“I know you love your World War II history. It’s hard to think of you without full bookshelves.”
He felt a warm stab in his gut. Did he care that Winnie remembered something personal about him?
“I have an electronic reader and I tend to use that for straight history. But you’re right, I miss my books. There’s nothing like looking at photographs of vintage aircraft.”
“I imagine you don’t have too many extra hours, what with work. Are you back full-time, then?”
“No, not quite. I’m close, though. I just have to do this dog thing with you—or rather, Sam.” Sam’s ears pricked but he remained at Max’s feet on the kitchen floor. “Hopefully my therapist will be satisfied that I’m ready to play like a big boy again and let me get back to a real job.”
“This ‘dog thing’ can’t be all that’s keeping you from working full-time.”
Same Winnie, same cut-the-bullshit attitude.
Instead of annoying him like they used to, her questions now seemed oddly comforting.
“No, it’s not. You’re right. I still have two more weeks before I’ll be released from the mandatory rest I had to take for my shrapnel wounds.” Truth be told, he’d needed the two days off per week. Until about a month ago, he’d found the exhaustion the hardest part of all the injuries, physical and mental.
“Are you on meds?”
“Are you a medical doctor?” His reply cut across the unavoidable buildup of sexual tension between them.
“No. I’m sorry, Max.” She did look sorry. And jumpy. When and why had she ever been jumpy around him?
She crossed her arms in front of her and stood in the middle of his living room. “We haven’t, I haven’t, we, um…”
“We haven’t spoken in over two years.” He finished it for her.
“No, and I don’t know where to start, especially since—”
“The last time we were together we didn’t have clothes on?”
Bingo. Red flush, bright eyes.
She’s still attracted to you.
“About that—” she began.
“No, Winnie, stop. We don’t have to go over any of this. It was two years ago, and like you said, we never spoke again. There’s no sense in dredging it up now. But I am curious as to why you agreed to work with me. You must’ve known it was me before you came out here.”
“Yes, of course I did.” She raised her chin. “I thought it was the least I owed you after everything you did for Krista and me.”
“You never have to thank me for that, Winnie. Tom was my friend.”
“I know, and I know I thanked you back then and again two years ago.” She paused. “But I can never thank you enough for all your help.”
He held up his hand and fought the urge to come around the counter and gather her in his arms.
“It’s over, Winnie. We’re moving on. No more reliving all that history, okay?”
He saw her eyes cloud as she bit her bottom lip.
He wanted to ease her obvious distress.
Old habits die hard.
She nodded. “You’re right, Max. It’s not fair to you, to either of us, to keep bringing up Tom and when he died.”
Was this the same Winnie he knew? The woman who’d fought so hard for whatever she wanted from Tom, who’d all but ordered him to leave the Navy after his first tour?
He was reminded of why he’d been so attracted to Winnie two years ago; that night of the Air Show. He’d seen this quality in her then, recognizing the mature woman she’d been hiding under her younger, often self-centered, persona.
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “So that’s that. Now tell me more about your new business and your life.”
The relief in her expression was almost comical.
“I love the business I started. It’s not really new anymore—heck, it’s been almost four years and I’ve been turning a decent profit for the past eighteen months. Great considering the economy, you know?”
Her eyes widened as she regarded him and he couldn’t keep his mouth from twitching.
“What, Max?”
“Winnie, we’ve known each other for how long—ten, twelve years?”
“Fifteen.” Her answer was soft and swift.
“Okay, fifteen. I’ve seen you through your best days and your not-so-good days.” He wouldn’t say “worst,” since they’d just agreed to keep Tom’s death out of it. “The Winnie I used to know says ‘hell’ and doesn’t make bullshit small-talk with her friends.”
Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lower lip. A sensual memory of how he’d licked and sucked on that lip punched him in the gut.
“I—” she began, then shook her head. “I’m a mom now, Max. I don’t swear in front of my girls.”
There it was again. Girls. Plural. When had she become involved enough with anyone to have a child? Unless she’d been lying to him the last time he saw her, or had lied this morning, dating wasn’t part of her life.
Maybe she has a friend with benefits.
He couldn’t think about that, not now. Not when the woman he’d thought of all through the war sat there in front of him… He’d ask her who Maeve’s father was some other time. Besides, she’d intimated that the man was no longer in her life.
“Fair enough. So how did you get started with canine therapy?”
Her eyes lit up and her face instantly looked ten years younger. The passionate Winnie he’d met when Tom brought her to the Navy Birthday Ball during their first tour on Whidbey Island was sitting in his kitchen. She tilted her head slightly to the left, eager to share her news with him.
“You remember my family and all their dogs? I grew up with dogs and always loved them.”
“And Tom didn’t. Not so much.”
She hesitated, her mug halfway to her mouth. Damn it, he couldn’t seem to stop talking about Tom. As though mentioning him would help keep Winnie at arm’s length, safely out of his reach.
That didn’t work the night of the Air Show.
He took a swig of his tea and waited.
“No, you’re right. Not small dogs, anyway. Our first dog, well, my dog, Daisy, was that little Jack Russell, remember? She annoyed the hell out of Tom because she’d ignore him unless I was out of the picture. Then she’d pee in his flight boots.”
“I remember more than one sortie,” Max said, referring to the Navy term for an operational or training flight, “where Tom bitched the whole way through about his wet boots. He knew that dog had got to them again, and it didn’t matter where he hid them.”
Winnie laughed and slapped her hand on the counter. “I forgot about that! One time he even put the boots on top of the bookcase—”
“But neglected to remove the smaller bookcase next to it. Daisy climbed up there like a cat and knocked the boots onto the floor.”
“Where she—”
“Peed in them!” They spoke simultaneously and the unselfconsciousness of their shared laughter sideswiped Max.
Until their eyes met and he saw the depths of Winnie’s pain and struggle of the past five years. There was joy, too, and something else he hadn’t seen before. Something