Page 123 of Only the Devil
“Smaller how?”
I grin up at him. “What do you think about getting a dog?”
Jake’s entire face lights up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I've been thinking about it for weeks. This place has a yard, we’re both home more often now that the team’s based here, and…” I shrug. “I think I’m ready for the responsibility. Practice for eventual offspring.”
“What kind of dog?”
“I was thinking we could go to the shelter. See who needs us.” I trace a pattern on his chest. “I’ve always been partial to the older ones. The ones other people pass by.”
Jake’s quiet for a moment, his hands stroking up and down my back. “The survivors.”
“Exactly.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You know what? I think your horoscope might be onto something.”
Three hours later, we’re standing in the adoption area of the Blue Ridge Animal Rescue, surrounded by the sounds of hopeful barking and the smell of industrial-strength disinfectant. Jake’s been crouching in front of different kennels for the past twenty minutes, having serious conversations with various dogs like he’s conducting job interviews.
“What about this guy?” He’s stopped in front of a kennel housing a medium-sized mutt with graying fur around his muzzle and the most soulful brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
I read the card attached to the gate. “Ranger. Nine years old. Owner surrender due to housing issues. Good with kids and other animals. Needs someone patient—he’s shy at first.”
Ranger is pressed against the back of his kennel, watching us with cautious hope. His tail gives the tiniest wag when Jake extends his fingers through the chain link.
“Hey there, buddy,” Jake says softly. “What’s your story?”
One of the volunteers, a college-aged girl with kind eyes, appears beside us. “Ranger’s been here for four months. He’s a sweet boy, but most people want puppies. His previous owner had him for six years before they had to move somewhere that didn’t allow pets.”
My heart clenches. Six years of love and stability, then abandonment through no fault of his own. “Can we meet him?”
“Of course! Let me get the key.”
Five minutes later, we’re in one of the meet-and-greet rooms with Ranger, who’s sitting as far from us as possible while still keeping us in sight. Jake sits on the floor, making himself less intimidating, and pulls a small bag of treats from his pocket.
“When did you?—”
“Stopped at the front desk while you were filling out paperwork,” he says without taking his eyes off Ranger. “Figured we might need these.”
He tosses a treat halfway between himself and the dog, then settles back against the wall. “No pressure, boy. We’ve got time.”
I sit beside Jake, marveling at his patience. This is the same man who once disarmed a bomb with thirty seconds left on the timer–at least according to one of his Navy teammates who visited two months ago–but he’s willing to sit here for as long as it takes for a scared dog to trust him.
It takes fifteen minutes. Ranger creeps forward for the treat, then retreats. Then comes a little closer for the next one. Finally, he’s close enough for Jake to extend his hand, letting Ranger sniff before attempting any contact.
When Ranger finally leans into Jake’s touch, pressing his graying head against Jake’s palm, I feel something in my chest go soft and warm.
“I think he likes you,” I whisper.
“He’s got good taste.” Jake scratches behind Ranger’s ears, rewarded with the dog’s first real tail wag. “What do you think, Daze? Ready to give this old boy a new start?”
I watch as Ranger, growing braver, steps closer to investigate me. His tail starts wagging harder when I offer my hand, and when I scratch under his chin, he makes a soft huffing sound that might be contentment.
“I think,” I say, looking between Jake and Ranger, “we found our plant upgrade.”
Jake’s smile could power half of North Carolina. “Ranger Ryder. Has a nice ring to it.”
“Ranger Jonas-Ryder,” I correct. “We’re not married yet.”
