Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (31 page)

Panting, Beo stared at his father, their faces only inches apart. Head tilted, Beo watched. Licked. Watched. Licked again.

“I swear, if you don’t get him out—”

Dad laughed.

Tony stilled. Laughed? His dad
laughed
?

Tension leeched out of his father. The arms hooked over Tony’s shoulders in an attempt to flee insurgents who didn’t exist relaxed. More laughter.

“What the heck?” Grady said, shifting aside to avoid getting nailed by the slobbering mouth.

With a happy bark that punched against Tony’s chest, Beo moved in for another lick. Nailed it.

Hooting, Dad tried to swing away from the dog.

With a furtive glance to Grady, Tony eased onto his haunches, disbelieving the sight before him. His father had curled onto his side, shielding his face. Beowulf went into full attack—play attack—mode. Licking, barking, drooling.

His brother backed off, sitting in one of the Cracker Barrel rockers. Tony, legs and arms weak from the explosion of adrenaline in trying to protect his father from himself, dropped into a rocker. Bent forward, elbows on his knees, he watched, disbelieving the way the dog who’d always been so willing to rip off Tony’s head, licked—
kissed
—his father out of a flashback.

Arms wrapped around the dog, his father laughed and wrestled himself free of the drool-bath.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Grady mumbled.

“Pretty unbelievable.” Tony couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Paws on Dad’s shoulders and tail wagging, Beo pinned him and went to town dousing him in slobber. Barked at him.

“All right, all right,” Dad laughed. “I surrender, you beast!”

Beo’s head snapped up and swiveled around. He pushed off Dad and trotted over to Timbrel, who stood at the top of the deck steps. She cast a nervous glance to Tony but then moved into a chair near his father.

She patted the side of his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Trying to steal my dog, Mr. VanAllen?”

Wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, Dad laughed as he moved back onto his glider sofa. “Be warned, Miss Hogan, if you turn your back, that dog might disappear.” Stroking the brindled fur, his dad seemed more at peace and more himself than Tony had seen him in a long while. But not only that, there was this look, this awareness, that hinted … perhaps, just perhaps, his father had some inkling of what this dog had just done for him.

Timbrel laughed. “I’d have to fight you.”

“I reckon so.” A laughing sigh settled through his father’s chest, followed by a sigh of contentment, relief. “Reckon so. But what do you need him for when you’ve got a mean, ugly dog in my son?”

The words pulled Tony straight. “Now hold up.”

With a chuckle, his dad slumped back. Beo hopped up next to Dad, eliciting more laughter. “You are one handsome fella, Beowulf.”

“Handsome?” Tony said. “He’s butt-ugly.”

“Takes one to know one, son.”

Retort on his tongue, Tony was ready to unleash it when his mom rushed out of the house onto the deck with a needle. And stopped short.

Bad—if his father saw the needle, he’d come unglued knowing he’d lost it in front of Timbrel, in front of anyone else.

Tony stood and walked to her. “Better save me, Mom. Dad’s saying I’m as ugly as Timbrel’s dog.” In front of her, he took the needle and lightly patted her shoulder as he pocketed it. “He might need a rest,” he whispered.

“What—?”

“Later.” He wrapped his arm around his mom. “See? Mom knows I’m better looking.”

His dad grunted, still focused on Beowulf. Might as well build a statue considering the way his father idolized the dog.

“Watch out, Dad,” Tony said. “That thing knows how to take down a man in seconds flat.”

“And clear a room in less time.” His dad yawned.

After that adrenaline spike, his father’s energy levels would deplete, just as they had many times before. Time to clear out.

“This is true.” Tony met Timbrel’s gaze and bobbed his head to the side, indicating toward the yard, hoping she’d get the hint that they needed to bug out so his father wouldn’t feel obligated to stay up.

“I need to feed Beo and walk him before bedding down.”

“How much you want for him?” His dad said with a laugh.

“No price.”

“He’s free?”

Timbrel smiled and stood. “Ha. Ha. Nice try.” She leaned in closer. “No sale. He’s mine.” She started for the steps, using her hand to signal her dog.

Beo hesitated then leapt down and trotted after her into the yard.

“Traitor!” his dad called. “But I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty thing and needs protecting.”

Tony walked the yard with Timbrel, keeping a keen eye on his family.

Arms folded, Timbrel hunched her shoulders. She cast him a furtive glance as she kicked the toe of her boot against a rock. He frowned. Timidity wasn’t a coat Timbrel wore well. Or ever.

“I’m sorry about Beo.” Timbrel tucked her long, wavy brown hair behind her ear. “I’ve never seen him do that—break behavior or lick a guy down. Sorry he got in the middle of it.”

“No, no it was good. Probably one of the better endings for that scenario.” He couldn’t deny it. “Never seen anything like that. Is he trained to do that?”

Timbrel shook her head. “No. But he’s always been keyed into my feelings. Can anticipate when I need help. I think it comes from …” She tucked her chin. Then straightened. “Anyway …”

There. She did it again. Shut down. Shut him out. Why was he surprised? Yeah, he’d jump off that cliff for her. Thing was, nobody would be waiting at the bottom.

Time to bail. “I need to check some things.”

Like the slipping and colliding of arctic shelves, the frigid tension between her and Tony left Timbrel cold and jarred. Standing in the kitchen, she watched him through the back door. With a soda in hand, he trudged over to where his father sat on the steps and joined him, forearms on his knees.

“There now.” Irene’s soothing voice pulled Timbrel’s attention to the kitchen where Tony’s mom set the last glass she’d cleaned in the cupboard.

Tony’s laughter lured her focus back to him. Would he ever forgive her? She’d apologized and asked to go back to where they were. Why was he so unwilling to give her a second chance?

Funny how she didn’t really understand the degree of her future she’d pinned on him, pinned on facing with him. In fact, only as she studied his broad, strong back and broad shoulders did she realize how much she could lose, how much of what she wanted for her future, if she didn’t find some way to fix this.

“Go talk to him.” Irene’s warm, soft voice spilled over Timbrel.

“What?” She blinked, tried to feign ignorance.

Irene, with her short blond hair stylishly groomed, leaned against the counter and smiled. “He’s so much like his father, it’s crazy. Good looking, dedicated, laid back—takes a lot to knock those two down. They just take the hits and keep going.”

Timbrel nodded. His resolute character was one thing she loved about Tony.

“And their wit.” Irene laughed and shook her head. “It’s something else when they’re both in the house.”

“He makes me laugh,” Timbrel thought out loud then felt a bit embarrassed for mentioning it. She shifted and crossed her arms over her chest. “There wasn’t a lot of laughter for me growing up.” Good night! Why on earth did she say that?

“When you first came to the door earlier, I wasn’t sure what to make of you.” Irene folded the tea towel and set it on the edge of the porcelain sink.

Okay, here it comes. Shouldn’t be surprised since Tony’s sister hated her that his mom would try to give her the send-off. And yet this strange, squirrelly feeling wouldn’t leave Timbrel alone. The yearning to be liked, to be accepted. Why? She’d never cared before about what people thought.

Because Irene VanAllen was … different.
I respect and admire her
.

Laugh lines pinched the corners of her eyes as she smiled. “Last week, Tony came home in a tear. It was surprising.” She rested the heels of her hands on the counter behind her. “He’s normally so easygoing, nothing riles him. I asked what was wrong.” She pursed her lower lip and shrugged. “He told me not to worry, said he’d be fine. Then left the room.”

Sucker punch straight to her gut. Tony hadn’t told his mom that she’d left him at the gas station in Arkansas?

Even Irene didn’t seem ignorant of what was happening. Yet there was no anger. No hate. Just … amusement.

Timbrel dared to eye the woman. Soft skin, ivory complexion defined the woman with grace and elegance. Ironic how much she looked like Timbrel’s mom, yet looked nothing like her. Both had white blond hair, though Irene’s was a natural, beautiful silver and her mom’s chemically processed, both had that ivory complexion—something Timbrel had inherited. Yet something in Irene drew Timbrel, while her mom repelled her.

“You’re the first girl he’s mentioned to me in about five years.”

Surprise spiraled through Timbrel, dragging a faint hope with it. “He mentioned me?”

“Just casual conversation, but …” She smiled and nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. Girls like him. He likes girls. He’s a charmer and a flirt, but that’s just who he is. But to bring that conversation home, with me …” A thickness settled into her voice. “That told me to pay attention.”

Timbrel tried a caustic laugh. “He probably wanted to warn you about the girl with the big mouth, bad attitude, and bullmastiff.”

“No,” Irene said softly. “Tony hasn’t spoken an ill word about you. Not even when you showed up, and I know things are not good between the two of you right now, but …” She bumped her left hip against the granite island. “You’ve been on missions with my son, and I know you have seen some of what he does. He’s been doing that for a very long time. He’s a warrior—

that took shape when he was three. The charmer part, too.” She smiled, her skin looking like angora. “But you need to understand, it’s remarkable not what he said but that you were important enough for my son to have your name at the front of his mind.”

“I ruined things.” The confession felt good but awful as well. Her eyes burned. “I don’t know how much you know about me …”

“Enough.”

Timbrel met her tender gaze. “I didn’t have the best family life. In fact, I was taught to perform—to win approval, to stay above the rest, to get what I wanted. Emotions weren’t addressed. Things … happened to me that left me unwilling to brave relationships ever again.”

Irene’s pretty brown eyes glossed. “I’m sorry, Timbrel.”

“It’s okay.”

Clasping her by the shoulders, Irene peered into her eyes. “No, it’s not, sweetie. Being wronged is never okay.”

Tears threatened. But Timbrel shoved them back. Took a step back. Immediately felt guilty for removing herself from Irene’s touch and concern. “I’m sorry.” Could she ever get this right? “I …” She checked her fingernails. Glanced at Beowulf curled up on the back-door rug.

Her gaze hopped to Tony. “I left him.” Why was her throat burning again? “He was there for me, told me … told me he loved me.” Her blurring vision sought Irene’s face as Timbrel squeaked out, “I left him without a word. Just got in my Jeep and drove off.”

When she saw the knotted brows and hurt scratched across his mother’s face, Timbrel felt the guilt anew. What on earth was she doing telling this perfect woman with her perfect family that she’d just abandoned her son.

I’ve got to get out of here—now!

“He scared you off.”

Sucking a breath, she tried to pull back the tears that had freed themselves. How did she know?

“Tony is an all-or-nothing kind of guy. Another reason I knew when he mentioned you, it wasn’t just some girl.”

“Yeah. He was so intense, so … serious.” She bunched up her shoulders. “I just knew I’d mess it up. Every time Tony kissed me”—
dude, what are you doing saying this to his
mother?!—“all those fears swelled to the front and I just freaked.” She shoved her fingers through her hair. “He deserves someone without baggage. Someone who can …”

“Love him?”

She tried a smile, but it tripped and fell off the ledge of her fears.

“But I think you already do. It’s why you’re here tonight. You wouldn’t have come—”

“I came because someone burned down my house.” Her chest pounded. When she saw the surprise on Irene’s face, Timbrel accepted the condemnation. “I’m not a hero. Don’t make me into one.”

Irene touched her shoulder. “You could’ve gone to your mom. If you’d called her, she would’ve taken care of you. No matter the bad blood between a mom and daughter, we will always be there.”

Timbrel gave a slight nod.

“You didn’t want your mom …”

She knew where this open-ended statement was leading. And Timbrel wouldn’t go there.

“You wanted Tony.”

“When I was ten, I saw this crystal glass in a shop with my mom. I insisted I wanted it for my birthday.” Timbrel worked to slow her racing pulse. “I got one.” She shifted then bounced her knee. “I shattered it within a week playing football in the house with some of my friends.”

Irene laughed and covered her mouth.

“At that age, I couldn’t understand the value of what I had.” Without turning her head, she peeked out at Tony. “This time, I do … and I’m terrified of shattering what little we have left of a friendship.”