One Lucky Hero (11 page)

She caught Dean's disapproving look as he stared down her brother and blurted, “Thank you, Sergeant Sparks. I'm sure you're very busy. It can't be easy keeping something like this running.”

“No, but everyone pitches in and works as a team, Miss Douglas.” His tone was so casual and calm, at odds with the blaze she'd seen in his eyes. Was he actually angry with her? He'd been the one to say he didn't get involved; why would he care if she didn't call?

Maybe he feels like you led him on, talking about all of that friends-with-benefits stuff? Or his manly pride is stung.

Violet bristled as the ridiculous notion washed over her. She did not want to deal with another sulking male; she already had Casey to deal with, she was not going to take it from Dean.

“Violet, please.” It seemed ridiculous to keep up the formality when he'd seen her naked, but she had a hard time keeping the irritation out of her voice.

Dean nodded and started walking. As Violet trailed a step behind him with Casey, her gaze traveled over Dean's broad back and shoulders, and she wanted to kick herself.

“Through there are the kennels. Every program member is assigned a dog. It will be your responsibility to provide food and water, as well as train your animal. If at any time the animal is mistreated, you will leave the program and conclude your sentence at juvenile hall. We don't give second chances here. These dogs have been through enough.”

“I'm sure the children have, too.” Violet didn't like Dean's insinuation that only the dogs had suffered. Casey wasn't a bad kid; he had been through one traumatic experience after another and had always put on a brave face. If he was acting out now, he had his reasons.

Dean stopped, and she almost slammed into his back. He turned, and she found herself inches away from his broad chest, his dark eyes fixed on hers as he leaned in. “I know that. I can guarantee that while they are here, none of these kids will be mistreated, but unlike the dogs, they are not helpless. They can speak up and tell us if they are hurt, hungry, or need help. Animals cannot.”

Dean's spicy scent encircled her, distracting her from what he was saying for a half a second. That erotic aroma had lingered on her clothes, and she hated to admit that it had taken her a day or two to wash her tank top. She'd wanted the comfort of him, something to chase away reality again without risking getting hurt.

How could you get hurt? It was just physical, nothing more.

Except that the physical draw of him had her swaying dangerously closer, and she could have sworn he'd dipped his head.

Suddenly, Violet was pushed back and Casey placed himself right in front of her.

“Back the fuck off my sister, asshole.”

Dean looked away from her, focusing all of his irritation on Casey. “I was just explaining myself, Casey.”

“No, you were getting up in her face and being a douche.” Violet noticed Casey's hands clenched at his sides and was afraid he might take a swing at Dean.

Which would most likely get him kicked out of the program and add an assault charge on top of everything.

Violet wrapped her arms around her brother and swung him away from Dean, putting herself back between them. “Casey, stop it. Dean—Sergeant Sparks wasn't doing anything. He's just passionate about the program, that's all.”

“He was getting in your face—”

“If that were the case, do you really think I'd have sat back and taken it?”

Casey's shoulders fell, although he continued to glare daggers at Dean.

Violet jumped when his breath rustled her hair. “Should we continue with the tour?”

She hadn't been aware he was standing so close, but now she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back. Was he trying to get a rise out of Casey or her?

Violet stepped away and didn't face him again until she was next to Casey. “Lead the way, Sergeant Sparks.”

Dean turned on his heels and started walking once more, pointing out areas and talking about schedules while Violet's mind wandered. She hadn't been completely lying to Casey; Dean had spoken about helping animals with a passion, like the way she talked about cooking. He was right that animals couldn't speak for themselves, however, a part of her thought he might have been trying to punish her for seeming unsympathetic to the dogs. She didn't particularly like dogs, but she didn't want them hurt or abused either. She wasn't a monster.

But she couldn't get into all that with Casey standing there, already shooting suspicious looks between her and Dean. She would just have to wait and explain herself to Dean after.

Dean walked past the kennel door and into a large cafeteria. “This is the mess hall. All the meals are served here. There's no food allowed in the barracks. And through here”—Dean took them into another room, where a bunch of kids were preparing food—“is the kitchen. Like I said, everyone helps.”

The rest of the tour included the meal prep station for the dogs, the yard where they worked the dogs, and the gym. When they reached the room where Casey would be bunking, Dean pointed to a freshly made bed with a stack of clothes on top.

“That's your bunk. Get changed, and someone will be waiting for you outside this door. After your duties are done, there's class until lunch. Then Sergeant Best will assign you a dog. You'll learn some basic training and then go to class until dinner. After dinner, you'll report back to the kennels, and then lights out. Are we clear?”

“Yeah,” Casey grumbled.

“And while you're here, it's ‘yes, sir.' ”

Violet caught her laughter before it escaped, coughing loudly.

Her brother knew exactly what she was doing and made a face. “Yes, sir.”

“We'll work on it.” Dean's gaze came back to her, her heart catching as their eyes held briefly. “I'll give you two a minute to say good-bye, and then I'll walk you out.”

There was a promise to his words, and she shivered at the thought of being alone with Dean. Would he bombard her with questions? Would he rail at her in disappointment?

Or would he actually treat her just like any other worried parent?

When they were alone, Violet put her hand on Casey's shoulder and looked in his eyes. “Six weeks is nothing. And it doesn't sound too bad. You'll get to have a dog, finally. At least, for a little while.”

Casey didn't say anything, just stared at the floor. Sighing, Violet kissed the top of his head, but he jerked away. “I love you, Case. I wish I knew what I did to make you so angry.”

“You didn't do anything,” Casey snapped. “Just go. I'll be fine.”

Violet did as he asked, blinking back the tears. She closed the door behind her and avoided Dean's searching gaze. “Thank you for showing us around.”

“I'll walk you out,” Dean said.

“Really, I can find my way—”

“I can't let a civilian wander around the program alone. This here is Jorge,” Dean nodded at an approaching young man with a wicked grin. “He's a good kid and will take care of Casey. Won't you?”

“Yes, sir.” Jorge's gaze traveled over her from head to toe before he gave her a wink. “Ma'am.”

“And after you've shown Casey to the kennel, I'll let Martinez know you're to run laps with that lazy dog of yours,” Dean growled.

“Worth it, sir,” Jorge said.

Violet opened her mouth to say something to the little perv, but Dean's hand rested on the small of her back, propelling her forward gently. The heat of his palm burned through her shirt and branded her skin. She'd been trying to push the memory of his hands from her mind, and now she would have to start over again.

The silence between them was so loud, it actually hurt her nerves. Why wouldn't he talk? He'd obviously been trying to get her alone.

Unable to stand it anymore, she blurted, “I appreciate you not telling Casey that we've met before.”

Dean grunted. “That's an interesting way of putting it.”

Okay, he's definitely perturbed
. “And I'm sorry I didn't call, but as you can see, I kind of have my hands full.”

Dean's hand fell as they reached the lobby, and he shrugged. “It's fine, really. We had fun. It doesn't have to be anything more than that.”

“Oh, well”—What the hell did she say to that?—“thank you for being so understanding.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

Considering how eager he'd been to give them the tour and get her alone, this conversation was a bit anticlimactic.

Silence stretched between them once more, and Violet twisted her hands in front of her nervously. “Dean—”

“Violet, is that you?”

Violet saw Tyler sauntering up to them and grimaced. “Hey, Tyler.”

“Such a surprise to see you. How are things?” Tyler asked.

Violet glanced at Dean, who appeared to be clenching his jaw tighter than a steel trap. Obviously, Tyler was trying to make an awkward situation worse, and irritation pricked her temper. “About as well as can be expected, I guess.”

“Isn't that the truth?” Tyler actually put his arm around her and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “Hey, but that concert was fun, right? When you see Tracy, tell her I said hi.”

Violet shrugged off Tyler's arm with gritted teeth. “I'll do that.”

Tyler slapped Dean on the back with a grin. “Well, I'm sure you two kids have a lot to talk about.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Dean said with a snarl.

Violet's gaze shifted back and forth between the two as Tyler took off down the hall laughing. “I hope he doesn't mention the concert to anyone. The last thing I want is any of this getting back to Casey.”

“I'll make sure he keeps his mouth shut. We're supposed to be professionals, although you probably couldn't tell. I apologize for Sergeant Best.”

“It's okay, you can't always control the things your friends do.” Violet almost reached out to touch his arm but dropped it at the last minute. Between the security guards and Tyler waiting in the wings, she didn't want to cause any more talk. “I really do feel bad about how things happened after . . . ”

Dean cut her off with a shake of his head. “Violet, listen, we both got what we wanted. We said we'd try it once, and we did. No apologies, recriminations, or regrets. But in light of Casey and the fact that we'll be seeing each other a lot during his stay, let's just forget it ever happened.”

How was she supposed to forget about them when she'd be seeing him every day for over a month? How was she going to forget those lips on hers, trailing down her body and making her scream? “Can you do that? Just forget that anything ever happened?”

It wasn't a fair question, considering she'd been trying to do that very thing before today, but it had seemed like there was something more he'd wanted to say to her. Had she read into all of his looks? The tour? Had he really just been acting normal, and she'd seen something more because she'd wanted to?

He looked her dead in the eye, his expression blank. “Honestly, I'd forgotten about it until you showed up here today.”

Violet didn't believe him, not really, but his words cut deeper than any knife. Despite her resolve not to call him, she'd had a hard time concentrating on anything but him while he'd pretty much told her she was completely forgettable. Damn if that wasn't a kick to her pride, and he probably knew it. She'd really tried to hold onto a shred of dignity, but what was the point? She'd already made a giant ass of herself.

“Right, well, on that totally humiliating note, I am going to go and . . . ”
Run my car off the overpass?

Without finishing the sentence, she spun around and raced for the exit like a coward.

L
ATER THAT AFTERNOON
, Dean took Dilbert's leash in his left hand and flexed his sore right hand, satisfaction coursing through him as he remembered the dark shiner Best was now sporting. He'd deserved the hit after embarrassing Violet, and Dean wasn't sorry he'd done it. Too bad he couldn't put all the blame for her discomfort at Best's feet. He hadn't exactly been kind to her, either.

But what had she expected him to do? Rejection had never sat well with him, and despite all the crazy baggage she obviously carried, he'd been into her. Had been interested in seeing more of her.

And she had given him the big fat brush-off.

It hurt, but he had no right to take it personally. He should have just let it go and treated her like any other parent.

Except she wasn't a parent, which brought up more questions.

Dilbert started to lean lazily against Dean's leg, and he scowled down at him. Dilbert panted back adoringly. “Mutt, get off my leg.”

Dilbert closed his mouth, catching his top lip in his teeth as he cocked his head.

When they'd first been assigned to Alpha Dog, Dean had gone with Best to the shelter, and Best had asked if they had any dogs set to be euthanized. They'd shown them back to a room filled with kennels and cages. Best had taken his time, putting each dog through a series of tests and exercises to grade their temperaments.

When they'd gotten to Dilbert, they had already chosen four dogs to take back to Alpha Dog for training. One of the volunteers had come in then and broken down crying. She'd shown them photos on her phone of Dilbert in funny hats and glasses—an attempt to get him adopted. It had been too hard for Dean to watch, and he'd said he'd train Dilbert himself. Best had still tested his temperament, and he'd passed with shining colors.

There was only one issue with Dilbert—he was a sloth. He slept as much as Dean would let him and was slow as molasses. Still, Dean had grown attached to the big lump, so he kept him, using him for demonstrations. Dilbert had gone through the entire search and rescue program, which was Dean's department, but he was definitely better suited to be an instructor's pet than a full-on working dog. Dean still held out hope that he would find Dilbert a home before leaving, but if he didn't, he could always send Dilbert to live with his brother Freddy or his mom and dad. Being a house dog would be just up Dilbert's alley.

Dean and Dilbert followed along behind Best, who was taking Casey down the row of available dogs, telling him what was expected of him. Dean had already decided to take the kid into his training group, telling himself it had nothing to do with pumping the kid for information but knowing it was a lie. He wanted to know why Casey had such a massive attitude, especially where his sister was concerned.

“So, without further ado,” Best said, stopping in front of a kennel, “this is Apollo.”

Dean looked in at the four-month-old black Lab and hound mix named Apollo. Apollo and his brother, Zeus, had been dumped in front of the program when they were just a few weeks old, skinny and dehydrated. Best had taken them to his veterinarian for a wellness check and discovered that although they were malnourished, they were otherwise healthy.

“His ears are too big for his head,” Casey said. “His name should be Dumbo.”

“You can call him whatever you want, just make sure it's consistent,” Best said, opening the gate. As he led the puppy out, Dean didn't miss the way the boy's face softened.

Best handed him the leash and a pouch full of treats. “Take good care of him. He's a tough little guy.”

I get the feeling his new master is pretty tough, too.

“All right, Casey, let's join the other guys outside and get started,” Dean said. He noticed the shift in the kid's body when he addressed him, but he ignored it. It was Casey's first day, and he would try patience first. Violet wasn't wrong; most of the kids in the program had been through some form of trauma or another. Sometimes patience won out over a show of force.

The puppy strained to get closer to Dilbert, whose tail-thumping was about as excited as he got. Dean nodded at Best and headed for the back door that opened into the yard. As Casey and Apollo followed alongside him and Dilbert, Dean broke the silence.

“So, you live with your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“How is that?”

“Fine.”

The irony of his next question made Dean smile. “You're kind of taciturn, aren't you?”

Unlike Dean the first time he had heard it, Casey knew what the word meant, and from the dark, twisted look on his young face, it obviously ruffled his feathers.

“If you think you're going to pump me for information on my sister, you're delusional.”

Dean really hadn't been trying for information on Violet in this instance, and when they were just a few feet from Dean's unit, he stopped and faced Casey. “Look, Casey, I'm interested in what's going on with you and every kid who walks through that door. My goal is to make sure you don't end up back in here or worse. I'm not gonna lie, your sister is beautiful, but she's not in my unit. You are.”

Dean put his hand on the kid's shoulder and would have said more, but Casey jerked away violently and yelled, “Don't touch me! Don't you ever fucking touch me!”

Dean put his hands up in the air, and Liam, a young man who had been with him for a couple of months, jogged over with his dog, Ranger, in tow. Ranger was a black and white medium sized dog with a ton of energy who had come a long way in the last few months with Liam's gentle hand guiding him.

“Everything all right, sir?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, Liam. This is Casey. Let's get him set up in line.”

Liam was a tall, thin kid with dirty blond hair and crooked teeth. He had been caught shoplifting and earned a three-month sentence at Alpha Dog. Dean had read his file—a junkie mother followed by four foster homes. When he'd run away from the last one, he'd stolen a sack of groceries and an iPod, the latter of which he hoped to sell, but had been caught at the door.

Dean had pulled him into his group and found out that Liam was a natural leader and had been taking care of other runaways he'd met. The other kids in the unit turned to Liam when there was a dispute. Dean thought the kid deserved better than the hand life had dealt him. Liam was just past sixteen, and Dean had been searching for some way to help him get out of the system.

“Come on, dude,” Liam said.

Casey eyed Dean warily as he followed Liam into formation. All of the kids were to keep three feet between them and hold onto their leashes at all times.

“Attention!” Everyone except Casey stood straight, and Dean waited until Casey finally copied Liam's stance. “We have a new unit member, Casey Douglas. Please answer any questions he may have and help him feel welcome. He is in Barrack B. Who is in B?”

Liam, Jeff, and Carlos raised their hands.

“Good, you can keep an eye on him and make sure he's settling in. Now, let's get started.”

Dean brought Dilbert along and made him sit. “Your dog should always be sitting, whether in front of you or alongside you. Dilbert, about-face.”

Dilbert shifted to a sitting position next to Dean. It wasn't nearly as fast as some of the other trainers' dogs, but Dean gave him a treat anyway.

As Dean continued the lesson, he tried not to think about how much he enjoyed this part. Teaching the kids, seeing their faces when their dogs followed a command perfectly . . . They needed this program, and Dean wanted it to succeed and spread. That was the military's goal: to open up facilities like this across the country. It created new job opportunities for military personnel and established good rapport with the community.

But it wasn't where Dean belonged. He wanted to be back where the action was, needed to prove that he wasn't done. That what had happened wasn't his fault.

Pushing that day from his mind, he barked, “Next up, down-stay! Let's go.”

“Hey, Sparks!” Martinez called from behind him.

Dean turned around, irritated, but walked over to where Sergeant Oliver Martinez stood by the fence, his blue eyes watching Dean with concern.

“What?” Dean growled.

“Your psychiatrist called. You missed your appointment this morning.”

“My appointment is tomorrow. It's always Tuesday morning.” Every week, the same conversation over and over.

Martinez gave him a fierce frown. “No, remember I told you she'd called and had to change it to today because she was going out of town, and you said yeah, fine?”

“Fuck.” He couldn't have her thinking he was skipping out on his appointments. Not when he was so close to getting back what he'd lost.

“Lucky for you, I am a smooth-talking voodoo daddy and told her you had an emergency pop up with one of the kids. Asked her if you could come in an hour.”

Dean laughed with relief. “Thanks, man. I'm glad you answered the phone. Best would have left me out to dry.”

“Yeah, you owe me two because I'm about to take over your class for you while you get the hell out of here and handle your business. And start updating your appointments in your phone like you live in this century.”

Dean didn't point out that up until Oliver had met his girlfriend, Evelyn Reynolds, he'd been just as clueless as Dean when it came to technology. He didn't have the time to bring it up if he wanted to make it to Rita Wentworth's office.

He raced through the facility with Dilbert puffing beside him. When they stopped off at his office for his keys and wallet, Dean put Dilbert in his crate. The dog sucked down half his water bowl before collapsing onto his fluffy dog bed.

“We're going to have to work on your stamina, Dilbert, my man.”

Dilbert let out a loud, doggy sigh as Dean closed his office door. He started running again until he made it outside to his truck. Checking his dashboard clock as he turned the key, he figured he would make it to Rita's office with ten minutes to spare, as long as the roads were clear of construction.

Dean's thoughts started drifting to what he was going to say to Rita today. He'd given her every detail he could remember about the day of the bomb, from the smell of smoke and burning flesh to the ear-splitting sound of his brothers' screams. Still, she just kept telling him,
“Okay, we'll pick this up again next week.”

Dean just wanted her to tell him what in the hell she wanted. What would it take for her to just sign off and give him his life back?

Maybe the truth. Maybe if you told her about the nightmares, she could give you something to help you sleep.

But if he told her about the dreams, about the anxiety and the sleepless nights, she'd have everything she needed to keep him out of the action. She'd probably try to shove a bunch of medications down his throat, and he didn't want to be all drugged up like a zombie. He wanted to be the guy people could count on.

He just wanted to feel needed—not lucky. People had told him over and over
how lucky
he was to be alive,
how lucky
he was to get a post stateside and not have to go back.

Dean pulled into Rita Wentworth's office lot and parked before walking inside to the quiet, whitewashed sitting area. A landscape of a cottage surrounded by wildflowers was the only splash of color in the room. Even the couch he sat down on was cream colored, which probably explained the
NO EATING OR DRINKING
sign on the opposite wall.

Rita stepped out into the hallway, her hand on the back of a woman who was wiping at her cheeks furiously with a tissue.

“I'll see you next week, Susan. Call if you need to talk sooner than that.”

“Thank you, Rita,” Susan sniffled.

Once Susan disappeared out the door, Dean stood as Rita faced him, her blue eyes seeming to pierce his soul. He assumed she was in her early fifties by the lines on her face and threads of gray in her jet-black hair, but he had never been a good judge of women's ages.

“Dean, how are you doing?”

“I'm fine, Rita. Just fine.”

“Good.” With a fluttering wave of her hand, she asked, “Should we get started then?”

V
IOLET WAS JUST
wrapping up her day at the hotline and wished she had called in today. Her day had gone from bad to worse, first with Dean and then with school. She'd gotten to her summer class only to find that it had been canceled. No e-mail or text from the teacher, just a note on the door that said
Class canceled. Sick
.

“So sorry you wasted precious gas to drive to campus this morning, but I am probably off getting my nob waxed,” Violet had said aloud in a fake British accent, mocking the professor. He was a pompous, sexist ass, but his class was a requirement she needed.

So, she'd gone in early for her shift at Here to Listen, figuring it would keep her mind off of things, but that hadn't helped either. She had spent most of it distracted, worrying about Casey and how he was doing on his first day. She had almost called several times but stopped herself. The last thing she wanted was to pester them so much that they kicked Casey out.

Or are you just worried you might get Dean on the phone and have another awkward conversation?

“Sometimes, I just feel like no one can see me. Like they don't even notice that I'm drowning,” the caller said softly on the other end of the line, bringing Violet out of her head. She was glad that the caller couldn't see her cheeks burning guiltily. It wasn't fair to these people for her to tune them out. It was just one more person letting them down.

Trying to make up for her insensitivity, she said, “I can imagine that is very hard to deal with. Really, anytime you need to talk, please call us. And it is really important to let your family know how you're feeling, too. Sometimes, people just get busy and don't mean to push others away. If you just sit them down and voice your concerns, I am sure that they will be there for you.”