Tricks was dancing around Bo, delighted they were going for a ride. The dog was delighted about everything: going, coming, mealtime, her walks, playing ball, and life in general. The only thing she hadn’t greeted with joy was the sight of him in “her” seat, and even with the offering of turkey it had taken a couple of days before she’d forgiven him enough to let him throw her ball. He was back in her good graces, though, so he said, “Why not leave Tricks with me? Do you take her into the council meetings?”
Bo glanced worriedly at Tricks. “Usually, but the normal meetings don’t last over an hour. I don’t know about this one.”
“Then leave her here. I can take her out and throw the ball for her, and feed her lunch if you aren’t back by then.”
She still looked undecided. He said, “I can handle her. Is she likely to run off?”
“No. She won’t be happy that I left without her, though.”
“So what will she do? Throw a temper tantrum?”
She smiled at that. “No, but—once she stops pouting, just explain to her that I had to go to town and I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
He must have looked incredulous—this was a dog they were talking about, not a kid, and this was taking things pretty far even for her—because she said, “I know it sounds silly, but you know how they say a dog is about as smart as a two-year-old? She’s as smart as a four-year-old. She understands a lot of what you say.”
She understood the speaker’s tone of voice, yeah, but most dogs did learn and respond to that. “She’ll understand she hasn’t been abandoned, and she knows time?”
“Yes, she knows time.” Now Bo scowled at him. “Never mind. I’ll take her with me.”
“Fine,” he said testily. “I’ll explain it to her. I promise. Now go, before you’re late.”
She didn’t want to, he could tell, but it was concern for Tricks if the meeting ran long that settled the matter. She bent down to nuzzle the top of Tricks’s head. “You stay here this time, sweetie. You’ll be a lot more comfortable here than you will be in an old meeting room. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She straightened and left without looking back, though he could tell she wanted to. He and Tricks stood at the window watching as she left, he because he got a glimpse of her long legs when she got into the Jeep, and Tricks because she probably couldn’t believe she was being left behind.
As the Jeep went down the driveway, Tricks whined plaintively. “It’s okay, girl,” Morgan said, bending down to stroke her. “She’ll be back before you know it.” Then, because he’d promised even though he felt like a fool for doing it, he added, “She’s got a meeting to go to that could last a long time, and she didn’t want you to have to wait if you need to take a leak, or whatever. She’ll be back, probably by lunch. I can’t imagine any of their meetings taking much time even when they’re talking about assholes.”
Tricks whined again, then licked his cheek and trotted off to find a toy.
He checked the news and played a game or two on the laptop before restlessly putting it aside. It was good to feel restless; when he’d been in such bad shape, he hadn’t had any interest in doing anything other than lying right where he was, but now he wanted to move.
He did the stairs, and this time made it to number fifteen, almost to the top. He rested a bit—damn that fifteen steps could make him tired—then decided to do some light calisthenics. Stretching and gently getting his heart rate up would be a good thing. He got down on the floor and stretched, cautiously testing the limits of his stiff muscles.
Of course the dog bounded over, thinking it was a game because he was on the floor and all but danced on top of him. He told her no a couple of times, told her to move a couple of times, then gave up. So much for her understanding almost everything that was said to her. Everyone tended to act like she was the second coming of Air Bud, but when all was said and done, she was a dog. A pretty one, he had to admit, and smart enough, but still a dog.
He gave up on floor stretching, got to his feet, and tried putting his palms flat on the floor to stretch his hamstrings. His hamstrings did fine. His lower back, though, seized in a spasm that almost put him on his knees.
Spitting out curses between his teeth, he managed to straighten. Shit! The muscle spasm eased, and he stood there for a minute while he got his breath back, furious at this new reminder of the sad shape he was in. Six weeks ago he’d been in top physical form, able to run and swim for miles, carry a hundred pounds on his back while trekking through all kinds of miserable shit, and still kick ass in a firefight.
He might never be in that kind of shape again. He had to face the fact that he could be looking at a new reality. The docs had repaired him, but the human body wasn’t like a car, you couldn’t slap a new piece of sheet metal in place and call it done. His heart might never be as strong again. He wouldn’t know unless he worked his ass off trying to get to that point. What if he couldn’t do it, though?
He’d quit the GO-Teams, then what. All the guys’ lives depended on each man being able to do his job. He wouldn’t jeopardize any of them because of his ego, because he couldn’t let go. He could probably still be involved, maybe in training, maybe logistics, but if he wasn’t a hundred percent he wouldn’t go back out on a job.
Tricks got her tennis ball and came to stand in front of him. She put a paw on his knee, then looked at the door.
“Time for a pee break, huh? Okay, let’s go.”
She pranced to the door. She never just walked anywhere, like normal dogs. It was as if she knew how pretty she was, and that the world as Bo Maran had structured it revolved around her. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered, but then he smiled because yeah, he remembered her riding in the back of the pickup with a green bow stuck on her head, woofing like a homecoming queen—if homecoming queens woofed, that is.
They stepped outside and she dropped the ball at his feet, then took off running. Morgan bent to pick up the ball, and the muscle spasm knifed him in the back again. He cussed and groaned and gradually managed to get upright again, though sweat was running down his temples. Fuck, that hurt! It wasn’t the all-consuming pain of being shot and the following surgery, but it was sharp and paralyzing in its intensity. He wasn’t sure he could even walk right now. He took a few deep breaths, willing the pain away.
Tricks trotted back to him, an accusing expression on her face.
Bo had insisted that the dog understood most of what people said. What the hell; it was bullshit, of course, but—“Tricks, I hurt my back and I can’t bend down. If you want me to throw your ball, you’ll have to put it in my hand.”
She pounced on the ball like a cat, picked it up, and nosed it into his palm before taking off at a run again.
He stood there, stunned. No. Fucking. Way. It was a coincidence. She stopped when the ball didn’t bounce in front of her the way she liked and looked back at him. He didn’t dare try twisting his torso to throw overhand but he gave it a good underhand toss so it bounced in front of her, and she caught it on the first bounce. She stopped, posed, and he rolled his eyes even as he said, “Good girl.”
She brought the ball back and put it in his hand. He tossed it, she brought it back and put it in his hand. She did it a fourth time.
He was so astonished he forgot about his back and strolled toward the woods with her. As long as he kept his pace slow and even, as long as he didn’t twist, he was fine. He tossed the ball, and Tricks brought it back. That wasn’t coincidence; he’d never seen her do it before, she’d always dropped the ball at the feet of the person she’d chosen to honor. But she put the ball in his hand every single time after he told her what he wanted.
Eventually she got tired, stopped to pee. He was tired too, and his back was aching so he said, “Let’s go, girl,” and they headed back inside. A glance at the clock told him it was almost time for her lunch, as if her standing beside her bowls and staring at him wasn’t clue enough. In case he didn’t get the hint, she looked at the bowls, then
back at him.
“Not yet. Your mom keeps you on a strict schedule.”
With a sigh, she lay down beside the bowls to wait.
Was it possible she really understood him? Bo thought so and talked to the dog as if she were indeed a four-year-old child. He wasn’t convinced, but damn, he was wavering.
He waited until Tricks’s exact lunch time before squatting to dip the proper amount of food from the container into her bowl. Squatting didn’t hurt his back, though he had a bit of difficulty in standing up again; he had to hold on to the counter top and pull himself up.
Tricks showed her appreciation with a wag of her tail and paused in her eating to bestow a lick on his knee. That was normal, he thought; dogs liked being fed.
He needed to eat, too; the council meeting was obviously running longer than Bo had thought it would, but he’d lived most of his life feeding himself. He was better; he didn’t have to have food brought to him. He slapped together a sandwich and ate it standing up. He even drank milk because it was better for him than beer. He didn’t want to drink her remaining Naked Pig beer when he didn’t know how long it would be before the next delivery.
He sat at the table to read for a while because the chair had a straighter back, and that eased the ache in his own back. After letting Tricks rest and nap, he said, “Hey Tricks, want to go outside?” Let’s see if she’d do that again, or if it had been a fluke.
Tricks retrieved her ball and went to the door, tail wagging in enthusiasm, feet dancing. They stepped out into the sunshine. She dropped the ball at his feet and took off running.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he muttered. Raising his voice he said, “Tricks!”
She stopped and looked back at him, surprised and displeased that he hadn’t thrown the ball, but she trotted back to him. Come to think of it, she had the most expressive face he’d ever seen on a dog; reading her was as easy as if she could speak.
“You have to put it in my hand,” he said because, hell, if she understood that much, she should remember what he’d said about his back—assuming she knew what a back was.
She picked up the ball, put it in his hand, and took off.
Morgan looked down at the fuzzy, dirty, much-used yellow ball. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly, and tossed it over her head so she could catch it on the first bounce and pose, waiting for his admiration.
When Bo entered the room in City Hall where the town council meetings were held, she was surprised to see that both Miss Doris and Emily were there, as well as Jesse. Then she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised because the meeting revolved around the Goodings and what meanness they might unleash on the town, which meant Emily, Jesse, and she herself were at the heart of it. She and Jesse took seats at the back of the room but didn’t have time to chat.
Mayor Buddy called the meeting to order, then gave Emily the floor.
Emily was young, just in her mid-twenties, but self-possessed. She said, “First, I want to apologize to everyone that my personal life is causing problems for the town.”
There was a rumble of voices assuring her that the fault wasn’t hers. She flushed and said, “I had the bad judgment to marry Kyle, so it goes back that far. This past week has been like a war. He and his daddy are threatening everything they can think of if I don’t just sign over everything to Kyle and drop the domestic violence charges. I have to tell you, some of those threats involve the town.”
Miss Virginia Rose, the cashier at the grocery store who was also on the town council, said, “What kind of threats?”
Emily twisted her hands. “Well, it isn’t just the people who work at the sawmills. Mr. Gooding said if he shut down the sawmills, the town would lose a lot of its revenue because the people who work there do most of their shopping here. And he’s right.”
“I doubt he’d shut down the sawmills,” Mayor Buddy said. “That’s his livelihood, too.”
“All I can tell you, Mayor, is that he’s always talking about his investments and how much money he’s got tucked away, and he said he can survive shutting down the sawmills for a few months, but the town and the people who work for him can’t.”
The meeting erupted into a flurry of angry comments until Mayor Buddy gaveled it back to order. This was indeed a problem because the town operated on a shoestring budget with no surplus to tide it over. The loss of those sales taxes for even a few months would be catastrophic.
Bo and Jesse sat quietly listening. Everyone had a different idea about what to do, including Miss Virginia Rose’s suggestion that some of the townsfolk take the Goodings out somewhere and beat the shit out of them. Bo could tell several of the council members thought that was a good idea, which was problematic with her and Jesse both sitting there.
Time ticked by. She checked her phone; this was taking far longer than she’d anticipated. She was glad Tricks had stayed with Morgan, she thought, because otherwise she’d have had to interrupt the meeting at least a couple of times to take Tricks out. Plus she would have had to go down to the police station to get some of the food she kept there. On the other hand, this might be the longest she’d ever been away from Tricks other than the one time when she’d had bronchitis and Daina had kept Tricks while Bo miserably waited her turn to be seen in a doctor’s office. Tricks had been about six months old and hell on wheels; easygoing Daina had been no match for her, and still wasn’t.
“We’re going to have to arrest most of the people here,” Jesse muttered to her because the talk had segued from prevention to vengeance, which included hiring the Mean-As-Shit Hobsons to deal with the situation. Considering Mr. Gooding’s reaction to Loretta, Bo thought that idea had some merit.
On the other hand, she also remembered how vehemently Mr. Gooding wanted Kyle out of this situation without a criminal record.
She held up her hand. Mayor Buddy banged his gavel and said, “Chief Maran has the floor.”
Bo got to her feet, and everyone in the room looked at her expectantly.
“Emily, which would you rather have, Kyle prosecuted for hitting you, or him signing the divorce papers and just going away?”
“Divorce and going away,” Emily said promptly. “I know I’m supposed to prosecute but I gotta say, he never beat me or anything like that, he slapped me that one time in the bakery and I’m ashamed to admit it, but I slapped him that morning before I left the house. He could file charges against me, too, couldn’t he? But he hasn’t.”
“Yes, he could,” Bo said. “I don’t know if the mayor has told everyone, but Mr. Gooding came to see me on Monday and he’s very concerned about Kyle having a criminal record. I think we can use that as leverage and work out something between the town and the Goodings, and that includes Kyle signing the divorce papers and leaving Emily alone.”
It took a while to hammer out a plan. As Mayor Buddy put it, the Goodings were bitter, vindictive sons of bitches who never forgot a slight unless “we make it in their best interests to do otherwise.”
The plan revolved around Emily, and she was all in. Only a week had passed, but she could push hard to have a divorce granted immediately, if not sooner. She could light a fire under her lawyer, they could get the papers ready, they could get Judge Harper lined up. The linchpin was getting Kyle to sign. The proposal they came up with was that if Kyle didn’t give Emily any more trouble, if he agreed to the divorce settlement, which was simply that he kept his stuff and she kept hers and they sold the house and split the profits, assuming there were any, the charges against him would be dropped. He also had to stay away from her and get on with his own life without interfering in hers. If he couldn’t do that, all bets were off. And if she started having any mysterious troubles, such as her car getting keyed or her tires knifed, the Hobsons would be sicced on him. That last wasn’t legal, but what the hell—maybe none of it was.
Jesse was the law-and-order person there, and he didn’t have any problem with it. He was for whatever served the community best rather than going balls-to-
the-wall for the few misdemeanor charges that were all they had on Kyle. “I’m okay with all this,” he said. “Kyle didn’t get off without catching some good licks himself, including Brandy braining him with the chair. If everyone else is on board, I am too.” That pretty much sealed the deal as far as everyone else was concerned.
Then they had to decide who would make the proposition to Mr. Gooding. Mayor Buddy volunteered, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Mayor Buddy was as wily as they came; he’d make it sound as if they were doing the Goodings a favor and be damn convincing about it. The town lawyer said he’d draw up some papers because they had to have signatures on the deal or the Goodings wouldn’t take it seriously. Whether or not the papers would stand up in court was something else entirely, but from the conversations around her Bo thought that if the Goodings reneged, court would be the least of their worries because the Hobsons would be called in.
Finally—finally—she was on her way home. She was starving but didn’t take the time to stop and get a hamburger because she was anxious about how Tricks and Morgan had fared together. Tricks would be okay; Morgan’s welfare was the most at risk. If Tricks felt put-upon or insulted, she might well refuse to come back inside, and Morgan was too weak to chase after her. He could fall and hurt himself if he tried to push too far.
She didn’t exactly lock the brakes and sling gravel when she slid to a stop beside the Tahoe, but it was close.
The good news was that there was no one lying on the ground unable to get up, and no annoyed golden retriever refusing to obey “Come here.” Maybe they had rocked through without any major problems.
Silly, but her heart was beating a little faster as she opened the door, braced for whatever scene greeted her there. No, it wasn’t silly because she knew Tricks.
Still, she wasn’t prepared. Nothing could have prepared her.
Morgan was sitting on the sofa, all in one piece. Tricks was standing on her back legs in front of him, her front legs braced on his chest, looking up at him with an expression of pure delight while he scratched behind her ears and crooned to her in a deep, soft tone. They were all but nose to nose. At Bo’s entrance Tricks turned her head to look at her, giving her one of those joyous looks that always melted Bo’s heart because she’d never before seen such a happy creature. Tricks looked back up at Morgan, and he bent his head to gently touch his forehead to hers. “There’s Mom,” he said unnecessarily, and Tricks took that as her signal to go greet the center of her life.