and this place. His grandmother had lived here until she died last year. The family hadn’t sold it yet, so Jake must have decided to move in.
One sack of groceries was left on the counter. While she waited for Jake to return, she emptied the bag of food, then prowled the room. Maybe he skipped out the front door. When she heard a bark at the back one, she let Shep into the house.
She knelt and rubbed her hands along his thick black and brown fur. “I think the man is trying to send me a message,” she whispered near the German shepherd’s ear. “He doesn’t know yet that I’m relentless when on a mission. He needs help and you. He’s the reason Ben is alive. I owe Jake.”
She nuzzled Shep, relishing the calmness that came from loving on the dog. In her house, there was always a dog she was training. With her full-time job, bringing a trainee home helped her to be around more if her son needed her. But the animal would eventually move on to another person. She’d found it easier not to have her own dog in case there were territorial issues when a new canine came for training. But maybe one day....
“Did he decide not to stay outside?”
Jake’s question startled her, and she gasped. She swiveled around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry. I’ve learned to move quietly.”
Emma straightened. “My husband made enough noise to alert the neighbors. Josh is just like his dad.”
“What happened to your husband?”
“He died three years ago. He had epilepsy. It got worse over the years, and then he had a seizure he never recovered from.” While on a ladder putting up Christmas lights because she had mentioned she wanted some. She’d intended for the teen next door to do the chore—not Sam. Guilt nibbled at her composure, and she shut it down. She was here to help Jake and possibly get some information concerning the kids bullying Josh.
“I’m sorry.”
“Life has a way of changing and throwing you a curve when you least expect it.”
He flinched. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
For a few heartbeats her gaze connected with his, and her stomach flip-flopped. The intensity in his look weakened her knees. She grasped the countertop.
As Jake moved to put away the canned goods and boxes from the last sack, she noted his change in clothing, trying to keep her attention somewhere besides those dark, compelling eyes. He still wore jeans but without any holes and a navy blue polo shirt. She saw his actions as a good sign. He wanted to look nicer for her, and that gave her hope.
“We can go into the living room, and I’ll try to describe that last child I caught bullying Josh.”
Emma retrieved the pad and pencil. “I appreciate it. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I find out who the bullies are, but I need to know, if for no other reason than to help my son deal with the situation.”
She went first toward the living area off the foyer. Shep walked beside her. Inside the room, she headed toward the couch. Her foot stepped on something, and she peered down. A sheet of paper—a letter? She picked it up as Jake entered. Her gaze lit upon the subject of the letter.
She swept around. “You’re being awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. Congratulations!”
Jake stiffened. A thunderous expression descended over his features. He limped toward her and plucked the letter from her hands. “No reason to congratulate me because I survived when many didn’t.”
She eased onto the couch behind her, Shep sitting at her feet, close enough that she could stroke the back of his head and neck. She looked up into Jake’s warring gaze as he skimmed the contents of the letter, then balled it up, crossed to the trash can and tossed it.
“They don’t give the Distinguished Service Medal for being wounded. That’s for serving your country above and beyond your normal duties. It’s awarded for meritorious and heroic behavior. It’s an honor you no doubt deserved.”
“How would you know?”
She winced at his reproachful tone. “Because my brother, Ben Spencer, told me what you did for him. You saved his life so I’m not surprised you’re receiving the medal, one of the highest awarded by the government.”
The color drained from his face. “You’re Ben’s sister?”
She nodded.
“How is he? I haven’t had a chance to touch base...” The words faded into the quiet. Jake stared at his clasped hands. “I meant to see how he was once I was better.”
“He’s doing all right. His injuries are healed, and he’s been coping with his PTSD. Making progress.”
Jake lifted his head and gave her a searing look. “So what I heard is true? How’s he dealing with it?”
She couldn’t have asked for a better opening to talk about Shep. Lord, give me the right words to say. This man is hurting.
“Ben has a PTSD counseling group he attends in Tulsa, but he also has a service dog I trained for him. Butch has made a big difference in Ben’s being able to go out and to participate in life without having so many panic attacks.”
His eyebrows crunched together. “He’s cured?”
“No, but the incidences he has are few, especially lately, and he’s been able to work his way through them.”
“I’m glad. He was a good soldier. I missed him when he returned home. Is he working?”
“Yes, at Gordon Matthews Industries as a computer programmer.”
“Does he like it?”
“Yes, he’s really enjoying it.”
“That’s good to hear. Sometimes it’s hard to go back. A lot of men’s lives have been messed up.” Jake stared at the floor for a long moment, lost in thought.
Most likely remembering. The rigid set of Jake’s shoulders made Emma wonder about his particular story. Each soldier had his own, some more traumatic than others. Ben had been flown back to the States eight months earlier due to his encounter with a land mine that had blown up a few feet from him in a field where one of his friends died. He lost part of his left arm while several other soldiers were also injured. But Ben kept in touch with many of the ones still in his old unit—there to help if they needed it. Jake wasn’t staying in touch. Emma nudged Shep, giving him the signal to bark. He did.
Jake lifted his head, turning his attention toward the German shepherd. “He’s a beautiful dog. How long have you had him?”
“Almost nine months. I’ve been training Shep to be a service dog. His specialty is working with people with PTSD.” She watched Jake for a reaction.
He looked at her, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. “Why did you bring him today?”
“Because I like to take him out for a walk when I can and—” she swallowed to coat her dry throat “—I wanted you to meet him.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Her gaze caught his. “Because I think you need a dog like Shep.”
He rose, grappling for his cane. “I have work to do. Thank you for bringing the brownies.” His hard expression shouted, But don’t ever come back!
She didn’t move. “Please. Let me explain.”
He started to say something but pressed his lips together.
She took his silence as an okay. “I want to help you. I know what my brother went through when he came home. He couldn’t hold down a job, even a simple one. He lived with our parents and didn’t leave the house hardly at all—often holing himself up in his old bedroom. He got angry at the least little thing. He had the shakes and would shut down if something even little went wrong. He had nightmares