Navy Rules. Geri Krotow
died. Krista needed a pet. It was gut-wrenching to say goodbye to Daisy, in some ways harder than it’d been to say goodbye to her father.” Winnie’s hands stilled and she looked up at him.
“That sounds sacrilegious, doesn’t it? But she was only seven when Tom died. Two years later she was so much more aware and so attached to that dog. Daisy was a living link to Tom. It killed both of us to put her down.”
She sighed and shifted her gaze to the view outside his huge kitchen window. Her irises reflected the blue of Puget Sound and the shadows of the Cascades.
“My vet suggested getting a new dog right away. She’d been with us—with me—through everything, and she understood more than we did how a puppy would heal us. I thought I was off my rocker, and so did my family, but a couple of weeks after Daisy’s death, Krista and I went to the animal shelter in Coupeville. We looked at all those dogs that needed a home and while we could have been happy with any of them, only one made an effort to get our attention and to keep licking our hands and faces.”
She smiled down at the quiet German shepherd mix who lay beside Max’s feet.
“I told you about him at the Air Show—” Her voice trailed off, and she must have assumed he didn’t remember.
“I recall that you mentioned a new dog, but you didn’t say anything about canine therapy.”
“I’d just started to look into it. It’s not something I would’ve been talking about at that point.”
She didn’t say it but he thought it—after they’d caught up on their three years apart they’d spent their time in his hotel room, and it hadn’t been talking.
“I can’t believe you got this purebred German shepherd from a pound. I know people who’ve paid thousands for purebreds.”
Winnie laughed. The sound delighted him, like an unexpected gift. God, he’d missed her.
“Sam’s no purebred. He’s mostly German shepherd, sure, but his momma was a mixed-breed from Seattle.”
“I didn’t know you could find out lineage when you got a dog from a pound.”
“You can get a DNA test done. But Sam was dropped off with a litter of pups that’d been brought to the shelter by a young woman who had a farm. She said the mother had been killed in a freak gun accident. This woman couldn’t tend to the pups properly and manage her farm, so she brought them here, minus one pup she kept for herself. The mother had been her companion for six years and was a mixed breed. There was a purebred German shepherd guard dog from a local quarry who got out one night…”
“And they had love puppies,” he said, grinning at his own joke.
“Pretty much, yeah. You’d think a farmer would know enough to fix her animals, but in this case, I’m glad she didn’t. Sam is the best pet ever, and his talent for therapy work has made me wonder what happened to his littermates.”
“Did they all get adopted out?”
“Yes, every last one of them, all on Whidbey. Whether they’re still here or not, who knows?”
“So how did you find out he’d be good at this, uh, therapy?” He still had to fight a grimace as he said the word. As though not saying it would make him not need it.
As though the bombing had never happened and he was sitting across from Winnie whole and in control of his future. A future of Navy assignments and leadership instead of rehabilitation and retirement from the Navy, a lot sooner than he’d planned.
“Ever since he was tiny he seemed especially intuitive to my moods and Krista’s. I’ve known a lot of dogs over my lifetime and I never met one that had such a knack for knowing whether you need a lick or a little nudge when you come through the door.”
She smiled at him and he wished the smile was for him and not her dog. Still, he’d take what he could get.
“At first I took him to obedience classes with Krista. It was a family bonding time and it helped her with her self-esteem, which was shaky at best. That might have been due to my grieving and inability to bounce back from Tom’s death as quickly as some people thought I should.”
“Who thought you should have bounced back more quickly?” Maybe she’d never healed. Like him, maybe Winnie was forever affected by her loss.
“No one in particular, Max. It’s just that after the first few months of understanding and compassion, people get worn out by the exhausting nature of grief. They mean well, but have to get with their lives. And they can—they’re not the ones who lost a husband or father.”
He heard no rancor or self-pity in her voice.
“The same people who claim they’ll be there for you tend to fade away,” she added. “That’s been my experience.”
At his silence he saw her hand jerk suddenly and her spine straighten.
“I don’t mean you, Max! You were there through the worst of it and you left because of your job, not because you chose to.”
He let her words hang there. He’d sought the assignment in Florida, unbeknownst to Winnie. He’d had to. It’d been time to move on. He’d needed a career change.
Still, looking at the situation through Winnie’s eyes, he saw that he’d faded away. He’d abandoned her and Krista.
“Winnie, I know it was a difficult time for you. I—”
“No, Max. Enough! You were there for me and you went above and beyond the call of duty. You are not who I’m talking about, period.”
He didn’t say anything else, simply allowed her to continue.
“So in an effort to continue the healing process, Krista and I went to more and more dog-training classes. Sam passed the basic Good Citizenship test from the American Kennel Club, and then I heard on National Public Radio that canine therapy was helping vets when they got back. The rest,” she said with a flourish, “is history.”
Max remained silent. He’d forgotten how much positive energy could be emitted by someone so enthusiastic about his or her vocation.
Bullshit. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be around Winnie—to feel alive.
“You’re the greatest, aren’t you, boy?” Winnie cooed at Sam and the dog merely pricked his ears toward her. He still lay at Max’s feet.
“How long did it take you to train him to behave like this?” He nodded at the dog.
Winnie’s eyes widened. “Train him? Oh, no, Max, I didn’t train him to do this. It’s the intuitive streak I told you about. He knows who needs his comfort the most, and he knows when we’re in ‘work’ mode. He’s taken to you because he wants to, not because of anything I’ve done.”
“So what does that mean?”
“What does it mean? I don’t follow you.”
“The fact that he’s stuck to me like a barnacle ever since he jumped out of your car. Is he guarding you? Protecting you from me by keeping me in my place?”
Winnie leaned forward and placed her hands over Max’s tense fingers. He involuntarily jumped at the awareness that shot up his forearms.
“Max, he’s lying next to you because he senses you need him. And to be frank, judging by Sam’s behavior, you’re one of the neediest clients I’ve dealt with this year.”
Her words slammed through him almost as quickly as his reaction to her touch. But they didn’t elicit lust like her touch did. Instead, he felt only white-hot rage.
He pulled his hands out from under hers and shoved himself back from the table.
“F— Ah, shit, damn it!” He fought to control it, to control the cold stranglehold of fear.
He’d really