That flutter of butterflies in her belly went straight to her head. She bit her lower lip. “Thank you. For everything.” Then she impulsively stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek before dropping his hand and heading as fast as she could walk toward the pavilion and what she hoped would be a future in music—far away from the small town that was quick to judge her.
Chapter 3
Kyle McGuire crouched, patiently facing the massive dog who was stretching his neck out as far as it would go, teeth barred and saliva dripping from his maw.
“Come on, boy. Let’s compromise. I know what you want.” Kyle shook the treat and dog drool spattered the cement. A high-pitched whine escaped the animal and his toenails clicked while he backed up a few paces. “All you have to do is sit. That’s easy enough, right?”
The dog licked his chops and danced a little.
“Buster, sit.”
Finally, the dog stopped dancing and his rear end hit the ground.
“Good boy!” Kyle tossed the treat and Buster snapped it out of the air. He reached into his pocket for another. “Let’s try this again with the hand signals, okay?”
Buster stood, stubby tail wagging, a physical contradiction of the sharp teeth still barred. Kyle had learned that was mostly for show—the poor dog had been so abused he did it automatically out of fear, especially when faced with food—a sign the dog had been teased and starved. Kyle made sure that if Buster saw a hint of food, he would get it every time—a good way to build trust. His efforts were paying off slowly but surely. Buster would never become a guard or service dog like the others at Watchdog Protectors, but that didn’t mean he was a lost cause.
“Let’s impress Flint and Harper next time they see you, huh?” Buster cocked his head at the familiar names and his stump wagging extended to his whole butt. He loved the couple who couldn’t wait to take him home with them once Buster was deemed safe enough to live outside of the Watchdog kennels.
Kyle grinned. “Yeah, I thought that would do it.” Buster was having a hard time with the hand commands, not because he was a dumb dog, but because hands had been lifted to hit and punch him and he still shied away from them.
Kyle held his hand up for the sit command and waved the treat again.
And Buster sat.
“Good, good,excellentboy!” Kyle tossed the treat and Buster made quick work of catching it out of the air. After he’d swallowed it whole, Kyle stretched his hand out under the dog’s muzzle until Buster licked his palm. Kyle gently scratched the dog’s chest until Buster gave him a big dog-smile.
Kyle heard footsteps behind him, both man and dog. “Looks like Buster’s coming along nicely, Pup.” The voice belonged to Alex Hoff, The man who had trained Kyle to be a dog handler back when they were both SEALS. Now Alex worked for Kyle as the kennel master for Watchdog, but Kyle still deferred to the man’s experience.
Kyle gave Buster one more rub and stood up. He stepped out of the kennel and closed the door behind him while Buster trotted to his soft doggy bed. Alex stood beside his own dog, Chewie, a Malinois who was smarter than most people Kyle knew. “Thanks, Alex.”
“A lot of people would’ve given up on Buster, or never given him a chance, considering he wouldn’t have hesitated to tear your arm off when those two assholes attacked you and Tex.”
“Only because they were starving him.” Kyle shook his head and fought back the rage by taking in a deep breath and letting it out. “He’s been a challenge, but underneath the fear, he’s got a heart of gold like any other dog. He’ll be outta here sooner rather than later.”
“That’ll make Harper happy. She dotes on him.”
“Affirmative. He’s been something of a support animal for her already while Flint goes through his therapy.” Kyle’s best friend Flint had been diagnosed with brain lesions that had given him a tremor. He’d had surgery but was on his way to a complete recovery, thanks to Harper’s love and support. Buster helped too, behaving puppy-gentle whenever Harper visited him.
Kyle stretched and then the two men started walking to the front office of the kennels, Chewie trotting faithfully by Alex’s side. “I need to get back up to the ranch house,” Kyle said. “Wolf and Caroline will be here soon and Arden asked for my help. What’s on the agenda for you for today?”
Alex cleared his throat. “Advanced class for three officers and their dogs.”
Kyle held back a grin. He happened to know one of those officers was Sylvie Madden, and that Alex did everything he could to hide his attraction to her—while at the same time Kyle was pretty sure he’d designed the special ‘advanced training class’ just to have an excuse to get her back up to Watchdog for a few hours each week.
“Sounds good, brother. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Will do.”
The men parted at the front of the building, Alex off to the obstacle course and Kyle to his SUV. As he drove up the hill to the ranch house that had been in his fiancée’s family for generations, he mentally went over the details of the security detail for the upcoming music festival. Watchdog was new in town, and previously, the local sergeant, George Williams, had called in reinforcements from Boulder. But this year, Arden had persuaded Williams to use Watchdog instead. It helped that Williams had been friends with Arden’s father forever. Even if the man had said no, Kyle still would’ve provided personal security for Rachael but this just assured him that he would have the entire festival secured while she was here.
“Call me a control freak,” Kyle chuckled to himself.
The detail actually sounded relatively easy—babysitting a few hundred old hippies and younger families who all wanted to give peace a chance through good music, good food, quality beer, and some recreational weed. Most of the crowd had been coming for years—decades even—and Arden told Kyle the whole thing resembled more of a giant family reunion than some sort of out-of-control concert. The most he could expect were a few freeloaders trying to sneak in via the river and the woods surrounding the site, and some public intoxication. She’d never seen nor heard of a fistfight breaking out at the concert or the temporary campgrounds, and she’d grown up in Lyons. Sergeant Williams more or less confirmed Arden’s observations, though he’d had a caveat.
“Since they legalized marijuana in Colorado, we’ve had an influx of people moving here just to legally smoke pot. They’re for the most part harmless and I thank them for their tax dollars.” Williams had shifted in his chair behind the desk that took up most of his office in the police substation—a tiny red sandstone building Kyle was pretty sure he could fit into his duffel bag. “It’s the other element that I’ve had to keep an eye on. Gangs running drugs trying to squeeze in on the action. Denver and Boulder have had a bigger problem with it, but I’m not naïve enough to think they haven’t found my little town. I’ll appreciate your help when it comes to the festival. I don’t want anyone sniffing around the edges trying to sell the illegal stuff or hassling the locals.”
They’d shaken hands and Kyle assured him his team would be on the lookout.
