by Traci Hall
“Where?” Pepita arched her neck and shifted on the bench.
“Coming out of the pizza place.” He’d sure been mad at her, for crossing the line—but what were they? Friends—not really. He’d once finished her sentences for her.
She didn’t blame him for reacting when she’d brought up his nightmares— he didn’t understand how they affected Matthew. If he would just listen, she’d explain the situation could be temporary. Bandit seemed taken with Jackson, and the man had surprised the heck out of her when he’d dropped down to really give the dog a thorough petting.
She’d assumed, because of his vehemence against having one, that something had changed and he no longer liked dogs, but that wasn’t the case. It was Livvie. Jackson thought he was protecting his sister and didn’t realize that the dog could come back to her kennel.
Matthew and Jackson looked in unison toward the beach.
Emma lifted a hand with bread in it to wave, and a seagull swooped in the air and snatched it from her fingers. Pepita screeched in surprise while Emma pulled her hand to her chest, laughing. “That’s what I get for not paying attention.”
Matthew raced down the pier and jumped the two feet into the sand below. He scrambled up and over the seawall like a fiddler crab. “Are you all right, Emma? Aunt Pepita?”
“Yes,” Emma said, still laughing.
Her aunt splayed her palm across her heart. “Like to scare me to death.”
Jackson followed the path from the pier to the beach and joined them a minute later. “Sneaky bird,” he observed.
“Can’t trust a seagull,” Emma agreed. “My fault.” She scooted over on the bench to make room for Jackson as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Matthew was up on the seawall, shooing the gulls away and balancing on the two-foot cement block. She remembered doing the same thing, always waiting for Pepita to tell her no, but her aunt gave her the freedom to trust herself. And if she fell? A hug, a bandage, and advice to try again.
Jackson sat down, and Emma became acutely aware of him as a man. Not Matthew’s uncle, or a potential client, not the ghost of her high school crush, but someone who stirred her senses in the now. His jeans brushed her bare thigh, and she wished for a moment that she’d worn longer shorts. Though for the weather, her tank top and sandals had to be more comfortable than his jeans, boots, and T-shirt.
She pulled her gaze from his muscled arm and the edges of a tattoo peeking beneath the armband. He caught her looking and smiled.
Blushing, the curse of the redhead, she said, “What’s that tattoo?”
He scrubbed his hand over the inch-long bristles on the side of his head. “Ah. First tatt after joining the Marines. Had to be an American eagle, complete with flag. Not very imaginative.”
A teensy part of Emma hoped to see it someday. “I still don’t have any tattoos.”
“Does that sound like regret? We can fix that, you know.” He pointed to the Inked Inc. neon sign a block down Main Street.
“No thanks.” She didn’t like needles. “What were you guys doing?”
“Pizza. Fabio’s by the slice, that way we each get what we want. Can’t believe that kid likes green peppers.”
Emma laughed. “Fabio’s has been around forever. Remember the garlic knots?”
“We’d order a dozen and split them,” Jackson said. His smile dipped as if he didn’t want to go there.
Garlic kisses used to be one of her favorites. This summer would be torture if everything became a memory of how they used to be.
Matthew raced headlong down the wall, seagulls flying in front of him.
“He’s got so much energy.” Jackson crossed his arms and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Thanks again for the other day. That’s all Matty talks about. Drove me nuts with that clicker thing. We went to the library before dinner, and he picked out a book on golden retrievers instead of Spiderman.”
“Wow,” Emma said. “The dogs beat out Spidey?”
“I know.” He uncrossed his arms and looked at her. “Sorry about my attitude. It’s just that things are, well, complicated.”
Pepita got up and walked the empty bags to the trash can at the end of the pier, leaving Emma alone with Jackson. Matthew chased after Pepita, talking a mile a minute about his new book.
Emma kept her voice low, her eyes on his. “Thank you for the apology. But I just wanted you to know that I am here to listen.”
His expression closed down, his face an impassable mask.
She hurried to reach him before he completely shut her out. “Remember that Aunt Pepita was there for me, after my mom died.” He winced, his jaw tight.
“She listened to a very lost teenager. I remember how safe I felt, being able to share things. Matthew has opened up to me, and I’m offering to be that shoulder for him. I’m a psychologist. There are tools I can teach him to cope with change and conflict. With your permission, of course.”
Jackson sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands in fists. After a few minutes, he said, “So long as you don’t try to fix me, then I agree. I can pay you.”
She bit her lip but held his gaze. Stubborn man. “Not necessary. I like having him help at the kennel.”
“We don’t take handouts, doctor.”
“I am not a doctor. Yet.” Maybe never. She sat back, her eyes on her aunt and Matthew, who were walking back. Slowly. Thank you, Aunt Pepita. “I’m just about done with school, but then I have to intern, and mentor, and basically—” She clamped her mouth shut before she overshared her fears that she’d fail.
He straightened and looked into her eyes. She opened her heart, urging him to see that she wanted to help him. That was all.
A seagull flew between them to land on the beach, snagging a crumb of bread out of the sand and flapping its wings before taking off again.
The emotional connection was broken, and she sighed. “I want only what’s best for Matthew.” And for you. Her heart ached at the suffering he was burying just to get through each day.
“I believe that.” His mouth twitched. “That’s the only thing keeping me from telling you to take a hike.”
“Jackson!” She sank her elbow into his side.
Matthew and Pepita strolled up.
“Uncle Jackson, let’s get ice cream, please? I ate two pieces of pizza.” He rubbed his flat tummy. “I’m still hungry.”
Jackson leaned forward and wiped pizza sauce from the corner of Matthew’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Okay.”
“Want to come?” Matthew asked Emma and Pepita.
Jackson started in surprise.
“No,” Emma inserted smoothly before her aunt, who was a sucker for ice cream, agreed. “We have to get back to the dogs.”
The two Hardy guys left, headed toward Main Street and The Happy Cow, the quaint ice cream parlor with fourteen flavors of homemade creamy goodness.
Emma watched them go, Matthew practically skipping in his hurry for a cone and Jackson’s confident stride as he checked the street for traffic before they crossed. Her insides tingled. She looked out at the bay and made a wish as the sun’s rays glittered atop the water. Please take away this attraction to Jackson Hardy.
He was, as she used to say in high school, a hot mess—she had the credentials to know.
Chapter Eight
The following Monday, Jackson showed up with Matthew right at 9:00 a.m. Emma hadn’t been certain he would still come, and she hadn’t called to make sure. They were trying to figure out their relationship, which was familiar but new.
She’d dropped Pepita off earlier at the senior center, wishing her luck and slipping her an extra hundred-dollar bill for just in case.
Dressed in army green cargo shorts—for the pockets—and a tan T-shirt with tan Converse, Emma was ready to call the dogs for a ride. Not sure if she’d have help, she’d already gotten them out of their kennels, and they now raced around the yard, barking their good mornings to Matthew and Jackson.
“Stuff?” Jackson asked.
“Sorry.” Matthew tossed a busted look at his uncle. “I got my swimsuit and towel.”
“Close enough,” Jackson said with a short chuckle. He looked at Emma. “Morning.”
“Hi.” She waited, following his lead. Would he be chatty? Or head off to wherever he was going today without any conversation?
“Listen.” He put his hands behind his back as he waited on the other side of the chain link fence. “I was wondering if we could talk after?”
Emma nodded. “Of course.” She wasn’t sure she should extend the offer, but what did it hurt? If part of what held Jackson back was a lack of trust, then maybe he needed to spend more time with her. He could rest easy, knowing that she had Matthew’s best interest at heart. “My aunt is out of town for the week, so I’ll have the house to myself. If you’re up for dinner, I can cook.”
Matthew nodded, bobbing up and down on his toes to show his answer.
Jackson hesitated. “Yes. Great. I can bring wine. Dessert?”
“I make a mean lasagna, so whatever you think goes with Italian.”
“Okay. Cannoli?”
“Perfect.” They looked at each other and then away. Emma’s pulse raced, and she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake by inviting him back into her home. Her sanctuary.
“Bye, Matty. Be good.”
“See ya, Uncle Jackson. Lame.” He dropped his backpack by the fence and entered the yard with the dogs, who greeted him like a long-lost friend.
Jackson left with a halfhearted wave. “Lame?” He said over his shoulder, “I used to be cool, you know.”
Emma knew that for a fact. “Oh, yes. I remember.”
Matty rolled his eyes and took off around the yard with the dogs. His happy shouts, as he ran, brought a grin to her face. He finally joined her at the fence, his cheeks flushed from his sprint. The dogs jumped around him excitedly. Kids and pups went together like peanut butter ice cream and chocolate syrup.
“How’s it going, Matthew? Did your uncle have nightmares over the weekend?”
“Nope.” Matthew pulled his water bottle from the side pocket of his backpack and twisted the cap to take a drink. “It’s like he’s afraid to fall asleep. He won’t sit comfortable on the couch. Drinks a ton of coffee.”
Not healthy, but Jackson was coping. “So, do you like lasagna?”
“Yep. Mom used to make it. With bread and salad. I love salad.” He rubbed his tummy.
“You do?”
“Uncle Jackson says I’m weird.”
She laughed—not many kids admitted to being a fan of veggies. “Romeo likes lettuce. I guess we all have our little quirks. That’s what makes us interesting.” Emma stopped before she went into a lecture he probably didn’t want to hear. “Are you ready?”
Matthew’s eyes brimmed with excitement. “Now? Yes!” He quickly returned his water bottle.
Emma blew twice on the training whistle. The rowdy dogs lined up at the fence, backs to the driveway as they faced her. Bandit’s tail swiped the chain link. Matthew stood at her left side.
“Who gets to go?”
“Since I have your help today, I want to take the four bigger dogs. Romeo, Bandit, King, and Pedro.” Romeo woofed, waving a front paw.
“I have my clicker.” Matthew patted his back pocket.
“Perfect.” She called the four small dogs to join her, using the motion to stay once they were at her feet. Then she clipped leashes onto the four big dogs’ harnesses and handed the leads to Matthew. “They have to stay with you.” She lifted her palm, making longer eye contact with King. “Stay.”
The smaller pups trotted behind her when she whistled for them, walking in a single line. She crated them in the air-conditioned kennel with an extra treat. “I promise just you four will go next time.” They didn’t seem to mind as they gnawed on their chicken-flavored rawhide strips.
Emma closed and locked the kennel door, returning to Matthew. Pedro, Bandit, King, and Romeo all remained in sitting position, canine expressions hopeful—they loved going for rides. “Looking good, guys.” She pulled kibble from her pocket to reward them. “To the SUV!”
Matthew opened the side door, allowing Pedro and Bandit to climb in the back seat, making room in the rear hatch for King and Romeo. Emma checked her supply tote for her special treats, kibble locked in a paper bag with a few pieces of bacon for different flavor, water, collapsible bowls, and the whistle, before getting into the driver’s seat. Matthew belted up. “What are we going to do first?”
“We’ve got a ball and a Frisbee,” she said. “The idea is to get them acclimatized with other dogs and for them to listen to the whistle signals, no matter what else is going on around them.”
“They can’t be distracted,” Matthew said.
“Correct. If the dog is going to pass the American Kennel Club’s Good Citizen test, there are ten requirements they have to follow. Bandit and Pedro are more advanced, which is good because Romeo and King can learn by watching them. Remember Zelda, at school? She was sweet, and we found the perfect home for her without a certificate.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“Nothing was wrong. Zelda was too excited to sit still during the tests.”
“I don’t like tests either.”
She pulled a piece of paper from one of her many pockets and handed it to Matthew. “If they don’t pass, they don’t get to be certified as service dogs, or emotional support therapy dogs, which means they can’t go into all public places with their owner.” Emma started the SUV and headed downtown. “We’re going to work on the first three items today.”
Matthew scanned the list, his forehead scrunched in concentration. “Dogs don’t get paid,” he said with all of the surety of an eleven year old.
“What are they going to do with money?” Emma countered. “These dogs get paid in what they want most: love and companionship.”
“How do you know that?” Matthew sounded as if he needed to be convinced.
“Because I went to school and learned all about it.” Emma glanced in the side mirrors, appreciating the light traffic of Kingston compared to Seattle. Midmorning during the week meant they had the road leading down from the hill to themselves. “Animal behavior science.”
“That’s a real thing?” His brown eyes challenged her for the truth.
“Sure is.”
“But you studied people too, Uncle Jackson said. You’re a shrink.”
Was Matthew deliberately trying to get under her skin? She exhaled and bit back a smart remark. “I’m a psychologist.”
“Why aren’t you a vet if you like dogs so much?” His knobby knees bounced as he waited for her answer.
“I like people too, I really do. It’s just that sometimes,” she hesitated, “sometimes I feel for the person who is hurting so much that it upsets me.” Emma slowed for a stop sign, braked, and then pressed on the gas pedal. “One of my old boyfriends in college suggested pet therapy, and it was a good fit.”
“You had a boyfriend?”
“Yes. You don’t have to look so surprised, Matthew.” Emma wasn’t sure how to take his shocked expression. “I’ve had a few.” Including your uncle.
“Why didn’t you marry them?”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Aunt Pepita.” She pulled into a parking spot by the dog park. “I never found someone who made me want to get married.” She’d learned that if she was thinking about her studies while the guy buying her a burger was trying to impress her, it was best not to go on a second date.
He stuck out his lower lip before finally giving her a nod. “Makes sense.”
“Yeah? Then can you do me a favor and explain it to my aunt?” She glanced at him and grinned. “Aunt Pepita has two boyfriends.”
“She does? What do they do?”
“Go dancing. To the movies.”
“I don’t like to dance, and you said you aren’t very good.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “If you want to go to the movies, I’ll go with you. But you have to buy the tickets. And the popcorn.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned off the engine, and the dogs paced back and forth, excited for an outing. “All right, one of the things that we need to expect from our animals is that they properly exit the car. We don’t want them so excited that they jump out and knock us over or run into the street and get hurt.”
Matthew’s eyes widened, his hand hovering over the latch on the passenger door. “What do we do?”
“They’ve been trained to stay with the verbal command, but I also want them to respond to the whistle. Dogs need to know verbal first and then the whistle. We use a clicker sometimes for this, too. Come on, watch me open the back door.”
There was no traffic in the parking lot, and she and Matthew faced the rear window. Bandit and Pedro both sat expectantly—neither dog jumped on the glass.
She held up her hand, palm out, in the nonverbal command for stay. “I make sure they both see me.”
Matthew nodded, his studious gaze going from her to the dogs and back.
“Next, I open the door.” Emma stood close enough to stop the dogs in case of an emergency, but she was confident that these two would obey and not run loose into the street.
“Stay,” she said, maintaining eye contact.
They sat, waiting, eyes on her.
“Stay.” She blew once on the whistle.
They waited. She felt their mounting excitement, but they didn’t break the command.
“Up.” She reached into her pocket of treats for bacon-infused kibble and gave one to each.
She blew once on the whistle, which was the command for sit.
Both sat back, their ears high and proud.
“Good!” She gave them each another piece of kibble before reaching for their leashes. “Up!” Tails wagging, they each stood in the back. She blew the whistle twice for them to stay, and then she stepped two paces backward. Three short blasts of the whistle and then she said, “Jump.”