Heart's Desire (29 page)

“You coming back for lunch?” Jessie looked at Julia expectantly, and Julia could read the excitement in her sister's eyes. “We have our first group of kids coming in for a camp this week. Bailey's cleaning out the cabins for them today.”

As nice as it sounded to spend time with both of them, she'd made arrangements to see some dogs at the shelter later. “Normally, I'd be happy to let you use me as an indentured servant,” she teased. “But I can't today. Rain check?” The sound of Julia's ringtone had Tango's ears lifting as “Who Let the Dogs Out” rang through the kitchen.

“Ugh!” Jessie covered her ears. “Will you please change that? You have no idea how much I hate that song.”

Julia smiled at her sister. “Yes, I do, but it makes me laugh, so no.” She glanced at the screen, not recognizing the caller, and pressed the button. “Heart Fire Training, this is Julia.”

“Hi, my name is Gage Granger. We've spoken a bit by e-mail about a PTSD dog. I'm calling for my brother.”

“Yes, Mr. Granger. I remember.” Julia waved to her sister, motioning that she had to take the call, and headed outside with Tango following at her heels, as if understanding an unspoken command. She opened the door of her beat-up pickup, and he jumped inside, sprawling across the bench seat with his head half hanging out the lowered window. As she turned on the truck, she listened to the man on the other end explain his brother's circumstances. The more he spoke, the more she realized this was going to be like many of the other severe PTSD cases she'd dealt with, and it was going to take intense training with both the dog and new handler. She felt the butterflies flutter to life in her stomach, realizing they would have to stay at her home in order for her to train them to work together. She hadn't had any unmarried men at her facility since—

Stop! This is not Evan; this is not the past.

“When would your brother be available to come to my facility?”

“To travel?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded surprised. “I don't know if that will be possible. Dylan doesn't . . . he isn't . . . ”

“Mr. Granger, I understand that travel could cause some anxiety for your brother, but because each person has different symptoms and varying degrees of PTSD, I need to meet him to be able to match him up. His dog has to be a partner who can work with your brother's specific needs in mind. Part of that is training the dog to relate to your brother and his triggers.”

“The dog's training is tailored to Dylan's needs?”

“Exactly, and I'll teach him to work with the dog. I really need him here in order to see which dog pairs up with his personality best. If you're with him a lot, it would be best if you come as well. Based on what you've told me, I have a few dogs that might work for your brother, but you'll need to plan on staying three to four weeks. “

“You have accommodations for both of us?”

Julia pulled into her driveway and ran her hand over the dog at her side, trying to ignore the nervous tremor she could hear in her voice and the shake of her hand. “You're both welcome to stay in my home, that way we can work with your brother and his animal consistently. But, if you prefer, my sister has cabins on her adjacent property as well.” She couldn't help but hope they would choose to stay at Heart Fire Ranch instead. “How soon can you get here?”

“We can get a flight out tomorrow. I'll make sure of it.” She didn't miss the desperation in his voice. In the last four years of focusing her training on dogs to serve people with PTSD, she'd met so many family members who wanted miracles the victim wasn't ready for. It was a recipe for disaster if everyone wasn't on board for the journey.

“Mr. Granger, as long as your brother wants this as much as you want it for him, you'll be pleased with the results. If not”—she took a deep breath, knowing that it wouldn't do any of them good to sugarcoat the truth—“you'll both be wasting your time and setting yourself up for disappointment.”

There was a pregnant pause from Gage. “Ms. Hart, you're our last hope.”

“T
OMORROW
?” D
YLAN STARED
at his brother. “Have you lost your mind? We can't leave in the morning.”

“Dylan, it's already arranged. All you need to do is pack.”

Dylan had hoped that letting his brother do the legwork would dissuade him from this pointless pursuit. There was nothing a dog, even a therapy dog, could do. He'd already seen the brochures and read the information about how they were supposed to help with mood swings and anxiety, but if pills and alcohol couldn't touch them, how was an animal going to do anything? He ran a hand over his beard-roughened jaw, his fingers running over the marred flesh on his neck. The burns and scars had been covered with intricately colored tribal tattoos starting behind his ear, but they didn't make the truth hurt any less. He'd been the only man from his unit to survive the attack, and he still wasn't sure why. This wasn't living.

Dylan saw the hope in Gage's eyes. He really thought a dog was going to make a difference?
Whatever.
It wasn't worth fighting over. If Gage wanted to take a few weeks off work and stay at some training facility, fine. He'd see soon enough that this wouldn't help.

“Fine.” Dylan shook his head in defeat and ran a hand over his close-shaven head. “I'll have to call Dr. Miller and let him know.”

“I've already called him.” Gage tossed a basket of Dylan's laundry onto his bed and began to fold it. “For the record, he thinks it's a great idea.”

Dylan clenched his jaw. He appreciated his brother's help, but he wasn't completely incompetent. He felt the always-present anger simmering just below the surface. “I'm not an invalid. I can still do my own laundry.”

Gage looked up, eyeing him curiously. “I know you can, Dylan. I wasn't implying you couldn't.”

“Then stop coddling me like I'm going to break. I'm already broken.” Dylan felt the familiar curtain of rage coming down over him, but he was helpless to stop it. It didn't matter how many pills they gave him or how many behavioral exercises he tried, when an episode came on it was like a flash flood and drown him every time. He reached out, throwing the hamper from the bed. “This is pointless.”

“Dylan . . . ”

“You know damn well I can't get on a plane, what that will do to me.”

“Fine, we'll drive. It's only all the way across the country.” Gage grabbed a pillow from the bed and slapped it into his brother's hands. “You want to be pissed? Go ahead. You want to throw things? Be my guest. But use this, and you clean up whatever mess you make.” Gage turned on his heel and left the room.

It wasn't the reaction Dylan expected but instead of cooling the storm inside, it built, gaining momentum until he felt it swirling in his chest. He growled in rage, throwing the pillow at the wall and looking around the room for something else to throw. It only pissed him off more that every surface was already cleared. His brother had learned that lesson after Dylan's last episode. He clenched his fists, trying to still the fury building within. Every muscle in Dylan's body seemed to tense as he fought for control, bracing his fists on either side of the doorframe. He couldn't stop his fist when it rose of its own accord and slammed against the wall, putting a hole in it.

The pain radiating up his arm was enough to shake him from his fury, but self-loathing filled the vacuum left behind once his anger dissipated. He backed up until his legs hit the bed. His knees lost strength, unable to hold him as the adrenaline left him weak, and he dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress. Dylan looked at the bottle of pills on his nightstand, sweet oblivion that would make him forget, at least for a short while.

Just this once.

It was a lie. It wasn't the first time he'd made that promise to himself, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last, but he wasn't about to take the steps down that dark path again. He looked away. He wouldn't cave. Dylan buried his forehead in his hands, rubbing at his temples with his fingers, his right hand skimming the scar that ran from his temple to the back of his ear. He'd have been better off if that bullet had killed him.

Chapter Two

“J
ULIA, YOU CAN
'
T
just let two strange men stay here.” Her older brother, Justin, stood in front of her door, refusing to let her exit. His hulking frame would have been intimidating to anyone else, but she knew he was a pushover.

“It's not the first time I've let clients stay, Justin. I just sent home a very sweet mother and her son last week.” She brushed past him and trotted down the porch steps, heading to the dog kennels with Tango on her heels. She didn't need Justin reminding her of things she'd already put behind her. “We grew up on a dude ranch. We've had strangers living with us all our lives”

She hoped he'd let this drop, but as he ran after her, he pressed on. “There is no way you're staying here alone. Not after what happened with Evan.”

She stopped and froze midstep, not bothering to turn to face him. “Don't ever mention him again, Justin. Ever.”

“Julia—”

“If you mention it again, I swear, I will find another vet for my dogs.”

“You can't just keep pretending he doesn't exist.” He reached for his sister's shoulders and turned her to face him. “Now that he's out of jail, do you really think a restraining order is going to do you any good?”

“I'm being careful, Justin, but I can't put my life and career on hold for one creepy guy. He's gone. I'm not taking unnecessary risks, and I'm watching my back. So are the dogs. In the meantime, I still have a life to live and people who need my help.”

Justin pulled her into a protective hug. She understood that he felt responsible to watch out for her and Jessie since their parents' car accident nearly a year ago, but Jessie had already asked him to stop trying to parent them. It was annoying enough when he tried to be a protective big brother.

“I want to be here when they arrive today.”

She shoved him away and threw her hands in the air. He just wasn't going to give up. “Oh my goodness, are you even listening to yourself? I don't need your protection. Stop!”

“Little sis, you're not big enough to stop me.” He gave her a grin and headed for his truck, leaving her to shake her head as she walked the rest of the way to the kennels.

Julia knew Justin wasn't wrong. At well over six feet and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, she was no match for him physically. Few people were, but she had spent most of her life outwitting him, and her stubborn streak knew no boundaries. Julia went into the kennel's small kitchen area and prepared breakfast for the various dogs, mentally running through the characteristics of each of the animals.

It took a special dog to be a PTSD therapy animal. From what Gage said on the phone, Dylan was a man who liked to be active and would need a dog that could keep up with him. A smaller dog would never do for him, but luckily most of her dogs were large animals. She had a few extra-large dogs, like Tango, but she was leaning toward a shepherd mix named Cruise. He was smart, sensitive, and intuitive to moods. Plus, he'd already shown a good aptitude for picking up training quickly. It was one of the trickier sides of PTSD. The dogs had to adapt quickly and learn commands based on the needs of each individual, usually while they were both at the facility.

Julia set the food in front of the dogs and went into her office at the back of the kennel, staring at the picture collage on her wall of animals she'd trained and placed in homes over the years. Her eyes were immediately drawn the beautiful black lab in the right corner and her eyes misted. Misty had been a shelter rescue who had performed amazingly well, better than most of the dogs she worked with in her ten years of training. When Evan had called her looking for a dog that could help with his diabetes, alerting him to low blood sugar episodes that had become worrisome, Misty had been a perfect choice. If only she had listened to her instincts, or Misty's.

Julia turned away from the board, not wanting to think about the mistake that had been paid for with Misty's life. Misty was the reason she'd started scent training each of her dogs since. She'd learned a lesson from Evan that she'd never forget—people lie.

Her phone vibrated on her desk, alerting her of a message. Grateful for the interruption, she opened the screen to see a message from Gage that their plane was early, and they would get a rental and arrive at Heart Fire shortly.

“Come on, Tango. We need to change the sheets before they get here.” The dog lifted one brow, as if questioning her. She laughed and pointed at him. “Don't give me that look. I get enough flak from Justin. I don't need you taking his side.”

The dog jumped up from the floor and moved to her right side. She reached her hand out and laid it on his massive head, rubbing behind one ear. “I think there might be some peanut butter treats in the house. What do you say?”

Tango barked once loudly and nudged the door open with his nose before looking back at her.

“I knew you'd see it my way.”

D
YLAN STARED OUT
the window, barely paying attention to the landscape passing in a blur down the highway. The trip had been less eventful than either he or Gage expected. The only point he'd had some trouble coping was when the engines geared up for takeoff and the whine had nearly thrown him back. He'd felt himself slipping, his vision fading as his mind took him back to that day. Gage had nudged his arm, forcing him to focus on the present, and guilt overrode the flashback.

“You okay?” Gage glanced his way. Dylan hated the constant worry he could read in his brother's eyes.

He couldn't keep doing this to his brother. He'd become nothing more than a burden, the way their alcoholic father had been. Dylan had been the one who had stepped up from a young age, far too young for the responsibility of taking care of his mother and younger brother. To know that Gage might one day resent him, the way he did his father—he couldn't let that happen. As much as he didn't think a dog would help him, it might at least do enough good that he could give his brother back the freedom he'd lost when Dylan returned from Afghanistan.