Trained To Protect. Linda O. Johnston

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Trained To Protect - Linda O. Johnston


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not to mention higher heels than she ever wore on a work day at the hospital where she was a nurse.

      There. At a table near the counter, Elissa spotted a woman who had just stood up. She appeared slender, of medium height, with wavy reddish hair. And yes, she was wearing the anticipated T-shirt.

      Smiling, her small purse slung over her shoulder, Elissa began making her way through the tables. In less than a minute she had reached her goal. “Amber?”

      “Elissa!” Amber reached out and gave her a brief hug, as if they were already friends.

      Elissa, hugging back, hoped that was a harbinger of what was to come.

      “Let’s get you something to eat and drink,” Amber said after stepping back. Elissa noted there was already a brown coffee cup on the table, as well as a paper plate with a half-eaten croissant on it.

      “Sounds good.” Elissa was rather surprised that she had to argue a bit about who would pay for the café mocha and scone she ordered, but allowed Amber to treat rather than cause even a small rift between them to start with.

      If she got the job, she would be glad to treat her boss to coffee or whatever in the future.

      In a few minutes, after the barista had done her thing, Elissa sat on the vacant seat at Amber’s table. Her view was of a few occupied tables between where she sat and the order counter.

      Amber began their conversation. “I already know the basics from our phone call, but please tell me more about your work with therapy dogs and training their owners.”

      Elissa couldn’t help grinning. She pushed her shoulder-length blond hair away from her face as she tried to get serious. But that was impossible, considering how much she loved what she did.

      “Well,” she began, “I’ve been at it for around three years. I’m a nurse, too. When I saw how therapy dogs who were brought into hospitals cheered patients so much, actually helping them improve faster, I had to give it a try.”

      Not just a try, but much more. She had chosen her dog Peace, a golden retriever, after watching many skilled breeds and rescue dogs. Goldens performed really well as therapy dogs, following their owners’ instructions and giving lots and lots of attention and love to sad and needy patients.

      She described how qualified therapy dog handlers had worked with Peace and her from the first, teaching her all she needed to get started. Then she began doing it on her own.

      And recently she had paid it forward and begun working with other potential therapy dog handlers in the hospital where she was primarily a full-time pediatric nurse. She had even provided a few classes for would-be handlers and their dogs, even though formal schooling wasn’t generally necessary for therapy dogs. If they had the right personalities for it, their skills could be learned as people worked with their dogs at appropriate locations with expert handlers. But her students had all been appreciative—and had done well, some going on to become certified handlers themselves.

      “Yes, we’re aware that most therapy dog handlers learn how to do it by working directly with others at various facilities,” Amber said. “But we want our Chance K-9 Ranch to expand into many different avenues for teaching dogs and their owners. We’re also looking for a basic pet trainer or two, but we especially would like to hire someone who provides therapy dog training—though I realize that it’s mostly the owners who need schooling. We want to start with basic classes at the ranch, then provide some of that hands-on training when the students are ready.”

      “Sounds good to me,” Elissa responded.

      “And your experience teaching other handlers sounds good to me,” Amber said as she took a sip of her drink. She was an attractive woman with assessing brown eyes and an expressive mouth. Would she be a good boss?

      Heck, she and everyone else at her ranch most likely worked with dogs. That certainly spoke well of her, along with the ranch’s reputation.

      “Thanks,” Elissa said. “And if you’d like, I can give you contact information for several more people who’ll act as references for me.” She’d asked some of her fellow therapy dog handlers before taking this meeting. She wasn’t attempting to keep her ambition here secret, although she’d also made it clear to those she’d spoken with about it that she would limit her time in this part-time position, if she got it, so it would not affect her full-time job.

      Or at least not much.

      “Good,” Amber said. “And as I mentioned on the phone, this kind of class is something new around here. We want someone quickly. You’ve got the best credentials and recommendations of any of our candidates so far, but I’ll want you to come to the K-9 Ranch and give a demonstration, preferably in the next couple of days, before we make any decisions. Also—” She stopped speaking and smiled as she gazed past Elissa.

      Which caused Elissa, thrilled to hear Amber’s reference to her background, to turn to see what she was looking at.

      She smiled, too, as she saw two cops in black uniform jackets, a man and woman, walk into the coffee shop. But she wasn’t smiling at them.

      No, she grinned because these were obviously K-9 cops. They both had dogs on leashes at their sides. As Elissa watched, they approached the table where she sat, maneuvering effortlessly through the crowd.

      Amber stood. “Hi, Maisie and Doug,” she said as the cops reached them. “And hi, Hooper and Griffin, too.”

      Elissa rose, as well, while Amber introduced the officers and their dogs to her. The two cops apparently had more in common than merely being K-9 officers. They were also brother and sister. If Elissa was correct, Maisie, with short, blond hair and an air of being in charge, was the older sibling. Her dog, Griffin, was a golden retriever who appeared older and larger than Elissa’s Peace, whom she’d left at home.

      “Hi, Elissa,” Maisie said when Amber had completed the introductions. “So you’re a therapy dog trainer. I’d like to learn more about that. I think Griffin would be a wonderful therapy dog along with his great K-9 skills—which are mostly scenting out drugs and bad guys.”

      Hearing his name, the dog looked up at his handler and wagged his fluffy tail. Elissa couldn’t help smiling. “I’d be glad to show you,” she told the cop.

      She turned her smile toward the other officer, Doug. He didn’t smile back as he looked at Elissa. Why not? She felt an inappropriate twinge of hurt—no, it had to be irritation—that she immediately sloughed off.

      Too bad his sister seemed nicer, though, since even with a neutral expression on his face, he appeared to be one hot, handsome cop. His hair was light brown, darker and much shorter than his sister’s. His chiseled features were dominated by the way his hazel eyes, beneath thick brows, seemed to focus on Elissa, which made her insides churn with something she hadn’t felt—hadn’t allowed herself to feel—for a very long time: lust.

      Though he hadn’t spoken after saying hello to her, she determined to break the silence between them. After all, it wouldn’t hurt for her to have additional allies in this area who clearly cared about dogs. “I’d be glad to give you a therapy dog demonstration, too,” she said. “And if it’s possible, I’d also love to watch a K-9 training session sometime.” One that included his German shepherd.

      “Then Amber has hired you already?” Doug’s tone sounded somewhat skeptical—and Elissa figured he knew enough to recognize that she had just met her potential new boss.

      “Not yet,” Amber said. “That’ll depend on how Elissa’s demonstration at the ranch goes. Does tomorrow work for you, Elissa?”

      She’d fortunately anticipated the possibility and scheduled the next day as another day off from the hospital—though she’d been prepared to change that if necessary. “That works great for me,” she said. She turned back to Maisie, though she also would be interested in a response from her brother. “Will you come and watch the demo?”

      “Unlikely.” Maisie’s tone sounded regretful.


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