Operation K-9 Brothers

by Sandra Owens

  He left, skirting around her house to his truck before she had a chance to respond. Everything that made him the man he was rebelled at walking away. A SEAL always completed his mission.

  You’re not a SEAL anymore. Okay, there was that, but it wasn’t like he could wipe all his discipline and training from his mind. He sat in his truck for a few minutes, debating the wisdom of leaving. He’d told her he wouldn’t bother her, that what happened next was her choice. What if he never heard from her again?

  Should he try to talk to her one more time, convince her that they belonged together? No, she needed time to come to that on her own. All he could do now was be patient and hope that she wanted him in her life.

  The day Lane Gregory got out of the hospital, however, whether she liked it or not, Jack would be shadowing her, making sure she stayed safe. According to Deke, Gregory was pretty messed up and would be in the hospital at least another week. Deke promised to call the minute he learned when Gregory would be released. The day that happened, Jack would pitch a tent in Nichole’s yard if it came to that.

  As he drove home, he realized that he’d forgotten to tell her about his future plans. Would that have made a difference if she knew he had a plan for his life now? He thought about it, then decided that wouldn’t have made a difference. Her problem was with his shutting her out, not whether he had a job or not. Even if he were unemployed, she would have stood by him if he hadn’t gotten stupid.

  If he ended up blessed to have her back in his life, he made a vow that he would never shut her out again, no matter how low or angry he might feel. If she couldn’t find her way back to him... He shook his head. He couldn’t bear to think of having to exist without her. She’d said she loved him, and he would hold on to that.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Three days after Jack had apologized and then told her he loved her, Nichole’s brain and heart were still raging war.

  Brain: You know you can’t trust our heart’s judgment. Heart has been wrong too many times.

  Heart: Shut up, stupid brain. I want him.

  She laughed at the conversation going on between those two organs, because, seriously, what else could she do? Cry some more? God, she missed him. Her phone chimed Eric Clapton’s “Little Rachel.” Just the person she needed to talk to.

  “Hey, Rach. You did it again.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You knew I needed to talk to you.”

  Her friend laughed. “You keep assigning magic powers to me. I was simply thinking about you, so decided to give you a call.”

  “Deny it all you want, but you’ll never convince me otherwise. How’s the movie going?”

  “We’re wrapping up tomorrow. Why do you need to talk to me?”

  She told Rachel about Jack’s visit and what he’d said. “I’m just really confused.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Crazy loved him.

  “Then what’s the problem? He apologized, explained why he acted like a jerk, and he told you he loves you.”

  “I’ve always had a tendency to choose the wrong men, and I don’t trust my judgment anymore.”

  “From what you’ve told me about him, he’s not Lane or like any of the guys you’ve dated in the past. Does he treat you with respect?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has there ever been any hint that he’d get violent with you?”

  “Jack would never hurt me like that.” She knew that to the bottom of her heart.

  “Does he make you laugh? Look at you like he wants to gobble you up? Make your girly parts tingle?”

  “Yes, yes, and oh God, yes.”

  “I think my work here is done but tell you what. You decide you don’t want him, send him my way.”

  “He’s mine!” She grinned when Rachel laughed. Rachel could always cut through her BS.

  “You just growled at me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She totally had. It was the first time in her life she’d ever growled over a man or even wanted to.

  “So, you’ve punished him with your absence for three days now. What you gonna do, ghostbuster?”

  “Go get my man.”

  “Atta girl.”

  “Thank you for helping me get my head on straight. I love you, bestie.”

  “Ditto, BFF.”

  After hanging up, she grabbed her earbuds, then took Rambo out. As soon as he did his business, she’d shower, put on her prettiest sundress, and then she’d go get her man.

  Rambo was sniffing a bush when a truck slowly passed, a heavy metal song blaring from the radio so loud she could feel the vibrations. Because she was standing behind a tree, she doubted the driver saw her, but she sure saw his passenger door open and then a small brown ball of fur tossed out.

  “Hey!” she yelled as she took off running, pulling out her earbuds and dragging Rambo behind her.

  The truck sped up and raced away. When she reached whatever they’d thrown out, she gasped at seeing a cowering puppy. The poor thing shivered as it tried to curl into itself. When it whimpered, Rambo answered with a whine. He plopped down on his belly in front of it, then he licked the little brown face.

  Nichole glanced up at the road. “Asswipe.”

  She picked up the quivering dog. “You poor thing.” What kind of people threw out an animal like it was garbage? “You’re better off without them, sweetie.” But what was she going to do with it? She could barely keep up with Rambo, and she certainly couldn’t take two dogs to the River Arts Center with her.

  With a peek between the little thing’s legs, she saw that it was a girl. The name of the song that had been playing on her iPod when the truck drove by popped into her head. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Maggie May.”

  * * *

  Jack couldn’t have been happier with Trucker’s progress. The dog was smart. The Jacobys were taking him home for the night. He wasn’t sure that was a good idea yet, but he hadn’t been able to say no to Nigel Junior. One night wouldn’t do any harm, and even the boy’s father had accompanied them this time. Mother and son had visited Trucker twice before without him, which had been worrisome.

  He didn’t have much experience with those dealing with PTSD, and he didn’t want to step wrong. Since meeting Brenda Jacoby and Junior, he’d done a lot of reading on the disorder. In doing so, he’d realized that he suffered from it to a degree, but blessedly not to the extent of Nigel Jacoby.

  The man’s eyes looked haunted, and he didn’t smile. Those troubled eyes softened when Nigel had squatted to scratch Trucker under his chin. That was a positive sign that the dog would help the man to deal with daily life.

  Jack sent Brenda and Junior to the backyard with Dakota and her ball. His dog could chase balls for hours on end. Alone with Nigel, he spent twenty minutes with the man on the basics of caring for Trucker and the commands the dog was learning. Nigel didn’t say much until Jack ended the session.

  “You going back to the sandbox?” Nigel asked.

  Jack lifted his arm and eyed it. “Nope. IED ended any chance of that happening.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Only that I feel like I’ve let my team down.”

  “It’s a fucked-up place. I’d put a gun to my head before going back.”

  Jack tried to think of what to say to that. He met Nigel’s gaze. “Promise me one thing. If you ever think that’s the answer, call me. Any time of the day or night.”

  “I’m good... Well, I’m not good, but I’m not that far gone. I only meant I’d do it if I got orders to go back.”

  “Is there any chance of that happening?”

  “No. I’m out for good.” He tapped his head. “Too messed up. I’m out on a medical discharge.”

  “Not trying to pry here, but are you seeing a therapist?”

  �
�Yeah, not that it’s doing much good. Still wake up screaming and sweating like I’m baking in the sun of that godforsaken place. Still see my buddy bleed out in my arms.” He lowered his gaze to Trucker. “I was against this, getting a stupid dog, but my wife and boy begged me until I agreed to give it a try. Funny thing, working with him now, I forgot to be mad, and when I touch him, that rage inside me gets calmer.”

  “I get that, man. My dog gave me a reason to get up in the mornings after I got back.” Jack debated the next thing he wanted to say but decided to go with it. “I didn’t have a wife and child to live for, though. Seems like that would be a pretty damn good reason to want to get better.”

  “They’re my world, but they just don’t understand. Not their fault. No one can unless they’ve been there.”

  “Copy that, but maybe you could share a little of what daily life there was like. They don’t need to hear about the bad shit, but I think it would help your wife and son, and even you, if you let them in a little.”

  Nigel stared toward the backyard where his wife and son were. “Yeah, I suppose I could do that.”

  “Good man.” He whistled. Dakota raced into view with a laughing Junior running close behind. Mrs. Jacoby followed, her hopeful gaze on her husband. Nigel wasn’t healed. Far from it. But Jack believed the man was taking positive steps for a better future. That Jack was playing a part in that gave him enormous satisfaction.

  “Don’t forget to bring him back in the morning,” he told Junior. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “And no sneaking him people food.”

  “I won’t, Mr. Daniels.” Jack handed Junior the end of the leash, and the boy held it out to his father. “Trucker’s your dog, Daddy, so you have to take care of him.”

  The boy just blew Jack’s mind with that. One of the things that had worried him was Junior wanting to make Trucker his. Maybe he really did understand that Trucker was a working dog and not a pet.

  Long after the Jacobys had left, Jack thought about Nigel, encouraged by the man’s comment that his rage calmed when he touched Trucker. Doing what he could to help a brother-in-arms cemented his decision to start a therapy dog foundation for those suffering from PTSD.

  His phone buzzed, Clint Alba’s name coming up. Mark’s game was the only reason Clint would be calling. Hopefully, the news was good.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “Thought you’d want to know that your boy’s game is a winner.”

  “No kidding? That’s great.”

  “It needs some tweaking, but I’ve already got some interest in the game. I’ve got a feeling he’ll get some great offers.”

  Jack grinned, feeling like a proud parent. “Does Mark know yet?”

  “That I’m impressed with the game, yes. I have him working on some things to improve it. I’m going to hold off on telling him about the interest until it’s more solid. Won’t take us long to get it ready to go, and then I’ll get serious about shopping it for him.”

  “Can’t thank you enough.”

  Clint made a snorting noise. “No, man. Thank you. I love finding new talent.”

  The first thing Jack wanted to do after getting off the phone with Clint was to call Nichole with the news, but he’d promised not to bother her. Three days had passed since he’d seen her, and he was giving up hope that he would hear from her.

  He was trying to stay positive, but it was hard. Even Dakota seemed down, and he wished she’d stop watching him with those sad eyes. After getting blown up by a fucking bomb, he hadn’t cried. He’d sucked it up like a SEAL should, but he was having trouble sucking up the thought of never seeing Nichole again.

  Not being able to call and share the good news about her brother hurt. Not having the right to bring her lunch on her workdays hurt. Not trying to feel her touch when she trailed her fingers over his dead skin hurt.

  “I miss her,” he told his dog.

  Dakota whined, and he took that to mean she missed Nichole, too. He blinked away whatever the hell was burning his eyes. Honest to God’s truth, losing Nichole hurt more than a bomb blowing up right in front of his face, hurt worse than everything that had followed.

  Maybe Heather could give him solid advice on what he needed to do to get Nichole back. Not that he wanted to share his private life with her, but he would, for Nichole. He was scrolling through his contacts to get to Heather’s name when his doorbell rang.

  “Who could that be?” he asked Dakota. Probably someone selling something since he rarely got visitors. That was actually depressing but not surprising given that he’d isolated himself since coming home. With Mark gone and Nichole done with him, the only people showing up lately aside from the Jacobys had been the police kicking his door down.

  Dakota stuck her nose in the door crack, sniffed, and then wagged her tail. Okay, it was someone they knew. He tried not to get his hopes up that it was Nichole, but his pulse spiked anyway.

  He put his eye to the peephole, his heart stuttering when he saw Nichole. Was it good or bad that she was here? He almost didn’t want to open the door. What if she was here to tell him that she’d made her decision, and she was done with him? Not that he would blame her.

  Since he couldn’t avoid her forever, he inhaled a deep breath, and then opened the door. “Hey,” he said, which was the most he was capable of at the moment. There was much more he wanted to say, like I love you or please don’t make me face another day without you. She smiled, and he had trouble breathing. She wouldn’t be smiling at him like that if she was here to tell him to go to hell, would she?

  Something yipped, and his gaze dropped to the puppy she held against her waist. His observation skills had apparently deserted him. All he’d seen was her face and that heart-stopping smile.

  “What’s this?” Was she only here to give him a puppy, and if so, why?

  “It’s a possum, Jack.” She rolled her eyes, and then her lips twitched.

  Her almost smile and teasing was a good sign, right? “If that’s what it is, then it’s the cutest possum I’ve ever seen. Usually, those things are ugly as sin.” He’d spent the last three days imagining their conversation if he ever got to see her again, and he hadn’t come close to this.

  “So,” she said, then glanced down at the puppy. “I hear you train dogs.”

  That was why she was here, because she wanted him to work with this puppy? Instead of doing what he wanted—kissing her until she forgot her name, until she forgave him—he nodded. “I’ve trained a few here and there.”

  Maybe this was a chance to spend time with her again. “If you’re wanting this one trained, it’s the same deal as before. You have to do it with me.” He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

  “Well, I can’t keep it. Someone threw it out of a truck, and I rescued it. I was hoping you’d help me find a good home for it. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” She could come in any minute of the day or night. Should he warn her that he might not ever let her leave? As she walked past him, he caught her vanilla and almond scent. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from pulling her against him and burying his nose in her hair.

  Nichole stopped in the middle of his living room, and Dakota sat in front of her, her ears perked up, and her gaze on the puppy. Weird that. He’d never seen her that interested in another dog before, not even Rambo.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” Nichole leaned over and scratched her muzzle, then glanced up at him. “Will she hurt Maggie May if I put her down?”

  “Maggie May, huh? I thought you couldn’t keep her.”

  “I can’t. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a name.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Jack swallowed his smile. “Go ahead. Dakota won’t hurt her.”

  Nichole set the puppy on the floor, and Dakota sniffed the little thing from one end to the other. Maggie May froze as if afraid the giant dog might ea
t her. After a thorough investigation of the puppy’s scent, Dakota wrapped her mouth around the back of Maggie May’s neck.

  “Oh,” Nichole said, panic in her voice. She reached for the puppy.

  Jack put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”

  He knew Dakota wouldn’t hurt Maggie May, but he wanted to see what Dakota was up to. After the dog was secure in her mouth, Dakota carried the puppy to her bed, gently set it down, curled her body around it, and then went about the business of licking it clean.

  “I’ll be damned.” Dakota was sort of friends now with Rambo, but in the beginning, she’d considered Rambo more of an annoying pest. Never would he have expected what he was seeing now.

  “I think Maggie May just got adopted.” Nichole glanced at him and grinned.

  If he could keep her looking at him like that, he’d drag home a hundred puppies. “I think Dakota and I need to have a talk about house rules,” he grumbled.

  Nichole laughed. “You’re a softie. No way you’re going to take her new baby away from her.”

  “Softie, huh?” He liked the way she was eyeing him with that sparkle glinting in her eyes. Like maybe she was ready to forgive him. The hope he’d been trying to squash was bubbling, ready to burst free.

  “Yep.” She moved to him, stopping in front of him. “I’ve missed you,” she softly said.

  “Nichole.” Her name was a whisper on his lips. A prayer. Afraid he was misreading her, he opened his arms, willing her to come to him. When she stepped forward, and then rested her head on his chest, he closed his eyes against the burning in them. He wrapped his arms around her, and did what he’d wanted to do from the moment she’d walked in. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent.

  She was back, thank you, God.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nothing in Nichole’s life compared to having Jack’s arms wrapped around her. They needed to talk, but later. Right now, what she needed, what she wanted was their bodies pressed against each other skin to skin, and his mouth on her.