Page 12 of Puppy Love

“You mean I can’t pet her?” he asked.

“When she’s working, no. You need her to be alert and focused on you, more like an employee than a friend. But during her off time?” She shrugged. “Absolutely. She still needs to be loved, just like everyone else.”

“Just like everyone else?” he echoed.

“Yes. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Sophie’s voice took on a sharp edge—the same one that had caught his attention in the kennel that morning. “I know she’s not the Great Dane of your dreams, but there’s a lot to like about her. Contrary to what you might think, being giant and strong isn’t everything.”

Harrison found himself rooted to the spot, more intrigued than insulted by the challenge in her voice. People didn’t speak to him like that very often. Well, Oscar did, but he hardly counted—he’d practically known the man since birth. He’d only knownthiswoman for all of an hour. Although she might claim to be scared of him, something about that puppy brought out the steel in her.

He wished he knew what it was. His own glance down at that minuscule creature, so helpless and vulnerable, only brought a frown. Bubbles sat exactly where Sophie had told her, awaiting her next command. She was like a stuffed toy soldier, ready to head into battle for no reason other than it was asked of her. The doubts that had assailed him since the start of this preposterous scheme returned anew. He’d been prepared for a big, badass canine companion to head into the flames with him, alert to the changes in his blood sugar that resulted from hard labor and shifts that often lasted more than twenty-four hours. To ask such a sacrifice of a Great Dane or a bulldog or even that nice golden retriever seemed natural.

To rely on this scrap of a creature, with her oh-so-trusting eyes and tiny beans for toes, was another thing entirely.

“Will it really be so hard?” Sophie asked. “To learn to love her?”

He reared back, unsure if he’d misheard the underlying plea of her words. But one glance at Sophie’s gently furrowed brow and he knew his hearing worked just fine. This woman thought so little of him that she was worried he’d mistreat the animal she was giving over to his care—an animal who had already been subjected to cruelties at the hands of a ruthless puppy mill.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, knowing the response was inadequate but unsure what else he could say. “Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. At this point, I’ll try anything.”

“Anything?” she asked, one of her brows lifted in a perfect arch.

With any other woman, he’d have taken that arch as an invitation—a flirtation not unlike the one attempted on him by the sister with the wavy hair, Dawn. Not so with Sophie. Not now that he was coming to realize just how much Oscar had betrayed him.

That scurrilous bastard. His longtime supervisor and friend could have easily saddled him with one of dozens of providers who matched people with service dogs and lived to tell the tale. But he hadn’t. He’d flipped through his ancient Rolodex and landed on this slip of a woman who made him feel like a bull in the entire goddamn china factory.

In other words, he’d known exactly what he was doing.

“Anything within reason,” he amended, one wary eye on Sophie, the other on the puppy. Call him paranoid, but giving the pair of them an open invitation to make demands of him seemed like a bad idea.

Mostly because he had the sinking sensation he’d do it—that all-encompassing, terrifyinganything.

“Define ‘reason,’” she said.

“I know it’s all the rage, but I refuse to have anything to do with dog sweaters,” he said. “I think they’re ridiculous. It’s like putting a sock on a potato.”

Sophie’s lower lip dropped a fraction. He didn’t know her well enough to say whether it was surprise or indignation that caused it, but she nodded her agreement anyway. “Noted. No sweaters on dogs, and no socks on potatoes. Is that, um, a thing you’ve seen before? With the potatoes?”

Not surprise. Not indignation. She waslaughingagain.

“That includes raincoats, hats, and those little boots I’ve seen dogs wear on TV,” he added, reluctantly pleased by way her eyes lit up.

“You hate any type of clothes on dogs and root vegetables. Got it.”

“In the spirit of full disclosure, I hate clothes on regular vegetables too.”

“I had no idea a man could have such strong opinions on produce. What else is off-limits? Tattoos on fruit? Bread with dentures?”

He opened his mouth to continue his litany of things he refused to have anything to do with—up to and including women who mocked him with their eyes—but decided against it. Some people claimed the things hedidn’tlike in this world far outnumbered the things he did like, but one thing was for sure.

He liked Sophie Vasquez.

The thought dropped on him from out of nowhere, all pleasant and squishy and warm. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with that feeling. Ball it up? Shove it deep down? Lay it out on the grass and roll in it?

That last one didn’t sound too terrible, actually, which was why it was a good thing Bubbles chose that moment to yap and spin in a circle. Turning as one, he and Sophie shifted their attention to the puppy, the moment of easy friendliness disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“So, what happens next?” he asked, careful to keep any but the blandest of emotions out of his voice. “Training-wise, I mean?”

He was rewarded for his pains with a long, careful look and a plastic bag that looked to contain some sort of brown pellets.