Claire laughed. “Well, you could play with her out here, just watch her explore the yard and sniff around. Then you can take her upstairs and let her get acclimated to the apartment, show her where her crate and bed are, her food bowls, that kind of thing.”
“And then what?”
She tilted her head, looking at him as if he’d gone a little crazy. “And then you just be.”
“Be?”
“You go about your life. Unpack. Make yourself a cup of coffee. Take a shower. Watch TV. She’ll do her thing. You’ll be sitting on the couch and might find her trying to jump up to curl up next to you.”
“Is she allowed on the couch?” he asked.
“This is a very dog-centric house,” she said. “So, yes.”
Sparkle came back over and sniffed his shoe, then looked up at him expectantly. He had a feeling she wanted another treat.
“I guess I’ll let her explore out here a bit more, and then take her up. I can do my homework while she explores her new digs. I have to read up on the crate training thing.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me,” she said, kneeling down to pet Sparkle. Then she stood back up and entered the house through the sliding glass door beyond her patio. Right under his deck.
The minute she was gone, he missed her.
“It’s just you and me, Sparkle,” he said. He threw one of the little balls he’d stuffed in his other pocket—the one that wasn’t chock-full of treats—and Sparkle went flying after it. He laughed. “Fetch!” he called. She did not fetch. In fact, she ignored the ball in favor of a leaf being tossed around in the breeze. He laughed and watched the pup explore the yard, sniffing at every blade of grass, and, ten minutes later, he realized he felt something he hadn’t in a long time.
Almost relaxed.
Chapter Five
The force of the explosion propelled him backward and he slammed against a tree, his leg twisted at a strange angle, warm, sticky blood running down his temple. McCubbers. He had to check on McCubbers... He could hear whimpering. Fear. Pain. The sound—that whimpering—was inside his head, all around him. McCubbers, I’m trying to get to you...
Matt bolted upright, his breath ragged. Again, the soft bedding confused him until he realized he wasn’t in Afghanistan; he was in his new apartment at Claire’s house. He took in the pale gray walls, slightly illuminated by the moon, and the dresser with the square mirror over it. He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.
Damn nightmare. Always the same one.
Except he could still hear the whimpering.
McCubbers definitely never made a high-pitched sound like that. Where the hell was it coming from? He glanced around for the source of the sound.
His gaze landed on the kennel across from his bed. Sparkle stood by the door, whining and whimpering.
“Hey, there,” he said, getting out of bed. “Someone has to go outside?” He glanced at the time on his phone. Only 3:13 a.m. Such was the life of a puppy trainer. He slid his feet into his sneakers, put on his leather jacket, then unlatched the kennel and took Sparkle outside and down the deck stairs, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Claire. He had no idea where her bedroom was in relation to his deck or this part of the yard.
He led Sparkle to the grass on the far side of the yard. “Go potty,” he whispered to the pup, per what he’d read in the pile of training articles Claire had given him. Apparently, it was a good idea for a dog to have a “spot,” so they’d do their business quickly—a good thing in the middle of the night and when it was freezing. Right now, it was both. He still had two treats in his pocket, and gave one to Sparkle with a “good dog.”
Back upstairs, he took off his jacket and sneakers, gave the little dog a pat, then put her back in the kennel and got into bed. Man, these sheets were soft. And the down comforter and pillows were already lulling him to sleep.
Whimper. Whine. Whiiiine. Whimper.
He peeled open an eye. “How am I supposed to sleep with that racket?” he asked Sparkle.
More whimpering. More whining.
“I’m not supposed to reward that,” he said, getting out of bed again. “Tell you what. If you stop making those annoying sounds, I’ll let you out for a little while. You can understand a bargain, right, Sparkle?”
And don’t tell my sister, he added silently as he walked to the kennel. Sparkle immediately piped down. She looked positively thrilled when Matt opened the door. He scooped her up and brought up to his bed, the little brown-and-white mutt curling up beside him. She leaned over and licked his arm, then got up, turned around in a circle three times and settled back down with a sigh.
Dogs sighed? Who knew?
Her little eyes closed.
“Hey, wait a minute, sneaky. You can’t get comfortable. You have to sleep in your kennel.”
Sparkle started snoring, another thing he didn’t know dogs did. The sturdy little weight of her felt kind of comforting next to him, and honestly, Matt was too tired to put her back in the kennel. He’d confess to Claire in the morning and see how bad an infraction it was.
“I’m already in the doghouse with Claire just by virtue of being me,” he whispered to Sparkle, who opened her eyes as if she really was listening. “So best behavior tomorrow, got it?”
Sparkle got up and came closer, licked his face and burrowed her way under the comforter, stretching out on her side against his rib cage. He smiled and shook his head, giving her exposed belly a gentle rub.
“Who’s training who here?” he whispered as the dog’s eyes closed.
As Claire was bringing Dempsey outside the next morning at 6:00 a.m., she saw Matt in the yard, tossing a ball for Sparkle. The puppy did not fetch. She tilted her head and went running in the opposite direction.
Claire laughed and reached into her pockets for her fleece gloves. It was pretty chilly this morning. “Well, we can work on fetch once she’s got the basics down.”
Matt whirled around as though surprised to see her. “I thought fetch was hardwired into dogs,” he said with that killer smile.
How could he look this good at six in the morning, with hardly any sleep? At around 3:00 a.m., she’d heard him open the door to his deck and go outside. She’d forced herself to stay in bed and not tiptoe over to watch him. Of course, she’d lain awake for more than an hour, remembering, wondering, thinking. She must have kissed Matt Fielding three thousand times in the two years they’d been a couple. Being in his arms or holding his hand or having his arm slung around her shoulders had always felt so good, so comforting, so right.
He’d told her that he was a virgin too and that he wanted his first time to be with her, but he wouldn’t pressure her—he wanted her to tell him when she was ready. She’d felt ready but afraid in a way she couldn’t explain to herself, let alone him, so she’d started telling him she’d be ready on prom night. Far enough away that she could mentally and emotionally prepare herself. For what, she didn’t know. Sex, particularly with the love of her life, had seemed huge, monumental—the biggest deal in the world.
And then instead of sneaking off to a motel at midnight after the prom in their high school gym, where she and Matt had slow danced and kissed through most of the songs, he’d broken up with her. In his car, in the high school parking lot. He’d said he was sorry, but it had to be over between them, it was for the best; she’d see. She’d been so speechless she couldn’t even form words in her head beyond What? And then she’d gone running from his car, her high-heeled sandals in her hand, and because she lived three houses from the school, he’d let her go.
All that next day she’d forced herself not to call him, storm his house, demand to know what the hell he was doing to them. She’d lasted two hours. She’d pounded on the Fieldings’ door, but his mother had told Claire that Matt wasn’t home, that he’d started his own pre-boot-camp regimen and was probably at the high
school field. She’d wanted to rush over there but hadn’t, hoping, praying he’d come for her once some time, meaning hours, had passed. He hadn’t. So she’d gone to his house again, his mother casting compassionate glances at her as Matt reiterated everything he’d said the night before. It was for the best, he was leaving in the morning, separate paths, separate ways. He’d been so resolute, no tears in his eyes, when Claire had been gushing tears and choking on her sobs to the point that his mother had come into the kitchen with tissues and then hurried out to give them privacy again.
That was the last time she’d seen Matt Fielding until the other day at Furever Paws.
Her sister had said it was a good thing she hadn’t lost her virginity to Matt, but Claire had always wished she had. That way, she could have hated him for using her for sex, then dumping her. Instead, he’d kept his hands to himself. Ugh, the whole thing was so complicated. Good guy one way. Jerk another.
But still so freaking gorgeous. And sexy. All that sunlit thick, brown hair. The intense blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. His shoulders in that black leather jacket. His long, muscular legs in those worn jeans. Matt was pure hotness. Always had been, but now the tall, lanky guy he’d been had been replaced with a man.
Stop staring, she ordered herself.
Oh gosh—what had he said? Something about fetch being hardwired into dogs. “Well, the springer spaniel side of Sparkle has the retrieving thing to a science, but whatever she’s mixed with might not.”
“Ah, makes sense. I still have a lot to learn,” he said. “How bad is it that I let Sparkle sleep on my bed last night?”
He’d always been a softie. Except when it came to not dumping her, that was. “It can be irresistible to let a dog—especially a puppy—sleep with you. It’s really up to you, well, your sister and what her future plans are. If she’s going to let Sparkle sleep with Ellie, then it’s fine. Otherwise, it’s better to get her used to sleeping in the kennel for consistency.”
“Got it. I’ll have to ask Laura. She can be a real marshmallow about some things. I can see her letting Sparkle sleep with Ellie. I know that’s what Ellie will want, for sure.”
Claire was about to respond when raised voices coming from the house next door stopped her.
“I’m not breaking up with her, and you can’t make me!” a boy’s voice hiss-whispered from the next yard.
“She’s all wrong for you!” a woman’s voice said. “She’s trouble and she’ll bring you down. Suddenly you’re thinking of not going to college? Over my dead body!”
“Whatever!” the boy shouted. Then a door slammed.
Claire glanced at Matt and whispered, “Seventeen-year-old Justin next door. For the past few months I’ve never seen him without a long-haired blonde.”
“Blondes are trouble for sure,” he said, reaching out to move a strand of hair the wind had blown across her cheek.
Claire froze, his touch so unexpected and so undeniably welcome that she couldn’t speak.
“Sorry. Overstepped,” he said, moving backward a bit. “I—” He clamped down on whatever he’d been about to say.
“If anyone’s trouble, it’s first loves living on your property, making you remember the good ole days.” Oh God. Had she really just said that? Sure, Claire, open up that can o’ worms. Are you crazy?
“Tell me about it,” he said. “I was up half the night remembering.”
“What were you remembering?” she asked. Because she couldn’t resist. And she had to know.
“How crazy about you I was,” he said.
“I thought you were. In fact, I thought you were as crazy about me as I was for you. But you dumped me. Remember that?”
Oh God, again. Had she actually said that? What was the point of having this discussion almost two decades later? Lame, Claire.
But then again, they’d never had this discussion. He’d broken her heart and then he was gone. Until a few days ago. So why not have it out, right here, right now? Being around Matt made her feel like that seventeen-year-old girl—in love, the whole world in front of her, everything possible. Until it wasn’t.
He turned away, his attention on Sparkle for a moment as the little dog sniffed a tree trunk a few feet away. “I ‘dumped’ you because I was trouble.”
“Oh, right. The imminent soldier, about to go off to serve his country, enlisting in his fallen brother’s memory. Oh yeah, you were big trouble.”
“I mean that I would have held you back,” he said, his gaze on her. “You wanted so much back then. You had so many dreams and plans. And I didn’t have any of that in me.”
“Funny how I managed to be so in love with you,” she said, shaking her head.
“I honestly don’t know why you were. I had nothing to offer to you. I have less to offer you now. If I wanted to, I mean. If you wanted to—Oh, earth, swallow me up,” he said, shaking his head. “Forget everything I just said. I’m just saying I would have held you back.”
“Why would you make that decision for me?” she asked.
“Because I loved you that much, Claire. That’s why.” He looked at her, then at the ground, as if coming to some kind of decision. “I have some calls to make. Sparkle, come on, girl.”
The dog glanced at him. He pulled a treat from the pocket of his leather jacket and the dog came running over. “Good, Sparkle,” he said, holding out his palm. She grabbed the treat and followed him as he started for the stairs.
Because I loved you that much... Claire was so choked up she couldn’t speak. And what would she say anyway? All of that was so far in the past.
I have even less to offer you now.
If that was how he felt, then he surely wasn’t going to be her husband and the father of her children.
Do. Not. Get. Sucked. Into. The. Past. This man just told you he’s not going to be what you want or need. Believe him. Don’t be a fool.
But people could change their minds. People’s minds could be changed.
Now she was arguing with herself?
There was only one way to nip this in the ole bud—take charge of herself before Matt Fielding got under her skin.
“Hey, Matt,” she called up to where he was on the deck landing.
He stopped and looked down at her—clearly bracing himself for what she was going to say. Because regardless of how much time had passed between then and now, she knew him. For a moment, she let herself take him in, the way the morning sunlight hit his hair.
“You’re doing great with Sparkle,” she said.
She could actually see his shoulders relax.
“Thanks,” he said. “My teacher prepared some great material, and I read the homework assignments.”
She smiled up at him and nodded. He went inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him.
Yup, that’s right, Asher. Keep it focused on the dog. Lighthearted. All about the dog. Because you’re getting Matt Fielding out of your system right now. That was the only way she’d survive sharing her home, her yard, her love of dogs with him. She had to create barriers and distance.
She had to find the man she was looking for. The man she’d share her life with. A husband. A father for the child she wanted. Matthew Fielding was not that man.
She went back inside and fired up her laptop, typing dating sites into the search engine. There were so many, some easy to nix because of their ridiculous names, like Hotties4U.com. Her gaze stopped on SecondChanceSweethearts.com. Now that was more Claire’s style. And this was all about a second chance at love, right?
She clicked onto the Create A Profile page. Hmm, she needed a username. She typed in AlwaysLearning. “What are the three qualities that best describe you in a nutshell?” How was she supposed to answer that? She grabbed her phone and texted her sister with the question.
Della responded right away. Are you taking a Cosmo quiz or filling o
ut a dating profile? Hoping for the latter!
Latter. Help!
Kind. Responsible. Seeking. Sounds a little dry but hey, you want to weed out the sex fiends and idiots.
That’s definitely true. Seeking? Seeking what?
That’s for him to find out. Many hims!
Ah. Her sister was good at these things.
She wrote her paragraph about her interests, blah, blah, blah, how much she loved teaching, about helping young people light up about books and express themselves, that she loved old movies and superhero flicks, that she could eat pasta every night for the rest of her life and never get bored, that she was looking for a man who was ready to start a family. She deleted that last part, then re-added it. That was what she was looking for. A life partner. A husband. A father for her children. So it made no sense not to put it out there.
She uploaded a recent photo, one Della had taken at her husband’s birthday dinner party two months ago. Not too close up, not too far away, head to toe.
She paid up her $14.95 for a one-month membership and hit Submit before she could chicken out.
Take that, Matt Fielding.
* * *
Not five minutes later, as Claire was about to check her SecondChanceSweethearts account to see if she had any messages from hordes of men “wanting to know her better,” the doorbell rang. Dempsey shot up with a bark and hurried to the door, staring at it.
She finished filling up her mug with toffee-flavored coffee and set it down, then walked over to the door. “Hey, Dempsey, maybe the perfect man is at the door, sent by SecondChanceSweehearts.” Now, granted, she always talked to Dempsey regardless of the boxer mix’s ability to respond. But she still might be losing her mind if she expected her Mr. Right to be at the door.
Actually, it was Matt Fielding at the door.
“I thought I should formally ring the doorbell rather than just go down the deck steps to your side door,” he explained.
The side door was completely private, opening to the fenced-in yard, with evergreens completely blocking the view to the next house. She rarely closed the curtains since no one could see her sitting in her living room, watching a romantic comedy with Dempsey and a big bowl of popcorn. But now, anytime Matt came down those steps, he would see her.
A New Leash On Love (Furever Yours Book 1) Page 6