was a huge old St Bernard who leant in protectively towards Esme’s leg. When Max didn’t immediately take the lead, a thought struck her. ‘Are you all right with dogs? I can’t believe I didn’t ask. With Plants to Paws I just assumed.’
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘What is it?’
Max tilted his head towards Wylie. ‘Loyalty. Hard to find it these days.’
The click and cinch of eye contact that followed hit Esme hard and fast.
From the shift in his stature she knew in her very core that Max felt it, too.
When she finally spoke, she barely recognised her own voice. ‘Should we get a move on? I think Fenella’s got an appointment with one of the physios in an hour or so.’
Esme set off at a crisp pace, reminding herself with each step that Max wasn’t here to find a new girlfriend. He was here to make sure his charity didn’t get paved over. Eyes on the prize. Just like her ex had had his eyes on her family money. Suddenly, the air felt a little bit chillier.
‘What sort of behaviour do they have to exhibit to be a service dog?’ Max’s attempt to start up some casual chitchat wasn’t exactly stellar but it would definitely beat the ice-queen vibes coming from Esme.
Esme briefly considered the two dogs walking beside them. ‘Probably the same traits it takes to be a good soldier. Commitment. Hard work. Intelligence.’ She glanced at him. ‘You were in the services, weren’t you?’
He nodded. She’d obviously done her research. ‘Army. Twelve years.’
‘As a medic or a soldier?’
‘Started as a soldier but worked my way into the Royal Army Medical Corps.’ He hadn’t been able to stand waiting for someone else to help when one of his fellow soldiers had been injured. Mashing your hand on top of a wound rarely helped. Telling them you were there for them counted for something. Listening to their final goodbyes. As a nineteen-year-old soldier with his own emotional scars, Max had wanted something practical he could do. Medicine had rescued him from the deep morass of helplessness he’d felt ever since the Dictator had entered his and his mum’s lives.
‘You must’ve seen a lot of awful things,’ Esme said.
He nodded and scrubbed at the back of his neck. They all had. At least he’d been able to walk off the plane when they’d landed back in Scotland.
‘Have you chatted with Andy at all?’
Max had heard Euan introducing his dog to him the first night. ‘The chap in the wheelchair?’
Esme nodded.
‘Euan and he seemed to have struck up a friendship and I didn’t want to interfere. He has that ex-military look about him.’
‘Army. He was one of my brother’s best friends.’
‘Charles?’
‘No. Nick.’ An air of sadness cloaked her words. She shot him a sad smile. ‘You aren’t really friends with the internet, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘Not really. For twelve years I lived and breathed the military and since then I’ve been deeply involved in the A and E unit. The internet fuels gossip. I don’t like gossip.’
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. ‘That would make you a rare breed.’
Shards of pain lanced through those pure blue eyes of hers and if he were the sort of man who knew how to make them go away, he would’ve. It was a cruel reminder that the only thing he’d learnt over the years was how to push people away.
‘Nick was my older brother. Much older. He was in a canine dog squad in the army and one day… Christmas Eve, actually…things didn’t go so well.’
All the little pieces he’d been trying to put together fell into place. The castle as a rehab centre. The rescued mutts. The repurposed search and rescue dogs. Those intense looks she sometimes had when she held a dog close. All of this was for their brother.
‘He must’ve been an amazing man.’
‘He was my hero.’
The depth of emotion in her voice punched him right in the solar plexus, loosening up the muscles that held his own story deeply embedded in his heart. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. That he understood pain and loss. His mum had been his best friend up until when his stepdad had entered their lives. A man whose method of putting a relatively wayward kid back on track was to ship him out to a military academy instead of letting him live in their new home, as promised. How the same man had verbally subdued his jolly, full-of-life mother into being little more than a timorous mouse, frightened to say or do anything that might embarrass her social-climber husband. As the dark thoughts accumulated, Dougal nosed his thigh. He gave the dog’s head a scrub. The pooch definitely had a sensitive side. That was for sure.
As if the move had also jostled Esme, she gave herself a little shake, popped on a smile and asked, ‘What made you choose the Clydebank Hospital? Pretty rough area of town.’
‘It’s where I grew up.’
‘Oh. Um…are your parents still there?’
‘Nah.’ He cleared his throat because it still choked him up to say the words. ‘My mum passed. Three years ago now.’
There was no point in mentioning his father. Step or otherwise. Neither had treated his mum the way she’d deserved.
Cancer had stolen his chance to give her the house he had bought for her. It’d taken him twelve years of service to buy it outright. He’d meant it to be a refuge from the Dictator and his constant micromanagement. As far as Max knew, he’d never laid a hand on her, but guys like that knew how to bruise and hurt in other ways. Gavin had been chipping away at his mother’s self-worth for years. He hadn’t wanted a wife. He’d wanted someone to feel small so he could feel big. It was a miracle she’d had any confidence left at all in the end. Or the generosity in her heart to forgive a man he didn’t think he ever could forgive.
At least her battle with cancer had been swift. A cruel mercy. The day she’d died, Max had put the house on the market. He’d thought of making it a shelter, but he simply hadn’t had the funding to keep one up and running. He’d used the money to establish Plants to Paws instead. His mum had loved gardening. It had been the one place she’d known her husband couldn’t fault her.
He needed to bring up his relationship to Gavin before a single penny came his way from Esme, but for now he was enjoying the thoughtful silence she’d chosen in lieu of asking, And your dad? Like her therapy dogs, she seemed to know when to push and when to back off. If he wasn’t careful he’d be pouring out all his secrets but he knew more than most that putting his heart in someone else’s hands was always a bad idea. So he followed Esme’s earlier lead and sidestepped the real stuff.
‘Where’d you find this cheeky chappie?’ He pointed at Dougal.
‘A couple of
