The noise outside from the agility yard seeped through the walls of the house, and Walker pushed himself out of his chair. “We should go check on that.”
Ghost set aside his coffee—his throat was so tight, there was no way he’d be able to drink it now—and stood, moving toward the door.
“You have a family here, Owen,” Walker said quietly at his back. “Whether you believe you deserve one or not. We’re here, and we’ve got your back. Always.”
twenty-nine
The howling continuedas Ghost stepped out of the house and replaced his hat on his head. He crossed the driveway, passed the bunkhouse and the firepit, and found the guys all leaning against the fence of the agility yard. Inside, X and his new husky, Kavik, were howling in unison, a discordant symphony that made Ghost’s teeth ache. The sound echoed across the ranch yard, probably scaring half the wildlife in a five-mile radius.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, wincing as X hit a particularly off-key note that the husky matched with enthusiasm. “Is that supposed to be bonding?”
“They’re already speaking the same language,” Jonah observed.
Jax leaned against the fence, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Echo sat at his feet, watching the newcomers with a tilted head. “They’re going to drive everyone insane within a week.”
“We need to invest in earplugs,” Anson muttered.
Bear grumbled an agreement.
Ghost’s gaze drifted to River, who was on his knees in the muddy training yard, waving a tennis ball in front of a goldenretriever with the attention span of a gnat. The dog stared at the ball with mild interest before flopping onto his back, tongue lolling out as he pawed at his own face.
River threw the ball. The dog watched it bounce and roll to a stop, then yawned widely.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to fetch?” Jonah suggested.
River jogged over, retrieved the ball, and demonstrated with exaggerated movements. “See, buddy? You’re supposed to go get it and bring it back.” He tossed the ball gently. “C’mon, Goose. It’s easy. Just grab it and bring it back.”
Goose rolled in the dirt, completely ignoring the ball in favor of chewing on his own paw.
“Good boy!” River praised as if the dog had performed some miraculous feat instead of failing spectacularly at the most basic retriever task.
Ghost snorted. “That dog is useless.”
“Maybe at fetching,” Jonah said. “But I don’t think River cares.”
“He should. Retrievers are supposed to retrieve.”
“Look at his face,” Jax said quietly.
Ghost did. River was beaming at the golden retriever like the animal had hung the moon, his usual cynical edge completely dissolved by the simple joy of watching his new dog be an absolute disaster.
“He already loves that dog exactly as he is,” Jax continued. “Doesn’t need him to be useful. Just needs him to be Goose.”
Something pulled tight in Ghost’s chest as he watched the pairs form their bonds—one instantaneous and built on mutual skill, the other immediate but founded on simple acceptance. He glanced around, searching for his dog. He’d seen her follow him from the Hub, but now she was nowhere to be seen. She rarely joined the group activities, preferring the shadows, just like him.
Was that his fault? Had he somehow taught her to keep her distance, the way he kept his?
Across the paddock, River had abandoned the ball and was now sprawled in the grass beside Goose, scratching the dog’s ears.
“Looks like those assignments are going to stick,” Jonah said, hopping down from the fence. “I’d better get back to Trapper. Anson, you need help with that rear shoe?”
Ghost stayed at the fence as the men dispersed. His mind drifted to Naomi. To the careful distance he maintained even when they were alone together. To the way she watched him sometimes, waiting for a door to open that he kept firmly locked.
Jax was still beside him, pocket knife in hand, shaving careful curls from a piece of pine. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who’d found his purpose, his place. Ghost had seen him before Nessie and Oliver, and now—the way his hard edges softened around them, the way he let the boy climb on his back like a jungle gym—it seemed impossible that this was the same man who’d once held a knife to a woman’s throat, driven by demons and drugs and despair.
The question formed in Ghost’s mind, dangerous and far too revealing. He shouldn’t ask it. Shouldn’t need to know. And yet?—
“How’d you do it?”
