Courting Chloe (Hudson Valley Heroes Book 1) (7 page)

“People mean well. They just don’t understand. Like the waitress tonight.”

So Chloe
had
noticed the dirty look.

“You could have corrected her,” she continued. “Let her know that her assumption was mistaken.”

“And embarrass Preston by discussing his condition with a total stranger?” He leaned against the doorjamb, unconsciously mimicking her posture. “Better to just leave a tip and forget about it.”

“A generous tip, as I recall.”

He shrugged.

She studied him with an expression he couldn’t define. Just quietly considering his words, mulling things over. He didn’t rush to fill the silence, wanting instead to know what she was thinking. Something about Chloe Edmunds alternately irritated and intrigued the hell out of him.

After a minute she continued, “My guess is, Preston was given a helmet to wear when he was initially released from the hospital. But he hates wearing it. It’s uncomfortable, and the other kids make fun of him when he has it on. His seizures weren’t occurring with enough frequency for you to insist he wear it everywhere, so it simply seemed punitive, especially on top of everything else he’s going through. But every time he has a seizure and gets hurt you blame yourself, revisit that decision, and wonder if it was the right one.”

Exactly right. Spot on. Ian shook his head. “What can I say? I’m impressed.”

“You should be. I have a degree in nursing from the University of Pennsylvania and a Masters in pediatric trauma from Johns Hopkins.”

He felt his lips curve in a sheepish grin. “I assume that’s a response to my asinine comment about taking your advice when it came to dogs, but leaving Preston’s medical care to the professionals.”

Satisfaction flashed through her eyes. Her chin came up just a notch. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Lucky you. I wish to hell I could say the same.”

She smiled at that. “Goodnight, Mr.—” She stopped abruptly, catching herself. “Goodnight, Ian.” She moved to go.

“Chloe.”

She turned. Her lips were slightly parted, traces of her smile still evident. She really did have a lovely mouth. A highly kissable mouth. Wide and generous, graced with even white teeth and lush berry lips. A mouth that was almost guaranteed to taste as delicious as it looked. 

Their gazes met. Held. A current swept through him—something primal and intimate, a heady mixture of heat and desire that headed straight for his groin, struck hard and resonated through his body in waves, like the hammering of a gong. Ian sucked in a breath.

Well, shit. Didn’t that timing suck? He hadn’t been attracted to a woman in months. Maybe even longer than that. He’d had sex since the accident, but those had been brief, aggressively hollow interludes. Sex with nameless, faceless partners as a way to burn off rage. To channel grief. Eradicate guilt. To exhaust him enough to allow him to sleep, if only for an hour or two.

This—whatever it was he felt toward Chloe—was jarringly different. But he dismissed that thought as quickly as it formed. Raw, naked need, he told himself. That’s what this was.
All
it was. Unexpressed gratitude twisted together with base desire for physical contact.

Bottom line, the sensation, however he defined it, was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Wrong place, wrong time. Just flat-out wrong. Definitely not something he had any intention of acting on. He thrust his hands into his pockets.

“Why socks?” he asked. “Why didn’t you buy something everyone could see?”

Surprise showed. She thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I prefer practical beauty.”

Practical beauty. The words echoed through his mind as she turned and walked away. He would have escorted her to her cabin, but he didn’t want to leave Preston alone. So he simply stood where he was, listening to the lonely cry of a dog howling in the distance. As he watched, Chloe’s slender form was swallowed by the darkness of the night.

A thought suddenly occurred: was that friend of hers—that Walkaway Joe—waiting for her back at her place? Or was she on her way to see him? Would she slip into his bed? Curl her warm, soft body against his? Press those lovely lips against his chest?

Ian clenched his fists, pushing the unsettling image away. None of his business. Definitely not his business. Still. It was late, dark. He should have walked her home. Next time he would, even if it meant carrying Preston with him.

He stepped back inside the cabin and closed the door. He glanced around the living room, reconsidering the space. It wasn’t as awful as he had first thought. The sofa, the drapes, the rug—rustic perhaps, and not his taste—but clean, serviceable, and appropriate to the setting. Not bad at all.

He leaned against the doorframe as restlessness surged through him. He needed to make his own bed, but that could wait. He wouldn’t sleep. Not for a while, and only then lightly. Preston might need him. He didn’t want to sit down. Reading or watching TV didn’t interest him. He had plenty of work waiting for him on his laptop. Emails to answer, bids to review. But later. It could all wait. So now what? He felt Chloe’s absence more keenly than he’d thought possible.

He studied the empty room. “Well, Barb? What do you think of her?”

Heavy silence answered him.

Not surprising. They were a long way from New York City. And of course, Barbara was still dead.

Chapter
Seven

At nine o’clock Monday morning, the Hudson Valley Canine Assistance Camp officially began. Chloe and Sara, plus five additional trainers, twenty dogs, and six clients—along with various friends and family members—gathered together in the easternmost training ring.

Morning sunshine had burned away the previous night’s storm, leaving behind a brilliant sapphire sky. Foliage shimmered at its autumn peak, setting the hillside ablaze with vibrant reds, russets, and gold. A soft breeze carried the earthy scents of wood fires and newly mown hay. Horses from an adjacent farm had been let out to graze in a fenced pasture. The scene was spectacularly lovely, but no one gathered in the training ring seemed to notice, much less appreciate, the beauty of the setting.

Chloe couldn’t blame them. Just meeting the trainers, then learning the basic principles of working with assistance animals, was a new experience for nearly all of them. The enormity of the task was almost overwhelming. Many of them doubted their own abilities, as well as the degree to which a dog could actually help them. She scanned the faces of the camp’s new clients as Sara went through her introductory remarks.

Angie, a young and exceptionally pretty woman with MS, was seated in a wheelchair. She reminded Chloe of a modern Scarlett O’Hara: petite and raven-haired, with flashing green eyes. Apparently she shared Scarlett’s indomitable will, as well. She was the only client who had made the trip to the Hudson Valley on her own. With bills piling up, her husband hadn’t been able to take any more time off work to accompany her, and her mother was staying home to care for Angie’s school-aged children. Chloe silently gave the young woman kudos for her resilience. Despite the physical, emotional, and financial hurdles facing her, traveling alone hadn’t put her off, nor was she afraid to confront the challenges the next few weeks would bring. Impressive.  

A middle-aged Iraq war veteran was the only member of the group who’d previously had an assistance dog. There was a wistful air about him as he scanned the current group of available dogs, no doubt remembering the dog he’d bonded with so tightly and had recently lost. Undoubtedly there would be comparisons. A new dog would mean new adjustments, a different kind of relationship, a period of trial and error. Hopefully he’d bond as well with the dog he brought home this time as he had with his former one. Sometimes that happened, sometimes it didn’t.

Chloe’s gaze moved on. An elderly man who’d recently lost his sight stood with his son at his elbow, listening intently. At the other extreme, Matt, the teenage boy who’d severed his spine in an ATV accident, looked angry and uncooperative, and was doing his best to tune out what Sara was saying. His parents hovered behind him, their faces filled with equal measures of optimism and desperation. The deaf couple expecting a child together stood with their fingers entwined, radiating joyful enthusiasm. Their gazes fixed on Kristina Martinez, one of the staff trainers, as she translated Sara’s remarks into American Sign Language.

Finally, Chloe allowed her gaze to wander to Ian and Preston. Preston was an easy read: he stood with his arm wrapped around his uncle’s thigh, his face turned away from the proceedings. Clearly nervous and afraid. Chloe made a mental note to take it slowly with the boy, to let him decide when he was ready to approach the dogs. Then she turned her attention to Ian.

She almost hadn’t recognized him when he’d stepped into the training ring a few minutes earlier. He’d ditched the expensive designer suit he’d been wearing last night. That made sense, of course, but she hadn’t been prepared for how good he would look in the practical, outdoorsy clothing he’d purchased at Williams Store—good enough to make her breath catch and her pulse race. He was dressed in rough khaki pants, work boots, plaid flannel shirt rolled up at the cuffs and hanging open to reveal a snugly fit Henley tee. He wore the same clothes most of the local men wore, but he wore them differently.

Better. A hell of a lot better.

She allowed herself a minute to study him further. Broad shoulders, broad chest, broad face. The sort of man who didn’t just stand somewhere, but planted himself in place. The thick chestnut hair that curled over the edge of his collar had just enough wave to make her fingers itch to stroke it. His face was handsomely defined by a slash of rugged cheekbones and strong jaw. His eyes were a bold hazel, filled with shimmering glints of mossy green and deep gold. Autumn eyes, she thought approvingly. Her favorite season. Apparently he’d elected not to shave that morning. Dark stubble clung to his cheeks and chin.

As she watched, he smiled at something Bowie did. (A bit of comic relief, really. Sara was aware how intimidating the hundred pound shepherd was to most people, and was determined to counter that fear. So in addition to Bowie’s formidable array of genuine working skills, she taught him to cover his eyes with one paw when she said something silly, drop onto his back and stick his paws in the air when she ordered him to ‘fetch’, and then crouch low and try to slink away when he was corrected. The routine could always be counted on to break the ice.)

But Chloe found herself far more interested in Ian’s response than in Bowie’s clever antics.
Ian Dowling smiled
. His lips parted to reveal a flash of even white teeth. Laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and a dimple creased his cheek.
Holy hell
. She stared at him, stunned. For a mere second or two, he’d appeared relaxed. Totally at ease with the world. The combative tension that hovered around him like a dark, threatening cloud was swept away and for just an instant she glimpsed the man he might once have been. Handsome. Charming. Confident.
Fun.

But his transformative smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. The moment ended and the humor she’d glimpsed abruptly vanished. Looking at him now, it was almost impossible to believe she’d seen it at all. Once again, Ian Dowling looked… impatient. Tense. Untouchable. As though he’d been burdened with a distasteful task and he was anxious to get it done and over with.

Chloe bit back a sigh. Not great. Preston would pick up on that, of course. So would the dogs they worked with—they were highly intuitive creatures, after all. She shrugged the matter off, refusing to worry about it. Every new client group started the session with varying levels of nervous energy, excitement, and anxiety. The first few days of camp always teetered on the precipice of disaster. Murphy’s Law ruled: whatever could go wrong invariably did. But at some point during the four week camp, grace descended. Friendships formed, trust was built, and bonds were made. In short, things worked out.

Luke’s thoughts must have been traveling along similar lines, for he sent her a smile and arched one dark blond brow, telegraphing a look that clearly said,
What are we doing in this crazy business?

She smiled back and shrugged helplessly, knowing full well that Luke loved the work as much as she did.

Then she noticed Ian’s barbed stare. He’d entered the training ring without so much as a single nod of acknowledgement in her direction. Yet as she shared a private, silent exchange with Luke, Ian’s gaze moved from her to Luke in what could only be read as blatant disapproval.

What the…?
Chloe bristled with annoyance. Heat flamed her cheeks. She felt embarrassed, discomfited,
caught
—though caught at what, she couldn’t say. Flirting? Ridiculous. She and Luke were friends, after all. Co-workers. And even if Luke had been a bit forward yesterday, certainly that wasn’t any of Ian’s business.

While her thoughts spun in muddled circles, Luke looked from her to Ian, and then back at her. A knowing smirk curved his lips. He shot her a look that clearly said,
Well, well.
Isn’t this interesting?

She shot him back a look that was every bit as easy to read.
Shove it, Luke.

Luke grinned good-naturedly and returned his attention to Sara’s presentation. Chloe, irritated, followed suit. She tuned in just as Sara broke them up into smaller working groups. As she handled all pediatric cases at the camp, she would be working directly with Preston, while also overseeing the care of Matt, the young man with the spinal cord injury.

She listened with approval as Sara assigned Joe, a retired high school football coach, to be Matt’s canine trainer. Joe was a large African-American man with a strong work ethic, booming voice, and a wickedly dry sense of humor to which the sullen teen would hopefully respond.

She and Joe led their group to a smaller training ring. Though they would move to different venues, both public and private, this ring would be their home base for the duration of the camp. They brought with them a pack of eight eager canines. Joe called the dogs up one at a time and introduced them.

“I’m sensing a pattern here,” remarked Matt’s father once Joe had finished introducing the dogs. “Ringo, Beck, Dylan, Prince, Slick, Jett—they’re all named after musicians. All except these two.” He paused and pointed to a young border collie. “She’s J.J.” Then a brindle Staffordshire terrier mix. “And he’s Billy. What’s the matter, couldn’t they sing?”

Matt rolled his eyes at his dad’s attempt at levity, but Joe took it in stride. “J.J.’s short for Janis Joplin,” he replied, “and Billy’s official name is Billy Idol.”

“There are dozens of wonderful groups nationwide who provide service animals,” Chloe put in, “but we happen to think ours are the best. We’re pretty proud of them, and we don’t mind showing them off. Their names have become our brand. Our trademark, if you will. Whenever someone meets a canine assistant named after a rock star, odds are that that dog came from us.”

“But why do we have eight dogs here?” asked Matt’s mother. “Don’t we just need two—one for Matt, and one for this little boy?” She gestured to Preston.

“True,” Joe replied. “And by the end of the week, if not sooner, both Matt and Preston will have narrowed it down to the one dog that they each really connect with. We’ll help you get there. But until then, we have a lot of work to do.” He brought his hands together in a wrap-up clap and nodded at Chloe. “All right. Enough chatter. If everybody’s ready, let’s get to work.”

Chloe, Ian, and Preston moved to the northern end of the ring, while Joe, Matt, and his parents took the southern end. They divided the animals into groups, each team initially allotted four dogs with whom they would get acquainted. Once they were settled, she began by placing the dogs in a Sit-Stay position. Although the dogs obeyed, placing their furry butts on the ground, it was sloppy work. They yawned and looked away, squirmed a little. Chloe gnashed her teeth. It was Ian’s fault—the man’s presence had her spun. She radiated a nervous, self-conscious energy that the dogs were obviously picking up on.

She waited a beat, taking a moment to center her thoughts.
Client
, she reminded herself. This was her job, and she was a professional. Once she felt adequately in control, she ordered the dogs into a Down. The group obeyed instantly, settling like Sphinxes and watching her intently for her next cue. Excellent. Satisfied, she returned her attention to Ian and Preston. “Our first week in camp is our most important one,” she began. “Not only will the bonding process begin, but this is where your dog begins to accept you as his leader.”

“How so?” Ian asked.

“Every dog here has already gone through months of intensive training, and will respond instantly to any staff member.” She called an energetic Irish setter named Ringo forward and ran him through a few basics. Sit. Stand. Down. Heel. She praised him, rewarded him with a treat, then she sent him back to wait with the others. “Our goal this week is to transfer that obedience to you and Preston. Let them know you’re the new boss. But before we begin, I think the dogs would like to get acquainted.”

Chloe turned from Ian to Preston. “How do you think a dog says ‘Hello,’ Preston?”

Preston chewed his bottom lip. “He shakes hands?”

Chloe smiled. “That’s a neat trick, isn’t it? But the real way a dog says hello, whether he’s meeting a new dog or a new person, is to sniff him.”

Preston tensed and turned away, burying his face in his uncle’s leg. “I don’t want them to sniff me.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to if you’re not ready yet.” She gave an easy shrug and glanced at Ian. “How about it? You ready to meet a rock star?”

“Absolutely,” Ian replied. “Bring him on.”

Excellent. She couldn’t have wished for a better response.

She gave a brisk nod. “All right, then. We’ll start with Dylan.” She called the Border collie mix forward, extended her right hand and said, “Scent.” Dylan stretched until his nose was nearly touching her hand and happily sniffed, wagging his tail as he did. “Good boy. Good scent, Dylan.” She fed him a treat, and then nodded to Ian. “Now you try it. Say his name, and then give the cue.”

As Preston was glued to his left side, Ian held out his right hand. “Here, Dylan,” he said. “Scent.”

The dog edged forward and sniffed. He took a few deep whiffs of Ian’s hand, and then, satisfied he’d scented enough, sat down and looked up at Ian expectantly.

“Excellent,” Chloe said. She passed Ian a handful of bacon-flavored kibble. “Go ahead. Praise and treat.”

He arched a dark brow at her. “You mean, bribe him?”