Page 57 of Lock ’N’ Load

“Open your eyes,” Matt ordered softly.

Still tensing, her body against Matt’s, she realized his arms were around her. More to the point, she was still alive. The dog hadn’t attacked.

Grimacing, she opened her eyes to slits and held her breath. Two feet in front of her, Sheba stood, wagging her tail. The dog’s jaws were open, but it was due to panting, from the effort of running across the field at breakneck speed. Not because she was about to attack.

“Sedni,” Matt said, and the dog sat.

Sheba’s amber-gold eyes glittered in the morning light, and if Trista could rid her mind of the certainty that the animal wanted to pounce and eat her for breakfast, she could swear the dog was…smiling.

“See?” Matt’s breath was warm against her neck. “Give her a chance. She only wants to get to know you. It’s in a dog’s nature.”

Sheba stretched out her neck, bringing those jaws closer, but all she did was sniff the air in Trista’s direction. Those amber eyes stared at her, and she couldn’t look away. Suddenly, the dog opened its jaws, and Trista twisted in Matt’s arms, trying to get away. Now they were chest to chest. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his waist, clutching him to her.

“Honey, turn around.”

Squeezing her eyes shut again, she shook her head. “N-no.”

“Yes.” He eased away from her, tipped up her chin with his forefinger, then kissed her.

With her eyes closed, she hadn’t seen his mouth come down on hers, but when his lips met hers, she snapped open her eyes and jerked back. When she looked up, his lids had lowered, and his darkened eyes were totally focused on her mouth. Her own gaze sought out his lips, and her belly flip-flopped, as if a swarm of butterflies were scrambling to take flight inside. He stared at her an instant longer before exhaling a tight breath through his nose.

“You only did that to distract me. D-didn’t you?” Because there could be no other possible explanation as to why he would kiss her. Or is there? Stupidly, she hoped so. Logically, she knew there wasn’t. Mantra. Remember your mantra.

Giving her his typical scowl, he forced her to turn in his arms and face the dog again. Sheba still sat obediently at their feet, but now the animal was wriggling in place, her tail wagging harder, her face still sporting that imaginary smile.

“You can do this. Dogs are a miracle, and once you let them into your life, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without them.”

“I don’t need a d-dog.” Again, she shook her head. “I have Poofy.”

When Matt chuckled, his chest vibrated against her back. “It’s not the same. Poofy’s a great cat, but no cat in the world can provide you with the kind of steadfast companionship, loyalty, and protection a dog can. Think of it as broadening your horizons. Right, Sheba?”

Lifting her snout, Sheba opened her jaws and responded with a low howling, intermingled with guttural grunts and yips from low in her throat. It was almost as if the dog was talking. Trista had to admit it sounded kind of cute, especially coming from this dog in particular. Because like Matt, this dog was a cop.

Again, he chuckled, and she liked how it pushed the muscles of his broad chest against her back, making her feel safe and secure. “Do you trust me?”

“No.” Although she really did.

“Reach out your hand. Let her smell you.”

Trista swallowed, then took a deep breath and slowly stretched out her hand. Her fingers shook, and when Sheba leaned forward, the dog’s nostrils flared as she smelled Trista’s hand.

“Good. Now pet the top of her head. Stroke her ears. She loves that.”

With her fingers still trembling, although not so much now, she petted the dog’s head. The fur was softer than she expected, and warm. Beneath her hand, Sheba blinked, looking up at her. Winking.

Sheba’s body wriggled in a way that even Trista understood was sheer delight. The dog pushed her head more firmly against her hand.

“She wants you to stroke her ears,” Matt said. “Do it.”

Obeying, she eased her hand higher, delighted to discover the short, dark-brown fur covering the animal’s ears to be even softer than that on her head. Keeping her snout closed, Sheba moaned, letting her know she liked having her ears massaged.

For several minutes, she quietly stroked and petted the dog, and before she knew it, she was using both hands, reveling not only in the feel of the beautiful coat beneath her fingertips but in the dog’s obvious appreciation of her attention.

The more she touched Sheba, the more the dog wanted. As soon as she stopped petting her, Sheba nuzzled her hand with unexpected gentleness, yowling until Trista started the process all over again. And throughout it all, her tail never stopped wagging.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered when Sheba stood and began pirouetting in front of her, practically dancing.

The dog’s ears pricked up, and she gave Trista a light lick on the back of her hand. When Trista giggled, Sheba made a series of yipping sounds so similar to human laughter, it made Trista smile. The dog sat back on her haunches, lifting her paw and holding it in midair. Instinctively, Trista reached out and took the paw, as if shaking hands.