Cruz gave a quiet command and opened up the kennel. A moment later he was leading a beautiful, muscled dog out into the corridor. The dog stood squarely on all fours and had the elegant lines characteristic of the Belgian Malinois breed. His proud head was chiseled and in good proportion to his body. There wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh on him and in fact, he looked slightly gaunt.
Still, even among the working dogs she’d met, she wasn’t sure she’d ever encountered a dog with this air of…fitness.
But there was something missing. Atlas was aware and responsive, but he didn’t have the indefinable energy the other dogs around her were projecting. He wasn’t engaged, vibrating with eagerness. Intelligence was unmistakable in his expression but there was no air of inquisitiveness. As if he didn’t care.
Another murmured command and then the man bent down. Picking up Atlas, he wrapped his arms around the dog’s chest and hindquarters in a secure hold. He then lifted what had to be around 70 to 75 pounds of solid dog and turned to her.
Lyn swallowed hard.
She held out her arms, watchful for Atlas’s reaction. He remained calm in Cruz’s arms and didn’t even look at her. As the trainer stepped forward, she copied his hold on the dog, ignoring the accidental brush of Cruz’s arms against her breasts. Once Atlas was securely in her hold, Cruz stepped away.
Atlas’s fur was surprisingly silken and soft under her hands. She resisted the urge to bury her face in his shoulder. God, he was a magnificent animal. Gorgeous, and so very sad. Her heart ached…and so did her arms.
How long was he going to have her hold Atlas? She leaned back slightly to try to take more of the weight in her back and legs as her arms strained.
She would not drop this dog.
“Okay.” Cruz stepped forward and took Atlas from her.
As the dog left her arms, Atlas turned his head and touched her cheek with a cool nose and sniffed. Once.
“Huh,” Cruz grunted. He stepped back and set Atlas on his feet. Then he returned the dog to his kennel with quiet praise.
Lyn waited, trembling a little. She should probably add some weights to her daily fitness routine. If Cruz had noticed how hard it had been for her, he might not…
“We start tomorrow.”
“Excuse me, what?” She’d heard him. Only, it wasn’t what she’d expected.
“That’s the first sign of personal response I’ve seen out of him.” There was a wry note in his words. “I’ll take help where I can get it. You’re staying at a nearby hotel?”
“Yes.” Excitement zinged through her.
“Good. Give me the address and leave the attitude you came here with back at the hotel room.” Cruz scowled at her. “This, right here, the you I see right now with the dogs is the person I want to see at oh-five-hundred tomorrow morning.”
She wasn’t going to argue, not when she basically agreed with him. It was going to be such a relief not to have to walk around with attitude for armor. Any soldier her sponsor had ever introduced her to had been a world-class asshole. The attitude had protected her, given her a way to stand up and not be treated as a doormat…and it was exhausting. But it seemed as if David Cruz was a different kind of military man and for the first time, she looked forward to working side by side with one.
But she was not going to say “yes, sir.”
“You got it.”
A grin spread across his face, lighting up his whole expression and doing evil things to her libido. “Well, you might be one of the better things that’s happened all day after all.”
Wow.
Chapter Two
Seriously? You’ve been here for days and it’s a woman who gets your attention?” Cruz stood in Atlas’s kennel, leaning against the doorframe.
The dog in question lay in the far corner, probably enjoying the cool cement beneath his belly. Not that he didn’t have the option of a cushy bed over in the other corner.
Right now, Atlas wouldn’t even look at Cruz and the dog seriously appeared to have no shits to give on the current topic of conversation. He’d been that way since Cruz had returned from seeing the very pretty Miss Jones out to her car and hadn’t moved in the several hours while Cruz was out working the other dogs under his care.
’Course, Atlas rarely moved, based on Cruz’s experience both in having observed the dog back at Lackland Air Force Base and in the days here at Hope’s Crossing. The dog might as well be a statue unless given a direct command. Then he’d obey, but it was like giving a robot orders.
When Cruz had seen Atlas respond to Jones, there’d been a spark. A ghost of the young dog Cruz had trained years ago.
And he would latch on to any incentive to get the dog to respond.
“Well, we’ll see how you do with Miss Jones tomorrow morning.” Not even a perked ear. Then again, Atlas didn’t know the pretty stranger’s name yet and it occurred to Cruz that he wasn’t on a first-name basis either.
Been too long surrounded by just men and dogs.