, jealousy—just to name a few.
“I’ve had boyfriends. You make me sound like a nun, and that is not the case.” She’d dated, but her focus had always been on a higher prize. Grades, scholarships, starting her own business, getting her degree, and always saving the pups.
“Love makes you do stupid things, but you can’t help it.” Pep sighed, sounding wistful. “I may not have had a great marriage, or children, but I did love.” Pepita emptied the first of the bags and then crumpled the paper. “Yes, I did.”
“You could fall in love again.” Her aunt had a full dating life. “What about Harold, your casino partner?”
“Ha. He’s all right,” Pep said. “Funny, which helps pass the time on those long bus rides.”
“Speaking of casino trips, do you have everything you need for the one coming up? I can’t believe you’ll be gone for a whole week.”
“There’s a thousand-dollar jackpot! Got to pack my gold hoops.”
“Right.” Trust her aunt to think about the good luck first. “But I was actually talking about your medicines for the week. Do we need to make a stop at the pharmacy?”
“Nope. Got it all taken care of.”
She loved her aunt’s independent spirit. Opening a second bag of bread scraps, Emma turned toward the pier. “Hey, that looks like Matthew.” Her nape tickled as she spied the taller figure behind him. “And Jackson.”