Roman only realized how badly he'd been hurt by how long it took him to recover. The first few days at Matt's cabin were a blur. His body hurt so much he escaped into sleep and the painkillers Bill McGurver had prescribed.
He was aware of Luci stroking his fur while he lay on the couch next to her. The trips out to go pee slowly got less painful. Bill visited and so did Lance and Tim. But the person he craved, the one whose touch seemed to provide a medicine of its own, was Matt. He came home every day before dark and he spent all evening and all night with Roman next to him or draped over him in one position or another.
Logically, Roman knew Matt wasn't James, but he was stuck in dog form, and he was hurting. His dog reverted to pure instinct, and his instinct was to want Matt. Matt was big and male and tough. He had a strength Roman could count on when weak, and a tenderness that seemed all the more special because of that strength. This was a side of Matt that Roman, the human, had never seen. The moment Matt walked through the door, he greeted Roman first, looking him over to see how he was doing, stroking his fur, kissing his head, and telling him how well he was doing. He held Roman's head on his lap while he watched TV. He took Roman outside for a pee and then lifted him up onto the bed to sleep.
At night, Roman slept on top of the covers with his back pressed close to Matt's body. In the hazy dreams of dog, man, and drugs, sometimes Roman thought he was in his human form in Matt's bed, that they were as comfortable and bound together as an old mated couple. And sometimes he dreamed of him and Matt out on the trails, and of guns and shouted warnings. And when he whined in his sleep, Matt would pet him until his dreams withdrew their fangs.
After the first few days, Roman was able to hobble around, despite his tightly bandaged shoulder. That meant he could sit on the floor next to the dining room table while Matt and Luci ate.
"You are so spoiling that dog," Luci told Matt in a teasing voice at the end of that first week. Matt guiltily drew back his fingers from having just fed Roman a bit of chicken.
"Yeah. My dad would have a fit. The General had very strict rules about dogs and table food." He smirked at Roman. "But we don't have to follow the General's rules here, do we, Paco?" He tore off another piece of chicken, and Roman took it carefully from his hand.
"You'll never get that dog out of your bed once he's well. You know that, right?" Luci said, without any rancor.
"It's not like I have anyone else who's clamoring to get in it. Besides, he needs some extra special TLC after what he's been through. Don't you, boy?"
Roman wasn't about to argue.
By week two of his recovery, Roman started refusing the pain meds. His body still hurt, but it wasn't the glass sharp, grating pain of damage, and Roman preferred a clear head. While Matt was gone during the day, he and Luci were cuddled inside, warm and dry from the fall rain.
And as his head cleared, Roman started to worry about what he was missing. What was going on with the men who had shot him? Had Charlie and Lance found them? Was Matt staying safe? Was Lance making sure no one else got hurt? Were the strangers still in town? What were they doing there? But there was nothing he could do to help until he could shift back. He had to get better.
When Matt was home, Roman spent less time worrying about the strangers, and more time contemplating his own future. It was so strange. The feeling of Matt scratching his ears or squeezing his paw while Roman snoozed was so familiar. It was like the entire last few years had been a dream, the dream of a sleeping dog—that he'd become a man, and moved to this odd little town in the mountains, and become a sheriff's deputy. With his head on Matt's lap and his eyes closed, he could almost believe he was still with James.
But that feeling faded, along with the satisfaction of being coddled as a dog. Because Matt wasn't James, and Roman was no longer a dog. Matt was Deputy Roman Charsguard's friend and coworker. He’d joked with Roman and made him smile. He’d treated Roman as an equal and, more than that, had liked him and wanted him as a sex partner. The longer Roman was with Matt, the more he wanted to be with him, not in his dog form, but as himself. He longed to have this—to be in Matt's home and in his bed—in his human form.
He’d bonded with Matt Barclay, he realized during one long and sleepless night. He loved Matt and didn't want to be separated from him once he'd gotten better.
And that was a serious problem.
Matt studied the words on his monitor. He was alone in his office with the door closed, and he was trying to work on his weekly report. Every few minutes, as if he were one of those cartoon cat clocks, his eyes would shift over to Roman's desk. The chair was pushed in and the computer was dark and silent. Where the fuck was Roman?
Matt made himself focus on the task at hand.
He had an actual operation going in his territory. It had gotten very real lately. Nominally, he was in charge of said operation, though he had the gut feeling Sheriff Beaufort humored him about that. It wasn't that Beaufort wasn't cooperating. He was cooperating all too well. Half the time when Matt went to do something, he'd learn that Beaufort had already done it.
Matt shifted in his chair and typed some more.
Suspects have cleared approximately three more acres of trees, giving them a total area of about five acres. The farm is set in about a quarter mile from the nearest dirt road. They used small bulldozers to knock down trees and rake up brush. They have camouflage tarps to hide the damage from overhead. So far no planting has taken place.
Six unique individuals have been seen and photographed with remote surveillance. Five are pending identification, but one has been verified as Rufus Weaser, an ex-con incarcerated for raising and selling marijuana and opium. I'm currently looking into Weaser's known associates.
Sending GPS coordinates of the farm for satellite imaging.
Regarding unusual activity in the town of Mad Creek, nothing new to report.
Matt’s fingers drummed on the desk as he looked at the last line. The weirdness in Mad Creek hadn’t ceased. The other day he’d been driving back to the office late and had seen what looked like a fight going on in the town park. He’d stopped his car and run over there. It turned out it was just two guys wrestling around. For fun. Two full-grown, adult men, were wrestling and chasing each other in the park. When he’d asked them what the hell they were doing, they looked at him like he was the one who was crazy. But, as usual, there was nothing actually illegal going on, and he’d just sound bonkers if he reported it.
Besides, he had bigger fish to fry now. And his biggest worry was something that wasn’t in town—Roman.
Matt uploaded the report to the secure portal. Dixon, at the Operation Green Ghost headquarters, was probably waiting for it before he went home for the day. Matt's was not the only active territory now. Hell, Samuelson over in Mariposa busted a twenty-acre farm the week before that had been hidden for several years. And a drug lord with a rap sheet a mile long had recently moved to Oakhurst. By comparison, the neophyte farm in Mad Creek was small potatoes. All Matt had to do was keep tabs on them without tipping them off, document and photograph what was going on, and give them enough rope to hang themselves when the DEA came in and busted them.
He was intent on the task, because he really wanted to bust these guys. And he could tell the sheriff did too. But it wasn't the only thing on his mind. What Matt really wanted to write in his report was this: "I'm very concerned about Deputy Roman Charsguard." But Matt had no proof whatsoever that there was any foul play involved. Beaufort kept insisting Roman was out of town and perfectly fine. Matt had driven out to Roman's cabin a few times. There was no truck in the driveway and no signs of a disturbance.
It'd been two weeks since Roman Charsguard had vanished. And, a bad omen for his budding investigative skills, he'd gotten exactly nowhere asking Sheriff Beaufort about it.
Matt shut off his machine and left the sheriff's station. He found himself smiling as he drove home. Paco would be waiting for him at the door. No one had ever been as happy to see Matt as that damned dog. And honestly, without a friend left in town except Luci, Matt felt the same way.
That evening, Luci made polenta and spicy beans, and they settled down to eat at the little kitchen table.
"I went to the market today to get groceries, you know?" Luci said, licking sauce off her spoon. "You should have seen it, Mattie. Everybody and his mother asked me about Paco."
"What?"
Luci nodded. "'How is Paco doing?', 'Is he walking?', 'Are you giving him chicken? Try fish because Paco will really like fish. Here, let me help you pick some out.' I swear, Matt. You would have laughed so hard."
"How do they know about Paco?"
Luci shrugged. "I guess I mentioned it to Lily Beaufort? Last week, you know? At the coffee shop? I swear, talk about a small town! And I thought mi familia was bad."
"Well, they can't have him," Matt said grouchily. Honestly, first Beaufort and Tim, and now the whole damn town, was way over involved with Paco.
The dog in question was sitting quietly by Matt's chair, watching him. Matt sighed. He was such a beautiful German shepherd. Stately. He had big ears and the tan of his face gave way to dramatic black on the top of his head and on his throat. Part of his right ear was missing—a wound Dr. McGurver said had happened long before he was shot. Matt liked the frayed and scarred ear. It gave Paco a rakish air. Also, it reminded Matt of Roman, truth be told. Paco’s eyes were unnervingly wise and, sometimes, unbearably sad. He was also the best-trained dog Matt had ever seen. You could swear he understood every word you said.
Hell, Matt loved that dog. He was getting to be a total sap in his old age. How his brother, Mitch, would have teased him about it.
Luci held down a chunk of polenta and Paco gently took it from her fingers. "You know, Mattie, his owner may come for him eventually. I worry about you getting so attached."
"Yeah, like you aren’t. McGurver said he doesn't belong to anyone in town. Maybe he was abandoned by someone vacationing in the area."
"Maybe," Luci agreed doubtfully.
"Anyway, they weren't there when Paco needed them, so they can't have him back now. Luci—I'm not sure polenta is good for dogs."
"It's corn! It's fine."
Matt gave Paco a baked kettle chip. "This is much yummier, isn't it, Paco? You like old Matt the most, don't you?"
Luci rolled her eyes. "Thank God I’m never having kids with you! So they still haven't found out who shot him?"
"No." Matt hated that. "We've been busy with this sting we're trying to set up. And Beaufort says he thinks it was probably poachers—illegal hunters who mistook him for a deer or a bear in the woods. Says they're probably long gone by now." Matt wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he couldn't exactly tell Beaufort how to run his office.
Matt pushed his plate aside and shifted back in his chair. Paco stared at him and Matt patted his leg. Immediately, Paco laid his chin there.
His father would be impressed. Paco never begged, but damn if he couldn't let you know exactly what he wanted with those big golden-brown eyes. He was a master of nonverbal manipulation.
Matt stroked his thumb across Paco's forehead. "When you were in town today, did you hear anything about Roman Charsguard?"
Luci clucked her tongue and looked pityingly at Matt. "No, cariño. I didn't ask the people I saw at the store, because I don't know who knows Roman. But Lily told me at the coffee shop on Wednesday that Roman is out of town visiting family. I think, maybe, he really is."
Paco stared up at Matt steadily. "I dunno, Luce. It's been almost two weeks. And I haven't heard a word from him."
"Why would he text you, though? I mean, you're a work colleague, and he's taking vacation time…. Honestly. You worry too much."
But he would contact me, Matt thought. Or… maybe Roman wouldn't. Not with the way it had been between them before Roman left.
Yes. I'm straight.
Matt felt his face heat up and his stomach clench around the recently eaten meal. He couldn't even think about that conversation without feeling sick and embarrassed—and so fucking disappointed.
Luci read his mind. "Oh, Mattie. You need to stop mooning over that guy."
"I am not mooning! I have never mooned in my life. My mind is a moon-free zone."
Luci muttered something in Spanish, which Matt decided he didn't want to translate. She got up and started clearing the table.
"Nope, you cooked. Paco and I have this," Matt said.
Luci smiled and dusted off her hands. "No argument from me, counselor."
She came over to their side of the table, and Matt thought she was going to hug him but, no, the hug, and kiss, went to Paco. Luci skipped happily out of the room. "I'm going to take a walk! Ciao."
Matt looked down at Paco, who watched Luci go, but didn't bother to get up. "That's right. You're a daddy's boy, aren't you? You want to wash or dry?"
Paco, predictably, did neither. But he did offer moral support, lying on the kitchen rug and watching Matt do it.
Matt was definitely going to keep Paco, he decided, as he scrubbed the frying pan. Not that it hadn't been a foregone conclusion since the night Matt had picked a bleeding Paco up in the blanket. The only question was how many rounds of boxing he'd have to win with Luci to keep custody when she went back to Berkley.
He finished the dishes and squatted down next to Paco, his finger toying idly with Paco’s scarred ear. "I wonder what my friend Roman will make of you when he gets back." Not that it really mattered. Matt could run a reptile farm for all the difference it would make to Roman. Work colleagues. That was all.
"I should be looking for him," Matt whispered, more to himself than to the dog. "I should make sure he's okay."
If Roman wasn't back soon, he would. He made that promise to himself and to Roman. Hell, since Paco was lying there staring at him, he made it to Paco too.