It was staring back at him. It was now midnight. An hour ago Brady had gone to sleep. Or tried to. The loft, being one room, allowed noise to carry, so when the dog had started crying and howling almost immediately, it was a shocking decibel level considering the pup was maybe seven pounds.
He’d tried everything. A blanket. A ticking clock from the mantel. Soft music from his own iPod. Okay, not soft, he didn’t have soft, but hell, it was hard rock, the good stuff.
Every single time, the dog would appear to settle and Brady would crawl cautiously off to bed. He’d get comfortable and start to drift off.
And then the hell would begin all over again.
“They tell me that you’re one hundred percent canine,” Brady said, hands on hips. “But I’m thinking you’re one hundred percent pussy.”
The dog-Brady refused to think of it as Twinkles-let out a low whimper and rolled over, exposing its belly.
“Jesus.” Brady sank to the couch in nothing but his knit boxers. “Come here, then.”
Its sorrow apparently forgotten, the dog leapt up with enthusiasm and bounded over. He tried to jump up onto the couch, making it only about six inches off the ground before falling to his back on the floor.
Brady shook his head. “Failing is not an option, soldier. Try again.”
Gamefully, the dog did just that, getting even less height this time before he once more hit the floor. With another sad whimper, he sat at Brady’s feet, tail tentatively sweeping the floor.
Brady sighed and scooped a hand beneath his little concaved belly, lifting him up so that they were eye to eye. “Out of all the trucks in all the land, why mine?”
The dog wriggled joyfully. “Arf.”
Brady blinked, then found himself grinning at the unexpected bark. It had been high-pitched and soprano, but hell it was better than a meow. “So you are a dog. You’ve got to work on the pitch, man. Can’t have all the chick dogs thinking your boys never dropped.” No need in telling him he probably wouldn’t get to keep his boys.
“Arf!”
He’d created a monster. Brady laughed, then started to set the dog down, but he clung to his hand. Shaking his head, Brady set the thing on the couch next to him, where he immediately crawled into his lap.
Brady stared down at him and realized he was shivering. “You’re nothing but a bag of bones.” Pulling the dog against his chest, they had a little moment, and finally the dog stopped shivering. He licked Brady’s chin.
“Listen,” Brady said. “This is just temporary. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell Lilah’s game is and she’ll find you a home. She’s good at it.”
The dog didn’t even blink, but in its chocolately eyes, Brady saw a hint of sadness. “Don’t even try the puppy eyes, they don’t work on me.”
The dog blinked slowly.
Brady pointed at him. “Knock that off.”
His answer was a soft whine.
“Look, I’m just passing through, that’s it.”
Not getting it, the dog set his head against Brady’s chest and let out a shuddery sigh.
And Brady did the same. In his life, he’d taken responsibility for more people than he could count, but he’d steered clear of animals, never keeping one for himself. He’d not needed the extra burden. “If I were going to keep a dog,” he said, “it would be a big one. Or at least one that could get up on the couch by himself.”
He would have sworn censure filled the dog’s dark gaze. “Hey, I’m just being honest here. You little things are yappers.”
The little guy put his ears down, the picture of innocence.
And Brady had to laugh. “Right. Save it for someone you can manipulate, okay? Maybe the ladies.” He thought of Jade and Lilah, both of whom had manipulated the hell out of him. “I deserve this,” he muttered.
The dog cocked its head.
“Never mind. I’m so tired I’m talking to a dog.” He got up, set the dog on the blanket, and then dropped like a stone onto the bed. He remained tense a moment, waiting, but he heard nothing and slowly relaxed.
Ahhh, sleep. He was halfway to paradise, lying on a warm beach with a beer in one hand and the silky coconut-scented skin of a woman under the other. And yeah, okay, maybe the woman looked a little like Lilah, right down to the mossy green eyes and deliciously curvy body, which was at the moment wearing nothing but the smallest of string bikinis…
And that’s when he heard it, the one sound that could bring him back from the beach and the sexy woman on it: “Arf!”
Fuck.
“Arf, arf, arf… ”
The next morning, Brady came awake to a noise he didn’t recognize and rolled off the bed, automatically reaching for his weapon.
When he realized he wasn’t in combat, was in fact a million miles from any combat zone, he lay back down and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Then the sound came again.
What the hell?
He sat up and found the dog sitting in front of the kitchen sink, head deep in the trash he’d clearly hauled out from its place in the cupboard beneath. He was surrounded by a pizza box, an orange juice container, and two bottles of beer.
All empty.
“You are a menace to society,” Brady said, and scrubbed a hand over his face. What had he gotten, maybe half an hour of sleep? Well used to sleep deprivation, he staggered out of bed thinking he might as well get on with what he’d agreed to do here.
Work on the Bell. “No more trash,” he told the dog after he’d showered and dressed. “It’ll make you sick.” And with the little guy happy at his side, clearly not sick at all, they headed downstairs, stopping at Jade’s desk. “Anyone come looking for him yet?”
Jade was one of those women who looked like she belonged in
He just looked at her.
Not particularly intimidated, her mouth twitched suspiciously.
He narrowed his eyes, and she let a very small smile free. “Lilah did her thing, putting out notices and flyers. We’ll let you know.”
“It’s been two days.”
“It has. Dell told me he examined him. He’s about a year old, and other than slightly malnourished, he’s healthy. Great news.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re certain Lilah’s trying to find the owner,” he said.
Jade smiled and patted his hand. “Lilah would never put a dog’s well-being at risk for her own amusement.”
“But she is amused.”
“Oh, honey. There’s no doubt.”
It took Brady three days just to clean out the Bell 47. Not surprising, considering the chopper had suffered nearly three decades of neglect and abuse. It also needed airframe repairs, battery servicing, and a whole long list of engine and parts maintenance.
He enjoyed the work. In the army, he’d started out as a nobody, but well used to that he’d worked his ass off and through performance had earned a warrant officer slot, which had qualified him for flight training.
He’d never looked back. He loved being in the air, but when he couldn’t be, his second love was this, taking apart and reassembling a chopper. As he worked, his new shadow stuck close, alternately snoozing in the sun or watching him with hero worship.
