Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Ford curled his arms around Ashe’s shoulders and pulled her into his body.
Ashe tugged lightly on Ford’s beard.
“Whatever,” she said. “I’m going to lunch. Are you coming with me?”
“It’s only eight forty-five in the morning, Ashe,” Ford said. “You can’t go to lunch yet.”
She gave him a brow raise. “Oh yeah? Why not?”
“One, because it’s not even nine yet. Two, because you have things to do,” he said. “Three, because your uncle being the chief of police won’t save you from being fired.”
That’s when we all burst out laughing.
Being the chief of police’s niece would save her from being fired, and we all knew it.
Chuckling at the two of them despite the bullshit David had just spouted, I pulled out my phone and placed a call to my woman.
I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t get her to answer.
My next call was to Laric.
Yesterday, when Dillan had been determined to get the donuts decorated and her shop opened, I had time to speak with Laric.
And I’d learned more about the dog.
Bobo, short for Bobby Boy, had been a patrol dog for three years for the US Army.
On his last deployment, Bobo hadn’t been treated all that well. His handler had neglected him, forced him to do his bidding, then tossed him away like trash for whomever to do whatever they wanted to him until he was needed again. Needless to say, Bobo has trust issues.
Laric was trying to rehabilitate Bobo, but it looked like it might not be possible to save his life.
“Laric.”
“It’s Booth,” I said when he answered. “Why is my woman at a vet?”
Laric chuckled, sounding tired. “I had to stop to use the bathroom yesterday before heading home. As I was reaching to clip on the leash to Bobo’s collar, he bolted. Ran right in front of a truck and got hit. They say he broke his right back leg. Possibly will need surgery on it if they can’t get it fixed up straight. The swelling is too severe right now.”
My stomach clenched at the news.
“Fuck, that sucks,” I said as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “They think he’s going to make it?”
“He didn’t survive being tortured for a month just to die here,” Laric promised. “Your woman, I think, is visiting with him. They have him heavily sedated, so don’t worry.”
I wasn’t worrying.
Much.
“Thanks,” I said. “And if you need anything, let us know.”
Laric was silent for a long time. “I need to find Bobo a home. I don’t recommend you, so don’t think that’s my hope with this. He needs a home without a kid. Without other pets. You know anybody that would be able to handle a traumatized dog like him?”
Just as he asked that, Malachi came out of the building behind me.
He completely avoided me and headed to his truck.
He saw a stray dog that liked to hang out around our dumpster and stopped.
He whistled to it, and the dog came running.
Malachi pulled out a piece of jerky from his pocket, unwrapped it, and tossed it to the dog.
The dog caught it and bolted.
“I think I might have someone in mind,” I said. “Let me talk to him and get back with you.”
“10-4,” Laric said.
Then he hung up.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and jogged in Malachi’s direction, being sure to call his name before I got too close.
Malachi was much like Bobo.
He, like Bobo, had been captured and tortured while on deployment.
Though he didn’t talk about it, everyone knew his story.
Why?
Because when he’d first come back, there’d been another man that had assumed his name in error.
Luca Maldonado, who looked eerily similar to Malachi, had been in the same unit. They’d also been great friends.
And when Luca was rescued, he’d had Malachi’s dog tags on him.
Everyone had only assumed that it was him.
Only, it wasn’t him.
Luca was Luca, and not long after Luca realized that, Malachi had returned home, too.
With his full memory intact, and haunted eyes that clearly showed he didn’t want to have those memories.
“Malachi!” I called.
Malachi paused in opening his truck door.
He’d known that I was there, so there was no surprise in his face when I arrived at his truck.
“Yeah?”
“How would you feel about fostering a traumatized retired military working dog?”
Ten minutes later, I was walking into a vet’s office with Malachi at my side.
“Hello,” a sweet looking woman said from behind the desk. “May I help you?”
I looked over at Malachi to see his face completely blank.
The few times that I’d seen him with someone, that female hadn’t been cute, bubbly or sweet. Those adjectives completely described the woman behind the desk.
“Yeah,” I said, glancing at Malachi who looked like he’d rather be walking out the door instead of conversing with the sweet girl. “My fiancée is here visiting a dog.”
The girl blinked. “Oh! You’re Mr. Booth?”