You going to drool on that email?
My Red, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have her love me.
The image that flashed into Chance’s mind was vivid and heartbreaking. He’d stopped to rag on Dean when he’d seen him reading the same page over and over. And there had been no doubting the utter sincerity of what he’d said. Chance had only seen that kind of expression on a man’s face once before. And that had been his father, looking at his mother.
And less than a year later, Dean was dead, and his partner in arms maimed. While he had survived to come home, to his family and a safe, quiet life. Too quiet, his mother said, so quiet it was almost empty. He didn’t know how to explain to her that the emptiness wasn’t in what surrounded him, but inside him.
But he’d filled that empty place he brought back with him with this work, the work that meant more to him than anything else. Or maybe it was the only thing that meant anything. He wasn’t sure anymore if there was much difference.
A low whine jogged him out of the memory. And snapped him back to the incredible thing that had happened here. Tri, battered, scarred, scared and fierce, had not only cleared the kennel fence despite his missing foreleg, but he was also utterly fixated on this woman. Not as if she were some new and fascinating being he’d never seen before. Or as if she held the answers to his upended life.
He looked at her as if he knew her.
It was crazy. He could have sworn Dean had said…
Chance had to swallow to clear his throat. Cody, for once, kept quiet, as if he sensed there was something going on here under the surface.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” he asked, gesturing at Tri. “Or he’s seen you?”
Her eyes, those morning sky eyes, flicked to the dog, then back to him. “Never in person. I’ve only ever seen pictures. Videos.”
He stared at her. He’d remembered right—that Dean had said the timing had never worked out for them to meet. Yet Tri, once Atlas, who was so leery of everyone, was practically trembling with eagerness to get to her. To get to this woman he’d never met.
It was crazy. Impossible. Yet here it was.
Tri let out that low whine again, that pleading sound he’d never, ever heard from the dog before.
He’d have to figure it out later. Right now what mattered was Tri, and the astonishing change in him.
“Stay there,” he said to the woman, his voice a bit sharper than he’d meant it to be. But it was crucial this stay under control, for Tri’s sake. “Cody, back off to the truck.”
His little brother recognized it was an order, and in this realm, he was the one who gave them. Cody backed off. The woman—Dean’s wife—frowned, but she didn’t move. Instead, quietly, she asked, “How bad is he?”
Her voice was a low, husky, tingle-creating thing. It was also distracting, which was the last thing he needed right now. But at least she seemed to understand something of what they were dealing with.
Her husband came home in a box. Of course she understands.
“Worst I’ve had come through here,” he said honestly. Then, feeling compelled, he added, “At least he was until this moment.”
“What do I do? Or perhaps a better question, what do I not do?”
“Nothing quick. Just…stay there.” She nodded, a very slight motion.
Chance studied Tri, assessing. He was still practically vibrating with the longing to move. Yet he held. Dean had trained him well.
“Talk to him,” he said to her, before he remembered the weird affect her voice had on him.
She nodded again. And seemed to find nothing odd about the order. In the same quiet voice she began, “Hello, Atl—”
He cut her off as the dog tensed. Chance grabbed his collar, just in case. “He’s Tri now. I’ve found changing their name helps.”
Again she didn’t take offense. Kept her eyes on the dog. “That makes sense. Try?”
The dog’s ears swiveled again.
“Spelled t-r-i,” he said. “Dual meaning.”
“The obvious, tripod, and…?”
“He never stops trying.” He half-shrugged. “Kid named him.”
To his surprise, she glanced at Cody, who was too far away to hear the quiet conversation. Most women didn’t put him in the kid category anymore. Most women took one look at his blond, green-eyed good looks and put him in another category altogether.
But then, most women hadn’t been through what she’d been through.
“Our…foster kid. My brother’s anyway. Lucas. Soon to be our—” He broke off, wondering when on earth he’d become a motormouth. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”
“Not this minute, no,” she agreed. She’d kept her voice to that same quiet, soft, tingling pitch. She seemed to understand the idea was to get the dog used to her voice. “Nor does the why of this.”
So she realized this was unexpected. And she was right; time enough to figure out why it was happening later.
“Go ahead,” he said.
She began again. Soft, lulling. “Hello, Tri. We’ve never met, but I know you. I know what you did, how many you saved, what a hero you are.” The dog was vibrating again and gave Chance a begging sort of look. He kept his grip on the collar. She went on, and he had the crazy thought the grip was as much for him as the dog. “And I know how hard it is, for your life to be turned upside down in an instant. I admire how you’ve adapted, getting over that fence like that. Maybe you could teach me, huh?”
Tri gave a little whine at the question, or the uptilt of her voice at the end. Then Red—no, Mrs. Larson, better to think of her that way—went on. He let it go, let her pour that soothing, soft voice over them both for as long as he could stand it. Then he put up a hand and she stopped.
“Don’t move,” he cautioned. “I’ll let him start toward you but keep hold of him.”
She nodded. He frowned suddenly as he realized she’d never questioned this, any of this. Being used as a test case for a dog he’d considered, up to now, probably unreachable. And potentially dangerous. He should stop this, make sure she knew what she was doing. But then her eyes met his again, and the resolve he saw there was fierce, unwavering. She knew what she was doing, all right. And she was utterly determined to do it.
The moment he allowed Tri to start toward her, the lean, rangy dog’s tail began to wag. Only slightly, and just the tip, uncertainly, but it was there. The only tail signals he’d ever gotten from the animal until now were warnings of one kind or another.
“Can you get down to his level?” he asked her.
“Of course.” She kept the same soft tone in her voice.
“Slowly.”
“Of course,” she repeated.
She did it as he’d asked, slowly, sinking down to her knees, apparently uncaring about dirt or dust. She did it gracefully as well, and he got the feeling almost everything she did would have that air of grace.
“If anything happens, or if I say ‘Now,’ roll up into a ball and put your back to him.”
That got her attention. He saw her swallow, but the determination never wavered. She only nodded again. And as they came nearer, she began to talk again, focused on the dog, not quite cooing but close.
“It’s all right, my beautiful, brave boy. There’s nothing but good for you here, I promise. I’ve waited so long, searched so long for you, so it will be very hard for me not to throw my arms around you, but I know you’re not sure of me, probably not sure of anything, so I won’t, yet.”
It was a lovely, sweet singsong kind of thing, and the dog was responding. The wag became more certain, less tentative, although still not the wild greeting wag of dog to loved one. Chance could feel Tri wanted to move faster but he held on to the collar.
When they got within reach, he made sure he had a strong grip. At the same moment, she said, in that same tone, “I presume I should stay still?”
“Yes.”
He stopped, close enough that the dog could reach, but not so close that he could strike before Chance could stop him. Tri glanced up at him, but he gave him no command. The dog stretched forward again, his nose working fast. And she kept talking in that voice that would probably soothe any scared creature on the planet.
Including you?
Well, that was the craziest thought he’d had in a very long time. He was a lot of things, no doubt including messed up, but scared?
He shook it off, knowing he needed to focus. Tri got within reach. Chance braced himself, ready to yank the dog back at the first sign of aggression. But instead, a small miracle happened.
The scarred, stressed, traumatized dog licked her cheek.