Page 18 of Puppy Love

“An incident?” Sophie drew a sharp breath. “Is it Bubbles? Is she okay?”

The man gave her a long look. “She’ll recover, if that’s what you’re asking. My son, however…”

“Oh, you’re Harrison’s dad.” That made so much sense. Looking at him, she could see the resemblance. There was a hard wariness to their expressions, a closed-off quality that went deeper than mere grouchiness. “You said upstairs? Do you mind if I head in that direction?”

“Help yourself. But I’d tread warily if I were you.”

She paused. “The puppy or the man?”

He laughed his understanding. The swift change of expression wiped decades from his face, made him almost approachable. “Both. I wouldn’t care to deal with either one right now.”

The house was built in the traditional farmhouse style, which meant a steep staircase rose almost directly from the foyer. Sophie took the stairs two at a time, barely noting the faded wallpaper with brighter patches where pictures once hung. She half expected canine sounds of distress to assail her, but all she heard as she reached the landing was a low, coaxing male voice.

“You have to come out, Bubbles. There are monsters. Big, scary, under-the-bed monsters who will snatch you between their hoary jaws.” There was a pause and then, in a more urgent voice, “You’re making us look bad. What will Sophie think if she finds you like this?”

Sophie was mostly amused, to be honest. Harrison Parks hadn’t struck her as the sort of man who believed in monsters, let alone was scared of them. How could he be? One fierce glare and he’d have the whole lot of them exiled to their dark lairs.

She walked through the closest door on the right to find Harrison’s lower half protruding from underneath a ruffled bed skirt. It was a strangely appealing sight, his backside tightly encased in faded jeans, his feet bare. A strip of skin appeared below the line of his T-shirt as he twisted and flexed to reach farther under the bed, showcasing a small plastic box clipped to the back of his jeans. His insulin pump, she was guessing.

“I mean it,” he called to the dog. “This isn’t what heroes do. You want to be a hero, don’t you?”

As much as she appreciated the sight of a large, well-built man wriggling on the floor, she didn’t appreciate her poor dog being cornered in a dark, scary place.

“Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, thank you very much,” she said.

A loud thump and a howl sounded. From the way the bed shook and the grumble that followed, she guessed Harrison had hit his head on the frame.

He slithered out before she could apologize for taking him by surprise. His movements were quick and agile, allowing her only a brief glimpse of the undulating muscles of his back before he was standing again.

Standingandglowering.

“Your dog refuses to come out,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the bed. “I’ve tried everything to coax her out—everythingexcepttable scraps, so don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

“Likethat,” he repeated. He also didn’t elaborate, so she had no idea how she was supposed to interpret his remark. Was she furrowing her brow? Blinking too much?

With a sigh, he added, “She’s too damn small. I can’t get hold of her.”

“Maybe that’s because she doesn’t want to be held,” Sophie said tartly. “What happened to set her off?”

His grim expression turned even grimmer. “Fire.”

“What? Where?” She spun, wondering if she’d somehow missed blazing flames. It was only then that she noted the room they were in was distinctly and unmistakably feminine. In addition to the ruffled bed skirt, there was a mirrored vanity in one corner covered with perfume bottles that had long ago been tipped on their sides. The room was also dusty in a way that was normally reserved for haunted houses. Like the faded wallpaper in the hallway, there was something ancient and untouched about it.

“In the living room,” Harrison said. “It was cold this morning, so I started a fire in the grate. She took one look at the crackling flames, howled, and ran off.”

“Oh. Um.” Sophie gulped. “That’s not good.”

“No,” he agreed grimly. “I think we can safely say it’s not good. Didn’t you test her first or anything?”

Test her?As in, throw a puppy into a flaming pit and see how she’d react? “Of course I didn’t,” she said. “I mean, I tested her nose, of course, and gauged her reaction to high-stress situations, but I thought we’d introduce her to your actual lifestyle gently. Carefully.”

“Gently?” he echoed. “Do you have any idea what it is I do for a living?”

A feeling of heat—not unlike the lick of a flame—came over her. It was accompanied by a sinking sensation that stopped in her stomach and decided to take up residence there. When Oscar had first presented her with this case, he’d said that Harrison’s main duties involved training new firefighters and playing a supportive role on the front lines. Digging ditches, coordinating teams, making sure supplies got where they needed to go—it had sounded an awful lot like a war zone, but that was okay. Sophie could work with a war zone. Bubbles could too. Dogs were often called on to serve in areas of danger—just look at what they were capable of anytime an earthquake hit or someone went missing in the wilderness.

She’d known from the start that Bubbles was brave and strong and willing to do just about anything. It hadn’t even occurred to her that flames would be where the puppy would draw the line.