Taking Heart (2 page)

“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 that drowned 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 him 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 each side of the door frame. 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.

“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 lopsided 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. He sported nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle on his six-foot-plus frame, so 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 gaze was immediately drawn to 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.

He shifted in the seat of the Camaro his brother had rented. The old Dylan would have been itching to open the car on the long stretch of highway, to press his foot to the floor and let the powerful beast fly over the asphalt, like Icarus soaring toward the sun. But that man had become mortal, died the day a bullet grazed his temple and a grenade exploded beside him. He fisted his hands, trying to control the anger that rose to the surface whenever he thought of what he'd lost.

“Yeah. Where is this place? BFE? How much farther?”

Gage checked the GPS navigation. “About five miles. Just off the next exit.”

Dylan's brows drooped. “Not much around here, is there?”

Gage shrugged as he turned off the highway. “Maybe that's a good thing.”

“I don't like it. There's a lot of trees and ground cover. Too many hills.”

He knew it might not make sense to anyone else, but the hills and wooded areas made it harder for Dylan to see anyone approaching. He might not be in combat any longer, but that didn't stop him from scanning the woods for enemies. The doctors claimed it was just part of the PTSD, but he hadn't met a soldier yet who didn't continue to watch his back, even at home.

It was the same reason he'd done Internet searches on this training facility while his brother was sleeping. He not only wanted to get a lay of the place, but he wanted to know what he should expect. He was surprised to find out it was run by a woman. He'd even watched a few of the videos posted on her website. As much as it looked like she knew what she was doing, he wasn't sure how much a dog trainer could understand about a PTSD case like his without having been in combat. The woman in the videos looked more like a cheerleader than someone who knew anything about fear, trauma, or death.

Dylan crossed his arms over his chest as they approached the entrance and a sign welcoming them to Heart Fire Training Facility. As they pulled up to the main house, Dylan saw his brother's eyes widen. The house was a sprawling two-story ranch style with a wraparound porch, but what really caught his attention was the beautiful woman seated on the steps waiting for them.

“Damn.”

Dylan chuckled at his brother's response. He couldn't help but agree. She was much prettier in person than she'd been in her videos, and that was saying a lot. He turned to say something and found his brother staring at him. “What?”

“You laughed.”

“Okay?”

Gage stopped the car and turned it off. “That's the first time I've heard you laugh since you came home.”

Dylan clenched his jaw, reaching for the door handle. His brother was right, and it had actually felt good, until he realized that he was the only one in his unit still able to laugh. Guilt washed over him as he thought about the families who had lost loved ones because of his failure. He climbed out of the car, refusing to respond.

“Hi, I'm Julia. You must be Dylan?”

The woman moved down the stairs, a broad smile on her face as she extended her hand. Immediately a monster-sized dog bounded down the stairs and sat at her feet, staring up at Dylan. He tucked his hands into his pockets, his mouth turning down as his brows bunched in a frown. He wasn't about to put out a hand where this beast could bite. The dog cocked his head to one side, studying Dylan, then opened his mouth in what looked like a grin, his huge pink tongue lolling to the side.

She laughed. “It's okay. Tango is a big teddy bear.” She seemed to catch herself. “Unless he's on alert and working.”

He wondered at her hesitation and looked back at the dog, and the teeth he could see inside the sloppy grin. “Teddy bear, huh?”

His brother moved around the car and reached for her hand. “Hi, I'm Gage. We spoke on the phone. This is Dylan.”

Dylan nodded at her, not moving to approach as he looked around at the facility. He assumed from the barks, yips, and howls that the solitary outbuilding was a kennel or training area. The rest of the property was open with pine trees surrounding the back of the property into the hills. She had landscaped the front with wildflowers and grasses that looked native yet too orderly to be natural.

“If you want to grab your bags, I'll show you to your rooms,” she offered as she turned back to the house.

Dylan didn't miss the fact that the dog rose and followed behind her. He met his brother at the trunk of the car. “That dog is a monster,” he muttered. “If you think I'm taking something like that home, you're the crazy one.”

“You're not crazy and just give it a chance, will you?” Gage looked around the side of the car, making sure Julia couldn't hear the criticism. “What's the worst-case scenario? That you get to stare at her for three weeks?”

Dylan glared at his brother. The last thing he needed was any sort of romantic entanglement. He couldn't even take care of himself right now. “You go right ahead.”

“You can't be serious. Are you blind?”

Dylan shrugged. He hadn't missed anything—not her curves, not her smile, not the white scar at her temple, and certainly not the way her dark brown eyes seemed to dance as she spoke. But he had nothing to offer, and he wasn't selfish enough to sentence anyone else to the hell that was his life now. It was just easier to avoid any emotion, even the good ones. Hurt followed too closely at every turn.

“Are you two coming?” she called from the doorway. Dylan shut the trunk as his brother headed toward the house.

That smile was on her lips again as she opened the door, and he felt a stab of jealousy at the opportunity he'd just passed up for his brother. He didn't fault Gage; under different circumstances, he would have taken a shot at her. Dylan had always assumed he'd be married by now, maybe with a kid or two, but now, with a different sort of future ahead of him, he was glad he'd never taken the plunge. He had enough guilt on his shoulders without a wife and kids to disappoint. Gage held open the door for him, and they followed Julia inside.

The house was tastefully furnished, more for comfort than in any particular style, but it was homey and welcoming. He thought he smelled cookies as they passed the kitchen and continued down the hall.

“I put you guys in the back of the house. There's a back door just off the hall, and these two rooms adjoin.” She looked pointedly at Dylan. “If you need anything, just let me know. I'll do my best to make this an easy transition for you.”

The sympathy in her dark eyes made him cringe. He didn't want this woman feeling sorry for him. He didn't want anyone pitying him. He was a special ops medic, had completed some of the most difficult military training the world had to offer, and here he was with a dog trainer assessing his ability to care for some mutt?

He inhaled deeply, stuffing the rage into the recesses of his chest. Now wasn't the time, and she wasn't whom he was really angry at. That he could recognize the fact was a step in the right direction and would make his therapist proud, but it wasn't enough for him. “Thanks, this will be fine.”

Dylan went into the room and dropped his bag on the bed while Gage moved into the next room. Julia stood in his doorway and stared at him, making him wish she'd hurry up and move on. “Is there something else?”

“You don't really want to be here, do you?” Dylan didn't detect any judgment or condemnation in her voice. She was simply stating a fact.

His brother appeared at her shoulder. “He's just tired from the stress of the trip,” he offered.

She glanced back at Gage then back to Dylan and arched a brow, doubtful. “Tired, huh?”

Clearly, she didn't believe Gage's excuse. She wasn't just a pretty face. This woman had a brain. Dylan didn't want to lie, so he just kept his too-honest mouth shut, setting the variety of anti-anxiety pills, sleeping aids, and pain medication on top of the dresser.