Amy’s soft voice filled the quiet space followed by her image on the screen. She held a cup of coffee in her hands, her blond hair loose and flowing over her shoulders. When she was out working with her dogs, she always tied it back, tucking her long bangs behind her ears. But it was early still in Oregon, not even six in the morning. He knew she woke up hours before the sun every Sunday for this call.
Keeping in touch and maintaining their friendship meant something to her. Even though part of him wanted to sever ties with everyone back home, he couldn’t let go of Amy. She’d already lost so much, burying her husband at twenty-eight. If there was anything he could do to help her, he would.
For months after Darren’s funeral, they’d played the memory game, writing up long lists and sending them back and forth. She reminded him of some of the best parts of growing up in Heart’s Landing. She’d made him laugh, and once or twice, her list had reduced him to tears.
“I’m here.” He studied the screen. Amy kept her computer on her kitchen table. Through the window behind her, he could usually see Oregon’s coastal range. But today, on an early October morning, it was too dark. Part of him missed those mountains and the smell of the ocean in the air.
Mark turned his attention back to Amy, taking in the dark circles under her blue eyes. He forced a smile. For her sake, he put on a front, trying to be the fun-loving guy she remembered, not the jaded solider. “Amelia Mae, you look exhausted. Are you sleeping?”
“Hmm?” She drew her lower lip between her teeth, running her tongue back and forth, her gaze fixed on his bare chest. She hadn’t even noticed his smile. She’d been staring at his muscles. Maybe she was reading the words tattooed across his pecs—so that others may live. Or maybe she was just plain looking.
And that look, combined with the way she nibbled on her lower lip, swirling her tongue as if she wanted to taste, maybe touch, spoke to part of his body that had no business participating in their weekly chat.
Hell, this was Amy. But one more second of that look and he’d freaking want her. Every beautiful, blond inch of her.
Mark closed his eyes, pushing the thought away. He couldn’t go there. And dammit, he should have taken the time to find a clean shirt. He’d loved Amy for years, but never in a let’s-get-naked way. They’d been friends since high school. Nothing more. Not a chance.
Still, he wasn’t blind. Amy was gorgeous. But wanting what he couldn’t have...he knew better.
“What happened to your shirt?” she asked, finally looking up at his face.
“Bad day.”
“You lost someone,” she said softly.
“American. Special Forces.” She didn’t need to know the details, to picture the man bleeding out in the helicopter. He’d probably already said too much. Amy’s husband had been a SEAL. Darren had died over a year ago, but Mark knew the grief still weighed heavily on her.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. What was there to say? He was sorry, too.
“You can talk to me, Mark. I’m here and I’m listening.”
“Are you trying to make me tear up?” he said, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel, not by a long shot.
“We can joke and laugh if you want. But if you need to get it off your chest—”
“He’d lost both legs. Bled out in the helicopter. We couldn’t get him to a hospital in time. It sucked. Just plain sucked.” He rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been kidding about crying, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“We can wait and talk next week,” she said. “If you need to clean up. Rest.”
“No, my shift’s over, and I’ve been looking forward to catching up. The shower will still be waiting for me when we’re done,” he said. “But I can grab a shirt.”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t worry about it. I was just...surprised.”
There was a long pause. Mark wondered if the screen had frozen. But then Jango, the dog that had served with his best friend, appeared in the background. The Belgian Malinois was technically retired after years of working alongside navy SEALs, sniffing for bombs and weapons in war zones, but Jango didn’t act like a senior citizen adjusting to a life of chasing balls. Years of training, combined with natural instincts, might always prevent the dog from relaxing. Instead, Jango followed Amy as if she was his new handler.
Mark cleared his throat. “In your email, you said you had something to tell me. Big news.”
“I do. And you’re the first one outside of family to know about this.” Her face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning, and he damn near fell off the couch. He hadn’t seen her that excited in years.
“I’m opening a military war dog breeding and training facility. It will mean shutting down my current K-9 training business and remodeling the kennels, but in the end, it will be worth it.” Amy spoke quickly, her fingers drumming the side of her coffeecup. “Darren’s mother and his brothers support the idea. In fact, they’re donating a few acres of their land. I’ll be able to expand the training grounds and, in time, build another kennel. If I have the funds.
“The Department of Defense offered preliminary approval. They have their own breeding programs, but they’ll buy my pups, too. Provided the dogs fit with what they’re looking for. And they will. I’ve already bought a pair of Belgian Malinois from Denmark, both from top bloodlines. In the past, the DOD has been sending someone over there to purchase puppies. Now they will be born and receive their basic training right here in Oregon.”
She paused and lifted her coffee to her lips, then lowered it. “So, what do you think?”
“It’s great.”
For the first time in months, Amy sparkled. She looked like her old self again. Sure, turning her business into a military war dog program sounded cool, but she could have told him she was joining the circus, and he would have supported her 100 percent if it made her this happy.
“One more thing,” she said. Was it his imagination or had the light in her eyes dimmed? Shit, maybe she’d been looking for more enthusiasm. This was huge for her—a way to move on with her life. And he wanted that for her.
“I’m planning to open in three months and hold a dedication a few months later, probably in early March, when some of Darren’s brothers are expected home for a visit,” she continued. “Nothing big. Just family and friends. Maybe a few members of the community who express interest. Do you think you can come? You can stay in the spare bedroom.”
Heart’s Landing wasn’t a place he’d planned to visit during his brief time stateside. But the thought of seeing Amy again, in person, pushed against his reservations. This time, when he returned to his hometown, it would be for her, 100 percent. She was his closest friend now. And if there was anything he could do to help her, he was on board.
“I’m done here around then. So, yeah, I’ll be there,” he said. “You can count on it.”
Five
