Courting Chloe (Hudson Valley Heroes Book 1) (8 page)

“No. Not a bribe. A learning tool. The treat lets him know he did the right thing. That’s really what dog training is about. We reinforce the behavior we want, correct or ignore the behavior we don’t want.”

Ian didn’t seem entirely convinced—not unusual, as many clients equated treats with bribes—but he followed her direction nonetheless. He called the remaining three dogs forward and repeated the process in turn: cue, praise, reward.

Chloe shot a glance at Preston. “What do you think, Preston? You ready to let them have a friendly sniff?”

Preston’s brow furrowed as he studied the dogs. He worried his bottom lip, hesitating. Chloe sympathized. Not only was Preston unfamiliar with dogs, he was relatively small for his age. Every dog there outweighed him by a good ten to twenty pounds. Despite her reassurance, the dogs must look intimidating as hell to him.

“They won’t bite?” he asked.

“No. I promise they won’t bite you.” Each of the eight dogs in their ring had been extensively temperament-tested to serve pediatric patients. Not only were they naturally calm by nature, unruffled by shouts and laughter, running kids and bouncing balls, they had each demonstrated a genuine affection for young children.

“Okay,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “The one with the purple collar can come smell me.”

Chloe scanned the group. Purple. “Oh. That’s Prince. Good choice, Preston. We’ll start with him.” She squatted down beside the boy. Preston’s entire body trembled with fear, but his blue eyes blazed with determination.
Tough kid,
she thought approvingly. He had more grit than his uncle gave him credit for. She looped a reassuring arm around his waist, subtly encouraging him to lean into her, rather than Ian, and repeated the instructions. Hand out, palm up. Call Prince’s name, give the cue. 

Preston followed her directions and Prince’s ears immediately perked up. The golden retriever mix gave an excited wag of his tail. For an instant, Chloe worried the dog might break protocol and come bounding over, but his training held firm—better than that, actually. Sensing the boy’s nervousness, the big dog approached slowly and from the side, dogspeak to indicate he meant no harm. His body was low to the ground, his ears pressed softly against his skull, his tail arcing in a lazy, happy wag. He gave Preston’s palm a thorough sniff, and then looked up at the boy as if to ask a question.
Is this okay?

Preston giggled in response. “That tickles.”

Chloe couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction. “It does, doesn’t it?” She gave Preston a light squeeze, then pressed a dog treat into his hand. “And if you think that tickles, wait until you try this.” She guided Preston through the praise-and-reward part. Preston’s giggle turned to laughter as Prince happily licked the treat from his palm.

“Good dog,” Preston said, clumsily patting him on the head.

She sent Prince back to wait with his canine buddies and kept the lesson moving. “All right, Preston. Let’s try another one. How about Jett?” Preston followed her direction, and the pretty black lab trotted forward eagerly.

They worked the dogs for over an hour, moving from scent to sit, and then playing a light game of retrieval with a bouncy yellow ball. In other words, just getting to know each other. And although that might appear a waste of time, it was anything but. This first step was crucial—often the difference between a dog that failed and was returned to the program, versus one that became an unshakable source of love and support, was made at this stage.

A canine assistance dog was expected to stay by his person’s side around the clock. That was a whole lot of togetherness. And while the performance of key tasks could be taught, that magical spark that existed between human and beast, that connection that broke interspecies bounds, was innate. Either a dog and his owner clicked, or they didn’t.

It was matchmaking time, and Chloe already had a pretty strong hunch which way that might go. She sent the dogs off to get a well-deserved drink, then turned to Preston.

“It looks like Prince wants to be your friend, doesn’t it?”

Preston gave a shy, pleased smile. “He likes me.”

“I think he does, too,” Chloe said. Then, “Before we take a little break, do you remember something you said earlier this morning about a dog shaking hands?”

Preston’s smile faded. Correctly sensing what might be coming next, he looked away and shrugged.

“How’d you like to shake Prince’s paw?” she pressed.

The boy’s pale brow furrowed. He edged closer to Ian. “Do I have to?” he asked.

“Nope,” she replied. “Not if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be a good way to let him know you’d like to be friends.”

Preston swung his anxious gaze to his uncle.

“Up to you, buddy,” Ian said. “But he seems like a pretty nice dog to me.”

Thank you.
Once again, Ian’s response had been perfect. Encourage, but don’t push. Let the choice be Preston’s. The silence stretched as Preston considered. Finally, summoning all his courage, he tentatively held out one small, pale hand.

Chloe squatted on her heels and wrapped a reassuring arm around the boy’s waist. “Prince, Come.” Once the dog was in position, directly in front of Preston, she said, “Prince, Shake.”

Prince shook his entire body, as though he’d just emerged from a pool of water, eliciting a delighted giggle from Preston.

Chloe slapped her forehead in mock distress. “Oops, my fault. I goofed, didn’t I? I guess I shouldn’t have said,
Prince, Shake
.”

Prince enthusiastically shook again. Preston’s giggle turned into a soft burst of laughter.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Chloe cried, as if suddenly remembering the cue. “I know, I know. Here’s what I meant to say: Prince,
Greet.”

The retriever obediently sat, lifted his right paw, and extended it toward Preston.

Preston considered Prince for a long moment. Then his shy, pleased smile returned. “Okay,” he said softly. “I guess we can be friends.” He reached out and lightly shook the dog’s paw.

Prince quivered with pleasure, his tail wagging frantically, his big brown eyes brimming with adoration. Chloe’s heart gave a happy twist. After lunch they would rotate through the remaining four pediatric canine candidates, but as far as she was concerned, the choice had just been made.

Sometimes it took an entire week to narrow the field down to the one or two dogs that were the most suitable. Sometimes it was love at first pet.

Chapter Eight

Ian hung up his phone, stowed it in his pocket, and glanced toward the training ring. He’d stepped away in deference to one of the camp’s inviolable rules: the ring was a tech-free zone. No cell phones, laptops, hand-held games, or other devices that would detract from the business of working with the dogs were allowed.

It was late Friday afternoon, almost quitting time. He’d paused beneath the deep golden leaves of a mature poplar. He’d only been gone for fifteen minutes—rarely did he leave Preston’s side for longer than that—but in the interim their daily routine had dramatically changed.

When he’d left, Chloe had been working one-on-one with Preston, teaching him the proper way to guide Prince on a leash. Matt and his family had been on the opposite end of the ring working on retrieval exercises with a bright young Staffordshire terrier mix. Now Matt and his family were absent. Having taken their place in the ring was Angie, the attractive brunette with MS, three of her canine candidates and her trainer, Sara. Joining them was Chuck, the Iraq war veteran, his canine candidates, and his trainer, Luke.

Luke. Ian fought back a surge of annoyance. He was a decent enough guy, Ian supposed. And yet he couldn’t help but resent his presence there. He considered Ring Three
his
space. Reserved for him, Preston, Chloe, Matt, Matt’s parents, and their trainer, Joe. The sudden change unsettled him. It couldn’t be good for Preston, either. His nephew needed structure, calm, and consistency. His gaze moved to Preston, as though seeking to validate that thought. But unlike him, the boy appeared to be taking the interruption to their routine in stride and was happily engaged watching Prince romp with the other dogs.

Huh. Ian was about to return to the ring when the sound of rustling leaves alerted him that he had company. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Matt wheeling his chair toward him, his Staffordshire terrier trotting by his side. Another first. Ian had spoken to Matt’s parents (in that brittle, strained, ‘we’re all in this together’ bullshit speak that guardians of disabled kids seemed to prefer, but Ian privately loathed), but he and the teen had rarely exchanged anything more than a curt nod and a quick ‘
morning’
. Apparently that was going to change, too.

“Hey,” Matt said, gliding to a stop beside him.

“Hey,” Ian returned.

“What’s up?”

“Not much.”

Matt nodded and scanned the three working rings. “Hudson Valley Canine Assistance Camp,” he said with a disdainful snort. “They oughta change the name to The Place You Come When Your Life Totally and Completely Sucks. Just look around. Everyone here is a total freak, including me.”

Ian arched a reproving brow. “I don’t consider myself a freak, and neither is my nephew.”

The teen shrugged. “I guess it’s just me then.” His pale brown hair was too long. It constantly flopped in his eyes, necessitating an endless head-tossing motion. He wore torn jeans, combat boots, a vintage black leather jacket that was two sizes too large, and a pair of black leather gloves fitted with tiny silver spikes at each knuckle. Ian gave an inward shudder. Was the punk look back already? Barbara would have known. Hell, Barbara and Matt would probably be fast friends by now. Ian couldn’t even figure out how to carry on a conversation with the kid.

Matt cracked his knuckles, then tilted his chin toward Preston. “What’s wrong with the little dude, anyway?”

“Car accident. His brain was injured. Now he suffers from random, violent seizures.”

“Oh, yeah? That sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Is that gonna be for the rest of his life? Like me and this chair?”

“The doctors can’t say for sure. Maybe.”

“Hmm. That sucks, too.” Matt idly rocked his wheelchair back and forth, thinking things over. “So that’s gonna be his dog? Prince?”

Ian returned his attention to the ring. Prince was stretched out at Preston’s feet, tongue lolling, his jaw relaxed in what appeared to be the canine equivalent of a satisfied smile for day’s work well done. “Looks like it,” he replied. He tilted his head toward the muscular brindle standing beside Matt’s wheelchair. “What about you two?”

Matt reached down and gave the dog a one-armed hug. “Yeah, I figure I might as well keep him. I mean, who else would want this ugly beast?”

“That one’s Billy, right?”

“Billy?” Matt grimaced. “Hell no. I mean, that’s the name they gave him here, but there’s no way I’m calling him that. Billy Idol. Give me a break. His music—”

“Let me guess: sucks.”

Matt paused. “I guess I do say that a lot.” He thought for a moment, then shot Ian a conspiratorial grin. “It drives my parents totally batshit.”

That was it. Ian hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, but now he realized that was what was missing. Normally Matt’s parents stuck closer to their son than his own shadow. He glanced around, surprised.

“I ditched ‘em,” Matt confirmed, correctly interpreting the look. “I bet they’re in full panic mode by now. Probably convinced I fell out of my chair and can’t get up, or some shit. Like I’m totally helpless without them.” He worked his knuckles again, cracking them loudly—a habit Ian was coming to understand was used to soothe his nerves. Everything about the kid was twitchy. “I’m seventeen. What do they think? They’re going to follow me everywhere I go for the rest of my life?”

“Maybe they just care about—”

“Screw that. I mean, I get that, but the worst thing that could happen to me already has. It’s too late. Hello! Look, everybody! I’m the freak in a wheelchair! Yeah, I made a stupid mistake. But that doesn’t mean I have to be the freak in the wheelchair whose parents follow him everywhere he goes.” Matt worked his jaw, his youthful face—not even a hint of a whisker yet—contorted with bitterness. “I’m
seventeen
. Seven-fucking-teen.”

Ian waited a beat, considering his response. There didn’t seem to be a good one. Telling the kid he wasn’t a freak, while true, would only come off as patronizing. He was similarly out of his depth when it came to rationalizing Matt’s parents’ behavior. Convincing the teen that his parents clung to him so closely because they really cared was so outside his realm of experience he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. So he veered the conversation in an entirely different direction.

“You ditched them, huh? What’d you do—outrun ‘em?”

Shocked surprise flitted across Matt’s face, then he gave a rough laugh. He tossed back his hair and smiled. “Very funny. Screw you, too.”

The teen’s emotional peaks and valleys reminded Ian of a rollercoaster. Would Preston be like that one day? God, he hoped not. He was already exhausted, and they’d spent less than five minutes talking.

“Hey. Watch this.” Moving abruptly, Matt drew his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and lightly chucked it on the ground. The pit bull dove for it, clamped his strong jaws around the instrument, and then gently dropped it in Matt’s lap. “Cool, huh? Joe sent my parents into town to run an errand. They need to find me a new phone case. Preferably one that’s slobber-proof.”

As he spoke, he used his jeans to wipe the drool from his phone. He reached into the nylon bag affixed to the arm of his chair and fed the dog a few treats, praising and stroking him as he did. “Good boy,” he said. “Good Get It.”

“What are you calling him?” Ian asked.

Matt tossed the last treat in the air, smiling as the dog snatched it up. Then he grimaced and fanned the air in front of his face. “He should be Hal, as in Halitosis.” He shrugged. “Joe said I could change his name, but it had to be something related to music, and something that sounded like Billy, so I wouldn’t confuse him.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah. So I’m going with Beastie, as in the Beastie Boys. Now their music totally kicks ass. Plus, the name suits him. Isn’t that right, Beastie?” A mischievous light entered Matt’s eyes. He paused, glancing at Ian. “Want to see his latest trick?”

“Sure.”

Matt leaned forward and made a looping motion with his index finger. “Hey, Beastie, Show Off Your Balls.” The dog obediently went into a Down, rolled onto his back and rocked back and forth for a moment, then sprang back up and waited for his treat. Matt obligingly provided a few more kibble bits, and then grinned up at Ian. “It’s supposed to be Roll Over, but what can I say, the guy’s got a set.”

“Good to see you’re using your time here productively.”

“Joe doesn’t mind, as long as we’re working. He’s actually pretty Zen about everything. He reminds me a little bit of Beastie here. He looks like a bad ass, but underneath it he’s a total softie.”

Ian swung his gaze back to the training ring. He’d meant to check on Preston, but his attention was arrested instead by Chloe. She was leaning against the rail, laughing at something Luke said. Her head was tilted back, exposing the long column of her throat. The slanting sunlight added a rich coppery sheen to her hair. She’d been working hard all day, and her exertion showed—her skin fairly glowed.

Ian felt his breath catch.
Mine.
That single word reverberated through him. Once again, he battled a desperate urge to touch her in some way. Nothing too obvious. Just the briefest of contact—the brush of his shoulder against hers, the touch of his hand on top of her arm. Something.

Luke caught his glance. He held Ian’s gaze for a second, and then, with a look that could only be described as satisfied smirk, shifted forward and snaked his arm around Chloe to whisper something in her ear.

Ian shifted. His hands fisted, but he caught the motion and forced himself to relax. Unclench. Absolutely not. He would not engage in any macho bullshit. He’d spent too many years working bars to allow himself to be baited into a testosterone-fueled game of
Let’s Piss Off The Bouncer
. That said, he did enjoy watching as Chloe pulled back and gave Luke a friendly, but advance-deflecting smile.

Matt cracked his knuckles. “You should kick his ass.”

“What?”

“You should totally get in there and kick his ass.” He sized up Ian, and then gave a curt nod. “You could do it, too.”

Ian didn’t miss the wistfulness in Matt’s gaze, the boy’s fleeting acknowledgement of what he might have been if not for the accident that put him in his wheelchair. A better man would have addressed that. But since Ian wasn’t a better man, and God knew he was hardly in a position to give life lessons (just look at the train wreck he’d made of his own life) he took the easy way out. He leaned his shoulder against the poplar’s smooth trunk and folded his arms across his chest, regarding Matt steadily.

“Now why would I want to do that?”

“C’mon, man,” the teen scoffed, “I’ve seen you two together. It’s pretty obvious that—” He broke off abruptly and glanced to his left. “Oh, shit. Here come my parents. I gotta hide. See ya.”

Ian watched Matt wheel his chair away, Beastie trotting companionably by his side.
It’s pretty obvious that what?
he wondered. He didn’t have time to pursue the train of thought, which was probably just as well. Better to forgo the adolescent fantasies. Matt might still be in high school, but he definitely wasn’t.

Chloe, Preston, and Prince left the training ring and walked toward him. Actually, Preston and Prince
bounded
toward him, radiating happy energy, while Chloe followed a step or two behind them. That was new, too, Ian thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Preston so relaxed—acting like a normal, healthy, seven-year-old boy.

“Guess what, Uncle Ian? Chloe says that Prince can come home with us and even sleep in my room tonight!”

“Is that right?” his gaze flicked to Chloe.

“Yep.” She smiled. “It’s a pretty big step, but I think we’re good to go. Preston and Prince. Sounds like a good team, doesn’t it?”

“Hear that? We get to keep him!” Preston stood with his arms wrapped around Prince’s neck, his excitement palpable. Adoration for the dog shone in his eyes.

Ian absorbed the news, even enjoyed it for a second or two, before doubt and tension, his ever-faithful companions, settled on his shoulders like fifty pound weights. Uneasiness swirled through his gut. His mistake, unforeseen until that instant, was suddenly glaringly obvious. He’d come here expecting to find a service animal and take it home. In his mind, that dog would be nothing more than a medical tool, a useful extension of Preston’s treatment. Obviously there was an emotional component he hadn’t considered.

What if this didn’t work? What if Prince wasn’t the right dog for him? What if he was just setting Preston up for another loss? That would only lead to more disappointment, more heartache.

“Just like that, huh?” he said, looking at Chloe. “Prince is the one? Shouldn’t we try out more dogs?”

“I guess we could, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I like what I see between these two.”

He mulled that over, studying the dog with more than a little concern. “What is he, anyway?”

“You mean his breed? Retriever mix, but that’s just a guess.” Smiling, she bent down and stroked Prince’s chest. “Prince is one of the special ones,” she said. “Sara and Bowie found him at the transfer station outside of town, rummaging through a dumpster for food. Poor thing was such a mess—covered with fleas and ticks, scratches, and so skinny… just pitiful. Sara brought him back here and cleaned him up, intending to fatten him up before turning him over to the local shelter.”