by Lucy Gilmore
She put the car in park and got out, pausing just long enough to grab her canvas work bag. “I’m Sophie Vasquez,” she said.
She put a hand out too, but the man only stared at her outstretched palm and took another slow sip of his coffee.
“Um.” She jiggled her hand in an effort to bring it to his attention. “Sophie Vasquez? The service dog trainer? Did Harrison tell you I’d be coming?”
“He mentioned something along those lines.” The man finally took her hand and shook it. As had been the case with Harrison, it was a surprisingly gentle grip. “You’ll find him upstairs. There’s been an incident.”
“An incident?” Sophie drew a sharp breath. “Is it Bubbles? Is she okay?”
The man gave her a long look. “She’ll recover, if that’s what you’re asking. My son, however…”
“Oh, you’re Harrison’s dad.” That made so much sense. Looking at him, she could see the resemblance. There was a hard wariness to their expressions, a closed-off quality that went deeper than mere grouchiness. “You said upstairs? Do you mind if I head in that direction?”
“Help yourself. But I’d tread warily if I were you.”
She paused. “The puppy or the man?”
He laughed his understanding. The swift change of expression wiped decades from his face, made him almost approachable. “Both. I wouldn’t care to deal with either one right now.”
The house was built in the traditional farmhouse style, which meant a steep staircase rose almost directly from the foyer. Sophie took the stairs two at a time, barely noting the faded wallpaper with brighter patches where pictures once hung. She half expected canine sounds of distress to assail her, but all she heard as she reached the landing was a low, coaxing male voice.
“You have to come out, Bubbles. There are monsters. Big, scary, under-the-bed monsters who will snatch you between their hoary jaws.” There was a pause and then, in a more urgent voice, “You’re making us look bad. What will Sophie think if she finds you like this?”
Sophie was mostly amused, to be honest. Harrison Parks hadn’t struck her as the sort of man who believed in monsters, let alone was scared of them. How could he be? One fierce glare and he’d have the whole lot of them exiled to their dark lairs.
She walked through the closest door on the right to find Harrison’s lower half protruding from underneath a ruffled bed skirt. It was a strangely appealing sight, his backside tightly encased in faded jeans, his feet bare. A strip of skin appeared below the line of his T-shirt as he twisted and flexed to reach farther under the bed, showcasing a small plastic box clipped to the back of his jeans. His insulin pump, she was guessing.
“I mean it,” he called to the dog. “This isn’t what heroes do. You want to be a hero, don’t you?”
As much as she appreciated the sight of a large, well-built man wriggling on the floor, she didn’t appreciate her poor dog being cornered in a dark, scary place.
“Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, thank you very much,” she said.
A loud thump and a howl sounded. From the way the bed shook and the grumble that followed, she guessed Harrison had hit his head on the frame.
He slithered out before she could apologize for taking him by surprise. His movements were quick and agile, allowing her only a brief glimpse of the undulating muscles of his back before he was standing again.
Standing and glowering.
“Your dog refuses to come out,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the bed. “I’ve tried everything to coax her out—everything except table scraps, so don’t look at me like that.”
“Look at you like what?”
“Like that,” he repeated. He also didn’t elaborate, so she had no idea how she was supposed to interpret his remark. Was she furrowing her brow? Blinking too much?
With a sigh, he added, “She’s too damn small. I can’t get hold of her.”
“Maybe that’s because she doesn’t want to be held,” Sophie said tartly. “What happened to set her off?”
His grim expression turned even grimmer. “Fire.”
“What? Where?” She spun, wondering if she’d somehow missed blazing flames. It was only then that she noted the room they were in was distinctly and unmistakably feminine. In addition to the ruffled bed skirt, there was a mirrored vanity in one corner covered with perfume bottles that had long ago been tipped on their sides. The room was also dusty in a way that was normally reserved for haunted houses. Like the faded wallpaper in the hallway, there was something ancient and untouched about it.
“In the living room,” Harrison said. “It was cold this morning, so I started a fire in the grate. She took one look at the crackling flames, howled, and ran off.”
“Oh. Um.” Sophie gulped. “That’s not good.”
“No,” he agreed grimly. “I think we can safely say it’s not good. Didn’t you test her first or anything?”
Test her? As in, throw a puppy into a flaming pit and see how she’d react? “Of course I didn’t,” she said. “I mean, I tested her nose, of course, and gauged her reaction to high-stress situations, but I thought we’d introduce her to your actual lifestyle gently. Carefully.”
“Gently?” he echoed. “Do you have any idea what it is I do for a living?”
A feeling of heat—not unlike the lick of a flame—came over her. It was accompanied by a sinking sensation that stopped in her stomach and decided to take up residence there. When Oscar had first presented her with this case, he’d said that Harrison’s main duties involved training new firefighters and playing a supportive role on the front lines. Digging ditches, coordinating teams, making sure supplies got where they needed to go—it had sounded an awful lot like a war zone, but that was okay. Sophie could work with a war zone. Bubbles could too. Dogs were often called on to serve in areas of danger—just look at what they were capable of anytime an earthquake hit or someone went missing in the wilderness.
She’d known from the start that Bubbles was brave and strong and willing to do just about anything. It hadn’t even occurred to her that flames would be where the puppy would draw the line.
Partially to avoid having to respond to Harrison and partially because she really was worried about Bubbles, she sank to her knees near the bed to peek at the puppy for herself. If the room was grubby, the floor was even more so, with several dust bunnies bigger than Bubbles wafting about underneath. Bubbles hid behind one now, only distinguishable by the dark flash of her wide, terrified eyes.
“Come on, love.” She waited until her own eyes adjusted before shifting to her stomach. Now that she was officially on the job, she wore her usual dog-training attire of khaki pants and their official company polo shirt. There was no chance she’d give Harrison a free peep show.
Not that he’d be the least bit interested in one from me anyway.
“We have lots of work to do today,” she said, adopting the voice of one settling in for a long, comfortable chat. Her ability to hold long, one-sided conversations was a real boon in this line of work. Most dogs, like most people, just wanted to feel as though they weren’t alone. Nothing helped stave off anxiety better than someone chatting away at you as though everything was just fine.
It was a thing she’d learned from personal experience. During her long hospitalizations as a kid, she’d most looked forward to visits from her sisters. With the exception of their parents, they were the only people who didn’t tiptoe around her. They’d done what sisters do best: bickered and complained and generally made pests of themselves.
In moments of vulnerability, nothing was more comforting than bickering sisters. It was a proven fact.
“Rock sends his love by the way.” She used her forearms, army-crawl style, to pull herself even farther under the bed. Harrison was so large that he hadn’t been able to wedge his body very far under here, but she was small enough that she could scoot toward the back where Bubbles stood shivering in a corner. Sophie took one look at that panting, heaving little darling and kep
t talking. “Actually, I lied. He sends his hate. I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive you for going away. Oh, I know he always acted like he couldn’t stand you, all growly and mean whenever you wanted to play, but you’ve never seen anyone so forlorn now that you’re gone. What do you think he did once he realized you weren’t just out for a walk or getting some training?” She paused a second, as if waiting for Bubbles’s response. “He howled. Like, legit howled. He set off a chain reaction through the whole place.”
She thought she heard Harrison make a noise from somewhere behind her, but she ignored it. Already Bubbles was reacting to the calm friendliness of her voice, allowing herself to be coaxed out of the corner.
“He keeps peeking into your kennel when he thinks no one is watching. I bet he’s hoping you’ll show up underneath a blanket or behind the water dish. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you’ve got a big, important job now and won’t be coming back. It’ll break his poor puppy heart.”
Bubbles pulled forward enough for Sophie to get a hand out for her to sniff.
“Yes, I can see that makes you happy. You had poor Rock wrapped around your little paw, didn’t you? You left a trail of broken hearts back there, you know. Everyone is rooting for you to succeed. You just can’t see it the way we do.”
That last bit of encouragement did the trick, drawing the puppy out enough so Sophie could give her a reassuring pat. As soon as she made physical contact, the fight was over. With one swipe of her tiny pink tongue on Sophie’s finger, Bubbles lost the last of her fear. Sophie scooped the animal carefully in one hand and crawled out from under the bed.
“Ta-da!” she cried, holding the Pomeranian up like a trophy. “See what I mean? She’s not unmanageable. She needs a little extra encouragement, that’s all.”
Her feeling of triumph lasted all of six seconds. She glanced up at Harrison in hopes of being showered with his gratitude, but he was frowning down at the pair of them like a reluctant executioner whose hand was about to be forced.
Sophie didn’t go so far as to quake like Bubbles under the bed, but a definite frisson ran up her spine—not of fear, of course, but of the deep, terrible realization that she’d royally screwed the pooch.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
“This was a mistake.” Sophie spoke up before Harrison could say anything. She couldn’t bear to hear it from his own lips—that Bubbles wasn’t going to be good enough, that Sophie had failed before she even began.
It was going to be awful, crawling back like this, but what else could she do? They were right. All of them—Lila and Dawn and her parents and Oscar. She wasn’t equipped to work on a case like this one. She’d failed to properly communicate with the client. She’d been so dead set on Bubbles proving everyone wrong that she’d proven herself wrong in the process.
Poor, little, fluffy Sophie. You aren’t meant for the real jobs, but I’m sure someone would love to take you on as a pet.
“I honestly thought Bubbles would be a good fit for you, but I can see that I was wrong,” she said. Her lower lip was showing an alarming tendency to quiver, but she forced herself to hold it together. “You obviously have needs that she and I can’t meet. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
With a start, Harrison reached out and plucked the puppy out of Sophie’s grasp. She barely had time to notice what had happened before he curled his arms around the animal in a protective cocoon.
“What?” he demanded. “You’re taking her away?”
“I thought…” Sophie glanced around, bewildered. Her gaze skimmed over the worn wallpaper and gentle decay of the house before landing back on Harrison. It was such a strange combination, this faded farmhouse and the glorious man contained within it, but somehow it fit. “You were upset. You said she’s no good.”
“I said the situation isn’t good. And it’s not—I spent half my damn morning crawling around on my hands and knees trying to convince this puppy I’m not out to light her on fire.”
Sophie blinked. The harsh words and guttural way he uttered them should have sent her running. He was all those things Oscar had warned her about and more—gruff and rough and uncompromising. In fact, he was the last man on earth to whom she’d willingly hand over something as precious and vulnerable as a baby Pomeranian.
But he hadn’t shifted his position. If anything, he’d curled himself even more around the puppy, placing himself between the animal and Sophie.
He was protecting the dog. He was protecting the dog from her.
“It might not be possible for her to get over this kind of fear,” Sophie said, eyeing him as one might a baited bear. “I can do my best to work with her, obviously, but I can’t promise it will be a success.”
“Well, you can’t just take her away from me.”
“Um.”
He placed a protective hand on Bubbles’s head. “You practically forced me to bring her home in the first place.”
Sophie stood still for a moment, watching the pair of them. The idea of anyone believing her capable of causing harm to Bubbles was laughable. The idea of a man like Harrison thinking it was downright ludicrous. Yet that was exactly what he did think—and he was willing to put himself on the line to stop her.
What else might he be willing to do?
Curious, she placed her hands on her hips and put on her sternest expression. “I’m afraid it’s my call, Mr. Parks. Until the training certificate is placed in your hands, Bubbles remains under my care. If I feel she’s in a dangerous position or is incapable of performing her duties, I’m going to take her back to the kennel and reassign you a new puppy.”
“The devil you will.”
She almost laughed out loud at the expression that accompanied this oath. In all her life, she’d never seen a more physically imposing man. Harrison obviously hadn’t had time to shave that morning, his hard jaw scraped with stubble that gave him a menacing air. His expansive chest swelled with emotion, and his face took on a hard look that could have turned entire villages to stone. He also planted his legs in a subconscious gesture that she assumed was supposed to intimidate her.
And it would have too, if not for the fact that he was cradling a puppy in his arms with all the reverence one would show a newborn baby.
“Legally, she’s still the property of Puppy Promise,” Sophie said.
“I don’t care.”
“You will if I show up here with a court order and the full force of animal control at my back.”
He hesitated, casting an anxious glance down at Bubbles. Bubbles, supremely oblivious of the battle currently being waged over her, wagged her tail in response. “You can do that?”
She had no idea. In fact, she was pretty sure Harrison could demand that she leave his property or be charged with trespassing, but she wasn’t about to point that out—not when she was finally getting somewhere. She had no idea how or why it was, but Harrison was never quite as accessible as he was when she took a stand against him.
“Your work is too dangerous for her,” she said now, testing her theory. “I’m sorry, but that makes you an unfit parent.”
“Well, I think you’re an unfit dog trainer,” he retorted. “Getting a man all attached and then taking his puppy away.”
As was the case yesterday, Sophie felt an overwhelming urge to giggle. Harrison Parks was attached. Less than twenty-four hours in, and Bubbles had successfully wooed him—and if the look on his face was anything to go by, wooed him hard.
She took a step closer—not a threatening one, but one of invitation. “What if I promised you could have Rock instead? Big, fierce, oh-so-strong Rock?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. You’re a liar.”
Just as no one had ever yelled at her before, neither had anyone called her a liar. She took another step. She was near enough now that she could feel the power emanating off of him, the heat. She liked it more than was good for her.
“Well, you’re a bully,” she said. “Scaring a poor, defenseless woman like
me. Making me quake in my shoes.”
“Bullshit.” Despite the severity of the word, there was no force to it. In fact, as Sophie looked up into Harrison’s face, she saw the lines lifting, his irresistible smile wiping away every harsh thing he’d ever said or done. “You’re not scared of me. You’re not even a little bit nervous.”
“That shows what you know. I might go hide under the bed.”
“Well, I won’t come get you.”
“I might make Bubbles hide there with me.”
“You’ll have to pry her out of my cold, dead arms first.”
“What in blazes is going on up here?”
By this time, Sophie and Harrison had come almost toe-to-toe, his bare feet separated from her tennis shoes by only a fraction of an inch. At the sound of his father’s voice, they both jumped back—Sophie, because she was genuinely startled; Harrison, because a flush of guilt replaced his smile.
“Does one of you want to explain why it sounds like there’s a presidential debate taking place on the goddamn landing?” his father demanded.
“Jesus, Dad.” Harrison’s guilty flush didn’t abate any. If anything, it grew more pronounced. “You could have just come up here and asked. There’s no need to yell.”
“Why the hell not? That’s what you were doing. Not at this poor scrap of a girl, I hope.”
Harrison glanced quickly at her, almost as if assessing whether or not she was about to fall into a maidenly swoon. Since she wasn’t—not even close—he took on an almost juvenile defiance. “She started it.”
His dad snorted. “I’ll bet she did. With a saint like you living under this roof, I’ve gotten used to nothing but peace and quiet around here.” He paused. “Why is your dog covered in dust?”
“We, uh, had a small argument over Bubbles’s training,” Harrison said. He shot Sophie a look that was equal parts anxiety and warning. “But it’s all worked out now. Isn’t that right, Sophie? No hard feelings?”
Sophie had a hard time holding back a laugh. Her feelings were anything but hard. These men obviously had no idea how refreshing she found it to be in the middle of an honest, no-holds-barred squabble. She’d spent most of her life behind reverential glass, cherished by her parents, adored by her puppies. Everyone was so afraid she’d collapse at the first sign of struggle that they did everything in their power to protect her.