Shelter Me (4 page)

And therein was the reason the attraction could only be physical. She had no intention of falling for Sergeant Tall, Dark and Rowdy.

A shoulder bumped hers as a couple flung their arms around each other, reunion in full emotional swing. Reminding her what it felt like to have Mike’s mouth against her ear, singing husky soft love songs as his lips roamed over her, luring her . . .

Hold it together.

She prepared what to say to him next, some polite cluster of words. She would be poised and in control of her words. Except even poetry escaped her, leaving her with little more than “Humpty Dumpty.”

Then Mike turned away before she could talk and spoke to her mother. “Mrs. McDaniel, he wanted . . .” His voice cracked even as his hulking shoulders stayed braced, guitar slung over his back. “The Colonel wanted you to have his dog. He talked of you often, and I . . . I wish I could say something other than I am so sorry he’s gone. Everyone liked and respected him. He is missed, very much.”

Lacey smiled with that forgiving and understanding way of hers that Sierra hadn’t come close to mastering. Her mom’s tangled light brown curls were tossed in the wind as messy as this whole crazy reunion, but Lacey kept her cool. How could someone be so emotional and so poised at the same time?

“Mike, thank you. You don’t need to say anything more. Your being here is enough. Allen would be happy that Trooper is home with us.” Lacey hugged Mike once, hard, holding for a second before taking in a shaky breath. “Let’s meet this special fella.”

Kneeling, she offered her hand for the dog to sniff before stroking his head. Her eyes glazed with unshed tears, but her ease with the strange dog was unmistakable. Her mom had a Dr. Dolittle gift.

“Nathan,” Lacey called up to her son, waving him closer as he returned with a plain hot dog in hand. “Come say hello to Trooper.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Her brother dragged his feet, new deck shoes scuffing and showing bony, sockless ankles. His pants and shirt hung on his body like they’d been draped haphazardly over a coat hanger too small to hold them.

Nathan was a walking, sulking poster kid for “got bullied, went psycho.”

Cameras clicked all around them. Nathan scowled. Mike winced at each flash. But the media kept right on recording. Her mom’s smile was front page worthy with just the right amount of shimmering tears and a nostalgic smile.

The press would write their feel-good piece about a rescued Iraqi dog and a fallen veteran. Everybody would pat themselves on the back for empathizing. The story would probably go viral in some social network.

But no one would stick around to get Nathan from school early when he landed in the middle of another fight or search the neighborhood when Gramps wandered off.

“Sierra?” Her mother glanced up, wind tearing at her light brown spiral curls. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Let’s give him his treat before he takes off someone’s hand.” She plucked the hot dog from her brother and really looked at the mutt for the first time. She’d seen photos but somehow she’d expected something . . . bigger. Scarier maybe? Or a magnificent beast.

Instead, a medium-sized tan and brown dog with short hair and a black nose soaked up more ear scratches from her grandfather. With his long, lanky puppy legs, the mutt looked like some kind of smaller version of a Lab/shepherd mix. Mostly, he just looked like . . . a regular dog.

The stab of disappointment surprised her. She didn’t see her father’s phantom presence or feel his touch on her shoulder in some other-earthly way. Until this moment she hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped to find a mystical connection to her dad.

Kneeling, she pinched off pieces of the hot dog and passed them to the dog one at a time while he stared back at her with those dark brown eyes that seemed to look right through her. Her throat squeezed tight. She just wanted to finish this and go home. Even milking the goat would be preferable to being at an Army post with her tall father’s silvery blond head and big smile nowhere in sight.

The cameras went on hyper speed and the questions rolled out, all tangled together as she fed Trooper the last bite.

“Your grandfather was a General . . .”

“How is your family holding up?”

“What’s the dog’s name?”

“General McDaniel, how do you feel about your son’s brave service to his country?”

The reporter jammed a microphone in her grandfather’s face so fast his eyes went wild with that freaked-out PTSD look. Sierra searched for an escape route, or at the very least a distraction. This would be an opportune time for the dog to go berserk again.

Please, Lord, don’t let Grandpa go Clint Eastwood on them. He did that a lot these days, compensating for confusion with a make-my-day rage. The explosive anger cost them a flat-screen TV last week.

Standing, she shot Mike a pleading look. “We should take care of the paperwork or something.”

Mike’s smile went tight. “Right. General? If you’ll lead the way, sir, I can in-process.”

“Roger that, Sergeant.” Gramps started humming, his feet picking up marching pace a second before he started bellowing. “I was born in the back woods, raised by a bear . . . Gotta double bone jaw and four coats of hair . . . Got cast iron balls and a big steel rod . . . I’m a mighty paratrooper. I’m Airborne by God.”

*   *   *

BY GOD, MIKE
just wanted this day to be over.

He felt the Sergeant Major’s eyes boring into his back as Mike helped walk Trooper to the dusty SUV covered in paw magnets. At least the Sergeant Major could be trusted to hold off—for now—since going ballistic in front of the press wouldn’t look good.

No question, the media was eating this up from behind the ropes, snapping photos even as Lacey tried to hustle the General into the vehicle before he shouted something else censor worthy. Mike kept Trooper reined in tighter now, close to his leg while Nathan jogged ahead to open the back hatch, exposing the crate. Head low, the teenager ducked into the vehicle without a word.

Mike picked up the pace. He would have to in-process soon—should be doing that now. But since he was already up to his ass in trouble, might as well dive the rest of the way.

A familiar place for him.

“Sierra, I emailed your mom about Trooper’s habits and stuff that should make his transition into a new home easier—”

“Oh,” Sierra interrupted with an over-wide smile, “you noticed I’m here.”

She was pissed? Interesting.

He’d been so focused on delivering the dog and trying not to drool all over her he’d missed her mood. “You expected more from me back there? Surely not a reunion kiss.”

“Don’t play games with me, not today.” She was short, but her legs ate up the ground fast. Sierra had a Tinker Bell look to her, not that she liked it much when he’d made the comparison.

“I’d hoped passing over Trooper could be more low-key for everyone’s sake.”

She glanced up sharply, concern in her sky blue eyes. “Will you get in trouble for this?”

“I’m not the first to bring back a dog from overseas. I won’t be the last.” He paused and slid his duffel from his shoulder. He unzipped it and pulled out an envelope of papers. “For Trooper. His records. They’ve been scanned and sent to your mother, but these are the originals. He has his vaccinations, although he still needs to be neutered. Everything’s in order for him to be in the country.”

She tugged the envelope from him without touching. Too precisely to be anything but deliberate avoidance. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He closed his hand over hers. “I’ve dodged trouble my whole life. I learned from the best thanks to my grandma.” He squeezed her hand and wanted more. No surprise. “I’ll weather any storm. And you? How are you holding up?”

She tugged her hand away. “I’m fine.”

Fine? Such a lame word. Sierra was smoking hot as always, but clearly exhausted, grieving. And angry at him. Nothing new there. Regardless, his part in this was done. He’d handed over the dog. His last connection to the Colonel—to Sierra—was severed.

As Mike leaned in, he caught a whiff of her citrus scent. Such an enticing air mixed with memories. Except a roar of an engine brought the memories rolling back of other scents, ones from his last moments with the Colonel.

His gut twisted. How the hell did memories have smells? Because right now the scent of explosives and dirt gave him vertigo. He needed to get out of here. Fast. Preferably on his own two feet.

He started to turn away and slammed into his friend.

Calvin high-fived him. “Tazz, party at my place after we finish up here? Sierra, are you coming, too?”

Her face closed in a snap. “I’m not in a partying mood. Thanks for the invitation all the same.”

Mike gripped the straps on his bag and guitar. “Count me out. I’m not good for anything more than crashing for the night in a queen-sized motel bed.”

Calvin backed away. “Wuss. We’ll miss your guitar. I’ll drink your share, though.” He shot them both a wave. “Later, Tazz. Lookin’ goooood as always, Sierra.”

Sierra’s hand landed on Mike’s elbow. “You said you’re going to a motel. What happened to your apartment?”

He shrugged. “I gave it up. No need to pay rent on a place I wouldn’t be living in for a year.”

“That makes sense.”

Rhinestone sunglasses tucked in her hair, she shuffled from foot to foot, toenails painted purple with glitter. “I guess this is it then. Thank you for bringing Dad’s dog home.”

“You always were adept at saying the total opposite of what your eyes are telling me. You’re not happy about Trooper. I can tell.”

Her lips went tight for a second before she burst out, “I appreciate what you’ve done and I mean that. Regardless of what you say, I know you risked getting into trouble bringing him to us.”

“Don’t worry. There’s too much good press connected to his story now for me to get into any major trouble. The media coverage is a blessing in disguise.”

“But . . .”

“I told you already.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and left it there this time. Bad move. God, she was soft and felt like home. “I’m going to be okay.”

“Liar.”

“Does it really matter to you?”

“You’ve done something special for my mom. I appreciate that.” Her eyes held his for four heavy heartbeats before they heard her mom chanting soothing comments to the General. Sierra shook her head as if clearing a haze and slid her sunglasses into place. She opened the crate and patted the bedding. “Trooper? Come on. Inside, pup.”

Trooper glanced back at Mike, dropping to sit, reluctant. The dog might not be huge, but he was stubborn. When he didn’t want to move, he could turn that doggie muscle into more like a ton of bricks.

Lacey slid from the vehicle into view. “No worries. I’ve got this.”

Sierra’s mom wrapped her arms around the dog, lifting with practiced ease and the same soothing tones she’d used on the disoriented General. She tucked Trooper into the crate and reached into a satchel for a treat, before turning all smiles again. “Easy peasy. We’re good to go. Thanks again, Mike, for everything.”

It was really done. Delivery complete. Mission over. Wide brown puppy eyes stared at him from the crate.

An ache started in Mike’s chest. Damn it, he didn’t need a dog. It wasn’t his dog. He’d done the right thing.

So why did he feel like an ass, like one of those people who abandoned their pets, even though he knew better? Still, Trooper’s eyes seemed to speak to him, which was impossible because dogs didn’t talk.

But if they did, he knew Trooper was saying,
Dude, you’re screwing up again.

*   *   *

LACEY FELT GUILTY
about feeding the puppies while drunk. But then she deserved a glass of wine—or four—after a day like this.

Cradling the light brindle–colored pit puppy in her hand, she angled the tiny bottle of goat’s milk into just the right position until the bulldog latched on. The gentle tug assured her the orphaned pup had a good suck going. Relaxing back against the screened window, she sat cross-legged in the middle of a fat dog bed on her enclosed back porch.

Lacey took comfort from the warm puppy belly against her palm. Four other satiated two-week-old babies were lined up in the padded box, warming lamp overhead. She’d named them after fairy-tale characters in hopes that adopters would see them as loving living creatures rather than judge them by their breed.

Cinderella, Aladdin, Pinocchio, Rapunzel and the little runt in her hand, Thumbelina, all twitched in their sleep, a sign of health. Did they already dream of running through fields they couldn’t yet see? Or were they racing through the world looking for their mother?

Their orphaned status tugged at her more than ever with her own two children still struggling with the loss of their father.

She needed more wine. Now.

Balancing the baby bottle against a rolled-up towel, she freed a hand and reached for her glass. Cut crystal Waterford and the last one left of her wedding set. The others had been broken in a transfer from Fort Bragg in North Carolina. She’d railed at the moving company, the Army, her husband and anyone else who would listen. She’d cried for a month.

Such a silly rant now that she looked back with the perspective of worse things the Army could break.

She swirled the chardonnay in the glass once, taking in an oaky scent before tasting. Her mother had sent her to cotillion and etiquette classes with the richest teens in New England. Her parents had high hopes for their oldest daughter.

Lacey had once entertained hopes, too. Of toeing the line with her parents until she was free to leave for college. Except in her last year of high school, she’d fallen for a new senior in a Junior ROTC uniform, gotten knocked up that summer and finished her teaching degree later on when her two kids started school. Her parents had pretended for their friends that they were thrilled. The quickie wedding had been elaborate and pricey.

Only later had she learned her parents couldn’t afford that lavish wedding any more than they’d been able to afford their three-house lifestyle of summers in the Hamptons and winter ski chalet jaunts.