Henry waddle-ran to his mom, and she passed him a bag of Cheerios. He dashed back to Mary Hannah. “I have my treats, Ms. Gallo. Barkley likes treats. I give him Cheerios, one for him and one for me, when he does something right.” He leaned closer to her. “I gave one to Dad, too, but he said no thank you.”
Mary Hannah knelt in front of him, dusting the snow from his arms and hood. “We can’t make people do things they don’t want to.”
“Like how Barkley can’t do the water trick ’cuz he’s scared of baths?”
“Exactly. We’ll just figure out what works best for Barkley.”
Henry placed his mittened hands on Mary Hannah’s arm and whispered in her ear, “My dad likes to throw the ball.”
A longing coated that simple request. Professional distance was tough at moments like this. Damn tough. “Then we will ask him to do that part of your routine.”
Henry hesitated, something else clearly weighing on his young mind. He scuffed his Thomas the Tank snow boots along the ground. “Do ya think Mom and Dad will let me keep Barkley?”
“That’s not for me to say. You have to talk with them.” She glanced at the couple by the gate. Callie stood with her arms wrapped so tightly around herself she must have cut off her own circulation. Declan ignored the cute little scrap of fur racing circles around his chair.
Henry shook his bag of Cheerios. “But you can ’suade them. You make people be smarter without even using treats.” He shook the bag again. “You make them get better inside their heads.”
“I don’t make them, sweetie. I help them understand life so they can be happier.”
“Having Barkley at my house forever would make me happier.”
“How about we focus on today and teach Barkley how to jump through hoops over there in the exercise yard?” She nodded to the smaller play area that held the new agility equipment AJ and Mike had built. “That’s like an obstacle course, um, a playground. We’re going to work more on his act with some new equipment our volunteers made. And most important, we need for him to know all the steps and not be distracted by noises.”
They’d already taught Barkley to sit, stay and walk on a leash. This would take the training to the next level, thanks to the new gear AJ had taken the lead in building.
Henry shuffle-ran in his bulky suit to the agility course while shaking the bag of cereal. “Barkley, come play, Barkley, come. We’re gonna have fun.”
As she joined him, her hands in her pockets, Mary Hannah couldn’t help but check farther across the field, where she spotted AJ driving toward his cabin. His training session would come later, after she finished with Barkley. She’d spent so much time avoiding AJ because of the one-night stand and his brooding, she’d missed his good qualities. Knowing him made things more complicated, but ignoring him was no longer an option.
Her gaze gravitated right back to his cabin across the field.
AJ opened his door, his voice carrying on the wind as he called, “Holly, let’s go outside, girl.”
Holly bounded out, a blur of brown fur and energy. He’d made progress with her. She no longer had to be coaxed to walk outside with him. She enjoyed the freedom of running in the yard, sniffing and exploring. He tossed a ball for her and she chased it. But she hadn’t yet mastered the art of picking it up and bringing it back. Baby steps.
Still, watching AJ truly give his all to working with Holly touched her heart. Even his insistence that the boxer enjoyed television game shows, although she still thought that was an excuse to chill in his chair and split a burger with Holly while channel-surfing.
The image was so precious and heart tugging, she had to force her focus back on her current trainees.
Callie strode with confident long strides, her bright yellow parka, hat and boots a perfectly matched ski-bunny set that almost hid how much weight she’d lost. No doubt her nails were manicured underneath.
The young mother and wife smiled, her makeup almost covering the dark circles and strain lines. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing yet. Barkley and Henry should run some of their pent-up energy off first so they’ll be able to focus.”
“I don’t want to take too much of your time.”
“Please don’t give it another thought. I love my work.”
“If you’re sure . . .” Callie acquiesced before joining her son.
The whir of the electric wheelchair warned Mary Hannah that Declan was joining them. The rattle as he jostled along the concrete walkway would have tempted some to offer help. She knew he would rather fall out of the chair than accept assistance, so she waited.
He stopped beside her, wearing a Chicago Cubs parka, shiny new. “I know you think we’re going to keep the mutt after the competition. But you’re wrong.”
She didn’t take the bait. “You don’t like dogs?”
“It’s not that. I’ll hang out with the dog for four more weeks, like the doc orders, and that’s it.”
“You have to do more than hang out. You’ve got to help train him—you, me and Henry. You and Henry have to reinforce what I show him. I evaluate his progress. And you present your routine at the My Furry Valentine competition.”
“You’re going to put me, my kid and the dog on display,” he snapped bitterly.
“You’re going to compete.”
“Fine. Whatever.” He massaged the metal clamp at the end of his prosthetic arm. “But after that, the dog goes back to you and finds another home.”
“You’ve never had a dog?” She pressed on, deliberately oblivious. “Don’t worry, that’s why I’m here, to help you. To train the dog and give you any care tips you need. I wrote my master’s thesis on training therapy dogs. But to be precise, he is acting as your emotional-support animal—your ESA.”
“Emotional support,” he sneered. “I know what it means, but it still sounds like a blanket and a cup of tea.”
She looked over at him and stared without speaking. Silence was a mighty tool sometimes, far better than a wealth of words.
“Okay, fine, my apologies for being flippant.” He looked at his son and wife playing with Barkley, running him up and down a wooden hill. “What’s the difference between an emotional-support animal and therapy animal?”
Ah, finally she’d piqued his interest. She rocked back on her heels, keeping her eyes on Callie and Henry, a subtle thing, but she knew if she made eye contact with Declan, he would shut down. It was sad noticing similarities between humans and dogs, but she couldn’t escape the truth. Eye contact could be confrontational. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tennis ball.
“Therapy dogs and service dogs are working animals,” she explained, tossing the ball up and catching it. “They require extensive training, often more than a year’s worth. They have access anywhere. An emotional-support animal is one that provides ease to a patient—documentation of the patient’s need is provided by a physician. Emotional-support animals do have rights. They can’t be banned by a landlord, but they are not given unlimited access to public buildings.”
“Really?” He half glanced her way before catching himself and looked back at his son and wife.
“Really.” She pitched and caught the tennis ball again. “And just to clarify, trying to pass off an animal as a service dog, therapy dog, or ESA is a crime and does a grave disservice to the animals that are providing crucial care to people with disabilities.”
“Understood.” He nodded, massaging the spot where his prosthetic arm met the stub. “So if we take Barkley long term, I’m only getting an ESA.”
“That’s up to you. Barkley is smart enough to be a full-fledged service dog.” Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch. “I would hate to see him wasted on someone who doesn’t want what he has to offer.”
His chin tipped, his jaw flexing. “I’ve had enough upheaval in my life. I can barely take care of myself.”
He spit out the words—angry, pained words—but by God, he was talking. “My wife has to help me off the damn toilet. The last thing she needs is to clean up after a dog, too.”
Had she pushed too hard? “We’re two weeks in and you’re backing out?”
“Now that the dog’s going home with us?” He met her eyes for the first time, full of so much pain it swallowed every bit of sunshine. “Yes.”
She ached for him and all he’d suffered, but being soft on him wouldn’t help him. Her hand clenched around the tennis ball. “The sooner you complete your therapy, the sooner I’ll leave you alone.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s a fact.”
He pounded his fist on his remaining leg. “Facts of my life are pretty much shit.”
“Yes, they are.”
He glanced up in shock. “You agree?”
“Of course. There’s no denying you’ve suffered. Enormously.” She kept her voice neutral. It was a fine line to walk, empathy without any trace of what he might construe as pity, all while pushing him forward. “And the facts are that things will be shittier if you curl up and quit.”
He laughed hoarsely. “I thought therapists weren’t supposed to curse.”
Normally that would be true, but she’d gotten his attention. “Where did you hear that?”
“I assumed.”
“Rather than having to assume, here are some facts for you to mull over. You have a wife. You have a son. You may be able to chase off your wife. That’s between the two of you.” Marriage was tough. She knew that well enough. “But you have a duty to your son. And right now his life is pretty shitty, too.”
Mary Hannah dropped the tennis ball in his lap. “You’re not helpless. Now pick up that ball and throw it for the dog—and for your son.”
He scrambled to catch the ball before it rolled off the stub end of his amputated leg. “Are you sure you’re a counselor?”
“I have the diploma to prove it.” And God, she hoped her training and instincts would make up for her lack of experience. She was still so new at this, and the stakes were high.
“Your, uh, techniques are not what I expected.”
“Are they working?”
Declan didn’t smile. He didn’t answer. But he put the tennis ball in the clamp of his prosthetic hand and he threw.
* * *
AJ GRASPED THE railing on the small bridge over the frozen stream. Holly walked alongside him, trailing her pink leash. Pink, for heaven’s sake. He would bet money Mary Hannah had picked up the girliest matching accessories possible for Holly.
Of course he could have bought new ones, something badass. Like a sports team or something braided. Hell, was he really thinking about how to dress up his—the—dog?
He glanced down at the pink, tie-dyed leash slithering a line through the snow. He and Holly had come to an agreement. She would allow him to hook the lead to her collar as long as he never picked up the end.
Crazy, but she walked just fine as long as he never picked up the leash.
She was actually an easy dog to be around. She didn’t demand anything and never barked. If she wanted to go out, she sat by the door until he clued in. She never had accidents in the house. In fact, he was pretty sure she was terrified of making mistakes. So much so he wished he could invite her to a “Let’s Raise Hell” party, shred some pillows, tip over the trash, steal food off the counter.
Be wild. Be free.
She let loose only during runs around the yard. The rest of the time, like now, she simply watched him with those soulful eyes and walked carefully beside him over the bridge toward the Second Chance Ranch. Her feet left measured steps in the snow, that leash growing soggier by the minute. She knew the path to Mary Hannah’s. It was the only place they went for now—other than daily car rides, per Mary Hannah’s instructions.
Her laughter hitchhiked on the wind, teasing his ears, the lighthearted sound mingling with a little boy’s giggles. Her red coat stood out like a beacon. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t seem to see anything other than her as she worked with that family.
They’d gathered in one of the smaller play yards with the new agility-course gear. Barkley was kicking ass, jumping through a hoop and over the bar like a champ.
AJ stopped at the perimeter fence, one of three layers to ensure even escape artists stayed secure. They had a second fence surrounding the entire property as well, layers of security to be certain the animals stayed safely contained. He’d been given the codes, but few others had them. He appreciated that level of safety for Mary Hannah. In light of the way they’d obtained Holly and some of the other dogs, there was no doubt a rescue could attract pissed-off—and abusive—former owners. Wyatt had even told him there had been break-ins a year and a half ago.
He punched in the code, the gate swinging wide for him and Holly to stride through. His focus still remained one hundred percent on Mary Hannah. He could have waited at his place, but he’d grown restless, oddly looking forward to the training session.
Mary Hannah was such a natural, with the training and the kid. The boy’s father sat off to the side in his wheelchair pitching the ball for the scrappy dog to catch as the Cairn Terrier leaped through the hoop, then cleared the PVC bar. Barkley looked stinking cute, like Toto from The Wizard of Oz.
AJ stopped at the split-rail fence, chicken wire tacked along to keep animals from wriggling through. He leaned on the top wood bar, one boot resting on the bottom rail. With a new perspective gained from working with Mary Hannah and Holly, he recognized the layers of good in this one moment. The veteran was growing accustomed to his prosthetic arm out in the world rather than in the boring sterility of a rehab center. Playing with the dog gave the wounded soldier and his son a shared activity without any awkwardness.
The barn door opened, the squeak snapping the tight wire of concentration. Barkley dropped the ball. The soldier cursed, and his wife covered her son’s ears.
Lacey darted through the open door and into sight with her camera in hand, the shepherd mutt Trooper close on her heels. “Don’t mind me. I’m just documenting for the presentation in February.”
Henry mugged for the camera with a toothy, little-boy smile. “We made a Facebook page to get fans for Barkley.”
Trooper trotted toward Holly, apparently his new best friend for today, but then he liked most dogs.
“Great work, Henry,” Lacey said, snapping more photos. “I bet Barkley will have his own cheering section thanks to that page.”
AJ pushed away from the fence, hand extended. “I’ll take the photos.” Having something to do, a purpose for being there, would keep him from looking like some dope who couldn’t help but watch Mary Hannah. “You enjoy your last day with Sierra. Let Trooper race out his energy with Holly, before he has to be cooped up in the car tomorrow.”
Lacey eyed him with playful suspicion. “You wouldn’t be trying to sabotage the competition by getting an inside peek at their routine, would you?”
“I don’t think Holly and I are in the running to win the grand prize.” He grinned, nodding at the boxer rolling on her back in the snow, her pink tie-dyed leash flopping uselessly like a kite tail. “We’ll be lucky if she can bring a tennis ball back by then, much less walk reliably on a leash.”
Lacey stroked a hand along Holly’s side, gently, until Holly relaxed and let her ears be scratched. “You’re doing an amazing job with her. Your instincts are good. It’s a great idea to let her trail the leash, get used to the feel of it, learn that it’s not there to restrain but an accessory that brings more freedom.”
He took the camera from Lacey’s other hand. “Visit with your daughter. I’ve got this.”
“Thanks.” She sighed with obvious relief. “You can just leave the camera with Mary Hannah.”
AJ lifted the camera and snapped a photo of Mary Hannah in mot
ion, jogging beside Henry and Barkley as they coaxed the pup through the hoop. The obstacle was low to the ground now but would be raised slowly over time. He checked the picture. Her beautiful face filled the preview screen, her smile enchanting but at odds with a sadness in her eyes he couldn’t quite place. But he wanted to coax it away.
Taking things slow was getting tougher as they worked together training for the fund-raising event. He raised the camera again and snapped a quick group of photos, including the father.
The soldier’s wife stepped out of the field of the photos and walked to AJ. “Will I be able to get copies of those?”
“I don’t see why not, Mrs. Roberts, but you should ask Mary Hannah or Lacey.” The detective in him took in details, and the auburn-haired young mother had a brittle air, like a thin sheet of ice that would shatter if life dealt her one more blow. He’d seen the Roberts family from a distance but hadn’t met them in person.
“Please, call me Callie.” She leaned back against the fence, tugging at the zipper on her parka nervously, up and down, up again.
Holly inched around to his other side. Not surprising since she was still skittish around new people. Trooper nudged Holly, barking for her to play.
Callie angled to look past him to Holly. “You’re paired with her for the competition?”
“For the next few weeks.”
“You’re working with Mary Hannah, too?”
“Are you asking if she’s my counselor?” His gaze gravitated back to the play area and the woman who filled his dreams at night. He sure as hell hoped she didn’t look at him as a patient.
“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.” Callie pressed her gloved hand against her temple. “I’m still getting used to this new world my family lives in. A world full of doctors and physical therapists and counselors for every one of us. We can’t even get a regular pet, for God’s sake.”
“I’m very sorry for everything that has happened to your family.”
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