Page 14 of Asher

That those tiny rubber dots hurt told Asher how stubborn she was and how badly damaged her feet were. The doctor at the Pakistan Embassy had meticulously dug thorns, rock chips, and debris out of her soles, but he’d had to stitch the deepest wounds, and those would take time to heal.Mental note to self: tell Libby Marlowe’s feet needed more attention.

She’d been dragged barefoot up that mountain, and only heaven knew how many miles she’d been fast-marched before those bastards got her into the cave. Asher’s gut clenched at what else they could’ve done to her, but the embassy doctor had assured him that she hadn’t been violated. Didn’t keep Asher from wanting to kill those three again. Three against one tiny woman? Chicken shits.

“It’s good you won’t be walking then.” Asher slowed the chair to a stop at the open barn door. Harley’s barn was divided into three walled-off sections: one for his veterinary practice, another for boarding and breeding kennels, and the last, for a training arena where he taught owners how to handle their comfort dogs. The dogs in the outside kennels quieted now that they realized they weren’t getting visitors today.

“That’s a lot of big dogs,” Marlowe murmured.

“Are you afraid of them?”

“No, I’ve seen bigger, but they all had handlers, and that was before—” Her jaw snapped shut.

Asher knew what she hadn’t said. Most dogs born in Afghanistan were flea-infested, mangy, underfed mutts of no significant breeds. But bigger dogs with handlers could only be US military working dogs, and those handlers were American soldiers, Marines, or Navy SEALs. He carried on as if she hadn’t given a tiny piece of her backstory away. “This is the best kennel this side of the Mississippi. Harley Mortimer runs it, and you’re here to help me select one of his service dogs, so…” He clapped his hands. “Hop to it.”

“Is he Judy’s husband?”

“Yes, and he’s also one helluva dog breeder, but be prepared. His boys might be working today. Little A is the quiet one and Georgie is… Oh, forget it. They’re in school. Never mind.”

“Who’s the service dog for?”

“Me,” Asher admitted, not worried what Marlowe might think of him for needing a comfort animal. It was what it was.

She looked up at him, concern stamped on her poor battered face. “Oh?” she asked, speaking over the excited canines inside. “Do you, umm, have nightmares or something?”

For the first time since he’d met her, Asher noticed Marlowe’s one visible eye was blue. Not dark indigo-blue like Libby’s, but sky-blue. Bright blue. Like falling-star-in-the-middle-of-the-day blue. He blinked at the electricity crackling between them. His mouth went dry. He’d had these same disjointed feelings for Marlowe in Afghanistan. He could’ve sworn he’d heard his Grandma Downey whisper,‘She’s the one for you, Asher. Take good care of her.’It had honestly felt like he’d been introduced—until Marlowe nailed his balls and he’d dropped like a sack of shit at her feet.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

He jolted back to the present at the snark in her apology. “No, it’s not that. I’m just…”Shocked that you’re brave enough to ask.Brave or tactless, he liked both qualities in a woman. Better than acting like she cared when she didn’t. “Yes, I have nightmares, and sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, my house is torn to hell because of them.”

“I’m sorry.”

The scary thing about Marlowe was how fast she changed from wicked-mean to gentle as a lamb. Like now. She placed a soft hand over his on the chair handle. That simple gesture had him noticing how slender her fingers were. How feminine compared to his thicker, callused fingers. “I have bad dreams, too, Asher. They keep me up at night sometimes, but I… but I…” She chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve never had a house to wreck, so you’re one up on me there.”

That revelation hit Asher like a punch to his gut. He dropped to a knee at her side, and, like an overprotective fool, asked, “May I give you a hug? I’ll be gentle. I promise I won’t hurt you. I just…”Really want to hold you.

Marlowe jerked away as if he’d asked if he could slap her.

Asher opened his big mouth to recall his asinine request. What kind of guy asks permission to hug a woman? Something as simple as that usually happened on its own. But no. He had to go and make it a big deal. Like it meant something. Which it didn’t. He’d meant it as a way to get closer to her. To gain her confidence. Nothing more. Nothing, really. Just a friendly hug between a guy and a gal who didn’t know each other. Not one thing more.

“Well-l-l-l-l…” Marlowe drew that word out. “I guess. If you have to.”

I guess. If you have to.Total rejection. Another big clue.Despite being put in his place, Asher stretched one arm carefully across Marlowe’s tense shoulders and delivered the shortest, most awkward, platonic hug in history. He got no response. No attempt to hug back. Hugging her was like hugging a statue. Not as cold, but she might as well’ve been made of stone.

After mere seconds, he cleared his throat, drew in a deep breath of get-the-hell-over-yourself, and withdrew from the strangest contact in history. He’d forgotten. Marlowe wasn’t like most women. She didn’t want physical contact, and the tender vibe he’d thought he’d felt before was his imagination. Well, shit. He was right. She still planned on returning to Afghanistan. What had she said back in that cave?“I wasn’t hurting anyone. I have work to do.”

Okay, then. Lesson learned. Moving on.Asher wheeled her into the barn and prepared to be let down again.

Chapter Eight

The noise that greeted Marlowe inside the barn was not what she expected. Not a single dog barked or whined, not inside or outside. It was uncanny how silent they all were. Well, except for the little yellow fellow in the nearest kennel. He yapped and slapped the ground with both paws, his tail wagging and his butt wiggling like he wanted to play. The cutie was smiling. He looked like he was happy to see her. She was sure of it, hewassmiling.

“Look, Asher.” She nearly squealed, pointing out the brazen pup who was now, literally, climbing the chain-link wall of his kennel. He yelped at her. Right at her. Not at anyone else. Hewassmiling, his whole body wiggling so hard that he fell off the fence and landed on his fluffy butt. But then he bounced to his feet and started climbing again. “Look. He’s smiling.”

“I see him,” Asher replied calmly, then yelled, “Hey, Harley. We’re here.”

A tall, sandy-haired man on a phone leaned backward out of the big wooden stall at Marlowe’s right and waved. “Howdy, ma’am. Asher. I’ll be a minute, so make yourselves comfortable.The MWDs are in the rear corner, but they’re all spoken for. Everyone else is fair game.”

“Copy that. Thanks,” Asher answered.

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