Page 14 of Rescued By the Dog Trainer

I want to spin her in my grip, hold her close, and lean down to take the kiss I thought about last night while she filled my dreams.

I adjust her fingers, closing them together, flattening her palm until it's level with Juno's forehead.

"Keep the wrist straight." My gravel voice is low, close to the braid at her neck. "If you bend it, she thinks you're asking for permission. Don't ask."

Maren's breath catches. A quick puff of white steam rises between us, her breast rising against the inner fabric of her coat. She stays still, the heavy warm weight of her body leaning three inches back into my chest.

I hold her hand there for five seconds. The pulse under my thumb is steady now, the jump gone.

"Now hold it." I step back, letting the cold air rush into the gap between us.

Maren keeps her hand flat. Her wrist stays straight. Juno's ears swivel. The Malinois stops scanning the ridge, her sable face turning slowly until her amber eyes lock onto Maren's palm. Juno's tail drops an inch, her weight settling back on her haunches.

Juno doesn't settle fully, but the scanning stops. She stays, her gaze fixed on the flat hand, her breathing matching Maren's.

"Keep the hand still." I walk back to the rail, Barnaby following. "No words. Just the shape."

"You never lead with words?" Maren keeps her palm flat, her fingers relaxing on the leather lead for the first time, the tension gone. She looks from her palm to me.

"Words lie. Hands don't."

We run the drill for twenty minutes inside the barn aisle. Maren doesn't ask for a break.

Her boots are wet, her fingers red where she pulled her gloves off to adjust the snap, but her movements are clean. She's got the patience of a medic, the kind of focus that stays steady when the room's coming apart.

Every time Juno starts to scan the ridge, Maren catches the tilt of Juno's head and flattens her palm, locking Juno back into the frame.

When we finish, the snow has covered the paddock rails, a thick white crust that makes the cedar look twice as wide. Maren leads Juno back to run seven, sliding the latch shut with a clean click.

I stand by the main runs, Barnaby sitting close to my knee. The wind is howling off the peak now, a long whistle that makes the cedar posts groan.

"Nobody should have to be afraid alone in the dark."

The words are Jesse's. They're the rule he gave me when the cold was finishing me behind the PickAxe, back when he handed me the shovel and told me to get to work. The man who saved me, even if he couldn't save himself in the end.

Maren stops by the run gate. She goes stone-still, her hand staying on the steel latch, her face turning slowly toward me. Her blue eyes are wide, tracking my mouth as the quote registers.

"Mabel mentioned Jesse Marsh built this sanctuary." Maren's voice carries over the wind, quiet and steady. "Is he the one who taught you how to train dogs?"

"No. The military taught me how to handle working dogs downrange." I wipe the snow off the latch, my gaze shifting toward the gray peak. "Jesse pulled me out of a snowdrift behind the PickAxe, handed me a shovel, and gave me a reason to stay alive."

She looks at me, her chest rising and falling, her eyes locked on my face as she reads the weight behind my words.

"He saved you."

"He did." I turn back to the runs, the latch cold against my palm. "Even if he couldn't save himself."

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through the wind. Headlights sweep across the training barn doors as the other trainees arrive. Sarah's truck parks first, followed by Brody's Jeep and Griff's pickup. By seven-fifty-five, they're all in the yard, boots crunching in the fresh snow, ready for eight o'clock.

They talk more today. The awkwardness from the first day is starting to wear thin. Brody's laughing at something Danny said, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, while Nadia adjusts the strap on Zip's training vest. Sarah stands by Tank's run, her hand flat on the wire, letting the mastiff mix sniff her palm. They're becoming a group, the dogs drawing them together.

Maren stays in the yard, her boots lined up next to Sarah's, her eyes tracking the other dogs as they're let out. She's not the outsider she was yesterday.

"Those sutures look clinic-tight, Major." Danny points toward Chief's shoulder.

"They'll hold." Maren doesn't stop walking, her gloved fingers tracing the wire of Juno's gate.

We work in the barn for the rest of the morning. The snow keeps coming, a heavy curtain that shuts out the valley below. The wind is pickaxe-cold, rattling the sheet metal, but the heat off the cast-iron wood stove keeps the training floor dry.