Operation Power Play. Justine Davis
And he tended to draw attention with his striking coloring, black head and shoulders turning to a russet brown over his back and hindquarters. But it was more than just his looks—his very intensity drew people’s eyes, and the reaction ranged anywhere from fascinated to wary.
If the dog had been a cop, Brett would have called it command presence. That might be the right term anyway.
The dog never slowed his steady trot even as the path headed up the rise. Brett had to kick up the pace to keep him in sight, and his body registered the hill with quickened breathing and an uptick in heart rate.
By the time he hit the sidewalk, Cutter was already crossing the street. There were only three houses in the little cluster, two on the water-view side of the narrow paved lane, one on the inland side. Brett could see two women in front of the single house where Cutter seemed to be headed. One older, one younger. He hoped neither of them would be frightened by the sudden appearance of a strange dog.
He realized the second woman was familiar. He’d seen her before on his runs that brought him up this way. After years as a cop the cataloging had been instinctive. She was about five-six, nicely female, with light brown hair past her shoulders. Long bangs pushed to one side fell over a brow and nearly covered her right eye. He liked the careless look of it. He’d never been close enough to see her eye color, but he was betting brown. Maybe green. Today she was dressed in jeans and a pale green sweater that hugged those curves nicely.
She was also the reason he’d once caught himself thinking of taking this route on a perfectly dry day, on the chance she might be out working in the garden again, since she did it even in the rain. And that bothered him enough to make sure he never did it. That way lay folly.
Right now she had her arm comfortingly around the older woman, who appeared to need that comforting.
Cutter bounded toward them. The younger woman turned just as the sun cleared the mountains and poured down over the sound, lighting everything in its path. Including the hair he’d thought was simply light brown but now saw was an amazing combination of tan, gleaming gold and a light reddish color that seemed to spark fire to it all. He’d never seen her in sunlight before, he realized, because he usually took this route only if it was raining.
He gave himself an internal shake as Cutter slowed to a walk about ten feet away from them, as if he somehow sensed a running approach might scare them. The older woman was watching the dog warily, so he supposed the dog could have read her body language.
But the younger one was smiling at the dog.
And she had a killer smile.
Cutter had halted a couple of feet in front of the women. He sat, almost primly, ears up, head cocked as if studying them. It was probably the most unthreatening pose he could have taken.
Brett caught up and stopped beside Cutter. The younger woman still had an arm around the older, who, judging by the traces of dampness on her cheeks, had been crying.
He felt an instant stab of wariness. He quashed it. No matter what was going on, it wasn’t, thankfully, his business. He wasn’t on duty, and this wasn’t his jurisdiction.
“Sorry,” he said. “We were down on the trail and he got the idea to head up here. Weird, since I’ve never been up this way with him.”
“I’ve seen you running,” the older woman said, sounding relieved. “Every day, I go for my walk downtown.” She was smiling now, which relieved him. “My husband likes the cream cheese cinnamon rolls from the bakery, even though they’re bad for him.”
Brett smiled back. “I like them, too. So I run.”
He heard a laugh, a short, pleasant sound that warmed him as much as the winter sun was trying to do. He looked at the other woman then. Close up, that smile was even more potent.
And the eyes were indeed green. A light, clear green that made him think of the first leaves of the spring that wasn’t far off.
“I’ve seen you up here, too,” she said. “When it’s really wet.”
“Trail gets kind of slippery. I break something, my boss won’t be happy.”
The laugh again. He found himself wishing he were naturally funny, just to keep hearing it. And wondering why Cutter was just sitting there; usually his furry trainer would have been pushing him for a final burst of speed right about now.
“Your boss isn’t an understanding sort?” she asked.
“She’d understand, but she’s tough. I’d end up stuck behind a desk.”
“What is it you do?” the older woman asked.
And there it was, he thought. The answer always made people react strongly. Differently, but they always reacted. Relaxed or became wary. The lines had always been pretty clear-cut: if they relaxed, they were on one side; if they were wary, the other. But the lines were getting blurrier by the day.
And he didn’t want to admit to himself that if Green Eyes reacted the wrong way, he was going to be disappointed. Or worse.
Best to get it over with, he thought.
“I’m a detective with the sheriff’s office.”
To his surprise, it was the older woman who drew back slightly. Green Eyes merely said, “Tough work.”
“Sometimes.”
“Your dog take off on you often?” she asked, gesturing at Cutter.
He wondered if she was hiding a laugh at the idea a cop’s dog wouldn’t obey him. He quickly shook his head. “Not mine. Dogsitting.”
“How nice of you,” the older woman said, seeming to have recovered from whatever had made her react. Or perhaps he’d imagined it.
He didn’t think this was the time to try to explain that he hadn’t had much choice—the dog had decided. He wasn’t sure quite how that had happened. After the wedding reception the dog, still wearing his bow tie as a member of the wedding—ring bearer, a role he had executed flawlessly—had trotted over to his car and simply refused to move.
“Oops,” the bride had said. “I think there’s been a change of plans.”
“Looks that way,” Quinn had agreed, with remarkable patience given the way he was looking at his wife, whom he was about to spirit off to parts unknown for a month of newlywed bliss. Bliss Brett had no doubt would last. You could feel it rolling off them.
Next thing he knew, Foxworth’s Teague Johnson, who had been going to watch the dog while they were gone, was loading up dog stuff into Brett’s car, grinning widely.
They all said it had been Cutter’s idea. He’d laughed that off until, after waiting politely, the dog had jumped into the car the moment he opened the door, wiggled into the backseat and settled in comfortably.
And so far, he couldn’t deny he’d sort of enjoyed it.
“His owner must be a good friend,” the older woman said.
“Yes,” Brett said.
“I don’t know,” the younger woman said, watching Cutter, who was watching her in turn. “He seems quite the gentleman.”
“He can be. He can also be the most stubborn critter on the planet. And that’s a direct quote from his owner.”
“It must be interesting, then,” Green Eyes said.
He couldn’t help smiling at that. “He’s an interesting dog, all right.” Then, not sure why, he added, “And more company than I expected.”
It was nothing less than true. The dog had been a quiet but solid presence, and even he couldn’t deny that the occasional nudge of the dark head or the warmth of the dog curled up beside him on the couch was...comforting. He didn’t like admitting that he might need comforting, but there it was.
“May I?” Green Eyes asked,