Page 73 of Sit, Stay

After, she’s sprawled across my chest doing her post-flight checks—one hand over my heart, confirming operation—and the dogs have staged a coup in the hallway, and the pie is definitely cold, and I couldn’t move if the base scrambled every jet in Colorado.

"So," she says.

"So."

"Two weeks of packing. And you’re staying here. With me. In this very small house. With three dogs."

"That’s the mission."

"We’re never finishing the kitchen."

"We are not."

She lifts her head, chin on my sternum, and grins at me in the dark— green-eyed certainty, my whole heart in a mess of spilled-honey hair— and says, "Worth it. Both on the record."

Cold pie at midnight, eaten out of the box with two forks while three dogs supervise, tastes like the best decision I’ve ever made, twice. And for the first time in my life, I’m not counting fuel. I’m home. I’m just home.

Epilogue

Callie

The Texas heat is nothing like Colorado.

In Pine Valley, summer meant cool mornings and afternoons that rarely broke ninety. Here in Iron Creek, the sun feels personal. Aggressive. Like it has a vendetta against anyone foolish enough to stand outside past nine a.m.

But watching Dean try to wrangle a stubborn German Shepherd while sweat soaks through his Iron Creek K9 t-shirt? Worth every degree.

"Come," he says for the third time.

The dog—a two-year-old named Apollo who thinks he's smarter than his handler—sits down and yawns.

I hide my smile behind my clipboard.

"Don't laugh," Dean calls across the training yard. "He can hear you not taking this seriously."

"I'm very serious," I call back. "Professionally observing."

"You're enjoying this."

"Also true."

Apollo finally deigns to trot over to Dean, who rewards him with a treat and what looks like a muttered threat about who's really in charge here. Spoiler: it's the dog.

I turn back to the puppy I'm examining—a ten-week-old Belgian Malinois who's already showing the kind of drive that'll make him either an excellent working dog or a household menace. Possibly both.

"Looking good, Rebel," I say, finishing my notes. "You're cleared for basic training."

His handler, a quiet guy named Brock who Dean recruited from his old unit, grins. "Thanks, Doc."

Doc. Six months in Texas, and I'm still getting used to hearing that here. Not Dr. O'Connor from the base clinic or Callie from the townspeople I've known my whole life. Just Doc, from people who respect what I do without needing my entire résumé first.

The Iron Creek Veterinary facility is huge and all mine. Well, mine and Dean's, technically. But the veterinary program? The training protocols for working dog health? The partnership with the local emergency services? That's all me.

I'm not just Dean's girlfriend who followed him to Texas. I'm the reason half these dogs are certified and healthy and ready to work.

It feels good.

"Callie!" Jake's voice carries across the yard. "Stop making googly eyes at my brother and come look at this!"