Five miles down the road, when she finally did start to speak, he wished they’d stuck to silence.

  “You want kids, Greg?”

  Greg, not the sassy Martin she usually used when she addressed him.

  “I couldn’t be a good father to little ones. Not in my condition.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want them.”

  “I don’t think about it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Wow. He’d really pissed her off with his questions the previous night. He wished he could be sure that was a good thing.

  “You sure you want to give up Goldie?” he asked then, thinking maybe her tension was escalated due to the morning’s errand. “There’s still time to change your mind...”

  “Julie’s expecting Goldie.” Interesting response—most definitely not an answer to his question.

  “She hasn’t met Goldie, yet. We can find her another dog. It’s the overall idea that I’m happy about—a dog for Julie. I’d been playing with the idea of a dog for Duke, trying to figure out how that would work, but your solution is much better. Still, there’s no reason why it has to be Goldie.”

  “She’s expecting a dog this morning. We can’t find another one by then. And I want her to have Goldie. It feels like the right match. For both of them.”

  “But you’re going to miss her.”

  “I miss Jedi, too. And other dogs I’ve worked with at the shelter. It’s all part of the business.”

  Right. Their business.

  He started talking to her about his ideas. Starting with letting him pony up enough seed money to hire a work-from-home admin to handle phone calls and basic paperwork, set up databases, that kind of thing. They’d already talked about writing grants for funding, but that would take some time.

  She liked the idea, and they spent the rest of the drive making plans.

  Once at the private nursing facility where Duke lived, she was all business, getting Goldie down, talking calmly and reassuring her, and grabbing the folder of paperwork necessary for the Lab’s adoption.

  Greg almost nixed the whole plan when, outside Duke’s door, Wendy paused. Petting Goldie’s head, she went down on her haunches to speak softly in Goldie’s ear, giving her a brief hug and kissing her on the bridge of her nose. Greg couldn’t catch most of what he said, but he heard Thank you loud and clear.

  Wendy needed Goldie. Just as he needed Jedi.

  She’d helped him. Why couldn’t he help her?

  He was still asking the question when she pushed open the ajar door to Duke’s room and led Goldie inside.

  Julie was already on her feet, approaching the pair, when Greg got his first glimpse into the room. From there, he stood back. The two sisters to fallen veterans introduced themselves, and as they did so, their eyes grew moist, and a bubble seemed to form around them, taking them into a world where they were related, leaving him out to go greet his friend as though it were any other day.

  And after all of the official passing of information from Wendy to Julie regarding Goldie took place, that was it. Wendy was ready to go.

  She’d done what she’d come to do.

  Had already said her goodbyes.

  Goldie had ceased being hers the minute she’d walked in that door.

  He got it all, just watching it happen. Reminded himself that she’d delivered many, many dogs to families who needed them over the years he’d known her. And planned to deliver a lifetime more.

  But Goldie had been hers. Only for days, but from what he knew, that old Lab had been the only dog Wendy had ever had as her own since she was a kid.

  Her giving Goldie away...bothered him.

  A lot.

  More than a lot.

  It was as though giving that dog away was burning out the last hope that she’d ever be able to keep someone she loved in her life.

  Maybe that hope had already burned, long ago.

  She made it back outside, climbed in his SUV without a word. He glanced her way as he started the vehicle, took stock of her calm demeanor. The lack of tears, or any sign of emotion, bothered him.

  “It’s all right to cry, you know.”

  “Is there something wrong with not crying?” The question clearly wasn’t issued with an expectation of response.

  “It’s not healthy to keep everything bottled up inside.”

  “Like you’re one to talk?”

  “Just saying...”

  He hated feeling inept. Without clear direction.

  She’d probably push him away if he offered a hug. What could he offer that would help and that she’d accept? The mood was all wrong for sex—

  The realization made him sad.

  “You want to stop having sex with me?”

  That got her attention, and her face turned sharply toward him. “Did I say I did?”

  “No.”

  He waited. Then asked, “But do you?” He needed to know where they stood. Touching each other intimately required an understanding of boundaries, or lack of them, that had to be clearly spoken.

  Five minutes passed. He waited but wasn’t going to let it go.

  “No, I don’t want that to end.” Wendy’s words, softly given, went straight to his heart. Filling him with relief.

  And confusion.

  “What do you want?” he finally asked.

  He was done guessing. Tired of doubting himself.

  “I want my perfect family back. Except that, when I look back now, I’m not sure I ever had it at all.”

  “You wouldn’t have felt so loved for fourteen years if there hadn’t been real love there.” There was no doubt in his mind about that one.

  “I guess.”

  He wasn’t helping.

  “Do you want to stop the sex?” she asked a few moments later. “Is that why you asked? Is it getting too messy for you?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t turn to him, but he saw the smile break out on her face, and he smiled, too.

  Lord knew where in the hell they were going to end up, what mistakes they’d end up paying for, but one thing was for sure: there was still a connection between them. And as messy as it might get, he wasn’t willing to let that go.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He’d finally asked a question she could answer. She wanted him in her bed, on top of her, giving her moments of feeling fully alive.

  And he’d told her what she’d needed to hear.

  He wanted it, too.

  “We don’t have to solve the world in a day,” she said as he pulled off the highway into Spring Forest.

  “It would be cool if we could.” His response relaxed her.

  “You want to come over for dinner tonight?” she asked.

  He looked her way. A look that told her he was hungry for a lot more than food, and she smiled. They were okay.

  Everything would be fine.

  “How about you come to my place?” The thought struck fear in her. His place...his things...his space...she’d get in too deep.

  Want things she couldn’t have.

  Want things she didn’t want to want.

  “I have to work today.” It wasn’t even noon yet.

  He pulled up in front of her house.

  “Why do I think you’re making an excuse not to come to Hendrix?” he asked shrewdly.

  His town. But from what she’d heard, his place was outside town—encompassing many acres of wooded privacy. It sounded amazing. What if she never wanted to leave?

  Why did she constantly seem to want what she couldn’t have? Even if she broke all of her own rules, changed who she wanted to be in her new life...he couldn’t offer her a perfect home. Or any home.

  “Maybe because I am.”

  But...what if he felt the same way about coming to her house? “Would you rather not come into Spring Forest?” They could see if there was a motel halfway in between where they could meet.

  She didn’t really like the idea—at all—but maybe it would suit them better all around. Less intimate. Less chance of fooling themselves into thinking the sex was more than simply that.

  “I like being here.” He was looking at her. She had to turn her head and look back at him.

  “You do?”

  His gaze held hers solidly as he said, “I do.”

  And she could breathe again.

  * * *

  Greg took Jedi up for a flight over the ocean, thought about a day when maybe Wendy could be sitting in the dog’s place with him. Even if that meant there was someone else in the back seat with her. He wanted to show her the dolphins.

  He timed his landing well enough to catch a rideshare to his favorite fresh-seafood market and pick up some salmon. Jedi, vest on, was at attention beside him the entire time.

  With the shopping done, the two of them headed back to the plane, landed at home, and took his vehicle to Spring Forest. A quick ride through town showed him that Wendy was still at the office with clients, and he took Jedi to her place for his feeding and medication. And then to make the baked salmon and red potatoes that were his favorite of his mother’s recipes.

  Dinner was ready when she walked in the door, wine poured so that he could hand her a glass in greeting.

  “I didn’t want the house to be empty your first night with Goldie gone,” he said.

  She smiled. He almost leaned in for a kiss.

  What in the hell was he doing?

  Jedi nudged her hand, and she bent down to kiss the bridge of his nose.

  He was being a friend, Greg reminded himself. Helping her through a rough day.

  Maybe trying to show her what it would be like if she’d open her heart to someone capable of filling her life full-time.

  The guy could even be out there already, in her life, ready for her, just waiting for her to be ready for him.

  She ate as much salmon as he did. What he’d pegged as leftovers for her lunch wasn’t left over. They spent an hour going over new business items, and it felt damned good, sitting there with her, his tablet and her laptop open, with pens and yellow pads filled with notes in front of both of them.

  And when they were through, they headed down the hallway to her bed as naturally as if they’d been doing so all of their lives.

  After they’d shared the first climax, while he was still inside her, she looked up at him, her gaze completely serious. His heart stopped for a second. And she said, “You asked me if I wanted to stop having sex with you,” she said softly, almost hoarsely. “These moments with you, our time out of time—they’re probably selfish. If you need to slow down, I’m good with that. But...these moments...” Looking up at him, she said, “They’re the best moments in my life, Greg. These are the moments when I fly.”

  Her eyes were moist again.

  And he had to blink, to swallow hard, before he could say, “Me, too.”

  They didn’t talk after that. Not with words. But their bodies spent the next couple of hours giving each other the things they couldn’t ask for, the things they couldn’t talk about.

  The things that, in real life, they’d never have together.

  * * *

  She was ready that night, when Greg had to pull away from her and go. She got up when he did. Pulled on her robe as he dressed in the jeans and pullover he’d had on when he’d shown up at her door that morning.

  Only, after he was dressed, he didn’t call Jedi, walk down the hall to the front door and leave. He called his dog. Walked down the hall. And stopped in the living room to turn and look at her.

  “I can’t give you the things you want most,” he said. “I can be the best business partner you’ll ever have and a great friend, but I can’t be the missing figure in your perfect family.”

  The words, coming after the lovemaking they’d just shared, felt like a slap. She knew their truth. Was standing there watching him go because she knew.

  But for him...

  “The thing is, Wen,” he continued, “I think that there’s a man out there who can give you those things.”

  She wanted to shake her head. Was too numb to do anything.

  “I know you think you aren’t enough. I even get why you think it. But being with you—watching you with everyone who comes in contact with you, canine or human—you’ve got the biggest giving capacity of anyone I’ve ever known.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, but she wouldn’t cry. She knew what being left felt like. Knew how to get through it.

  “The thing is...your family went through a horrible tragedy. Your dad...maybe he’s just not capable of loving as deeply as you do. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t a lot of people out there who are capable. Who do care. Who would stay if you’d give them the chance.”

  For a second there, she thought he was talking about himself. In that one brief flash, her heart started to crack. And then he said, “I’m safe, because you know I can’t be that man. But you can be that woman for someone else, Wen. You are enough and then some.”

  Tears seeped through that small new crack in her heart. She didn’t let them fall. “How would you know?”

  “Goldie would have stayed.”

  He was talking about an abandoned service dog she’d had for less than a month. So how could his words hit her so profoundly?

  So painfully?

  She’d given sweet Goldie a family that would love her until death. That was a good thing.

  “Maybe it’s not so much that you aren’t enough to compel people to stay but that you aren’t giving anyone a chance to convince you to let them in. Not even a dog.”

  She heard her sudden intake of breath more than she felt it. Stared at him. Lost.

  “That was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. But he didn’t take it back.

  “What I’m saying is that you don’t have to settle for moments out of time, sweetie. You don’t have to settle for living the rest of your life sleeping alone in your bed. The second you open your heart up, shine your green light, forever love is going to find you. You’re one in a million, and your shine is too brilliant to miss.”

  He turned away and let himself out.

  Missing the stream of tears falling down her cheeks.

  * * *

  For the second night in a row, Wendy didn’t get much rest. And that very long Saturday night, she didn’t have Goldie by her side, either.

  It was the first night in weeks that she was the only living being in her home. The only one breathing the air.

  She sputtered. Grumbled some. Cleaned.

  She cried.

  Ate some chocolate ice cream, dumped most of the scoop she’d served herself down the sink. Took a hot bath.

  And somewhere between midnight and dawn, she looked herself in the mirror, hair down, sweaty from her bath and all aflutter. She stared into her weepy green eyes and knew.

  Greg was right.

  She’d been so busy trying to fix him, the same way that she tried to fix everyone. All those years, she’d thought she’d been helping members of a walk of life she’d escaped: the walking wounded. She hadn’t seen that, all along, she’d been one of them, too.

  Michael’s battle scars might not have been on her body, but they’d seared her heart as surely as if they had been. And she’d let that heart wither beneath the burns.

  She was alive, but not living.

  She loved parts of her life. Loved Spring Forest. Helping her clients. Most of all she loved the work she did with service dogs and the veterans who needed them—work that Greg was growing with her in ways she’d never even dared dream about.

  Maybe she’d even be able to sell her accounting business at some point, if they could get to the point where their nonprofit was self-supporting enough to allow her to draw enough of a salary to pay her bills.

  Her eyes looked back from the mirror.

  She was doing it again. Thinking about the giving, the serving, to avoid letting her own heart be personally exposed.

  Back to the wall, she slid down to her bathroom floor. Started to shake.

  Tears fell in a cascade until she felt like a puddle on the floor.

  And asked herself what she really wanted.

  Looked inside to see who was really there.

  Who she could be.

  She searched for her joy.

  It took hours. Eventually she wandered into the living room. Fell to the couch. Dawn came and went. Maybe she dozed some, she couldn’t be sure. But by feeding time at Furever Paws, Wendy was dressed in shorts and a cotton top, clothes that felt good, not ones behind which she could hide, and was waiting for Bethany to appear.

  She stated her intentions, signed necessary paperwork and walked out.

  Got in her SUV. Typed an address into the satnav.

  And followed the GPS instructions without ever looking back.

  * * *

  Greg had been up for hours, was just coming out of the gym, Jedi at his side, when he caught sight of the security-camera screen sitting on his kitchen counter. A vehicle had entered his property and was on the way down his drive.

  A familiar vehicle.

  Wendy?

  “Come on, Jedi,” he said, pulling the towel from his neck to wipe his face and shoulders as he headed out the front door.

  Something had to be wrong, horribly wrong, for Wendy to be arriving at his place at all, let alone before ten on a Sunday morning, after the way they had left things.

  He was standing at the circular drive in front of his place when she stopped. Waited on the sidewalk as she came to him, taking stock of every inch of her.

  She was different.

  Vastly different.

  He hardly recognized her.