to stay alive and that’s about it. This from a dog who used to gobble food like it was his last meal.”
“You knew him before...?”
He nodded. “His handler was in my unit.”
“Was?”
“He was killed ten months ago.” It hurt like hell to talk about it, but talk he must. For Amos. “He was...close to his handler. Because we were often on the move and there weren’t always kennels, Amos usually slept near him. Even when there were kennels, Dave found a way to keep Amos at his side.”
She waited for him to say more. He was reluctant, but he knew he had to explain everything. That’s all that matters now. The promise. “I was wounded, and Amos’s handler was killed in the same engagement. I was sent to a hospital, but I heard from other members of the team that Amos had been sent to Lackland. Nearly starved to death.”
“But he does respond to you?”
“Barely. Sometimes.”
“After Lackland contacted me,” she said, “I did some research on canine PTSD. It’s not uncommon. I imagine it’s worse when the handler is killed. Dogs grieve, too.” She paused, then said, “I can come over in the morning. I have a mare about to foal this afternoon, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”
He nodded. “I’ll be at the cabin all day.” He gave her his cell number, only the third person to have it. His shrink at the military hospital was one—he’d promised—and the other was Dave’s attorney.
“I look forward to meeting Amos. I’ve never treated a military dog.”
“One other thing. I would appreciate you not speaking to anyone in town about Amos’s condition. People might think he’s dangerous. He’s not. I think it’s more that he’s missing his...handler. Amos wasn’t with us the day Dave died. As far as he knows, he was abandoned.”
“How long was Amos with him?”
“Four years.”
The phone rang and she picked it up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to answer this.”
She walked to the other side of the room, said something then returned.
“The foal is coming. I have to go. I’ll be over tomorrow.”
He nodded, encouraged by her interest and questions.
He left and headed for the hardware store. He’d been there before to get tools.
Four people were in the store, two of them talking to an elderly man at the counter. A younger one had been there during his previous visits. Father and son, he surmised.
He went directly to the section with paint. He found a primer, then selected a color from the limited selection and took the cans to the counter. He looked at some thick pieces of lumber to temporarily repair the porch.
“Do you deliver?”
“Sure do.”
“I live...”
“I know. End of Lake Road.”
He should have known. “Maybe you’d better add an electric saw,” he said.
“Got a real good one. On sale, too.”
Josh nodded.
The man held out his hand. “Glad to have you in the community. I’m Calvin Wilson, and I own the store. Me and my son.”
Josh had no choice but to shake hands. “I met him on my previous visit.”
Wilson totaled the tab. Josh paid with his bank card and started to pick up the paint cans.
“My son will help you carry everything out,” Wilson offered.
He wanted to say yes. The damn leg was hurting like hell after his work in the backyard. But he’d never asked for help before and he wasn’t going to start now. “I can do it,” he said, then added a belated, “Thanks.”
He was suffering when he got everything into the dusty Jeep Wrangler, and he realized he’d been a damn fool. But he wasn’t ready to depend on anyone else. His entire life had been built on self-sufficiency. He’d never needed anyone, not since he was ten years old and he’d taken care of his mother rather than the other way around.
He sure as hell wasn’t ready for women waking him with brownies or a mayor wandering into his backyard when he was working.
Even a very pretty mayor. To be honest, it wasn’t her he didn’t like, but rather the superheated attraction that had sprung so quickly between them. It scared the hell out of him. The last thing he needed now was complications.
He glanced at his watch. After two, and he was starved. Maybe he would try the diner down the street. Shouldn’t be too many people there at this time. And he was tired of cereal and sandwiches.
He passed Monroe Real Estate and Insurance Company and glanced at the photos in the front window: several farms for sale, a ranch five miles out of town and a hunting cabin in the mountains. There were also several small homes.
Once he finished fixing the cabin, an advertisement for it would probably go up there, as well.
He stopped to pick up a newspaper from a rack in front of Maude’s Diner. Reading usually kept people away. As he’d hoped, the restaurant was nearly empty. A couple of elderly men sat at the counter with coffee and two young guys sat in a booth chowing down burgers. A young woman behind a counter eyed him as he entered and hurried over as he sat down. “Good afternoon,” she said brightly, holding out a paper menu.
He nodded and declined the menu. “You have a steak?”
“We do. Several of them. The sirloin is the best.”
“Then I want one, rare, and a second one to go,” he said.
“Comes with two sides. Fries or mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, corn, squash.”
“Fries,” he said. “And beans.”
“And with the order to go?”
“Just a steak,” he said. “Also rare.”
She nodded and hurried off. He took up the newspaper. A weekly, and not much in it. The restaurant door opened, and he looked up. A youngish man in a deputy’s uniform walked in. He came to Josh’s booth, his eyes cold. “You must be the one living out at the lake.”
Josh didn’t answer. Just waited.
“Had a burglary here last night,” the deputy said.
Josh raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “It happens.”
“Not until you came to town. Mind telling me where you were last night?”
“I do,” Josh said. “Unless you have more of a reason than I just moved here.”
The deputy put his hand on his holstered gun.
Josh locked gazes with him. The door opened again, and Josh watched the mayor walk in. His stomach muscles tightened as she moved toward them, a frown wrinkling her brow.
“Mr. Manning,” she acknowledged, then turned to the deputy. “Sam,” she said, “Find anything?”
“No, ma’am. I just arrived.”
“Then I suggest you talk to Maude.”
“I was just asking this...person where he was last night. He refused to answer.”
“Why don’t you see if you can find some evidence first?” she asked patiently.
Anger sparked in his eyes, but he turned away and went to the back of the restaurant.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Sam’s a little eager. There was a burglary here last night, and we’re all a little protective