How to Heel a Wounded Heart (Must Love Dogs Book 4)

by Daniel Banner

  How to Heel a Wounded Heart

  Daniel Banner

  Vorpal Words

  Contents

  Also by Daniel Banner

  Introduction to the Must Love Dogs Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Author’s Notes

  About the Author

  Sample Chapter from Two Hearts Rescue

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. No resemblances is intended to persons living, dead, or otherwise.

  How to Heel a Wounded Heart

  Copyright © 2017 by Daniel Coleman

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Novak Illustration

  Edited by Nancy Felt and Laura Ellis

  www.DColemanBooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Daniel Banner

  Two Hearts Rescue

  Published under Daniel Coleman

  Jabberwocky: A Novel

  Hatter

  Gifts and Consequences

  to Beans—the biggest dog I ever knew

  and Hyrum— the most selective dog I ever knew

  Introduction to the Must Love Dogs Series

  Why write a series about dogs?

  Because dogs are the best.

  The End

  Love,

  Daniel Ba—

  Ahem. I’m being told that’s not enough for an actual Intro (even though it’s true). *cracks knuckles* Okay, let’s do this.

  What aspect exemplifies the Clean Romance genre more than any other? Hands down, no contest, far and away (i.e. in this writer’s opinion) it’s true love. And who better exemplifies true love than a dog? Unconditionally, no matter how ugly you are or how bad you smell, a dog will love you with everything it’s got. They don’t judge, they don’t shun, they don’t betray, connive, or abandon. However, they do smell bad sometimes. And we love them right back.

  W.R. Purche said, “Everyone thinks they have the best dog … and none of them are wrong.”

  I could go on with dog quotes all day, but instead, I’ll say this: I have the best writing partners in the world. And anyone who says their writing pals are better … is wrong. (See, if I was a dog, I wouldn’t be so judgmental.)

  Cami Checketts, Sarah Gay, Jennifer Youngblood, and Rachelle Christensen are outstanding writers—the awards they’ve won and reviews they’ve earned prove it. At the risk of comparing a group of highly accomplished women to a dog, I have to add that they are just plain good people to the core. Honest, and accepting and super nice (which sounds suspiciously similar to man’s best friend).

  I could go on about them, but you’re here for a love story, and I can promise you a good one. In this series you’ll find a former Navy SEAL, a woman scarred by a dog, a former professional athlete who is now blind, a high-class doggie coach and a billionaire rescued by a stray dog.

  Come and be inspired, be entertained. Swoon and laugh and maybe even cry. The one requirement to enjoy this series … you Must Love Dogs.

  Daniel Banner

  p.s. The books in this series are unconnected as far as characters and timelines. Read them in any order; we don’t care. A dog wouldn’t care, and we’re cool like that, remember?

  1

  Zandra Curtis unceremoniously dumped another large scoop into the poop bucket then leaned on the shovel to catch a rest. You knew your dogs were large when you got buff shoulders just from cleaning up after them.

  “That’s what I get for letting this sit for two months,” she said to the two mighty beasts lying nearby in the yard. The last two months of winter had been white ones. Finally enough snow had melted off to let her get outside and clean up the dogs’ winter output. She pulled her jacket off and felt the cool air on her sweaty arms.

  Elfie looked up at Zandra, then back into the trees near her house. She was the mama dog, and always kept an eye on things. When barking needed doing, she either did it herself or chuffed in a tone that sent Fiyero with his much deeper bark.

  Fiyero picked his head up from where he was sleeping and lifted his heavy lids. When he noticed Zandra looking at him, he pushed himself up laboriously to a sitting position and stretched his neck.

  They were Dogues de Bordeaux, or French Mastiffs. Elfie was average height and weight but Fiyero had somehow gotten Hulk genes mixed in. At 150 pounds and 30 inches at the shoulder, he was the biggest French Mastiff Zandra knew of. Their golden red coats glimmered in the spring sun, and Fiyero’s muscles rippled wherever they were visible through his loose skin.

  “Takes a lot of energy to be so stinking majestic, doesn’t it?”

  It seemed like all he did was sleep these days. Three years earlier Elfie gave birth to him, and while he’d always been a big baby, it sure seemed like he was more tired than he used to be.

  Zandra knelt next to him and had to look up into his eyes due to his incredible height. “So stinkin’ handsome!” she told him as she ran her hand along his sleek coat. He brought his mailbox-sized head down to nuzzle her and knocked her off balance. Continuing the game, he stood and brought his head down to her belly as Zandra squealed at the tickles. Using the giant floppy ears as handles, she gave him a loving shake back and forth.

  Elfie was there instantly, supervising the rough play and apparently unhappy with it because she let out a small chuff and Fiyero backed off. His whole life Elfie had looked out for him, corrected him, and basically bossed him around. Fiyero took it in stride; it had always been his natural order of things.

  “He’s okay, Elfie.” Zandra gave her ears a good scritch.

  Fiyero thumped back to the ground, practically shaking it under Zandra’s feet. Like a toddler obsessed with pulling off a diaper, he went automatically with his tongue to the lesion on his ankle.

  “Stop that, Fiyero,” said Zandra, grabbing his big tongue gently. “Those are only going to get worse if you keep it up.” The lick wounds on three of Fiyero’s joints were much worse than each of the original lesions that she assumed attracted the licking to begin with. The vet said the lesions on his elbows were caused by repetitively plunking down too hard. He had all the beds and carpets a dog could want, yet he continued to slam himself down on the ground. The cultured concrete porch outside and the epoxy of the garage were hard on his big joints.

  Zandra had tried everything possible to prevent him from licking the wounds, but might as well have tried to get him to stop slobbering. Her husband, Emmett, came up with an idea when Zandra had exhausted every possibility. The idea had never even crossed her mind, but he had hired a hoity-toity doggie life coach to come and work with the dogs. The name of the company was Canis Amare, and if Zandra’s prediction was right, the trainer—no, the coach who showed up would be straight out of Legally Blonde, purse
dog and all. But it was another step, and though skeptical, Zandra had finally been able to relax about it for a couple of days.

  Coach Elle Woods and her Chihuahua, or whoever they sent, would be there in a few minutes and Zandra still had a lawn full of landmines that weren’t going to scoop themselves. As usual, Emmett had a full day at work and couldn’t help her. Zandra had just finished her music composition degree and finally had time to take care of the house and dogs full time while Emmett focused on bringing in truckloads of bacon. Figuratively, not literally, although bacon did sound delicious right about now. Emmett had been the one to arrange the coach, and he’d offered on many occasions to hire a company to come “do doody duty,” but Zandra didn’t mind. Due to some owner/pet connection she didn’t fully understand, the dogs’ way of helping her work was to laze in her vicinity. It was good for them. She didn’t understand exactly how, but she believed that.

  After another fifteen minutes of heavy lifting, the wheelbarrow was mostly full and the lawn was safe to walk across. Zandra called the dogs with a whistle and they followed her out into the woods to dump the trophies where they could continue the circle of life.

  Fiyero apparently wasn’t ready to say goodbye because he began vigorously sniffing the contents of the pile. “It’s okay, Fiyero, they’ll be right here so you can come visit any time you want.” Zandra laughed when he looked up with furrowed brows. She dug into his ears with her fingers. “Don’t worry, separation trauma is a thing a lot of toddlers go through during potty training.”

  As he went back to sniffing, she said, “I wish you’d use that nose of yours to find your Jolly Ball.” It had been weeks since she’d seen his favorite toy. The dogs buried things from time to time, but the huge toy ball was much bigger than the bones and rawhide treasures they usually hid for later.

  Zandra pushed the wheelbarrow back and parked it behind the workshop. With the shovel over her shoulder she started across the lawn. Both dogs walked directly in her path, stopping every two seconds to look over their shoulder to make sure they were still going the right direction. Zandra had to either push through the blockade or skirt around it to make any progress toward the garage. The persistent pups just caught up with her, passed her, then held up traffic again, concerned they might be on the wrong path.

  “You two crack me up,” she chuckled. “If you don’t know where we’re going, try following instead of leading.”

  She rinsed the shovel, then went in through the side door of the garage and leaned it with the rakes and brooms. On the Hers side of the garage the Avalanche was parked. On the His side, tools and boxes and some stone slabs filled the space. It wasn’t jam packed, but packed enough to prevent Emmett from parking inside. The workshop was the same way—random counter-building supplies covering half of the space.

  Over the year that they’d lived in the house, she’d asked him a couple times to consolidate it all into the workshop so his big manly truck could cozy up to her cute little SUV. Okay, so there was nothing cute or little about her Avalanche, but both dogs could fit in the pickup bed in the back of it.

  True to his clever tongue, Emmett said something like, “When a man says he’ll do something, he’ll do it. You don’t have to nag him about it every six months.” The slightly crooked smile that dimpled his chiseled cheek had melted her and she couldn’t resist cuddling up and kissing him in to submission.

  Well, she thought he’d submitted, but six months later he was still parking outside. It was such a little thing, but for some reason it felt like he hadn’t come home in the year they lived in the new house.

  Every once in a while she wondered if it was more than that. As if he’d caught some sort of three-year itch around the time they moved in. Elfie reached up and nuzzled Zandra’s elbow. She must have picked up on the worry.

  “You’re right, sister. I’ve got me a good man. Handsome, smart, hard-working. We’ll figure things out. Life is amazing, right?”

  As if on cue, her phone sang out “Smile” by Uncle Kracker—a fellow Michigander. A text from her sexy Emmett: Gonna be here in mtgs in the office for a while. Good luck with dog whisperer!

  She texted back: Thx, Studly. Rock your meetings in the office!!!

  In the office? Why did that sound weird? Maybe she was just being oversensitive to the minor problems they’d been going through for the last year or so.

  “That’s right. Minor. No biggie. We got this.”

  The sound of tires on gravel came from the driveway, so Zandra hit the garage button, prepared to meet the doggie life coach. Emmett hadn’t wanted to tell her what they charged, but she pushed him and still wondered if he was joking. Two hundred dollars a session was a lot to charge for a human shrink, much less an animal one.

  A pickup pulled up behind the His side of the garage, and parked in Emmett’s spot. Glare from the sun prevented Zandra from getting a look at the driver, but she saw the very professional logo on the car door and the words Canis Amare. The business was obviously going for something meaning the love of dogs, but had ended up with “loving dog” if Zandra’s Latin was good for anything.

  Elfie came to stand in front of Zandra and woofed quietly at the newcomer. That was Fiyero’s cue to step in front of both of them and show off his amazing deep-chest bark. The sound of it triggered vibrations in Zandra’s chest like a full symphony.

  “Keep it down, Fiyero. She’s a friend. She’s here to help.”

  A copper-haired man stepped out of the truck holding only a leash. He was wearing fashionable jeans and a t-shirt that was either super boutique or thrift store. Zandra couldn’t tell, but this guy pulled it off no problem. Why she had expected high heels, a silly pink hat, and a purse Chihuahua, Zandra couldn’t remember. The guy was dang fit and dang good-looking—clean shaven and with a kindness in his smile that any woman would find attractive. A place that charged that kind of fee had to have a certain image, especially in this part of Michigan, and he had no trouble pulling it off.

  “Alexandra?”

  “Yeah, hi. Zandra.”

  “I’m Cason O’Connor,” he said, moving toward her. He was mid 20s, about her age, which seemed young for a highly-touted dog shrink and as she started to reach her hand out, she noticed he was introducing himself to the dogs, not to her.

  He graciously acted like he hadn’t noticed her responding to his non-existent offer to shake hands. With one hand held out for each dog to inspect, he went on. “Elfie? Fiyero? How we doing today? Canis Amare sent me to help you two be healthier and happier.”

  When he spoke to the dogs, it wasn’t gushy baby talk. It sounded more like he was addressing a board of directors. And instead of seeming out of place, his casual style was likable. He seemed like a young president of a cool tech company, and even had the unfussy good looks to go with it.

  Frankly, he made Zandra uneasy.

  Elfie sat formally, respectfully even though Cason hadn’t even asked her to. It was the opposite motion of a show of respect in a board room, but carried the same sentiment. Fiyero watched her do it, then copied the moment, slowly lowering his thick hind end to the ground. Zandra thought she could hear his bones creaking as his massive joints bent.

  “Thanks,” said Cason, bending at the knee to look them in the eyes. He scratched their ears deeply and both dogs moaned in pleasure. Elfie put one huge paw on Cason’s knee, a gesture Zandra had decided was like a hug for her. “Give me a minute with your bald mama and I’ll be back.”

  Cason stood and held his hand out to Zandra. “I’ll take that hand shake now.”

  “Ack!” she said, feeling the embarrassment return. “I was hoping you didn’t see that.” Wait, did he call her a ‘bald mama’?

  “Sorry,” he said, “it’s a delicate time when you first meet a new family. Notice how they’re patiently waiting?”

  “Usually they’d be giving you a slobbery welcome and doing their best to knock you over.” Fiyero fidgeted, looking between Cason and Elfie, but miraculously kept his
hind end on the ground without even being told to. “You really are a dog whisperer or something.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Cason with an easy smile. He went back to Fiyero and knelt in front of him. Fiyero had had all the self-restraint he could handle, and he licked Cason from jaw to temple.

  Zandra resisted the temptation to apologize and pull Fiyero away, but she got the feeling the doggie coach could take care of himself. She half-expected him to growl and bite Fiyero’s ear like she’d seen the TV dog whisperer do, but he just laughed and used Fiyero’s own jowls to wiped the slobber off.

  “No taking the dog down and showing him who’s boss?” asked Zandra.

  “Nah. It’s not my style. I work better as a colleague than a boss.”

  “What about pack behavior and alpha dog and all that? I mean, I admit I’ve only seen like two episodes of the Dog Whisperer, so I’m no expert.”

  “Cesar Milan is a heck of a guy, and even nicer in person than on the show.” Cason rubbed Fiyero’s ears deeply as he looked over his legs, paying special attention to the lick wounds on his joints. “He’s one of my heroes, does more for pet charities than anyone I’ve met, but the show is reality TV.”

  Elfie whined in jealousy or concern, so Zandra moved over to her and gave her attention. “Is it scripted or made up or something?”

  “No,” said Cason. “They take reality and shape it into entertainment. Every episode usually has a villain, either the owner or another animal, and the problem behavior usually gets tied up with a pretty bow and a ribbon and all that within an hour. Pets aren’t that simple.”

  “Wait,” said Zandra, with fake shock, “you mean you can’t do your magic and get my boy healed in one session? I was under the impression that Canis Amare meant ‘doggie magic guaranteed.’ I’m actually a little surprised he still has those lick wounds. You’ve been here like five minutes already.”