Love at First Bark Read online

  To rely on this scrap of a creature, with her oh-so-trusting eyes and tiny beans for toes, was another thing entirely.

  “Will it really be so hard?” Sophie asked. “To learn to love her?”

  He reared back, unsure if he’d misheard the underlying plea of her words. But one glance at Sophie’s gently furrowed brow and he knew his hearing worked just fine. This woman thought so little of him that she was worried he’d mistreat the animal she was giving over to his care—an animal who had already been subjected to cruelties at the hands of a ruthless puppy mill.

  “We’ll be fine,” he said, knowing the response was inadequate but unsure what else he could say. “Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. At this point, I’ll try anything.”

  “Anything?” she asked, one of her brows lifted in a perfect arch.

  With any other woman, he’d have taken that arch as an invitation—a flirtation not unlike the one attempted on him by the sister with the wavy hair, Dawn. Not so with Sophie. Not now that he was coming to realize just how much Oscar had betrayed him.

  That scurrilous bastard. His longtime supervisor and friend could have easily saddled him with one of dozens of providers who matched people with service dogs and lived to tell the tale. But he hadn’t. He’d flipped through his ancient Rolodex and landed on this slip of a woman who made him feel like a bull in the entire goddamn china factory.

  In other words, he’d known exactly what he was doing.

  “Anything within reason,” he amended, one wary eye on Sophie, the other on the puppy. Call him paranoid, but giving the pair of them an open invitation to make demands of him seemed like a bad idea.

  Mostly because he had the sinking sensation he’d do it—that all-encompassing, terrifying anything.

  “Define ‘reason,’” she said.

  “I know it’s all the rage, but I refuse to have anything to do with dog sweaters,” he said. “I think they’re ridiculous. It’s like putting a sock on a potato.”

  Sophie’s lower lip dropped a fraction. He didn’t know her well enough to say whether it was surprise or indignation that caused it, but she nodded her agreement anyway. “Noted. No sweaters on dogs, and no socks on potatoes. Is that, um, a thing you’ve seen before? With the potatoes?”

  Not surprise. Not indignation. She was laughing again.

  “That includes raincoats, hats, and those little boots I’ve seen dogs wear on TV,” he added, reluctantly pleased by way her eyes lit up.

  “You hate any type of clothes on dogs and root vegetables. Got it.”

  “In the spirit of full disclosure, I hate clothes on regular vegetables too.”

  “I had no idea a man could have such strong opinions on produce. What else is off-limits? Tattoos on fruit? Bread with dentures?”

  He opened his mouth to continue his litany of things he refused to have anything to do with—up to and including women who mocked him with their eyes—but decided against it. Some people claimed the things he didn’t like in this world far outnumbered the things he did like, but one thing was for sure.

  He liked Sophie Vasquez.

  The thought dropped on him from out of nowhere, all pleasant and squishy and warm. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with that feeling. Ball it up? Shove it deep down? Lay it out on the grass and roll in it?

  That last one didn’t sound too terrible, actually, which was why it was a good thing Bubbles chose that moment to yap and spin in a circle. Turning as one, he and Sophie shifted their attention to the puppy, the moment of easy friendliness disappearing as quickly as it had come.

  “So, what happens next?” he asked, careful to keep any but the blandest of emotions out of his voice. “Training-wise, I mean?”

  He was rewarded for his pains with a long, careful look and a plastic bag that looked to contain some sort of brown pellets.

  She nodded toward it. “Dog treats.”

  “Wait. Treats? But when I gave her that granola bar, you—”

  “Table scraps and human foods are a big no-no, but treats during basic training are fine. In fact, you’ll find them necessary if you want to get any real results.”

  “I will?”

  “She’s a great dog, but she still needs encouragement every now and then. Most of us do.” That long, careful look became downright intense, but she moved on before he could come up with a suitable reply. “She’s ready to learn scent alerts, and we’ll start those within the next few days, but you’ll still need to reinforce rudimentary behaviors.”

  When he still didn’t say anything, she added, “Sit. Stay. Heel. Down. Come.”

  Despite the gentle rap of her words—or maybe because of them—Harrison felt compelled to follow each of those commands as she uttered them. Which was a dangerous thing for a lot of reasons, but mostly because those last few held decidedly sexual undertones.

  When he didn’t say anything other than to grunt a noncommittal sound, she added, “I’ve been working with her on those since she arrived, but it’ll be better for the rest to come from you.”

  “But I don’t know how—”

  “I’ll come over to your house every day, of course. It’s part of our process. For the first few weeks, Bubbles and I will be on the job from nine to five. Once we move to more intense training, we’ll vary the schedule so it includes some nights.”

  So many parts of that plan blinked red and warning in Harrison’s vision. Every day? Nights? His house?

  The last one caused the biggest flash. His house wasn’t a place he’d willingly bring a woman like Sophie. Hell, he could barely stand being there himself.

  “Oscar never mentioned anything about that,” he said, taking a wide step back. The distance seemed necessary. With any luck, the earth would open up between them and he could fall through to the other side. “Can’t we just do it here?”

  “Bubbles has to learn in the environment where she’ll be spending most of her time,” Sophie said. “It’s not really optional, I’m afraid. That’s kind of the thing that makes Puppy Promise what it is. Each dog is personally selected and trained for the individual.”

  It was impossible to argue with that. A highly trained and specialized animal was exactly what this was supposed to be all about. He clamped down on his tongue and stretched a tight smile across his face. “Sure. That will be fine.”

  His attempts at moderation didn’t go over as well as he’d hoped. Sophie’s expression fell. “Oscar didn’t explain this very well, did he?”

  Actually, Oscar hadn’t explained it at all. As soon as Harrison had checked himself out of the hospital—against the doctor’s recommendation—he’d walked out to find Oscar sitting in his sleek black Suburban like a limo driver. “Get in or I’m putting you behind a desk,” he’d said. The rest of the conversation had followed much along the same lines.

  Take care of yourself or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Get a service dog or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Get a service dog from this place I’ve already selected and laid out tens of thousands dollars for or I’m putting you behind a desk.

  Service dogs didn’t come cheap, but Harrison’s dignity did.

  “Does this mean Bubbles is coming home with me tonight?” he asked warily.

  Sophie glanced at the thin silver watch on her wrist and nodded. “It’s a little past five now. She’s officially off duty. Not,” she added in a warning tone, “that this means you can indulge in her every whim. Just get her used to you and your house. Make her comfortable. See if she’ll sit for you. There’s a box of supplies in the kennel for you to take home as well as a list of directions about her feeding times and quantities. You can grab it on your way out.”

  It was as good as a dismissal. Harrison would have been relieved to hear it if not for the fact that Bubbles sat at his feet, awaiting events with the air of o
ne resigned to an unpleasant fate.

  “She won’t hurt you, Mr. Pa—I mean, Harrison.” Sophie blushed as she spoke, as if surprised at her own daring. “Just be nice to her, and she’ll come around.”

  Being nice wasn’t something Harrison excelled at. In fact, being nice was usually the last quality anyone associated with him.

  “What if she doesn’t?” he asked.

  “I’m still not giving you the Great Dane.”

  He was startled into another one of those laughs that felt so foreign. “Don’t worry. I learned that lesson already. Size and stability aren’t for me. Instead, I get…” He glanced down at Bubbles and tried to think of the least offensive way to phrase it.

  It was more difficult than he thought.

  “You get intelligence and devotion,” Sophie supplied for him. The note of steel was back in her voice, daring him to argue. “You get a beautiful little nugget who will risk her life to keep you safe.”

  “A beautiful little nugget,” he echoed doubtfully.

  Nuggets and raisins.

  This was going to be so much worse than he’d thought.

  Chapter 4

  Nothing in the instructions told him how he was supposed to transport Bubbles home.

  Bags of food, water dishes, leashes, harnesses, even a minuscule red training vest he side-eyed harder than he’d ever side-eyed anything in his life were there in abundance. But there was no crate or any sort of pad he could set on the floor.

  “Are you supposed to ride in the back?” he asked, casting a doubtful glance at the bed of his rusted pickup truck. Even without all the tools and fire equipment back there, he doubted the puppy would be very comfortable. For all he knew, the wind would blow her away like a tumbleweed. “I’ll probably get in trouble for this, but I guess you’re sitting next to me. Don’t tell Sophie, okay? She might yell at me again, and I don’t like it when she yells at me.”

  Bubbles blinked up at him. Harrison took it as agreement.

  Throughout his life, he’d heard every kind of insult and every kind of criticism that could be leveled at a man for whom talking to people was a curse. None of it stacked up to Sophie gently questioning his ability to own a dog. Caring for a puppy was something normal people did every day. Puppies provided love, affection, all those things you were supposed to feel when something small and precious wriggled its way into your life.

  In other words, all those things that he’d always lacked. Which was fine, in the general way of things. Love and affection had never been his strong points, and he knew it.

  But the fact that Sophie knew it and on less than a day’s acquaintance…

  “I’m not going to buckle you in, but you have to promise to sit perfectly still,” he commanded. He set Bubbles down on the cracked vinyl seat and slid in next to her. Since it seemed as good a time as any to try out those training commands, he gave her a stern look and said, “Stay.”

  The puppy’s response was to leap nimbly into his lap and stare up at him. Her paws made almost no indentation on his leg, her weight so slight he hardly felt it. She was warm though—a little ball of heat pressed against him.

  Since his body temperature usually registered cold due to the lowered amounts of insulin in his blood, he kind of liked it. But, “No, no, no,” he said, his voice deep and firm. “That’s not how this is supposed to work. You sit next to me.”

  He set her aside once more only to have her leap into his lap again, this time with a nervous shake to her little body. He remembered what Sophie had said, that Bubbles was still skittish, and gave in. She might be able to tell this poor, quivering dog to behave herself or else, but Harrison wasn’t that strong.

  “Only this one time, okay?” he said as Bubbles licked gratefully at his hand. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, pausing to check on the puppy’s response as the V6 engine roared to life. “And you have to sit quietly and behave like a lady, or I’ll end up driving us both off the highway.”

  She did neither of those things. Sitting seemed to be beyond her as all the glories of the world passed them by, and no lady he’d ever known would have been lolling her tongue out the open window as though she’d never tasted fresh air before.

  The Vasquez domicile was located in the heart of Spokane, which meant that it wasn’t too bad, having a tiny puppy hanging out his truck window while the speed limits remained well within the thirty mile per hour range. As he hit the highway leading north, however, which provided him with the quick, half-hour commute to Deer Park, the speeds increased dramatically.

  Too dramatically.

  He cast one anxious glance down at the puppy in his lap and touched the brakes. Veering quickly to the right, he turned onto a side road that demanded all drivers amble along at twenty miles per hour or risk heavy fines.

  A car coming the opposite direction honked, startling them both. With a light curse, Harrison dropped his left hand and held Bubbles around the dainty bones of her ankles to keep her in place.

  “Don’t you dare jump out when I’m not looking,” he warned.

  The only answer Bubbles gave was a happy twitch of her nose.

  “What has that woman been doing to you, anyway?” he muttered. “You don’t get any snacks, she never takes you on fun road trips, you have to put in eight hours of hard work a day…”

  Bubbles turned and licked his face before resuming her windswept survey of the scenery around her.

  Which was why it ended up taking him well over an hour to pull up the dirt drive that led to his house.

  “All right, you minx,” he said as he slowed the truck. There was a light coating of dust over Bubbles’s fur, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. “We’re finally here.”

  He didn’t know whether it was him speaking that spurred her to realize it, or if the stopping vehicle tipped her off, but she leaped off his lap. Whatever else had happened in her short life, she knew what was coming next.

  Home.

  Except home was hardly the word he would have chosen to describe the decaying heap of wood and concrete that greeted him as he swung open the truck door. Sure, the huge, rambling farmhouse had walls and a roof, and it was filled with childhood memories that no amount of time would be able to erase. But to Harrison, it had never been anything more than a place to rest his head. In fact, he’d have gladly consigned the whole thing to flames if it weren’t for the fact that he spent his life fighting against that very thing.

  Some things are meant to burn.

  “Well, Bubbles. This is it. Home sweet home.” He lifted the puppy and gently set her on the ground. It was still early enough that he didn’t fear the raccoon under the porch coming out to make friends, so he didn’t bother with a leash. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Bubbles took one look at the unfamiliar surroundings and latched herself onto his leg.

  Or his foot, rather. She didn’t reach very high.

  “You can’t stand there, or I’ll step on you. Is that what you want? To be crushed underfoot?”

  The answer, apparently, was yes. As he moved to the truck bed and hoisted the box of doggie supplies, Bubbles remained stubbornly near his toes. It didn’t bode well for their future together. When Harrison was on the job, he barely had time to remember his own name, let alone worry about his service animal running under the stomping feet of several dozen firefighters.

  And what would happen if she got caught in a tangle of fiery underbrush or stuck behind a felled tree? It wouldn’t take more than a twig to knock the poor creature down.

  “I’ll bet Sophie didn’t even think about that,” he said, oddly triumphant. “She has no idea what it’s like to be out in the trenches.”

  “Who the hell are you talking to?” an irascible voice called from the front porch. “Have you gone and lost your mind on top of everything else?”

  “No, Dad.” Harrison scoop
ed Bubbles up and placed her inside the box of supplies. The soothing scent of a twenty-pound bag of puppy chow seemed to bring her commensurate happiness, so she stayed put. “I’m talking to my new dog.”

  “Eh? You really went through with that?”

  Harrison trudged up the steps to find his father standing in the doorway, looking like an extension of the house in faded overalls and a work-worn shirt. As he also had a red-stained apron tied around his waist, it was an interesting picture. “I don’t have a choice, unfortunately. Oscar won’t let me go back to work unless I play along.”

  “What’d you get?” His dad leaned to peer around him, a frown crossing his grizzled face when no frisky Great Dane followed in his wake. “Huh. It must not like you. Damn thing ran away already.”

  “No, she didn’t.” He turned the box so the puppy’s tiny head faced his father. “Dad, meet Bubbles. My new lifeline.”

  To be fair, his dad’s response was about a hundred times better than his own had been. Hearty, chest-heaving laughter might not be the ideal reaction to a service dog, but at least his dad retained the capability of speech.

  “That’s not a dog,” he said between wheezing laughs. “That’s a rat in a Halloween costume.”

  Bubbles, unaware that her appearance was being denigrated in the extreme, panted a friendly hello.

  “She’s a Pomeranian,” Harrison explained. “They’re very good at scent detection, apparently. And according to my, uh, handler, she’s also very portable.”

  “What? Are you going to carry her around in your pocket?”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Except for the part where she’d fall out the first time he bent over to dig a ditch.

  “I haven’t worked through the logistics yet.”