Page 4 of Operation K-9 Brothers
Chapter Two
There were two seasons in Afghanistan: freeze-your-ass-off cold and heatstroke fucking hot.At the moment Jack was positive he’d sweated off a good fifteen pounds under his uniform, flak jacket, and gear.He spit the dust out of his mouth and swiped his sleeve across his forehead.If he took off his helmet, a gallon of perspiration would probably fall down his face.He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that the warm water he was chugging was a beer so cold that it had turned into an icy slush.Didn’t work.
After giving Dakota some water, he nodded at his team.Time to move out.They were doing a reconnaissance run, looking for an Afghan official who’d been kidnapped.Intel had come in that the man was being held in the small village two klicks ahead.Since the information had come from an unreliable source, their orders were to find a place where they could observe.If they could confirm the official’s presence, they’d mount a rescue.
He was point with Dakota, and he made a useless wish that they could find a location to set up that had a damn shade tree.Useless because there wasn’t a single tree between him and the horizon.Dakota was a few steps ahead, her tongue flopping out the side of her mouth as she panted in an attempt to cool down.She was his third dog, and a good one.
A klick out from the village, Jack removed his sunglasses to wipe the sweat from his forehead again.Dakota came to a sudden stop, then pushed her sixty pounds of muscled body against his legs, forcing him back.
Jack lurched up, the sound of the explosion roaring in his ears and the smell of burning flesh in his nose.A wet tongue licked his face, the stench of cooked skin replaced with dog breath.Dakota’s whimpers penetrated his brain, bringing him back to the present.
He sucked in a lungful of air.“It’s okay, girl.”More air inhaled.“I’m awake.”This was their routine each time the nightmare came.It was always the same, the thunderous boom of the explosion sending him straight up in bed, his heart jackhammering in his chest, and his lungs searching for air.Dakota was always there to bring him out of it.
A week passed, and Jack still hadn’t heard from Nichole.He’d been sure he’d get a call from her after they talked about Rambo’s training.Had he lost the ability to read women?Maybe the bomb had stolen that particular talent.
He continued with Dakota’s daily therapy treatments on her leg and stuck to his morning ten-mile runs.Although he was scarred all the way down the left side of his body except where his flak jacket had protected him, his legs worked just fine.And Dakota was making good progress, which was great.
What he wasn’t good with was his damaged shoulder and arm refusing to heal as fast as he wanted.His team needed him, and between worrying about them and having nightmares, he was fighting bouts of depression.But he was a SEAL and SEALs sucked it up.So that was what he was doing, or trying to.
His house had belonged to his parents, and at their deaths five years ago, ownership had come to him, no mortgage attached.He’d considered selling it, but it was full of memories of his mom and dad, and he’d decided to hang on to it.For a while anyway.Now he was glad he had.He’d had a place to come home to after getting hurt.Besides, the mountain views off his back deck were amazing.It was a good place to heal.
Unable to fall back asleep after his latest nightmare, he made a pot of coffee and went out to the deck to watch the sun come up.Dakota put her head on his knee, her dark-chocolate eyes peering up at him.
“Time for our run, huh?”
Dakota barked her agreement.
“Let’s go then.”
She was a Belgian Malinois, a working dog.A dog that needed to be active and useful.With her damaged leg, she couldn’t manage his ten-mile runs, so he’d go a half-mile one way and back with her, then put her in the house before doing another nine miles.She was never happy about getting left behind.She still believed it was her job to protect his six, and how could she watch his back if she wasn’t with him?
His thoughts returned to Nichole as he ran.How had he been so wrong, certain he would hear from her?And what to do about it?Although he should forget about her, he was finding that impossible.
Maybe he’d give her another week, then drop by her booth at the River Arts District.Tell her he was in the neighborhood—or something stupid like that—and was curious to see how Rambo was doing.
Or maybe not.If she didn’t call, then she wasn’t interested in seeing him.Truthfully, it was irritating that he couldn’t get her out of his head.
Hot and sweaty after returning home, he jumped in the shower.He had a physical therapy session in the afternoon, but what to do with himself until then?The hours when he had nothing to do but think were killing him.He was out of the loop—didn’t know what was going on with his team—so he worried.Were they out on an op right now?He should be with them, and although it wouldn’t be Dakota, he’d have a new dog sniffing out bad guys and IEDs, helping to keep them safe.
Ants crawled under his skin, something that was happening more and more lately.He snatched up the keys to his Ford 150 pickup.Dakota loved to go for rides, and it made him happy to see her hanging her head out the window, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, a silly dog grin on her face.Yes, his dog smiled, and although she looked ridiculous doing it, he never could resist smiling back at her.
He was in dire need of a buddy to go out and have a beer or two with, if the highlight of his days was a grinning dog.A certain woman who seemed to be ignoring him would be even better.
“Want to—” His phone rang before he could say the wordsgo for a ride, which would have brought his sleeping dog instantly to her feet.Even so, she jumped up from her nap on the floor and glared at the phone.
“Disturbing your precious sleep, are we?”
She shifted her glare to him, as if he’d purposely made the contraption make noise.
The screen displayed Caller Unknown, and he almost didn’t answer.But it was an Asheville area code, and his heart skipped a beat.No, it wasn’t Nichole.She would have called him by now.He answered anyway.
Nichole managed to wait an entire week to call Jack Daniels, and that wasn’t an easy thing to do.She wanted to call him minutes after he left to tell him she would take him up on his offer to train Rambo.Each time her fingers crept to his number on her phone, she chanted,Don’t be easy.Don’t be easy.Don’t be easy.Because seriously, what woman wouldn’t throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her, however, wherever, and whenever he wanted?She wasn’t going to be one of those girls.
So she made herself wait.It didn’t stop her from watching the entrance to the artisans’ mall, half expecting to see him walk in.He didn’t.Not only was that disappointing, but it made her wonder if she was wrong in thinking she’d seen interest in his eyes.And because she let seven days go by, and because he hadn’t made an appearance, she was now hesitant to call him.Maybe he was relieved she hadn’t taken him up on his offer to train Rambo.
She sighed when her dog put his paws on a customer’s legs, begging for attention.“No, Rambo.”He ignored her.“I’m sorry,” she said to the woman as she tugged on his leash, dragging him back to her.He was such a friendly dog, and she didn’t want to curb his enthusiasm for life, but he couldn’t keep jumping on people.
“Perhaps he would be happier left at home,” the woman said before walking away.
