Chapter Seven

April set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and methodically went about putting items away. Her mind turned back to Dusty and that glorious kiss, which had rocked her world and put him on the defensive at the same time.

She’d gotten up early and driven to the stable, just like every other morning since her horses arrived. Today she’d focused on them while hoping Dusty had put the temperamental attitude behind him. No such luck. He’d barely glanced at her when she entered the stable and hadn’t bothered to speak a single word. Ben had greeted her warmly, and returned to Dusty’s side as if needing to be close.

The one time she’d tried to say something Dusty had quickly shut her down, then had led a gelding from his stall and taken him out to the pasture. He acted like a bear with a thorn stuck in his butt all because of one little kiss.

A sinful kiss. Hot, passionate and the best one she’d ever experienced. Too bad Dusty didn’t appear to feel the same way.

He’d immediately thrown up a solid barrier between them, one she couldn’t break through or find a way around. His actions only solidified her belief that he regretted the impromptu action and now preferred to keep her at arm’s distance, lest she get the wrong idea. No problem there. She’d figured that out immediately afterward. The resulting sting of rejection served as a vivid reminder not to get too close or expect anything more along the lines of intimacy from the stubborn man.

Completely frustrated, she’d thrown in the towel. April had cared for her horses, settled them in the pasture for the day and left. No sense standing around when her mere presence irritated the guy. Besides, errands and shopping had been on her day’s agenda.

She opened the fridge and unloaded the rest of the goods. The plastic sacks were added to a small collection. Taking her bottle of soda with her, April walked into the small living room next to the kitchen, sat down on the couch then opened her laptop computer.

Ben—she’d noticed his devotion and love for Dusty, his graying muzzle indicating advanced age as did his sometimes stiff movements. The war dog, as amazing and smart as he was, was slowing down. How much longer he had was anyone’s guess, but his years were numbered. Sad. Very sad to her, but how would the loss of Ben impact Dusty?

April blew out a worried breath.

Sure, she’d heard about post-traumatic stress—a common occurrence with soldiers and others who have been through horrible experiences. Dogs helped, especially the soldiers, and steps had been made lately to unite war veterans with canines in order to help with their symptoms. Successfully at that.

So what did that mean for Dusty?

Taking a chance, April typed words into the search engine and hit the ‘Go’ button. Several entries popped up. One appeared more official than the others. She chose it, opened the page and started reading.

Ten minutes later, she sat back and pondered what she’d learned. The military did adopt out their dogs for various reasons. Some of the puppies didn’t have enough drive to make them good war dogs. Those that had seen action were retired for one reason or another. Or sometimes a medical problem sidelined a dog with great potential or one that had been working already. Understandably, the handlers were given first choice to adopt the dog, but sometimes that wasn’t possible. Then the Army opened the adoption process up to the general public. No charge to adopt the dogs, just fill out the forms, go on a waiting list that could be one to two years long, and see if the powers that be would approve of the person. Those on the list would wait for a call, months or even years down the road. If they were chosen, they had to get to San Antonio and spend at least a couple of days getting to know their new friend while learning about the animal’s training, familiarizing themselves with the commands and how to transition a working war dog into a family pet. The visit was mandatory before the Army released the dog to the new owners.

She scrolled through the data again, checked out the dogs available for adoption and read their stories. There weren’t many, but every one broke her heart.

After a few tours of duty, the dogs needed rest, understanding and pampering for the rest of their natural lives. The puppies were cute, but something drew her to the canines that had done their duty and now earned retirement.

Just like her horses, she’d prefer one who’d been through hell and had the fortitude to plow through and survive. They reminded her of Ben. Smart, brave, loyal. The love they had to give could be seen in their eyes.

How could anyone turn their back on those deserving animals?

She couldn’t.

Issues started cropping up in her mind. She would keep the dog in the house with her, but what about her twelve-hour shifts at work? What about any vacations she might take? Who would step up to take care of the animal when she was away?

A vet clinic or dog hotel might be an option, but she hesitated. Chances were those people never dealt with an animal like a military dog who could easily have its own issues. No. She needed someone well versed in the role. Someone like Dusty.

April clicked on the adoption form, pulled it up and printed it out. Reading it over, she noticed a narrative and reference section where she could explain why she wanted to adopt. What she jotted down would help make or break her as a potential forever home for a dog. But what could she say that would set her application apart from dozens of others the facility was sure to get each month?

Dusty.

He might be able to help her out with a sound reference.

Great in theory, not so much in reality. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the helpful mood right now.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The old adage rang a bell.

Goodness knows Dusty didn’t get hearty, home-cooked food very often. Between the heat, his lack of air conditioning in the house and the fact that he’d just be fixing for himself, it was no wonder Dusty lived on sandwiches.

Time for a change.

April turned off her computer and returned to the kitchen. She opened the fridge door, peered inside and debated what she could throw together that Dusty might enjoy. The chicken caught her eye. She had fresh vegetables as well. The menu started to mentally fill in.

With renewed energy, she went to work on her latest goal—a peace offering in the form of a hot, complete meal.

* * * *

Dusty’s phone rang. He palmed the device, checked the caller ID, then answered, “Hey, Sam. What’s up?”

He and the county sheriff had gravitated toward each other once he’d moved here. They shared a similar background, combat duty, though Sam had been a regular grunt and Dusty a SEAL.

“Had some downtime this morning. Care to meet me at the firing range? See who gets to pay for this round?”

Dusty grinned. He and Sam had a running bet. Whenever they got together on the shooting range, the loser paid their usage fee. So far Dusty hadn’t picked up the tab and he didn’t plan on doing so anytime in the near future. “Sure. Twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam clicked off.

Dusty ended the call and shoved the cell phone back into the holder on his belt as he strode from the stable, into the house, and straight for the bedroom where he kept most of his weapons. Choosing two of his handguns, he strapped on his old ankle holster first. His shoulder harness followed. After placing the weapons in their respective holders, he plucked a couple of boxes of ammunition out of his storage case, stood up, and headed toward the truck.

Ben followed along every step.

Dusty patted his head. “You need to stay here, buddy. Watch over things while I’m gone.”

Ben sat down, wagged his tail and panted. His sharp eyes met Dusty’s.

With one more pat, Dusty headed to his truck.

Several minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the firing range. Dusty parked, grabbed his boxes of shells and entered the building, finding Sam chatting with the owner, Tracy Thomas. The gray-haired guy had seen his fair share of action during his days in the CIA. He’d retired a while back, moved back home and opened a gun shop and firing range. As far as Dusty could tell, the guy had found contentment and peace in his near retirement.

“About time you showed up. Sam was crowing about kicking your ass this time. I told him my money was on you.” Tracy offered up a halfhearted grin.

“Thanks. I’d hate to break my perfect streak.” Dusty sauntered over to the counter to join the small group.

“What is it now? Ninety straight?” Tracy asked.

Sam snorted. “More like five.”

Dusty smiled ruefully. “Seventeen, but who’s counting?”

“If you don’t get a move on, you’ll never get a chance to find out if you can make it eighteen.” Sam led the way through a side door to the cement room that was enclosed. Five stations waited, all empty. Each had a table to use for loading and unloading as well as a pair of ear protectors. At the far end of the room, targets hung from wires, clean and intact.

Not for long.

“What’s the plan this time?” Dusty pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and placed it on the table along with the bullets. He didn’t have to bother with loading as his guns were always at the ready.

“Five shot accuracy?”

Dusty nodded. “Works for me.” He placed the ear protectors on his head, glimpsing Sam doing the same in the station next to him. Without further hesitation, he raised his semiautomatic, aimed and shot between breaths. Five times he squeezed the trigger and watched the target jump. Done in less than three seconds, he lowered the gun and placed it back on the table. After removing his head gear, he pushed the button which then brought his target to him.

“Well?” Sam walked over, carrying his own paper.

Dusty gestured to his, still hanging right in front of him. A single hole went through the head part of the target, right between the eyes.

“Holy shit.” Sam shook his head.

Dusty glanced over at Sam’s paper. Sam’s bullets had torn a large ragged hole in the area of the target where the heart would be. “Nice.”

“Lethal, but not near as fancy.” Sam grinned. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Dusty smiled. “I’ll do that.”

Sam’s radio went off—a woman’s voice rattling off information about a situation.

Dusty listened in carefully. Although he didn’t carry a badge, he’d helped out more than once when Sam and his short-handed crew ended up in over their heads.

Sam frowned. “On my way.” He eyed Dusty before spinning on his heel and hurrying back the way he’d come, pausing only long enough to drop a bill on the counter for Tracy. “Hostage situation near Smithville. An intruder on the run forced his way into a house. Now he’s holding the woman and her kids hostage. Threatening to kill them if the authorities try to move in.”

Dusty stayed right on his heels. “My specialty.”

Sam stopped at his patrol car. “I won’t turn down help.”

Dusty nodded, jogged to his truck, pulled out a large black duffel bag which he always carried, then returned to the passenger side and slid in. Old habits were hard to break. Carrying his weapons and always being prepared for anything fell under that same heading. “Consider me Barney Fife.”

Sam climbed in, fastened his seat belt, cranked the engine and hit the gas. “You do carry a resemblance to him.”

Dusty rolled his eyes. The light bantering reminded him of his SEAL days. On the way to missions, the guys tended to throw out teasing insults in an attempt to loosen up before things got serious. He felt right at home now—except for the fact that he didn’t have his war gear, Ben, or the authority to blow people to hell.

They arrived at the scene to find a few other police cars in place. Sam hopped out, strode over to a small group of cops and started asking questions. Dusty lagged behind, his gaze locking on the small house, instinctively searching for weaknesses, ways in and potential escape routes the guy might take.

The white house appeared to be of typical size. Maybe two or three bedrooms. Front door. Presumably a rear one as well. Windows in the front had pulled blinds, not allowing anyone a single glimpse into what occurred inside. Trees surrounded the area. Landscaped in the front, woods in the back. That could prove to their advantage.

“You’ve made contact?”

“Yes, sir. He’s demanding money and a free pass. Anything less, he says he’ll start shooting.”

“Panicked or just lowdown mean?”

The deputy shrugged. “A little of both would be my opinion. He’s not dumb. Doesn’t stay on the phone long enough to do more than issue orders.” The guy checked his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before he starts the killing.”

Hearing the time limit, Dusty took off. He returned to the vehicle and dug his vest out of his bag along with his rifle. The second he secured the protective gear, he strode over to Sam again. “Try to draw the bastard out. If he doesn’t take the bait, then we’re screwed. Unless you have a concussion grenade?”

Sam shook his head. “What I’d give for one right now.”

Dusty sighed. Small towns and their limited budgets. Fucking hell. “Just see if you can lure him out. I’ll go in if I have to.”

The deputy’s mouth fell open.

Sam gave a brief nod. “We’ll make it happen.” He turned to the other man. “Get that guy on the phone.”

Dusty didn’t waste another second. He sprinted for the area behind the house, keeping to the tree line in case the tango happened to be looking out. Finding a position on the house’s flank, he squatted down in the brush, lifted his rifle and peered through his scope, searching for any sign of movement.

A curtain ruffled, but no face showed.

He held back, unwilling to take chances with innocent lives. Instead he waited. Something would give. Soon.

Time dragged by. Dusty remained unmoving. He watched the side and back of the house, knowing the police monitored the front. If the guy tried to escape into the woods, Dusty had him. Alert and attentive, Dusty knew with a single gunshot he’d storm the back door and force his way in. He’d do so now, but didn’t want to give the guy a reason to start cutting people down.

With no radio or communication link, Dusty had no clue what conversations were taking place. They didn’t matter. He kept his vigilance. Would do so until told otherwise.

Long minutes passed. Still he watched.

“Stand down, Dusty. The bastard surrendered,” Sam hollered at him from the front of the house.

Dusty stood up, stretched the kinks out, and made his way back to gathering of cops. He glanced over at the suspect, noted the unkempt appearance, the too-bright eyes and the sunken cheeks.

“That son of a bitch is high.”

“Yeah.” Sam shook his head.

Together they watched another deputy shove the guy into the back seat of a police cruiser.

Dusty peered over to find a young mother trying to console her small children, who clung to her with fear written clearly on their faces. His gut clenched in rage. Those were the people who would suffer from today’s actions. The meth head didn’t have a clue. He’d made his choices, all bad. But the innocent wouldn’t forget this experience and the stain of terror would potentially linger for life.

He cussed fluently.

Sam slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m with you.”

“War is bad news, but at least could eradicate the bad guys. Here there’s too many damn rules and justice is too fucking soft.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, buddy.” Sam shared a look with Dusty before leading him back to the car. “I’ll give you a ride back to your truck.”

Dusty rubbed his face, drew in a deep breath and forced the remaining anger into his kill box. The old SEAL trick for burying emotions so they wouldn’t interfere with missions came second nature to him. He couldn’t fix this, couldn’t take it all away. So carrying the garbage around only added to his already full load of burdens.

With practiced ease, he stored his rifle, stripped off his vest, zipped up his bag and climbed back into the car, more than eager to get back to his quiet life at the stable. Even if he had to deal with a peppy blonde underfoot.

* * * *

“This is good.” Dusty chewed with relish. He watched the smile of appreciation appear on April’s face. Blue eyes sparkled as if he’d just offered up a huge compliment instead of simply praising a well-cooked meal.

He’d no sooner returned back home than she’d arrived, toting an entire meal, hot out of the oven. After his morning, the thought of sharing a home-cooked meal with April had bolstered his mood.

“Thanks. It’s my mother’s recipe.” She cut off another bite of her chicken.

“You’ve never mentioned your parents before.” He treaded carefully into the topic of families.

After he’d planted a kiss on her yesterday, he’d called himself twelve kinds of fool. April seemed to have taken the show of affection in stride. She didn’t harass him, pressure him or even question him. She simply went about chores quietly and efficiently, though he caught her staring at him more than once, her gaze filled with curiosity and wonder with a hint of interest.

Way to go, dumbass.

Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize and explain that the show of affection meant nothing. The simple act had revved his dormant engine and heated his blood enough to match the blistering temperatures outside. For some reason, kissing April had meant something more than a prelude to a quick round of robust sex. Her touch sank deeper, softened his resistance and prodded him to consider possibilities.

“My parents still live in Oregon. I grew up there, started college there before I transferred to the University of Colorado. Ended up falling in love with the area and stayed after graduation.”

He heard an unspoken hesitancy in her words, as if she was holding important details back. “That’s a long drive home. Why did you transfer?”

She looked down at her plate and played with her macaroni and cheese. “I met a guy I thought I could love. Turns out he had a dark side. The first time he hit me, I left. Finished up the semester and decided to pursue my schooling elsewhere.”

He sucked in a breath, grappling with a sudden rage at the thought of a man raising a hand to any woman, but particularly to April. “How bad?”

Glancing up, she met his gaze before lowering her eyes once more, pain written clearly on her face. “It was just a slap. Nothing horrible, but enough that I knew I needed to get away and fast.”

His tension eased only slightly. If he ever found the man, to hell with the law. He would beat him to a pulp just for the audacity of hurting her. Everything he’d seen from April told of goodness and kindness, certainly nothing that qualified as deserving of a single blow. “I’m sorry. Some men are bastards and deserve to be shot.”

The corners of her mouth hitched up. “Personally, I’d prefer dropping them in the middle of a snake pit, but shot will work.”

He slowly grinned back at her attempt at humor. The revelation told him much more about her. She’d thrown out her opinion on men and relationships once before, but he didn’t have a clue how deep the sentiment went or for what reasons. Considering what she’d been through, he was genuinely surprised she didn’t show more nervousness or edginess around him, especially after he’d ranted at her for offering lunch the first time. He grimaced at his surliness and regretted his abruptness once more. Yet he hadn’t known, and she had stood up to him like a mother hen to a hungry fox.

Respect for her grew. She had no reason to trust men any more than he had to trust women.

What a pair we make. He couldn’t help but grin to himself.

Forking a piece of meat, he ate for a bit before saying anything more. “What did your parents say?”

“They helped me file a restraining order and launch a formal complaint both at school and legally. With no evidence there was no case, but they wanted the mark to be on his record in case he hit another woman.”

“Smart people. Show a chain of behavior that would prove his actions weren’t a one-time, heat-of-the-moment thing.”

April sipped her soda then tilted her head. “You sound like a lawyer.”

“My father was one. So’s my older brother.” He cringed as the words flowed out. He always strove to avoid speaking about his family. Now he’d stupidly opened the barn door, inviting April to fire away.

“You’ve never talked about them,” she quietly said.

“We…don’t get along.” He chewed and chewed, suddenly finding the delicious dinner roll to be a bit doughy.

“I’m sorry to hear that. When’s the last time you spoke to them?”

He debated how much to offer up before giving an answer. “Three years.”

April’s mouth fell open as sadness and concern filled her eyes. “Oh. I really am sorry.”

He swallowed, took a long drink to wash the lump of food down and nodded.

She studied him for a long moment, then glanced down at Ben. “I’ve been doing some research on adopting former military dogs. Even printed out an application. I was wondering if I can use you for a reference.”

He blinked at the change of subject, both relieved and perplexed. “You want to adopt a war dog?”

She nodded. “I know you and Ben share something special. I just thought about what they’ve been through, the ones that their handlers or the family of the handlers can’t take home. The dogs sit in the kennel and simply wait to be adopted. It’s downright sad. They’ve given so much, yet are relegated to a dog run and wondering if that’s their last home.”

His gut clenched as he considered Ben in such a situation.

“My only problem is I work twelve-hour shifts. I can’t be home to let one outside to potty. But I want an inside dog.” Her mouth turned down in a frown.

He took another bite of his pasta, this time swallowing more easily. “I’ll vouch for you. Might be able to move things along a bit faster since I’m already in the system.” He watched hope and excitement flash in her eyes, the sight enough to shunt blood directly to his dick. He ignored the sudden ache and found himself offering up a solution to her problem. “I’m sure I can spare a few minutes to go over and let your dog out when you work.”

“Oh, thank you.” She beamed at him. Excitement and appreciation laced her voice. “I’ll pay you for the doggie day care service.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your helping out is more than enough to make up for a few minutes letting a dog go outside to do his business.” He shrugged, felt his heart buoy and stubbornly tamped the surge of desire. He was simply helping her out. That’s what friends do, after all.

Yeah, except he fought the urge to strip her down, lay her across his bed and drill into her depths until she shouted his name in ecstasy. Too bad friends with benefits wasn’t an option. Like her skittish filly, April needed time, devotion and a gentle hand. He’d gladly shower all those on her, except for one small detail.

He had no intention of shackling himself to a woman ever again.