She felt a stab of satisfaction. “Don't worry about it. They are going to get devoured in a few hours. Just do your best. It’s not like we’re launching rockets into space.” She chuckled and reached up to pat his shoulder. The moment she touched him, desire traveled from her hand to her toes. She withdrew her hand quickly, moving toward the oven as the timer announced the next batch of cupcakes was ready.
Peyton scolded herself. She had to remain unaffected—there was no place in her life for an interest in a vagrant hiker—guilt singed her gut and she shook her head. It wasn’t like her to be judgmental. She’d studied human behavior extensively enough to realize that she was being defensive. It was self-preservation, and she’d never appreciated it when people got under her skin.
He was far more than a vagrant. Something about him intrigued her, but it didn’t matter now, she reminded herself. She was damaged goods.
She winced at the sound of the bell over the door. “Darn. I bet that's them. We're not ready!”
“I can stall them.” He started toward the door.
“No!” She caught him by the wrist and her eyes flew to his. The space between them grew hot. He jerked his hand quickly out of her grasp. Shock registered on both of their faces and his eyes darkened.
“I'm sorry,” she breathed, “I think it would be better if we hurry and finish, they can wait a minute.” She took a step back, her heart pounded in her chest and her cheeks were burning.
“Right.” He turned his focus to the cupcakes again, and she took a deep breath. Within two minutes, they had the remainder of the order ready to go.
Peyton carried the box out to the waiting customer.
“Paige! I'm so happy you did this for me. I know it was a last minute order.” The cheerful woman grinned at her. “Your cupcakes are the best!”
The customer did a double take, her eyes roving over Peyton’s flour-covered apron, coming back to rest on her nose. “Is everything okay, Paige?”
“Yes, just a tiny accident in the kitchen. Nothing major. I hope you enjoy them.” She smiled, not bothering to tell the customer that she wasn’t Paige.
“I'm sure we will!” The customer grinned, turned, and retreated for the door. As soon as she was gone, Peyton turned back toward the kitchen. She paused just outside the divider. She'd agreed to work with Jax, but her reaction to him was bothersome. She wondered who he was behind that charming smile and those sad eyes. She wanted to know—yet she didn’t.
The door swung open between them, and she took a sharp breath as Jax almost walked into her.
“Sorry.” He took a step back. “I'm cleaning up, and I'm not sure where the icing goes.”
“I'll take care of it.” She swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes.
“I don't mind helping.” He held the door open for her to walk through.
“You were a great help, and I do appreciate it but I can handle this now. It's almost closing time, anyway.” She dismissed him as she began to tidy up the kitchen.
“Tomorrow morning then? We’ll do some training together?” He remained in the doorway, awaiting her response.
She paused.
“You agreed,” he reminded her.
“Where should we meet and when?” she asked, her focus on putting the icing away.
“At the park? Sunrise? You could bring Radar.” His gaze unnerved her.
“Sounds good.” She flashed a brief smile, swallowing the flutters in her stomach. She’d never asked him what his background was—or what made him so certain he could help—but there was always tomorrow. She’d had all she could take of his scrutiny today.
Nine
Jax
Jax jogged back to Matt’s house, frustrated that he'd made the offer to meet with Peyton the following morning. He'd promised himself he would keep his distance from people— especially women—until he felt ready. But there was something about her that brought every protective fiber in his being to the surface, despite the red flags his mind continued to throw.
He took the front stairs three-by-three, struck by how quiet and lonely the house seemed as he stepped inside. When he’d first arrived he’d welcomed it, but now he wasn’t so sure.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the kitchen island, his mind wandering toward the one thing he’d been avoiding for weeks.
He thought back on his first night home from his tour overseas, he’d gone to his fiancé’s apartment, excited to tell her that he was home a day early.
He battled the urge to recoil and closed his eyes, desperate to control the anger beating in his chest. If he was honest, he’d admit she had a million reasons to walk away from him. She didn't need to pick just one. But walking away, and sleeping with his younger brother, were two very different things.
The shock of discovering his soon-to-be wife in bed with another man had been horrible enough, but when the man in her bed turned his head, the moment had become unbearable. His chest ached from the pain of betrayal as he slammed the water bottle down on the counter. Humiliation blended with anger and poured over him. His hands trembled. How could Jamison—his own brother—do that to him?
Water flowed over the top of the bottle of water and he looked down realizing he had crushed it. He threw it into the sink. He should never have asked Peyton to meet him tomorrow morning—he wasn’t ready.
He spent the evening trying to think of excuses he could give Peyton for canceling, only to realize that he didn't have her phone number. He opened the laptop in Matt’s office and searched online, but the only number listed for the bakery was a business line. Most people didn't have house phones anymore, and he guessed she didn’t either, but he found her sister’s name, Paige Carter. He searched Peyton's name, and to his surprise, found a news article about a shooting and a wounded FBI agent. It described a hostage situation: Peyton Carter and her K-9 companion were checking for bombs, when she intervened in a hostage situation. The hostage escaped safely, but the agent, Carter, was shot twice when she dove in front of the hostage. Shortly after, additional agents arrived on the scene. The article didn't reveal the extent of her injuries; it simply mentioned that the injuries were life-threatening and that her K-9 companion saved her by dragging her out of the backroom and into the open.
Jax pushed back from the office chair in front of Matt’s desk and paced. Radar was a hero, and Peyton was a hero; she had gone above and beyond the call of duty to try to save a hostage—at the risk of her own life. By the looks of it, she’d almost lost it, and he wondered if the walls she kept around her were really an attempt to protect herself — just like he was doing. He’d seen it over and over again in wounded soldiers and he was well aware the brain would do whatever necessary to protect itself until it was ready for the next step in healing.
Could Peyton be unconsciously sabotaging her recovery without realizing it? Was she afraid to return to active duty? Unsure she could?
There was no way to know for sure, but the fact was, his instincts were right nearly 100% of the time. Common sense told him not to get involved personally—he’d learned to keep his distance—he had to in order to survive as a medic, as an Army Ranger working with the best of the best.
He finally shut the computer down at midnight. Sunrise would come too soon and he needed to get some sleep. Part of him wanted to see Peyton again, wanted to be there for her as she struggled to heal from a traumatic physical and emotional wound. Another part of him wasn't sure if he was strong enough to be able to maintain a professional distance.
It didn't help that every time he closed his eyes he recalled that smudge of frosting on her nose, the flour that covered her honey-colored hair, or those soulful sea-green eyes that hinted at vulnerability beneath the closely guarded veil.
How could he feel anything toward her in light of the betrayal he’d just experienced? He sighed. Obviously, he was having a hard time leaving his role as a medic behind. He would help her tomorrow, but that would be it.
He punched his
pillow, turned over in bed, and prayed.
* * *
His alarm startled him. Was it already morning?
He lay there grappling with whether to meet Peyton but he had no way to cancel their meet-up. If he didn't meet her, he'd have to stand her up, and he wasn’t about to do that.
He jumped in the shower to rinse off and threw on shorts and a t-shirt. He could keep this simple. He had promised her he would help her with her leg and she had actually been willing. She needed the help. She needed someone's support after all she’d been through.
He frowned as he jerked the front door open. Was it was unwise of him to offer in the first place? It might be wiser not to go, but he wasn’t about to let her believe that she wasn't worth his time.
Ten
Peyton
A warm, wet tongue crossed her cheek, followed by another. “Ugh, Radar,” she groaned and gave the dog a gentle push away from her face. “It's early. Go lay down.”
A minute later her alarm rang. She slammed the snooze button, suddenly recalling why she'd set the alarm so early. Jax. The thought of him made her pulse race.
She frowned as she sat up in bed. This was getting out of control. Maybe she was developing feelings for him because he’d rescued her—albeit in simple situations—but he’d rescued her, nonetheless. A savior complex of some sort? She’d always been completely self-confident and capable—she couldn’t remember anyone who’d not backed down when she’d given them her ‘evil eye’ as Paige used to call it.
A distraction like this was the last thing she needed. Still, she had promised him she would be there. He had helped her out twice, and she didn't want to stand him up.
She grabbed full-length running tights and a t-shirt, the sadness that she'd seen flicker across his face filtered into her thoughts as she recalled their conversation from yesterday. He was military—she was certain of that based on the details he’d shared.
She frowned. The fact that she hadn’t even bothered to ask his full name was a problem. The more time she spent in Four Corners, the more she wondered if she was losing her edge. Had she let her guard down that much? Or was her lack of tenacity simply a result of her mind and body working overtime on her recovery?
She glanced at her Apple watch. It was time to leave for the park or she would be late. The sun wasn't up yet, but it had begun to paint the horizon with a subtle glow.
Most of Four Corners was still asleep if the dark windows were any indication as she drove toward the park. She pulled into the parking lot, selected a space near the benches, and let Radar jump out. Normally, she didn't keep him on a leash, but there was a sign stating that all dogs had to be leashed, and dog poop scooped.
“Sorry, boy.” She patted his neck before clipping his leash on his collar noticing that hers was the only car in the lot. She bit her lower lip. Maybe Jax wasn't coming, which would be fine by her.
Her career had been her top priority for as long as she could remember. She’d been focused on a 4.0 GPA starting with high school, and she’d never even considered a serious relationship; not that she hadn’t had plenty of offers, but so far none had interested her.
It was her career first, then love someday, maybe, and possibly a family—except now the family piece was out unless she and her future partner wanted to consider adoption—and she’d heard how difficult that was for a federal agent. Add to that the fact that most men wanted a family of their own and where did that leave her?
With her career and Radar.
Meeting a guy like Jax out of the blue was not part of the plan.
“Peyton.”
His voice shook her from her thoughts as her heart skipped a beat. She gritted her teeth and turned to face him.
“Jax, I thought maybe you weren't coming.” She crossed her arms as she studied him in the mid-light of dawn. That sadness she'd seen before lingered, but there was something else in his eyes. She couldn't quite read what it was. It was frustrating. She was a student of human behavior.
“Sorry, I'm late.” He reached down to greet Radar, “Hey, boy.” He stood up. “We should get started.”
Relieved that he appeared to be all business today, she took a deep breath. “Honestly, Jax, I have my own exercises that my physical therapist gave me. I appreciate your support, and I hate to say it, but I’m not really sure why we’re meeting or what you can offer.”
“You have your exercises, Peyton but I have experience in helping wounded soldiers recover from injuries that could have been—should have been—career-ending.” His eyes flashed with memories.
She looked at him quizzically but didn’t stop him. “Whether your open to it is up to you. Sometimes the pain can be too much for people to handle—” he raised an eyebrow at her.
She narrowed her eyes and scoffed. “I can handle it.”
“I believe you,” he added softly, moving toward the park bench to continue his stretches, biting the corner of his lip to suppress a smile. He’d known she’d rise to the bait of a challenge. It was an effective motivator for all the elite soldiers he worked with. It’s what made them the best.
“Some of the techniques I learned in the field are not readily known, and certainly not by your average doctor or PT. I’m not saying that to be boastful, it’s a fact. They are essential in training elite soldiers, and in creating a recovery regimen that focuses on core strength and supporting muscle structure. Give it a chance, if you don't like my workout, or can’t do it, you can choose not to use it.” He completed his stretches and turned to watch while she completed hers.
Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks under his scrutiny, his eyes assessing her. She breathed deeply through the ache that hit her injured leg as she stretched.
“Stop,” he insisted.
“I need to stretch,” she argued.
“Yes, you do, but when it starts to hurt, you need to stop, Peyton. You’ll never give the muscles a chance to heal properly if you don’t.”
She cocked her head at him. How did he know the stretch was hurting? He was too observant.
“Try it again, and this time stop before the discomfort turns to pain.”
He moved closer to her, his hand near her injured leg but he refrained from touching her. Her heart was beating erratically, and she forced her breath into a rhythm—the same rhythm she used when to center her mind and senses when she was working a case. Her heart rate slowed, and she focused on stretching as he recommended and holding the stretch at the spot before it became painful.
“Good,” he encouraged.
She rolled her eyes.
He raised an eyebrow as he swept his eyes over her. “Let's start with a run.”
“A run?” She shook her head. “Maybe a jog?”
“Follow my pace.” He gave her a light pat on the shoulder, then took off.
A muscle in her jaw twitched. Who did he think he was? She hesitated. Radar barked and danced back and forth, as if to say, Come on, let’s go.
Jax was already a few feet ahead when he turned around and jogged back to her side, jogging in place when he reached her.
“Trust me, Peyton.” He met her eyes. “I know what I'm doing.”
“So you're a doctor? Or a physical therapist?” she challenged.
“No,” he reiterated, “but I worked as a medic in the army, and I know my stuff.”
“It's not severe.” She cleared her throat and pointed at her leg, unable to meet his gaze.
“Sure.” He tipped his head toward the path ahead. “Join me for one minute of running, and if you need to stop, all you have to do is say so. Okay?”
“Whatever.”
They ran beside each other in silence for a few minutes; it didn't take long before her leg began to throb. As soon as it did, she found herself back in the moment when she’d heard the first bullet fired. She’d believed in that instant that she was going to die, and even though it was a split-second in her life, that second had been haunting her ever since. When the bullet lodged in her leg and
the second in her stomach, she’d experienced a burst of pain that sent her into a state of shock.
There were moments when it seemed as if she was still there.
“Peyton, are you okay?”
His voice drew her back, through the memory, into the present. She slowed to a stop, wincing as pain shot through her stomach. She doubled over.
“I'm fine. Just give me a minute.” She forced her words through clenched teeth.
Eleven
Jax
Observing Peyton after reading the article about her injury changed everything. She wasn't just a stubborn, independent woman insisting on doing everything herself. He had a context for her behavior now. She’d experienced a severe trauma, something he was very familiar with. She was also a hero who had risked everything to save others.
As he started their run, he watched the way she kept her eyes forward and leaned into her leg, unafraid of the pain. She didn't favor it, she pushed through it. However, as they rounded a bend in the trail, he noticed she began to slow. She didn't exactly wince, instead, her expression grew distant. It took him a few seconds to realize that she wasn't even present.
“Peyton, are you okay?” He asked. He pointed toward a bench beside the trail. “Sit. Let me help.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she doubled over. “I’m fine, just give me a minute.”
He put his arm around her shoulder and helped her to the bench.
“How can you help?” She looked at him, her eyes full of anguish and unshed tears. “Nothing helps it, and I won't take painkillers, I won’t,” she grimaced as she sat down.
“It's okay.” He knelt in front of her, eyes level with hers. When she moved her head away, he moved his head with her and she turned her eyes to his. “I'm not talking about pills, Peyton. I've had to treat men in the field without any pain medication. Let me help you.”
Circle 0f Trust_K-9 Unit Page 4