Page 32 of Rescued By the Dog Trainer

Juno thumps her tail once against the floorboards beneath the table.

Maren keeps her hands flat against my chest over my heart. Her eyes look up into mine, exposed and quiet.

"I don't do this kind of thing well." Her voice is quiet. Every word carries the raw truth of a woman who's spent years running from roots. "I'm not a person who sticks around."

I hold her gaze, my hand cupping the side of her neck while my thumb presses gently against her pulse.

"Not being good at it isn't a reason to never start." I lean in until my forehead rests against hers. "Let down your walls."

Bella's still on the landline with the valley dispatcher. By morning the story will be all over the PickAxe — Ruth will see to that. The town will know the shelter team stood ground through the storm's worst hour, and that Jason Pike and Maren Hale stood together through the worst of it.

Wyatt and Bella have Montoya. The clinic stays quiet while the cast-iron stove throws steady heat across the pine floorboards. The copper kettle on the cooktop hums with a thin ribbon of steam. The vapor fills the corridor with the clean scent of pine and split birch.

"Come on." I reach out and take Maren's cold fingers in mine. I guide her down the short residential hallway toward the room that was Jesse's.

Her fingers tighten around mine. She doesn't let go.

ELEVEN

The Ridge of It

MAREN

The door to Jesse's old room latches behind us with a soft click of iron.

Outside, the blizzard howls across the shelter roof as sub-zero wind drives against the frosted glass. Inside, the room smells of cedar shavings and damp canvas, saddle soap, and the woodfire heat from the stove glowing orange in the corner. Juno lies asleep on the braided rug near the hearth with her dark muzzle resting on her paws. She ignores the creak of the rafters.

Wyatt and Bella have Danny on the exam table next door. His vitals will hold through the storm. I prefer cautious optimism. The important thing is that his femur is aligned and immobilized. He's got a steady pulse distal to the break in his leg. That makes me happy. It could be so much worse.

But the adrenaline that kept my hands steady through the snowstorm triage still vibrates under my skin like a live wire, my pulse hammering against my ribs so hard my teeth ache.

Jason unbuttons his canvas work coat and hangs it on the wooden peg near the door. His grey eyes find mine in the amber light.

"You take the bed." He points toward the narrow frame tucked against the wall under three thick wool quilts. "I'll take the floor by the stove. I can roll up a canvas blanket."

He turns to grab a blanket off the bench to give me room. He's being the honorable NCO. The man who keeps his distance under his roof, shielding me from the town's talk and the desires keeping him awake.

"That's not what I want." My voice comes out low, carrying no officer authority, only raw craving.

Jason stops. His hand freezes on the wool blanket as he turns back to face me. His shoulders stand broad against the firelight as his jaw sets in a rigid line.

Before he can process the words and my intent, I step across the braided rug to close the three feet between us until the toes of my winter boots hit his.

My right knee aches with throbbing heat where I twisted it on the icy rocks near the diesel shed while searching for Montoya, but the pain doesn't register. Coming within three inches of losing Danny tonight stripped away every buffer. Only the physical proof of being alive matters.

I reach up, grab the front of Jason's henley, and yank him down into me, crashing my mouth against his.

The kiss is fast and desperate. There's no finesse. Nothing like when he kissed me. I'm not very good at taking the initiative, and half surprised I kissed him at all. When I pull back, his grey eyes burn into mine as his chest heaves under my palms.

"Don't tease me like that." His voice turns to gravel as he grips my hips with hard pressure. "You do that to a man like me, you're asking for trouble. I've been thinking about a lot more than a kiss since the second you stepped out of that truck."

"Then stop talking and take me." My fingers dig into his shoulders as I look straight into his eyes.

A rough exhale breaks from his chest as his hands grab my waist and spin me, driving my back flat against the timber doorframe with a heavy thud. His tongue pushes past my lips with a starving hunger that burns away everything else in the room.

It's a frantic collision. He tastes of black coffee, woodsmoke, and cold mountain air. His tongue pushes past my lips to take every sound I make as his hands haul me up against his chest until my boots barely touch the floorboards.

My fingers tangle in his thick hair to pull him closer and crush the shaking out of my hands against his chest.