He shook his head. “No, but in my work, I meet a lot of people who did, and I’ve learned a few things along the way.” He bit back the urge to mention the brother he’d lost; talking about what happened to Stephen would likely be unhelpful at that particular moment.
Her eyes, huge and dark blue in a small, lovely, heart-shaped face, were full of questions and she seemed almost eager, for the first time that evening, to talk with him.
“What kind of work do you do?” she asked, not meeting his eyes as she ran a finger along the glossy edge of the oak table in the adjoining breakfast nook.
“I own a dog-training facility. I opened it a couple of years ago and I have a few assistants now, other trainers. We do all kinds of work—basic obedience, scent, search and rescue—but my most recent project is working with veterans.”
“Do you mind if I ask, I mean, how well does that usually work? The vet-and-dog combination?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her sit down at the table and he began cutting squares of cheese off a block of cheddar.
Isaac gave a rough little laugh. “You’re not the only one who wants to know that,” he said. A lot of people—influential people—wondered the same thing, and soon Isaac hoped to have a way of answering that with his own research, so that he could raise the necessary funding to expand his project. A project that, thanks to great dogs and veterans willing to work hard to overcome their pain, had already changed several lives for the better. He enjoyed all kinds of training, but this particular sort had become his passion over the past couple of years.
“Quite well, actually.”
Avery’s forehead wrinkled in curiosity, which he took as an invitation to keep talking. Normally, he was a pretty quiet guy, even a little on the shy side, one might say, but when it came to his career, he could go on all day.
“Service animals make some of the best companions to soldiers who’ve returned from war carrying more than physical baggage. With the right training, they can be a huge asset to people dealing with past trauma or symptoms of PTSD, and they can be even better than medication at calming soldiers in the midst of panic attacks, or...even flashbacks.”
He wasn’t going to put a label on what had happened with Avery that night. He wasn’t a doctor and he didn’t have all the details, but his gut told him that’s what had occurred to her prior to him stumbling upon her in that ditch.
“Sorry if I sound like a public service announcement. I just care a lot about this stuff. It’s affected a lot of people I care about.”
Her shoulders let go of some of their tension as he spoke, and there was even a hint of hope in her eyes as he explained the process of rescuing dogs from the local shelter and giving them homes, purpose and new, full lives.
“So basically you’re saving two people at once,” she said, her eyes brighter than they had been since he’d met her. “Or, well, one person and one dog—you know what I meant,” she said, her cheeks turning a pretty, soft pink.
He bent to pull a skillet from a low cabinet, partly so he could warm up a pat of butter and start the sandwich, and partly so she wouldn’t see the way her sweet expression had affected him.
He didn’t mind helping her out—any decent guy would have done the same—and he was glad to let her stay awhile until the sun came up. He was even happy to make her a much-needed meal. He told himself it was harmless to feel attracted to a too-thin but still gorgeous woman he’d happened upon by some stroke of fate, but what he could not allow was for that attraction to go any further.
From the looks of things, Avery Abbott needed a lot of help, some of which he might even be able to offer, but it was highly unlikely she was looking for a relationship. Not with what she was obviously going through right now.
And Isaac, truth be told, very much wanted one.
He lit the stove and waited for it to heat, finally placing the butter in to melt.
“I haven’t saved anyone,” he said. “They save each other.”
While the butter changed from solid to a sizzling little pool, he put cheese between bread slices and arranged two plates to hold the finished food. Once he’d set the first sandwich in the pan, he chanced another look at her, surprised to see unshed tears shimmering in Avery’s eyes. She rubbed at her lids and he looked away, kicking himself for saying something that might have added any more pain to her already awful night. He wanted to apologize, but wasn’t sure what to say; words had never been his strong suit. He much preferred movement and action, but those weren’t always what was required.
Five minutes later, he plated the sandwiches and brought them, along with two glasses of water, over to the table to join Avery, who smiled up at him as he sat, all traces of moisture gone from those sapphire eyes.
“Thank you for this,” she said softly, “and for everything. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “What was I supposed to do, leave you out there alone on the side of the road? What kind of man would that make me?” He winked and picked up his sandwich.
That coaxed a little grin out of her, which gave him more satisfaction than it should have.
“I have to say, Mr. Meyer, you do seem like a stand-up guy. Do you make a habit of rescuing lost women in the middle of the night?” she asked, and he had the distinct feeling she was flirting with him a little.
Something fluttered in his belly, and he didn’t think it was hunger.
“I haven’t before,” he answered, “but after tonight, who knows? Maybe I will.”
Avery laughed so hard at that cheesiness that the sip of water she’d just taken almost came out of her nose. Within minutes, they were both laughing like idiots, at what he really couldn’t say.
But it felt good.
After the weirdest night of his life, and after the too-strong sense of relief he now felt seeing that this woman, this soldier, could still laugh despite the things life had thrown her way, it felt good to join her in a moment of ridiculousness. It was almost as if something in his heart had come unknotted.
Even though he knew it was completely irrational, he realized suddenly, with as much certainty and force as one might realize it’s raining as drops hit the ground, that he would do absolutely everything he could to help her get better.
Avery’s heart hammered out a quick rhythm as she opened the back door slowly and with measured care—then winced as it squeaked loudly in protest, as if its intention was to inform the entire house of her...adventures.
She resented feeling like a teenager, sneaking into her brother’s home. Just another reminder that her life as of late was anything but normal. And, oh, how she craved normal.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Despite its softness, Macy’s greeting caused Avery to gasp and turn around so fast that whiplash wouldn’t have been an implausible outcome.
“Holy goodness, Mace. You scared the living daylights out of me,” Avery said, shoving a hand against her heart. As she leaned back and let her spine rest against the closed door, fighting to catch her breath, she studied her sister-in-law. Macy was, as always, as pretty at the crack of dawn—with her golden hair all messy and the imprint of a pillow seam etched into her cheek—as she had been on her and Tommy’s wedding day. Avery indulged in the memory—a time when everything was simpler, purer—before she’d brought home a personal hell that had begun to seep into all their lives.
“Speaking of daylights,” Macy said quietly, tugging her frayed, pink terry-cloth robe tighter around her waist, “the sun hasn’t even