Stephanie Bond - Baby, Hold On

“I won’t overwork him. But he hasn’t been in the field in a while, and I think the discipline will be good for him. For now I’ll just put him through familiar exercises until he can take an advanced class.”

“You know your dog better than anyone,” Dr. Greenwood conceded. “How can I get in touch with you when the results of the tests come back?”

“I’m staying in one of the cabins on Clover Ridge. My cell number is on Sheridan’s paperwork.”

The doctor nodded, and the men shook hands.

“Sheridan, come,” Mike said.

At his dog’s hesitation, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Sheridan, come.”

The dog pushed to his feet, slowly. Then he dipped his black head to pick up the pink stuffed bone the other dog had left behind and walked forward to allow Mike to hook a leash to his collar.

Mike’s mouth tightened at the sight of the toy. “Sheridan, drop it.”

But the dog only whined.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Greenwood offered. “Lacey makes them for her customers. He can keep it.”

Except Sheridan was an alpha dog—no pink toys allowed. “Sheridan, drop it.”

More whining, no dropping.

Mike blinked. He’d seen Sheridan balk at a command, perhaps be momentarily confused in the heat of the moment, but the dog hadn’t disobeyed a command outright since his early days as a training pup.

“Er, perhaps he’s confused after the examination I gave him,” the doctor offered, opening the door and extending his arm toward the hallway.

Mike acquiesced—the man had other patients. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” He led Sheridan out into the hallway, squashing the alarm that niggled at him.

When they entered the lobby, the woman whose dog had barged into the exam room sat in a chair with a firm grip on the terrier’s leash. She made eye contact and gave him a little smile. She was cute in a gypsy sort of way, petite and earthy. With her brightly colored clothes and wild blond hair, he could see why people might attribute her success with dogs to mystical qualities. He didn’t believe in that stuff, but he did feel contrite for barking at her like a dog himself.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “I overreacted.”

“No need to apologize,” she said. “It was my fault.”

“Lacey Lovejoy, meet Mike Nichols,” Dr. Greenwood said.

She stood and extended a slender hand. He shook it, startled by the strength he felt there. But then again, hadn’t the doctor said she was a groomer?

From the floor, her dog yapped a greeting, straining at the leash she’d reined in.

“Sit,” she said, and the terrier obeyed.

And so did Sheridan.

Mike clenched his jaw, but saw his opportunity to get rid of the pink plaything. “Here’s your dog’s toy. Sheridan, drop it.”

Again, only whining. Exasperated, Mike reached down to take hold of the stuffed toy. “Sheridan, release.”

He wouldn’t. When Mike pulled, Sheridan pulled back until they were in a tug-of-war—which Sheridan won when Mike lost his grip. He was incredulous at his dog’s behavior.

“He can keep it,” Lacey said.

“That’s not the point,” he said evenly. “When I tell him to do something, he’s supposed to do it.”

“He’s a search and rescue dog?”

He nodded, surprised.

“I recognized the decal on his collar,” she said, gesturing. “Is he training at the local academy?”

“Yes…I mean, he will be. As soon as he’s well.”

The woman crouched until she was face-to-face with his dog.

Mike shifted uncomfortably.

She angled her head. “He’s not sick. He’s…afraid.”

Unable to contain his skepticism, he scoffed, “Oh? You’re a dog psychic?”

She pushed to her feet, a little wrinkle marring her brow. “No. I’m a dog groomer.”

“Well, when Sheridan needs a haircut, I’ll bring him to see you,” Mike said pointedly. “Otherwise, I think I’ll let the real doctor figure out what’s wrong.”

Her face blanched. “Of course. I didn’t mean to interfere.” She turned to Dr. Greenwood. “Which exam room should I take Chaz to for his rabies booster?”

“Room one is fine,” Dr. Greenwood said.

“Goodbye, Mr. Nichols,” she said cheerfully. “And good luck.”

He watched her and her friendly little dog go, as if she couldn’t wait to leave the room he was in. Disappointment warred with irritation as she swished away—he hadn’t asked for the kooky woman’s input, so he had no reason to feel guilty about refusing her so-called help.

His dog didn’t need a damn shrink.

Dr. Greenwood coughed politely. “Let me know if you notice any changes in Sheridan—good or bad. Otherwise, I’ll call you when I know more.”

Mike nodded and led Sheridan to the door, frowning down at the pink stuffed bone clamped in his dog’s jaws. Yet another step backward.

He was starting to regret coming to this place called Sweetness.

Chapter Three

“The doc will figure out what’s wrong with him,” Barry Ballantine said.

Mike wiped sweat from his brow. Even with a prosthetic lower leg, his former military buddy was setting a brisk pace for their morning run across Clover Ridge. Barry was an ex—Navy SEAL who ran the newly built dog training facility. Next to them ran Sealy, Barry’s German shepherd mix, and Sheridan, who showed no signs of fatigue…and still held the stuffed pink bone clamped in his mouth.

“What’s with the girlie toy?” Barry asked with a grin.

Mike frowned. “Some eccentric lady and her dog were at the vet’s office, and her dog gave it to Sheridan. Now he’ll only put it down to eat, and then he guards it like a damn treasure.”

“Eccentric? Curly blond hair, pretty?”

Mike shrugged. “She’s cute, I guess. Fluffy name.”

“Lacey Lovejoy.”

“Yeah, that’s her—lady’s got a screw loose.”

Barry laughed. “People around here think she can communicate with animals.”

“I know,” Mike said with a scoff. “She tried to psychoanalyze my dog.”

“What’d she say?”

Mike stopped running and massaged a stitch in his side.

Barry stopped, too, then threw a mock punch. “You’re getting soft, man.”

Mike gave a little laugh. “Shut up, man. I feel like crap. I got no sleep last night—Sheridan woke me up every couple of hours, howling.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Pain, more likely. I’m afraid it’s something serious, but I’m trying not to worry until Dr. Greenwood gets back to me with the test results.”

Barry nodded. “So what did Lacey have to say about Sheridan?”

Mike frowned. “She said he was scared.”

“Of what?”

“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. What a crock.”

“Maybe,” Barry agreed. “But she comes to the training center to groom the dogs, and she’s good with them—even the bad-tempered ones.”

“Sheridan isn’t bad-tempered.”

“You know what I mean—the difficult trainees, the ones that are hyper or antisocial. Lacey has a way with them.”

Mike lifted his water bottle for a drink, then poured a few splashes over Sheridan’s head, since he couldn’t seem to put down the toy long enough to pant and cool himself down naturally. The dog skittered sideways, which only irritated Mike more. “This is why you asked me to bring Sheridan here, to see this Dr. Dolittle lady?”

“Of course not. Like you, I thought Sheridan was just getting lazy, being rebellious.” Barry nodded to the black Lab. “But it’s evident something’s wrong—he’s a different dog than I remember.”

Mike chewed on his tongue. “Like you said, Dr. Greenwood will figure it out.”

Barry clapped him on the back. “Probably. Let’s head back.”