It creeped him out a little that he was stalking her—and it sure as hell would her if she knew—but he needed to learn where she worked. Once he knew that, he’d come up with a plan to meet her in a way that wouldn’t freak her out. Besides, he had nothing better to do.
He was on medical leave after getting too up close and personal with an IED. Dakota had saved his life by putting herself in front of him and pushing him back, in all likelihood preventing him from being blown to bits. She’d been severely injured, had almost lost a hind leg. Thank God she had survived, though, and was now recuperating, along with him. He would be returning to his team. She would not. She’d served her time, had saved the lives of many of his brothers, along with his, and had earned her retirement.
But it was preying on his mind. Dakota needed him, but he’d have to leave her behind when he was healed enough to go back. The problem was that he didn’t know who to give her to. It had to be someone both he and Dakota trusted, and the only names that came to mind were his teammates. Because he’d given himself a deadline—two more months to get his arm and shoulder in shape—he was running out of time to make a decision.
Since there was a VA hospital in Asheville, he’d come home as soon as he’d been released from Walter Reed Bethesda Medical Center. After a month in the hospital—first in Germany and then at Walter Reed—he’d been ecstatic to leave that place behind. Physical therapy on his arm and shoulder was a bitch, but the sooner he was healed, the sooner he could get back to his team.
The first thing he’d done after getting out of the hospital was to track down Dakota. He almost hadn’t recognized her. She’d been curled up in a corner of the kennel, rib bones showing, eyes dull, and fur lackluster. At the sight of him, she’d tried to stand, only to fall over when she put weight on her damaged leg. Since she belonged to the military, he’d had to call in some favors to get her released to him, but he’d been relentless in making that happen. When he’d first brought her home, she had been depressed and lethargic, and Jack thought she’d as much as given up. Thankfully she’d come a long way, and except for her leg, she was back to the dog she’d been before the bomb.
At precisely eight, Nichole Masters appeared, wearing a blue-and-white striped dress and white sandals. Jack blew out a breath as she walked down the steps of her little porch, a mug in one hand and the end of a leash in the other.
She was gorgeous. Her shoulder-length hair was a riot of curls in a fascinating mix of colors—reds, golds, and browns. A man could happily get lost in all that hair. She was tall, which he liked, and a little on the thin side, which he didn’t like. Made him want to feed her.
He wasn’t close enough to hear what she was saying to the puppy straining at the other end of the leash, but the dog was completely ignoring her. Jack could have told her that the little beast was going to keep winning their test of wills unless and until she positioned herself as the alpha dog in their relationship.
The puppy finally lifted a leg and watered a bush. The woman disappeared back inside with her little friend, and then a few minutes later walked out with a purse over her shoulder and the dog still on his leash.
Jack followed her to the River Arts District. After she parked and exited her car with her dog, he waited a few minutes before heading for the renovated warehouse she’d entered. As soon as he walked in, the aroma of coffee caught his attention and he headed for the small concession stand. While he waited for his order, he scanned the area. Artists on both sides of the aisle were setting up their tables and booths for the day.
It was a mix of arts and crafts. Next to the coffee stand, an older couple had a display of landscape paintings: waterfalls, mountain sunsets, and a few of downtown Asheville. Directly across the aisle was a booth filled with stained-glass pieces.
It was a cool place, one he’d have to come back and investigate when he wasn’t on a mission. A puppy bark caught his attention, and coffee in hand, he headed for it. In the middle of the building, he found his target standing in front of a long table loaded with pottery, tangled up in the leash her puppy had wrapped around her legs.
“He taking you prisoner?” Jack said.
She glanced over at him with laughter in those golden-brown eyes, and his heart thump-skipped in his chest. That had never, ever happened before, and he almost turned and walked away. A female-induced twitchy heart wasn’t his thing.
Then she leaned precariously, looking like a tree about to topple over. Jack dropped his coffee onto the table next to her and was at her side in time to catch her before she landed face-first on the cement floor. Damn, she smelled good, like vanilla and maybe almonds. Whatever it was, it made his mouth water.
“Um, you can let me go now.”
And there was that throaty voice that had kept him awake last night. “Do I have to?” He winked to let her know he was teasing—not really—and then he made sure she was steady on her feet before crouching down in front of the puppy.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, putting one hand on the dog’s rear end. Jack lifted his gaze to his new fantasy. “What’s his name?”
“Rambo.”
“Here’s the deal, Rambo. When I say sit, you’re going to plant your butt on the ground.” He pushed down on Rambo’s rear end while pressing the palm of his other hand to the puppy’s nose. “Sit.” Still keeping his hands on the dog, he had to repeat the command a second time when the little guy tried to climb onto his lap.
Rambo wasn’t stupid. He recognized Jack was the alpha and kept his butt glued to the ground this time, although he did wiggle his rear end, all that puppy energy making it impossible to sit completely still. But he kept his gaze on Jack, as if waiting for his next instructions.
“Good boy.” Jack gave him a chin scratch as a reward.
“Wow, how did you do that?”
As soon as the puppy heard her voice, he tried to jump up her legs, his tail furiously wagging. She laughed, a musical sound that Jack liked a lot.
“A combination of things. Using my hands to signal what he needs to do for one, but mostly the tone of my voice.”
“Can you show me?”
That would be an affirmative. Jack took a moment to rein in his lust before lifting his eyes to hers. “I could help you train him.”
He took the end of the leash from her hand and unwound it, freeing her legs. Wasn’t his fault if the leash was so tight that his fingers brushed across her skin as he performed his chore. Not that it was a chore in any way, shape, or form. The goose bumps that rose where he touched her pleased him. She wasn’t immune to him.
“Are you a professional dog trainer?”
How much truth to tell her? Most of it, just not the stalking part. That was entirely too creepy. He stood, keeping the leash and tightening it so that Rambo had to stay by his legs.