Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas: Surviving Christmas

“You get the dog. I’ll get the food.”

“Now who’s being bossy?”

“I am.” He’d already bent and picked up his son when she joined him and asked, “Is there a problem with his motor skills, too?”

“Some. Why?”

“Because I thought it would be good for him to walk more. He can lean on Freya again if he needs support.”

“He falls easily.”

“And how did he learn to walk in the first place?”

She noted Sean’s sigh. Perhaps she was being too outspoken. Then again, maybe bluntness was just what he needed. It was possible to love someone or something so much you didn’t give it the opportunity to learn and grow. The same was true of the canines in the various programs. If they weren’t pushed, they’d not only fail to make progress, they might regress. Training was a daily necessity, as was affection. Each had its place and time.

Leading the way, Zoe entered with the dog at her heels, leaving the door open behind them. When she turned, Sean was gently lowering Patrick to the floor and bending to speak to him.

“I’ll be right back, buddy. I have to go get your tangerines and the other stuff we bought. You watch the dog for us like you did at the store, okay?”

The tousled, blond head nodded without hesitation. “Good da.”

“Dog.” Sean put emphasis on the final letter. “Daw—guh.”

To Zoe’s surprise and joy, Patrick repeated it perfectly. She would have cheered if she hadn’t seen moisture gleaming in his father’s eyes. Every small step was a triumph, every properly annunciated word a victory.

“Thank You, Lord, for letting me be a part of this amazing healing process,” she whispered, blinking back her own tears. She’d thought her offer of assistance was meant for one person, and it was actually going to benefit at least two.

Make that three, she added. Not only had her heavenly Father reunited dear friends, He had placed her in a position to render aid and share blessings. No amount of threat, no lowlife with an evil agenda, was going to steal that from her. Not now. Not ever again.

* * *

The scheduled visit with lead K-9 trainer, Sophie Williams, and Ellen Foxcroft, the founder of the assistance dog program, took place as scheduled at Zoe’s house. Sean liked both women, and Zoe’s introduction of him and his disabled son wasn’t maudlin. As a matter of fact, it was so uplifting he wondered if she’d talked her associates right out of helping him.

“I never claimed to be totally helpless,” he told the women with a nod toward Patrick. “But as you can see, there are special circumstances. I not only need to be able to function for my own sake, I need to be there for my son. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’m not myself.” His elbows were propped on his knees, his hands joined between them while he toyed with his wedding band.

Ellen mirrored his pose. Her reddish hair hung in a single braid down her back. Her gaze was tender. “I know how hard this is for you, Mr. Murphy. The human body sometimes deals with intense trauma in ways that go against everything we expect. That doesn’t make us less of a person. It’s how we cope with the aftereffects of disaster that will define who and what we become. By asking for help you’ve taken a big step, and I want to tell you how impressed I am.”

“Just get me well for Patrick,” Sean said with passion. “I don’t care what it takes. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it. I promise.”

“I know you will.” She glanced at Sophie. “What do you think of giving Angel another chance?”

The lead trainer smiled and shook her head. “It’s easy to see why the folks who donated her named her Ding-a-ling. She really is a sweetheart, but do you really think she’s salvageable?”

Zoe had been fidgeting. Now she spoke up. “Why Angel? I mean, she’s lovable and partially trained in several disciplines, but she’s also terribly headstrong and easily distracted.”

“Exactly why she needs a strong, forceful, determined man as her partner,” Ellen replied. “Mr. Murphy is right about not being as badly affected as many of our clients, so why not let him give Angel a try? It’s that or wash her out of all our programs.”

Watching his old friend’s expression, Sean could tell she was mulling over the suggestion. A misfit dog for a misfit soldier. What could be better?

Zoe finally nodded. “Okay. How can I help?”

“We’ll do introductions first thing in the morning. Bring everybody involved to the training center with you but don’t wear your uniform. We want that meeting to be as casual as possible so we can judge Angel’s reactions. If she passes that test, we’ll make up a training schedule.”

The women stood, as did Sean. “Thank you, both,” he said.

Sophie nodded and shook Sean’s hand, then paused and looked to Zoe. “By the way, what was the disturbance at the market all about? I understand from Ryder that a threat may have followed Mr. Murphy to Desert Valley, after all.”

Sean knew she was referring to the chief of police, Ryder Hayes, the same person who had sent for the report about his break-in back in St. Louis.

“It started when I thought I saw somebody who had caused me trouble in St. Louis,” Sean explained. “It turned out they were driving a stolen truck and ditched it right before somebody took a potshot at Zoe’s car.”

Ellen nodded. “I heard we tried using James Harrison’s bloodhound, but he lost their trail. Do you think the incidents were connected?”

“I’m sure beginning to,” Zoe said. “Freya reacted to one of the guys when we were all in the store.”

Sophie nodded. “We’ll all need to be on alert. See you tomorrow morning at eight.”

Sean hung back as Zoe walked her friends to the door. Patrick had curled up on the sofa with Freya. The dog opened one eye, studied him for a second, then closed it, sighed and relaxed. If the new dog he was about to meet was half the canine companion Freya was, he’d be more than satisfied.

It suddenly struck him that canine senses were going to be the answer. If he felt threatened and the dog did not, then he’d know his imagination was in charge. If, however, the dog reacted as well, he could begin to trust his own senses. To trust himself.

What might it be like to actually lighten up and enjoy life again? Considering the way he’d been feeling, the concept sounded both enticing and out of reach.

Sean shivered, remembering the words of his attackers. They had been sent to kill him. That was all there was to it. If they were here, in Desert Valley, there was no way he’d ever be able to let down his guard. Not if he expected to live long enough to raise his child.

* * *

Zoe took a brief phone call later in the evening. She’d watched the tension building on her friend’s face as she’d listened, so the first thing she did was set Sean’s mind at ease. “That was Chief Hayes.”

“What now?”

“Good news, actually,” she said, smiling. “They were able to get usable prints off that stolen red truck. They belonged to local kids who have been in trouble here before, not hit men from St. Louis.”

“They’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“But, the guy we saw in the parking lot was no kid.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, they’re also running a partial palm print through the AFIS database to see if there are any matches.”

It pained her to see some of the starch go out of Sean’s spine. “You can’t convince me it’s all in my head, so don’t even try.”

“That’s not what I meant. We didn’t find any shell casings today, but the bullet in your apartment ceiling was plenty real.”

“True. I wish I had a better idea of who has it in for me. I haven’t been home long enough to have made new enemies, so it has to be somebody from my past.”

“Or Sandra’s,” Zoe said. “Did you pick up any of her stuff from her parents?”