Puppy Love

by Lucy Gilmore

  He took it as a good sign that Bubbles tilted her head at him in a look of inquiry. Maybe this puppy wasn’t such a bad choice after all. There was wisdom behind those raisin eyes.

  “Oh, I know it’s ridiculous, believe me,” he said. “She doesn’t seem capable of squishing a gnat. That’s the problem. She…”

  He frowned. He wasn’t sure what Sophie did, except make him feel like a large, ungainly lump. It wasn’t a new feeling for him, but this was the first time he wanted to be more approachable. Scaring pretty, defenseless women wasn’t a thing a man liked to boast of.

  “And who can blame her? Have you ever met anyone as bad at this as me?” He rolled onto his stomach and put his head closer to the puppy. The puppy, seeming to agree with him, barked nervously and backed away.

  Harrison sighed and propped his chin on his hands. Lolling in the damp grass with a puppy wasn’t how he’d pictured his day when he’d woken up this morning, but the truth was, he was grateful to wake up at all. In all his years as a type 1 diabetic, he’d only slipped into a coma one other time, an incident that had occurred during his sleep and led to his initial diagnosis. Even though he’d only been eight years old at the time, it wasn’t an experience he recommended. Few things were worse than going to bed only to wake up several days later in a hospital room with no recollection of any of it. A demon you couldn’t see coming was a demon you couldn’t face in a fair fight.

  And there it was again: that feeling of helplessness, the roiling start of frustration taking over.

  As if already trained to read his moods, Bubbles quivered.

  “It’s not you I’m upset with,” he said, soothing the puppy. The sight of that tiny body shaking in fear—because of him—plucked at a chord deep in his chest. “She said you were some kind of diabetes wizard, and I have no choice but to believe her. So let’s do this thing. There must be a way for us to fast-track our relationship.”

  Struck with sudden inspiration, Harrison reached into his breast pocket and extracted the granola bar he always carried in the event of blood sugar emergencies. Bubbles heard the crinkle of cellophane and immediately perked.

  “You greedy little minx.” He laughed. “Is this how it’s going to go? I have to bribe my way into your heart? It’s a good thing I always have snacks.”

  Since he doubted the dog’s stomach was much bigger than a golf ball, Harrison crumbled the bar into tiny pieces and began offering them one by one. Wary at first and then gaining interest, Bubbles eventually picked her way over the grass and started accepting the morsels from his fingertips. With each bite of her tiny jaws, her fear seemed to diminish. A quarter of the bar in and she was actually approaching him of her own volition.

  “If only it were this easy to gain a person’s affection,” he said. “I doubt I could hand-feed Sophie and get the same response.”

  A sharp female voice sounded above his head. “What are you doing?”

  He rolled over to find Sophie standing with her hands on her hips and a look of consternation on her face. At first, he was afraid she’d overheard his conversation with the dog. To explain his remarks and admit that he only meant he wanted her to like him—not that he wanted her to sit in his lap and take food from his fingertips—was unthinkable. There was no way he’d get through that explanation without making a bungle of it.

  After a moment, however, she set him to rights. “You can’t give a service dog table scraps.” She swooped down to take the granola bar package from him. “She’s not a pet. She’s your companion.”

  Bubbles gave a tiny growl and attempted to take the snack back from Sophie with a leap that lifted her an impressive two inches into the air.

  “See? You’ve had her for ten minutes, and she’s already acting like a spoiled lapdog.” With a stern lowering of her brow, Sophie turned her attention to the puppy. “No, Bubbles. You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

  Bubbles reacted instinctively to the command in Sophie’s voice. She sat and gulped, looking up at her trainer with a remarkable amount of remorse. Harrison was tempted to do the same.

  Since he wasn’t an adorable two-pound ball of fur, however, he settled for a gruff, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t know.”

  At the sound of his voice, all of the indignation in Sophie’s stance melted away. Her eyes widened and a stricken flush colored her cheeks. He could tell he’d done it again—scared her with his inability to react to situations like a normal human being.

  “No,” she said, flustered. “No, of course you didn’t.”

  He attempted to heal the breach by drawing to his feet, but all that did was highlight the difference in their sizes. At six feet tall, Harrison was hardly a giant, but he felt every inch like it was mile, each one carrying him farther away from her.

  In an effort to regain some of that lost ground, he said, “Okay, so no table scraps. What other rules should I know about?”

  Sophie eyed him with misgiving. “Haven’t you ever had a dog before?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Really? Not even as a kid?”

  “We weren’t a cozy, white-picket-fence-and-puppy sort of family. I never even had a goldfish.”

  “Well, you can’t feed table scraps to goldfish either,” she said. “In case it ever comes up.”

  He was startled into a laugh. She was doing it again—making jokes. About him, with him. “My ignorance doesn’t extend that far, thankfully. Can I at least pet her and stuff?”

  Sophie shifted from one leg to another, watching him with a wariness he couldn’t easily explain. It wasn’t a scared wariness; it was more worry, like she was regretting her promise to train both him and Bubbles.

  Like she wasn’t sure he’d be able to make this work.

  But he could. And he would too. He might not be a prince charming, but he wasn’t an ogre either. At least, not most of the time.

  “You mean I can’t pet her?” he asked.

  “When she’s working, no. You need her to be alert and focused on you, more like an employee than a friend. But during her off time?” She shrugged. “Absolutely. She still needs to be loved, just like everyone else.”

  “Just like everyone else?” he echoed.

  “Yes. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Sophie’s voice took on a sharp edge—the same one that had caught his attention in the kennel that morning. “I know she’s not the Great Dane of your dreams, but there’s a lot to like about her. Contrary to what you might think, being giant and strong isn’t everything.”

  Harrison found himself rooted to the spot, more intrigued than insulted by the challenge in her voice. People didn’t speak to him like that very often. Well, Oscar did, but he hardly counted—he’d practically known the man since birth. He’d only known this woman for all of an hour. Although she might claim to be scared of him, something about that puppy brought out the steel in her.

  He wished he knew what it was. His own glance down at that minuscule creature, so helpless and vulnerable, only brought a frown. Bubbles sat exactly where Sophie had told her, awaiting her next command. She was like a stuffed toy soldier, ready to head into battle for no reason other than it was asked of her. The doubts that had assailed him since the start of this preposterous scheme returned anew. He’d been prepared for a big, badass canine companion to head into the flames with him, alert to the changes in his blood sugar that resulted from hard labor and shifts that often lasted more than twenty-four hours. To ask such a sacrifice of a Great Dane or a bulldog or even that nice golden retriever seemed natural.

  To rely on this scrap of a creature, with her oh-so-trusting eyes and tiny beans for toes, was another thing entirely.

  “Will it really be so hard?” Sophie asked. “To learn to love her?”

  He reared back, unsure if he’d misheard the underlying plea of her words. But one glance at Sophie’s gently furrowed brow and he knew his hearing worked just fine. This woman thought so little of him that she was worried he’d mistreat the animal
she was giving over to his care—an animal who had already been subjected to cruelties at the hands of a ruthless puppy mill.

  “We’ll be fine,” he said, knowing the response was inadequate but unsure what else he could say. “Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. At this point, I’ll try anything.”

  “Anything?” she asked, one of her brows lifted in a perfect arch.

  With any other woman, he’d have taken that arch as an invitation—a flirtation not unlike the one attempted on him by the sister with the wavy hair, Dawn. Not so with Sophie. Not now that he was coming to realize just how much Oscar had betrayed him.

  That scurrilous bastard. His longtime supervisor and friend could have easily saddled him with one of dozens of providers who matched people with service dogs and lived to tell the tale. But he hadn’t. He’d flipped through his ancient Rolodex and landed on this slip of a woman who made him feel like a bull in the entire goddamn china factory.

  In other words, he’d known exactly what he was doing.

  “Anything within reason,” he amended, one wary eye on Sophie, the other on the puppy. Call him paranoid, but giving the pair of them an open invitation to make demands of him seemed like a bad idea.

  Mostly because he had the sinking sensation he’d do it—that all-encompassing, terrifying anything.

  “Define ‘reason,’” she said.

  “I know it’s all the rage, but I refuse to have anything to do with dog sweaters,” he said. “I think they’re ridiculous. It’s like putting a sock on a potato.”

  Sophie’s lower lip dropped a fraction. He didn’t know her well enough to say whether it was surprise or indignation that caused it, but she nodded her agreement anyway. “Noted. No sweaters on dogs, and no socks on potatoes. Is that, um, a thing you’ve seen before? With the potatoes?”

  Not surprise. Not indignation. She was laughing again.

  “That includes raincoats, hats, and those little boots I’ve seen dogs wear on TV,” he added, reluctantly pleased by way her eyes lit up.

  “You hate any type of clothes on dogs and root vegetables. Got it.”

  “In the spirit of full disclosure, I hate clothes on regular vegetables too.”

  “I had no idea a man could have such strong opinions on produce. What else is off-limits? Tattoos on fruit? Bread with dentures?”

  He opened his mouth to continue his litany of things he refused to have anything to do with—up to and including women who mocked him with their eyes—but decided against it. Some people claimed the things he didn’t like in this world far outnumbered the things he did like, but one thing was for sure.

  He liked Sophie Vasquez.

  The thought dropped on him from out of nowhere, all pleasant and squishy and warm. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with that feeling. Ball it up? Shove it deep down? Lay it out on the grass and roll in it?

  That last one didn’t sound too terrible, actually, which was why it was a good thing Bubbles chose that moment to yap and spin in a circle. Turning as one, he and Sophie shifted their attention to the puppy, the moment of easy friendliness disappearing as quickly as it had come.

  “So, what happens next?” he asked, careful to keep any but the blandest of emotions out of his voice. “Training-wise, I mean?”

  He was rewarded for his pains with a long, careful look and a plastic bag that looked to contain some sort of brown pellets.

  She nodded toward it. “Dog treats.”

  “Wait. Treats? But when I gave her that granola bar, you—”

  “Table scraps and human foods are a big no-no, but treats during basic training are fine. In fact, you’ll find them necessary if you want to get any real results.”

  “I will?”

  “She’s a great dog, but she still needs encouragement every now and then. Most of us do.” That long, careful look became downright intense, but she moved on before he could come up with a suitable reply. “She’s ready to learn scent alerts, and we’ll start those within the next few days, but you’ll still need to reinforce rudimentary behaviors.”

  When he still didn’t say anything, she added, “Sit. Stay. Heel. Down. Come.”

  Despite the gentle rap of her words—or maybe because of them—Harrison felt compelled to follow each of those commands as she uttered them. Which was a dangerous thing for a lot of reasons, but mostly because those last few held decidedly sexual undertones.

  When he didn’t say anything other than to grunt a noncommittal sound, she added, “I’ve been working with her on those since she arrived, but it’ll be better for the rest to come from you.”

  “But I don’t know how—”

  “I’ll come over to your house every day, of course. It’s part of our process. For the first few weeks, Bubbles and I will be on the job from nine to five. Once we move to more intense training, we’ll vary the schedule so it includes some nights.”

  So many parts of that plan blinked red and warning in Harrison’s vision. Every day? Nights? His house?

  The last one caused the biggest flash. His house wasn’t a place he’d willingly bring a woman like Sophie. Hell, he could barely stand being there himself.

  “Oscar never mentioned anything about that,” he said, taking a wide step back. The distance seemed necessary. With any luck, the earth would open up between them and he could fall through to the other side. “Can’t we just do it here?”

  “Bubbles has to learn in the environment where she’ll be spending most of her time,” Sophie said. “It’s not really optional, I’m afraid. That’s kind of the thing that makes Puppy Promise what it is. Each dog is personally selected and trained for the individual.”

  It was impossible to argue with that. A highly trained and specialized animal was exactly what this was supposed to be all about. He clamped down on his tongue and stretched a tight smile across his face. “Sure. That will be fine.”

  His attempts at moderation didn’t go over as well as he’d hoped. Sophie’s expression fell. “Oscar didn’t explain this very well, did he?”

  Actually, Oscar hadn’t explained it at all. As soon as Harrison had checked himself out of the hospital—against the doctor’s recommendation—he’d walked out to find Oscar sitting in his sleek black Suburban like a limo driver. “Get in or I’m putting you behind a desk,” he’d said. The rest of the conversation had followed much along the same lines.

  Take care of yourself or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Get a service dog or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Get a service dog from this place I’ve already selected and laid out tens of thousands dollars for or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Service dogs didn’t come cheap, but Harrison’s dignity did.

  “Does this mean Bubbles is coming home with me tonight?” he asked warily.

  Sophie glanced at the thin silver watch on her wrist and nodded. “It’s a little past five now. She’s officially off duty. Not,” she added in a warning tone, “that this means you can indulge in her every whim. Just get her used to you and your house. Make her comfortable. See if she’ll sit for you. There’s a box of supplies in the kennel for you to take home as well as a list of directions about her feeding times and quantities. You can grab it on your way out.”

  It was as good as a dismissal. Harrison would have been relieved to hear it if not for the fact that Bubbles sat at his feet, awaiting events with the air of one resigned to an unpleasant fate.

  “She won’t hurt you, Mr. Pa—I mean, Harrison.” Sophie blushed as she spoke, as if surprised at her own daring. “Just be nice to her, and she’ll come around.”

  Being nice wasn’t something Harrison excelled at. In fact, being nice was usually the last quality anyone associated with him.

  “What if she doesn’t?” he asked.

  “I’m still not giving you the Great Dane.”

  He was startled into another one of those laughs that felt so foreign. “Don’t worry. I learned that lesson already. Size and
stability aren’t for me. Instead, I get…” He glanced down at Bubbles and tried to think of the least offensive way to phrase it.

  It was more difficult than he thought.

  “You get intelligence and devotion,” Sophie supplied for him. The note of steel was back in her voice, daring him to argue. “You get a beautiful little nugget who will risk her life to keep you safe.”

  “A beautiful little nugget,” he echoed doubtfully.

  Nuggets and raisins.

  This was going to be so much worse than he’d thought.

  Chapter 4

  Nothing in the instructions told him how he was supposed to transport Bubbles home.

  Bags of food, water dishes, leashes, harnesses, even a minuscule red training vest he side-eyed harder than he’d ever side-eyed anything in his life were there in abundance. But there was no crate or any sort of pad he could set on the floor.

  “Are you supposed to ride in the back?” he asked, casting a doubtful glance at the bed of his rusted pickup truck. Even without all the tools and fire equipment back there, he doubted the puppy would be very comfortable. For all he knew, the wind would blow her away like a tumbleweed. “I’ll probably get in trouble for this, but I guess you’re sitting next to me. Don’t tell Sophie, okay? She might yell at me again, and I don’t like it when she yells at me.”

  Bubbles blinked up at him. Harrison took it as agreement.

  Throughout his life, he’d heard every kind of insult and every kind of criticism that could be leveled at a man for whom talking to people was a curse. None of it stacked up to Sophie gently questioning his ability to own a dog. Caring for a puppy was something normal people did every day. Puppies provided love, affection, all those things you were supposed to feel when something small and precious wriggled its way into your life.

  In other words, all those things that he’d always lacked. Which was fine, in the general way of things. Love and affection had never been his strong points, and he knew it.