Glancing back at Draco as he limped the rest of the way to the house, Curtis also realized the dog had been in little danger of getting pinched by the blue crab. Those formidable pincers now dangled limply out of either side of the dog’s mouth.
The dog’s earnest gaze locked on him. Was it his imagination or did Draco’s chocolaty eyes hold a hint of remorse?
Curtis led him straight to his crate. “In,” he said, not knowing the Dutch command. Draco padded resolutely inside, laid the dead crab in one corner, then sat in front of it to guard it, while Curtis locked the door.
With his hands still on the crate, Curtis looked down at his ankle. Blood pulsed from the puncture wounds. As he pulled his sock higher to cover the holes and slow the bleeding, it occurred to him that what had happened was a game changer. His mom was going to freak out. She wouldn’t let him come here anymore, which meant that he’d have nothing to do for the rest of the summer and he wouldn’t be making any money.
Self-pity overwhelmed him suddenly. His ankle hurt too much to put any weight on it. So he sat right there on the grass next to Draco’s crate, stuck his bad leg out, rested his head on the knee of his good leg and let the tears spring to his eyes.
A soft whining sound had him looking over his shoulder. Draco had approached as close as he could get with the bars of the crate between them. Looking as woeful as Curtis felt, the dog hung his head and whined again.
“Now you’re sorry?” Gazing at the dog’s despondent demeanor, Curtis was certain that he was.
Heck, if that crab had been an enemy combatant, then Draco had done the job he was trained to do and eliminated the threat.
“It’s not your fault,” he realized. As the ramifications occurred to him a second time, he shook off his self-pity and struggled to his feet. If he wanted to come back here—and he did—he would need to convince first Mr. Kuzinsky and then his mom that the dog was blameless.
RUSTY WAS JUST heading to the kitchen to cast an eye at the marsh when Curtis pushed his way inside, visibly limping.
His gaze dropped to the kid’s blood-soaked sock, and he knew without even seeing the puncture wounds that Draco had bit him. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, before recalling the need to temper his language.
“It wasn’t his fault.” The kid’s voice cracked. He fought to keep from crying. “He thought I was taking a crab from him, but I was just trying to keep it from pinching him.”
In his mind’s eye, Rusty had a clear picture of the way it had gone down.
“Sit,” he ordered, sliding one of the chairs from the farm table behind Curtis’s knees. “Let’s see how bad it is,” he added, tackling Curtis’s tennis shoe before the boy had fully sat down. He pulled it off as gently as he could, engendering a hiss of pain. Peeling the sock just over Curtis’s heel, he took in the three deep puncture wounds with mounting dismay.
His hopes for a date on the beach with Maya went up in a cloud of smoke.
Damn it. He should have seen this coming. To be honest, he had seen it coming but he’d been so blinded by his desire to pull Maya closer that he’d disregarded the risk to her son. And like any proper mother, she had every right to defend her cub, forbidding Curtis to care for the dog from here on. Rusty would be lucky if she even spoke to him again. He hoped to God he wasn’t looking at a lawsuit.
“It’s not too bad.” He spoke the words any wounded man wanted to hear.
“Don’t tell my mom, or she won’t let me come back here.”
The kid’s concerns mirrored his own. “I hear you, but you can’t hide this from her. Let’s clean you up first so it doesn’t get infected.”
“We don’t have to tell her,” the boy continued with surprising insistence. “Please, I want to come back. It wasn’t Draco’s fault. He was doing what he’d been trained to do.”
It was the sheen of tears in Curtis’s eyes that caused Rusty to waver. They could, perhaps, get away with cleaning the wound really well and then hiding it with a fresh pair of socks. She might be none the wiser.
“I don’t know, son. You’re mom’s a smart woman. She’s bound to find out.” He realized he’d be a fool to try and deceive her.
“Well, don’t call her yet,” Curtis pleaded. “She has an important case this morning. She’s too busy to get away.” He wiped an errant tear away with the ball of his fist.
Rusty had to respect the boy’s wishes. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let me get my first aid kit. Let’s let it bleed a while. It’s washing out any bacteria that might have been on Draco’s teeth. Be right back.”
“We can’t take too long,” Curtis called after him. “Draco hasn’t had his run yet.”
Chapter Eight
‡
MAYA DROVE UP the driveway, proud of the fact that she’d found everything on Rusty’s wish list. He’d been right about the small metal waste bin. It had been the hardest thing to find, but she’d found the perfect one in the last store she’d visited. By bringing it to him, might she be offered a tour of the majestic farmhouse?
Parking in the same spot as yesterday, she gathered her purchases off the back seat and carried them to the back of the house. There she found Curtis lobbing the ball to the dog, who scarcely glanced in her direction before focusing on the ball.
“Hey, Mom,” Curtis sang out.
Wondering at his overly cheerful tone, Maya transferred her gaze to the outdoor picnic table where Rusty sat with a pile of paperwork before him and a tall glass of water beside that. At her approach, he put his pen down and looked up. One look at his taut expression and she knew something had happened. She couldn’t help her step from faltering for a moment before she reached the table and plunked down all her hard sought treasures.
“Is everything okay?” She wished she didn’t sound like such an anxious mom, but she’d lived through the worst and knew it could happen.
The crease on his forehead deepened, and his lips firmed into a straight line. “Curtis has something to tell you,” he said, waving her son over.
Calling the dog, Curtis started in their direction. Seeing his slight limp, Maya feared the worst, but she could see no sign of injury. Curtis ordered the dog to sit and stay. Draco obeyed him. With his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, he stared at Curtis, awaiting more commands. They’d come a long way from yesterday.
“What do you want to tell me?” Maya prompted.
“Well…” Curtis glanced at Rusty, who nodded his encouragement. “Draco was messing with a crab down at the pier.” He pointed toward the marsh. “I thought the crab was going to pinch his nose so I tried kicking it out of the way. Draco thought I was taking it from him, and he kind of bit me on the ankle.”
Her worried gaze dropped to his ankle which was hidden by a sock too white to be his own.
“How bad is it?” she asked, glancing again at Rusty’s grim expression.
“Not too bad,” Curtis said.
“Superficial,” Rusty echoed.
“Can you show me?” she requested.
Curtis bent over and peeled the sock away from his skin. She spotted at least two puncture wounds surrounded by red and slightly swollen flesh.
“I followed protocol for animal bites and cleaned it out with warm soap and water,” Rusty added. “Only thing to do now is to keep it clean and dry. If it starts to show signs of infection, a topical ointment ought to be enough.”
Maya didn’t know what to say. Dismay held a tight grip on her vocal cords.
“It’s my fault,” Curtis insisted. “Rusty told me not to take anything away from Draco unless he was there.”
“And I was making phone calls,” Rusty inserted. “I’m sorry. I should have been keeping a closer eye on them.”
She shook her head. “Don’t apologize for that,” she said. “You have your own work to do. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” she heard herself say.
Curtis made a sound of disgust. “I told you we shouldn’t have told her,” he said to Rusty.
Realizing they
’d discussed keeping her in the dark about the incident, her anger flared without warning.
“Of course you had to tell me,” she said, staring hard at her son. Then she turned to Rusty. “How do we know the dog won’t bite him in the face next time or on the hand?” she asked him.
“He won’t bite me again,” Curtis insisted.
“I didn’t ask you, honey. I asked Mr. Kuzinsky.”
Rusty just looked at her, his dark eyes troubled. “Why don’t you call me later and we’ll talk about it,” he suggested quietly.
His mature and reasonable reply made her feel childish.
“Of course,” she agreed. But she was pretty sure he wouldn’t have the words to reassure her that her son was perfectly safe. Clearly the dog was more dangerous than he’d believed, or he would never have brought in a teenage boy to play with it in the first place—right?
Recalling her purchases, she gestured to the bags now splayed across the picnic table. “Here’s all the stuff on your list. I found the trash bin,” she added, pulling it out of the bag to show off her accomplishment in finding it. “Is this about right?”
He mustered a smile for her. “Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you.” There was so much formality in his tone that her heart fell. As far as he was concerned, Curtis wouldn’t be coming back, which meant their potential date this weekend was probably on the chopping block, as well.
“Well, I’d better get Curtis home,” she said.
Curtis divided a puzzled gaze between the two adults but held his tongue.
Rusty reached into his back pocket and pulled out several bills and handed them to Curtis. “Here you go, son. Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.”
Maya bit her tongue against the same protest as the day before. It seemed like too much for just watching a dog, but, in this case, Curtis had earned that money today—and then some.
“I’ll call you,” she promised, heading toward her car.
There was no giddy feeling in her stomach like there’d been twenty-four hours earlier. As far as she could tell, Rusty considered their arrangement over. At the corner of the house, she glanced back to see him squatting beside the dog, petting him absently and staring out into the marsh. Draco gave a whine as Curtis turned the corner.
What was he sad about? The damn dog had ruined everything.
*
AS SHE’D DONE the previous evening, Maya dialed Rusty’s number at quarter to eight. A queasy feeling usurped the anticipation she’d felt when calling him the night before. She sat on her bed, glancing briefly up at Ian’s portrait, before looking away.
Surely Rusty understood that her first priority was her son’s welfare. And recalling the finality in his voice that day, he had probably already guessed she would want to keep Curtis away from Draco from now on. After all, what guarantee could he give that the dog wouldn’t bite Curtis again? And next time the ramifications could be worse. A bite to the face could leave her son permanently disfigured.
On the other hand, without the dog to watch, Curtis would be home alone, with a potential arms smuggler watching her house and brooding over the possibility that he might soon go to jail.
More than that, an end to Curtis’s dog-sitting translated to an end to any potential romance between her and Rusty. She’d like to unlink the two entirely so that she didn’t end up putting Curtis at risk just to satisfy her desire to get to know Rusty better. But if she did unlink them, then the bonfire on the beach might never transpire, and she was looking forward to it—more than she wanted to admit.
Without an excuse to visit Rusty’s farmhouse and with their lives so busy, they’d never see each other again. She’d continue her solitary existence indefinitely.
Until last autumn, that option had been fine with her. Meeting Rusty for the first time had awakened her dormant spirit. Suddenly, ten years of solitude struck her as an awfully long time to be alone. Here she was, still in her thirties. Why shouldn’t she get another shot at forever?
If she only knew Rusty’s intentions. Given all the distractions with the dog and the upcoming arrival of his visitors, he might prefer to stay single and unencumbered.
His phone rang and rang, suggesting that was probably the case. Or maybe he just wished to avoid a less-than-pleasant conversation. Unprepared to leave a message—so much depended on his responses—she hung up, opting to try again later.
Leaving the phone on her dresser, she went to check on Curtis.
To her surprise, he wasn’t toggling a controller in an attempt to obliterate space aliens or enemy combatants. Instead, he was sitting at his desk, reading off a website. The photos on the page told her he was researching dogs of the same breed as Draco.
“What are you doing?” she asked, coming to stand behind him.
“These Belgian Malinois are amazing dogs,” he said with zeal. “They’re the most fearless dogs in the world, bred for protection for centuries as protectors. They’ll even jump out of airplanes at high altitudes wearing an oxygen mask. How cool is that?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. Right here, see?” He showed her a picture of a dog like Draco wearing a harness and a face mask, fur flying as he plummeted through the air in the arms of an operative with a parachute.
“They’re like secret weapons, these dogs. Terrorists are deathly afraid of them.” He read her a paragraph brimming with accounts of lives saved as dogs detected hidden explosives and ammunition caches. “Draco must be bored out of his mind after doing all this stuff.”
Hearing the pride and awe in Curtis’s voice, Maya felt her concerns give way to a different feeling. Something like gratitude uplifted her. Suddenly her son, whose life had revolved around the latest PS4 release, was interested in a real-world phenomenon—keeping operatives safe from terrorists. In just two days, and despite having been bitten, Curtis was all about this crazy dog.
“You really don’t think Draco will bite you again?” she asked, revealing her main concern.
He craned his neck to look up at her. “I know he won’t,” he said with conviction. “He knew the minute it happened what he did. I saw it in his eyes. Please, Mom, I want to go back. And it’s not about the money either. That dog needs me right now.”
His words rocked her back on her heels. The dog needed Curtis, and Curtis needed the dog. She ought to give them both another chance. But what about Rusty, who hadn’t answered her phone call? His tone earlier that day had suggested his realization that the liabilities involved weren’t worth his time or his money.
“Can I go back tomorrow?” Curtis pressed.
“I don’t know, honey. I haven’t gotten through to Rusty yet.”
“Well, try again.”
She ruffled his hair. “All right. I’ll try again.”
Curtis went back to his monitor. “Let me know what he says,” he called as she walked away.
Returning to her bedroom downstairs, Maya picked up her phone to see if Rusty had called her back. He hadn’t. Heaving an uncertain sigh, she thought for a moment about what she should say, then she dialed his number, ready to leave a message this time.
*
AT SHORTLY AFTER midnight, Rusty collapsed onto his bed with barely enough energy to crawl beneath the sheets. He patted the comforter, summoning the dog up next to him.
With Draco turning circles between his legs, Rusty suddenly remembered Maya was supposed to call him earlier that evening. Concern that he’d missed her call had him swiping his cellphone off its charger to check.
“Damn it.”
Sure enough, she’d called him—twice. He’d been too busy welcoming his guests to Never Forget Retreat to pay attention to his cellphone vibrating. And he’d remained busy right up until a minute earlier. She must have assumed he’d just blown her off.
Bracing himself for her almost-certain rejection, he accessed his voicemail. She was going to tell him Curtis couldn’t care for Draco any more. She wouldn’t even bring up their potential date o
n Friday night.
“Hi, Rusty, this is Maya.” Her tone, he noticed, was carefully neutral. “Curtis is doing fine. He’s actually online right now looking up Belgian Malinois, if you can believe it. I guess that dog bite didn’t put him off. In fact, he’d like to see Draco again whenever that works for you.”
Amazement had him sinking back against his pillows.
“I just remembered that your guests came in this evening,” she continued, “so you must be way too busy to pick up Curtis in the morning. If it’s okay with you, I can bring him over in the afternoon when I get off work, and he could play with the dog for an hour or so—not to get paid; just to keep the bond going.”
His heart started thumping with elation. Not only was she coming over tomorrow, but she hadn’t cancelled their Friday date!
“If that’s not okay, just let me know via text what your preference is. I know you’re really busy. Okay, so, I guess I’ll hear from you. Bye.”
He texted back so fast that he had to type his reply three times to eliminate the typos.
Great idea. See you tomorrow afternoon.
Putting his phone back on the charger, he turned off the lights and yawned hugely into the darkness.
Draco’s proximity filled him with a hankering to hold Maya close. The need to get to know her better had grown into a hungering in just a few days. If she bowed out of his life now, she would leave a void that might never be filled.
At zero three hundred hours, Rusty’s phone vibrated with Maya’s return text. Draco’s snores drowned out the sound. Rusty read the message at zero five thirty in the morning the instant he woke up, and his smile was so wide it made his cheeks hurt.
We’ll be by in the afternoon. See you around 4.
Chapter Nine
‡
FORGING RUSTY’S DRIVEWAY, Maya was struck by how lively the place looked compared to her previous visits. His property crawled with men. Some played Frisbee between the oak tree and the veranda while others peered under the hood of one of the many parked cars. Others stood on the dock out by the creek, holding fishing poles. At her approach, every man stopped what he was doing to assess whether she was friend or foe.
Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series Page 6