After Love (4 page)

Three older pickup trucks were backed in beneath huge, heavy-limbed oaks that kept the blistering sun and occasional afternoon hail from battering the already weather-whipped vehicles. Nick followed suit and backed into the end spot that had a hand-painted paw sign that stated
VISITORS
. He went through the same procedure as always, nestling his Glock in his back waistband before getting out of the truck. He was ridiculously nervous about this meeting and dragged his fingers through his hair.

The screen door creaked open and a tall female stepped out onto the porch.

“Morning, Nick.” She came forward, lifted one hand to shade her eyes, and smiled. “I'm Jamie Chambers. Welcome to Woof Gang.”

The picture he'd had in his mind of a middle-aged, sun-baked woman with short, frizzy hair and baggy overalls couldn't have been further from the truth. Jamie was slender but curvy in all the places that mattered. Her eyes were large and an intriguing aquamarine, like a deep pool at Marble Falls. Her straight, chestnut-colored hair was pulled into a high ponytail and tied with what appeared to be a strip of rawhide. Sparkling silver hoops hung from her ears and a silver chain with a heavy ring hung around her neck. She was dressed in cutoff blue jean shorts, several years out of fashion but perfect on her rounded ass, and a bright blue tank top.

Nick blinked and realized he should say something, but he was lost in the lushness of her lips and the soft mounds of skin revealed by the scooped neckline. Long, tanned legs led down to well-worn cowboy boots more suited to stomping on snakes in the heat of the day than to line dancing at the bar on a Saturday night.

Thank you, Bobbi. I owe you a bottle of tequila,
he thought, but aloud he said, “Nice place you have here.” He continued forward until he was at the foot of the steps. Without hesitation, he walked up the four concrete stairs until he was standing in front of her. It wasn't his style to be in a position of subordination.

She lowered her hand from her eyes and held it out to him. “Thanks. Did you have any trouble finding us?”

He took her hand and was surprised at the firmness of her grip and the calluses on her palm. Clearly she wasn't just for show either. “No, my grandmother lives about a mile up 290.”

Jamie got right to business. “Take a seat, and let's get going if you want to make your meeting this afternoon.” She motioned toward two rockers next to a table that held a carafe and two mugs.

The subtle way she was taking control of the meeting wasn't lost on Nick. For the moment, he would play along. Nick crossed the porch to one of the rockers, but he waited until Jamie sat before he took his seat. A show of respect or a power play? Maybe a little of both, but it didn't hurt to let her know he wasn't going to be a pushover.

“This coffee is a little strong, but I'm guessing that's the way you like it.” There was a knowing twinkle in her eyes as she picked up the carafe and filled their mugs.

“Good guess,” he said. He studied her over the rim of his steaming mug. So she recognized the game and was letting him know she wasn't easily intimidated. This was going to be a lot more fun than he had expected.

“My late husband was a cop. My coffee—and alcohol—consumption tripled after I met him.”

Nick noticed that even though her tone was light, as she spoke a cloud dulled her eyes. He guessed she was in her mid-to-late twenties, which was way too young to be a widow. Unfortunately, in the military and law enforcement, that was all too common. His response was genuine and heartfelt. “Sorry.”

“It's been almost three years….” She tried to shrug it off, but clearly it still bothered her.

Three years. He knew from experience that losing someone you loved, whether it was a spouse or a buddy, left a hole in your heart. But life went on. A question nudged into his thoughts.
Was Jamie ready to move on?
Maybe, for once, his timing was right. Had enough time passed for the pain to ease? For her to be lonely? Maybe even good and horny?

“What?” she asked, studying him thoughtfully.

He had an uneasy feeling that she could read his mind. Shit. “Uh…just enjoying the coffee.”

“Right.” She sipped the coffee, which was still too hot to drink. “So, Nick. Tell me what a special agent with the DEA does. Or better yet, what's your new partner going to do?”

Nick sat back and considered the question. “For me it's all about getting the drugs off the streets. As for my partner, honestly, I don't have a fucking clue. This was all Bobbi's idea, and you two seem chummy, so maybe you should tell me.”

The twinkle in her eyes returned as she commented, “Sounds like your boss has you by the short hairs.”

Nick nearly choked on his coffee. How had his short hairs gotten into this conversation? It was in the right vein, but not exactly the angle he was shooting for.

“She wasn't really too clear with me either.” Jamie grinned. “She mentioned something about you needing a new nose…and maybe a friend.”

“Fair enough.” He didn't agree that he needed either, but that was Bobbi's opinion.

“So, are you married or in a serious relationship?”

This time he did choke, which ended in a coughing attack.

Jamie jumped up and pounded on his back. “Hold your arms up.”

He finally caught his breath again and wiped his eyes. He wasn't used to such a direct approach from a woman. “Uh…divorced…Twin sons who live with their slut of a mom…No girlfriends. Why do you ask?”

She laughed. “It's part of my qualification process. I need to know what kind of atmosphere the dog will be moving into. How often do your kids visit?”

“I get them every weekend unless I'm out of town or undercover.”

“Do you live in a house or an apartment?”

“A townhouse.”

Jamie shook her head.

“It's a ground-floor unit with a fenced patio,” Nick hurried to add. “Plus, it's close to a park where people walk their dogs.”

“Hmm…What kind of hours do you work? I don't suppose you actually have a shift like a regular cop.”

“No specific shift. My hours fluctuate, depending on whatever case I'm working on.”

Again she shook her head.

It was starting to get on his nerves. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly hungry for approval. Probably just an ego thing. And his was feeling a little bruised.

“Have you ever had a dog? I mean, when you were a kid?”

“Sure. We always had dogs when we were growing up. But once I went into the Marines and then became an agent, I didn't think it was fair to keep a pet.”

“These dogs aren't pets; they're working dogs. Whichever one you end up with will expect to be with you pretty much twenty-four hours a day,” she told him. “But you have to make it fun for them.”

“Darlin', I can be fun.” Nick grinned, but she didn't respond.

Jamie sighed. “I'm not sure you're the perfect candidate for a service dog.”

A feeling strangely like disappointment washed over him. A hundred thoughts tumbled through his mind, all of them centered around this stunning but exasperating young woman sitting across from him. Wasn't this what he wanted—to be rejected so he wouldn't have to remember to feed a dog or take him out on midnight walks during a rainstorm in a park where he wouldn't feel safe without his gun? Suddenly, having a dog and spending more time with Jamie was exactly what he wanted.

“Look, I know I'm a little unconventional, but maybe having a K9 partner would help me be a better agent.” He gave her his best pitiful look. “Besides, my job might depend on this being a success. What can I do to make this happen?”

She was silent for several seconds, obviously weighing the pros and cons of his qualifications. It must have been a close call because she didn't seem convinced she was making the right decision.

“Okay, well, let's see how you get along with the dogs,” she finally agreed. “First, tell me what you think a good service dog can do for you.”

Jeez, he hadn't studied for a test. “Obviously, they can lead me to the drugs and provide me with probable cause so I don't need a search warrant. Getting judges out of bed in the middle of the night is difficult.”

“You're partially right,” she agreed. “The Supreme Court just ruled that if your dog passes a training or certification program, the court can presume that there was sufficient reason for a search.”

“That would make my life easier.”

“Don't forget that the defendant will have the opportunity to challenge the evidence offered by the state, so you still have to make your case.”

“I assume all your dogs have passed their tests.”

“Of course.” She took a drink of her coffee, but her eyes swept over his body as if she were assessing him personally. “But you're going to need a little work to get your certificate.”

“What?”

“It means a few days of training, then a field test to qualify you and the dog on different types of contraband.”

“A few days?” The thought didn't upset him like it would have yesterday. Now that he had met Jamie, he was a little more open-minded about this whole K9 partner thing.

“Yes, depending on how quickly you learn the commands,” she confirmed. “But I'll provide the coffee.”

Learning the commands was an offer he couldn't…and no longer wanted…to refuse when it came to Jamie.

“If you let him, your dog will do so much more than just find drugs.” Jamie refilled their mugs from the carafe. “He'll learn to sense your moods and understand what you're feeling. Once you earn his trust, he'll protect you to the death.”

“That's a lot of pressure for a dog. I don't always understand myself.”

Jamie smiled.

Nick liked that she got his sense of humor. Not everyone appreciated his sarcasm.

“I also train dogs to help returning soldiers with PTSD issues. Dogs have an amazing ability to know when the soldier is stressed and about to have a meltdown.”

Nick frowned, and he shifted his gaze away from hers.

“You okay, Nick?”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I'm fine.” He stood, walked to the edge of the porch, and looked out across the fields.

Jamie also stood and joined him at the railing. “What bothered you about the PTSD story?”

Nick hesitated, not normally willing to open up about his feelings. But there was something about the gentle tone of her slightly husky voice that made him think she really cared. It was probably the same way she talked to her dogs to make them relax. He looked down at his big hands gripping the white wooden rail. His voice was so low she had to lean closer to hear. “I just buried a soldier that came back with a bad case of PTSD. He had a service dog that seemed to be helping him. But it wasn't enough to keep him out of the darkness, and he killed himself. Funny…I didn't know him all that well, but seeing how hard Riley—that was his dog's name—took it, I felt like we were friends.”

“Riley? What was the soldier's name?” she asked.

“Miller, Malcolm Miller.”

Her breath sucked in with an audible gasp. Nick turned and saw that all the color had drained out of her face. Her eyes were wide and profoundly sad. Nick asked, “Riley was one of your dogs?”

“And Malcolm was one of my men,” she whispered. Her hands tightened into fists, but her eyes remained dry.

“I'm so sorry, Jamie…I didn't realize…”

She looked up at Nick. “It's okay. You had no way of knowing.”

“I met him when I was on assignment in Denver. I attended his service in Kentucky on Memorial Day, along with my two paramedic friends.” Nick's thoughts drifted back to the parade and the speeches, but most of all the poignancy of meeting Malcolm Miller's young son. “They brought Riley along, and I swear that dog knew what was going on and was grieving.”

Jamie straightened her shoulders, and he could tell she was pushing back whatever emotions she was feeling. The news had obviously shaken her, but she held it all in.

“So, let's get on with it,” she said, her tone businesslike and controlled.

She picked up a clipboard that had been on one of the empty rockers.

“What's first?” he asked.

“We're going to the main kennel, where you will sit on a chair in the middle of the arena. Ralph will bring out several dogs, one at a time, and watch their reactions…and yours. Dogs are WYSIWYG.”

“What you see is what you get,” Nick stated, familiar with the acronym.

“Exactly. They don't pretend, and they react on their first impressions. We'll see if we can find you a perfect match.”

“Match.com, doggie style.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but he caught a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Most of our dogs are rescues,” Jamie continued as they walked down the steps and along a flagstone path to the largest of the three kennels. “All the local shelters notify me when a promising dog shows up. They know what I'm looking for: intelligence, energy, curiosity, and an outgoing personality.”

“Any breed?”

“Yes. The bigger dogs are better for your kind of work, but some of the smaller breeds make great therapy dogs.”

“Any age?”

“We go for younger dogs, mainly because once they're trained and have bonded with their new owners, we want as long of a relationship as possible. Since most dogs live only about ten to fifteen years, we don't want our owners to suffer a loss too soon.”

Nick reached for the door, but Jamie got there first and opened it for herself, then held it for him. Reluctantly, he walked past her and waited. His grandmother was a stickler on men treating ladies like ladies. And right now Nick was feeling a little emasculated.

“We also have a few dogs we breed and raise their puppies because they've consistently produced great service animals. But with those, we don't let them go until they're around two years old and have settled into their adult personalities. By then we can tell if they're overly aggressive, aloof, timid, sneaky, paranoid…which sometimes can't be trained out of them.”

“What do you do with those?” Nick asked.

“We can always find the right person for a dog, especially if it's one that needs a lot of personal attention. But that means they're not right for police work or as service dogs.”

“Two years? Is that normal?”

“I like for them to have time to grow up, play, and learn basic commands as part of their routine, rather than the crash course we give to older dogs. At two years their specialty training begins with their new owner.”

“This is a bigger deal than I thought.”

“It is to me. We'll observe them for their temperament first. Dogs react differently to different people. The ones that make it past that test will move on to an attitude check.”

“What? How can a dog have a bad attitude living out here? Isn't it every dog's dream to live on a farm and chase rabbits?”

Jamie laughed. “Funny guy. You, of all people, should know that it's not everyone's dream to live on a farm. Some of these dogs were born to be put into service, whether it's to protect a cop, to find a child, or to keep a lonely wounded warrior company on a long, dark night. And some are like beauty queens….Their only goal in life is to make people happy.” She grinned. “And, of course, to end world hunger, stop climate change, and bring peace to the world.”

“I've known dogs like that. They're cuddlers.” Nick pretended to scowl. “I'm not a cuddler.”

“I guessed that early on,” Jamie responded.

Nick had been teasing. He felt a pang of disappointment that she had judged him so quickly and, apparently, found him lacking. True, he'd never been accused of being warm and fuzzy, but that kept his life from being complicated.

He followed her down a center aisle with roomy kennels on each side. The sound of dogs barking was deafening, echoing off the walls and the tin roof. Every dog he passed watched him with bright, alert eyes. This was nothing like the dog pound he'd visited when he was a kid. The animals in there must have sensed that the euthanasia room was at the end of the hall, because their eyes had held only desperation and sadness, as if they already knew their fate. His dad had let him pick one, and he'd selected a pit bull/lab mix that had been his best friend for many years. And his last dog until now.

They reached an open area, sort of like an arena for horses, but much smaller. Several skylights let in plenty of sunshine and dust motes sparkled in the light like glitter. The floor was groomed dirt, the tractor treads still visible, indicating it was probably a daily routine. The whole operation was remarkably clean and well organized, which, now that he'd met Jamie, came as no surprise.

A portly man wearing a black baseball cap with a POW/MIA logo on it, a white T-shirt, and low-slung jeans went back to what appeared to be a storeroom, brought out a folding chair, and placed it in the very center.

Nick's chair, no doubt, so the dogs could check him out. He hoped it was comfortable, because he suspected it was going to be a long day.

“Morning, Ralph. This is Nick. He's a special agent with the DEA. Nick, this is Ralph.”

“Morning, ma'am…Nick.” Ralph shook Nick's hand.

“You run this place for Jamie?”

Ralph seemed stunned Nick would ask a question like that and glanced over at Jamie.

She shrugged.

“No, this is her place, and she runs it. Sure, I help, and we have some part-timers who keep it clean and feed and water the dogs. But I spend most of my time training the animals. I was a K9 handler in 'Nam.”

“That's cool.” Nick's respect meter rose several degrees. Vietnam had been brutal on man and beast. “Did your dog get out?”

A heavy sadness that had not been tempered by the years crossed his wrinkled face. “No, I got injured and woke up in a hospital in the States. I tried to find him, but he got left behind with the thousands of other K9s in the country.” He dropped his head to cover the moisture in his eyes. “Fucking crime. Those dogs saved thousands of our boys' lives, and we fucking left them in the jungle at the mercy of those gooks. Shit, they probably ate 'em.”

“Well, on that cheerful thought, let's find a dog for Nick,” Jamie interrupted.

“Yes, ma'am. Who do you want to start with?” Ralph asked.

“I want to try some of the camp dogs first.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Ralph limped across the arena and toward the kennels at the end of the building.

“The first ones you're going to meet are rescues from a large litter abandoned at a migrant farm camp. They were skin and bones when we got them, but they had great heart and a will to live. I'm sure it was a pretty noisy environment, because they had no problem with the gunfire and crowd noise training.”

“What language do they speak?”

“Good question. They're probably bilingual, but they speak English…Texas English, actually. They were only about six weeks old when we found them.”

“That's good. Getting a partner is enough adjustment for this year. I'll think about learning Spanish next year. I always put that down on my personal-growth objectives at work, but somehow I never have the time to follow through.”

Jamie gave him an amused look that clearly said she wasn't surprised at his procrastination. Damn, it was like she could see into his soul. She handed him a rubber ball.

“So, what's the ball for?” he asked, rolling the round, thick rubber toy in his hand.

“For you to play with the dogs to see if there's a connection.” She gave him a “duh” look. “Of course, for your job it's important that they have a good nose, although they've been trained to find narcotics, not rubber balls. All of the dogs you'll meet today have been specially trained to find drugs.”

“I hope so. I can screw up enough on my own,” Nick told her. “I'm counting on the dog's nose to keep me out of trouble.”

She looked at him solemnly. “I suspect no dog or human could keep you out of trouble.” But the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. She really did have his number. “Go sit in your chair and get ready to meet your new partner.”

Nick felt ridiculous, sort of like he was being punished in grade school, as he crossed the dirt to the chair and sat. To his relief, Jamie followed him, but she hung out behind him so the dogs wouldn't notice her first.

Ralph returned with a smallish German shepherd/hound mix. Black and tan spotted, he trotted along eagerly. Once inside the arena, Ralph closed the gate behind him that led to the row of kennels, then he unclipped the lead from the dog's collar.

“Kind of gangly, isn't he?” Nick asked.

“This is Charlie. They all look like geeks at this age. Call him over.”

Nick leaned forward and called for Charlie. The dog glanced at Nick but didn't come closer. Nick knelt on the dirt and whistled, but Charlie was more interested in checking out the arena. Nick sat back in his chair and looked around at Jamie. “Not too good, huh?”

“Charlie's just not into you,” she responded wryly. “Ralph, next.”

“Did I do okay?”

“You did fine. Charlie failed, but I'd give you a B minus. You acted a little nervous. They can sense that in you.”

“Great. That's one reason why I don't date.”

Ralph worked to keep up with the next dog as it raced toward Nick and Jamie. This one looked similar to Charlie but leaned more toward hound than shepherd.

“This is Nicky, Nick.”

“Really, Jamie? Don't you think that would be a little awkward?”

“Don't you like your name?” she teased.

“Not enough to say it a hundred times a day. Can you imagine the ribbing I'd get from my buddies?”

“Just give it a try,” she encouraged.

Nick knelt again and called for Nicky as soon as Ralph unleashed him. The dog's long tail whipped back and forth as he crashed into Nick, knocking him over backward and covering his arms, face, and hands with sloppy licks.

Jamie whistled loudly at Ralph and yelled, “Next.”

Nick stood and dusted himself off. Unfortunately, the dirt had stuck on the wet spots and wouldn't brush off until they dried. He looked at Jamie. “I feel assaulted.”

“He's enthusiastic,” she said in the dog's defense.

“No second date there.”

“Did you want one?”

“Not really. Too needy.”

“Good call.”

“Those two dogs are from the same litter?” he asked.

“Yes, they all looked different. We're not sure about their parentage, but we're thinking probably German shepherd, some sort of hound, maybe even a little Labrador retriever.”

“What a bitch!” Nick commented with a grin.

“Obviously, she was looking for love in all the wrong places,” Jamie countered with a smile.

Ralph returned with another dog, then another, and another, until Nick lost count. He felt like Goldilocks….One was too docile, one was too wild, one was too friendly, one was too aloof…and none were just right.

Finally, after two hours, they took a break. Jamie and Nick returned to the house, where she showed him to the guest bathroom. The inside of the house was messier than he would have expected. There were empty beer cans on the end tables, magazines piled next to the couch, and even a pair of dirty men's socks on the floor by the magazines.