Her Holiday Hero. Margaret Daley
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His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Her gaze caught his. “Because I think you need a dog like Shep.”
He rose, grappling for his cane. “I have work to do. Thank you for bringing the brownies.” His hard expression shouted, But don’t ever come back!
She didn’t move. “Please. Let me explain.”
He started to say something but pressed his lips together.
She took his silence as an okay. “I want to help you. I know what my brother went through when he came home. He couldn’t hold down a job, even a simple one. He lived with our parents and didn’t leave the house hardly at all—often holing himself up in his old bedroom. He got angry at the least little thing. He had the shakes and would shut down if something even little went wrong. He had nightmares and didn’t want to sleep. When I gave him Butch, I saw how effective the dog was with him. Still is. Butch has a way of calming him down and centering him.”
“That’s your brother, not me.” Jake took his seat again.
From checking with a few of his neighbors, Emma knew Jake rarely left his house. Jake Tanner was hiding out. Easier to stay home than go out in crowds where he had little control of what would happen around him. Ben had been like that at first. Butch had made the difference.
“I can help you if you’ll just give Shep a chance.”
“I’m capable of dealing with my problems. Healing takes time.”
“A service dog can help that along.”
“How? My injury was my leg. I’m up and about. I can walk now.”
“There are other injuries that aren’t so visible. A dog can help with those.”
“What? Emotional ones?” He clasped his cane between his legs with both hands and leaned forward slightly.
“Yes. Dogs can sense when a problem is going to occur and intervene before it becomes worse.”
His grip tightened around the ivory knob on the end of his cane until his knuckles whitened. “I’ve heard of other soldiers using service dogs. I don’t want to have to care for an animal. I’m barely—” He snapped his mouth closed.
“What? Barely holding it together?” Emma asked, returning his unwavering gaze. She hadn’t given up on Ben. Though they were virtual strangers, she could tell Jake needed help. She had promised her brother she would do what she could for his former commanding officer and she would, somehow.
Jake stiffened. “I have work to do.”
She sighed. “Sometimes I can be too blunt. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”
“I respect a person who speaks her mind, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t need a service dog. I’m coping.”
“That’s good because Ben wasn’t.”
“It hasn’t been that long since I came home. Recovery takes time.” Jake’s voice didn’t sound as convincing as the man probably wanted.
“Time and help. I agree.”
His gaze pinned her down. “I’m receiving help from my doctor.”
Emma resisted the urge to squirm under his intense glare. “Is he here when you have panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares?”
Jake winced, a mask falling into place as if he were shutting down all emotions.
The problem was a person couldn’t block his feelings forever. They were there in the background, ready to strike when he least expected. Emma said, “A service dog can help a person with those kinds of things. When someone has a panic attack, the dog’s trained to calm him. The animal can be trained to wake up a person who’s having a nightmare. Flashbacks often lead to panic attacks or at the very least, emotional upheavals. A dog can be there at all hours to console, be a companion. Not to mention they’re great listeners.”
A tic twitched in his hardened jaw. “Does he talk back?”
Emma grinned. “I can do a lot with the dogs I train, but I haven’t accomplished that yet. But they can understand a lot of commands, if properly taught. Shep has been trained in all those areas.”
Jake stood. “Thanks for coming.”
Jake’s polite words and neutral expression didn’t totally cover a hopelessness in his eyes. Emma could identify; she remembered how, when her husband died, she’d struggled to pay off his debts. She was still paying the hospital bill every month from the last time Sam was admitted.
Emma followed Jake from the living room. Shep trotted next to her. Ben’s captain opened the front door and moved to the side to allow her to leave.
She stepped outside and pivoted. “Where did the boys attack Josh?”
He took two steps out onto the porch and pointed to the right near the wooded area. “There, and they fled into the trees. You didn’t get around to doing the sketch of the small one.”
“I’ve got another idea if you’re willing.”
His forehead wrinkled, wariness in his eyes. “What?”
“Josh has a yearbook from last year. Would you be willing to look through it and see if you recognize any of the kids?”
“I’ll try.”
She smiled. “Great. I can bring it by tomorrow after work if that’s okay.”
He nodded, a solemn expression on his face.
“Then I’ll see you around six.”
She had started down the steps when he called out, “Tell Ben I’ll be okay.”
With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “You should call him and tell him yourself.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“I can give it to you.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” He turned back into his house and shut the door.
As Emma walked home, she couldn’t get Jake Tanner out of her mind. That haunted look in his dark eyes when she had talked about Ben’s problems, and later what a service dog could be trained to do only reinforced in her mind that he needed help. Her brother had tried to deny it, too, and it had made things worse. She prayed Jake wouldn’t. Tomorrow she had another chance to persuade him to try Shep.
* * *
The enemy surrounded Jake and what men he had left in the small mountain village, gunfire pelting them from all sides. The terrorists were closing in. He was trapped.
He signaled to his men to fall back into a house. He covered them as they made their way inside the shelter, then zigzagged toward it, seeking cover wherever he could. But as he ran toward the hut, it moved farther away from him. Escape taunted him. A safe haven just out of reach.
Someone lobbed a grenade that fell a few yards in front of him. He dived to the side, the explosion rocking him.
Crash!
Arms flailing, Jake shot straight up on the couch, blinking his eyes. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. They burned. Everything before him twirled and swayed. He scrubbed his shaky hands down his sweat-drenched face, then drew in one deep inhalation then another. He folded in on himself, his arms hugging his chest, his head bent forward. Afraid even to close his eyes, he stared at his lap until his rapid heartbeat slowed. When the quaking eased, he looked up at his living room in Cimarron City. Not in a tent or hut in Afghanistan.
Safe. Quiet.
His gaze fell upon a lamp on the floor, shattered, along with a broken vase his grandma had cherished as a gift from his granddad. The sight of it destroyed what was left of his composure. His hands began to tremble more. Cold burrowed deep into his bones. He stuck them