Page 42 of Desperate Creed

Nope, it hadn’t changed anything.

“Hey, wait a minute,” one of the women called from a nearby table. “Are you the men who found that baby yesterday?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Creed said. He gestured to Grace. “She found him.”

“You’re all over the news,” she said, pointing up to one of the three televisions. “Someone caught a part of it on their phone.”

That surprised Creed.

“What seems to be the problem?” asked another guest, an older gentleman sitting with three others. He was addressing the manager.

“We don’t allow dogs in the public areas,” the man told him, but his voice had lowered.

“I don’t think any of us mind,” the woman said, looking around. “Any of you mind if these men and their dogs have breakfast with us?”

Creed watched the manager from the corner of his eye as the room erupted in agreement with the woman. The man’s neck started to redden against his white collar.

“Well . . . just this once,” he ended up saying before marching out the door.

“Thanks everyone,” Creed said, waving a hand to the group.

“Someone has to stand up for heroes,” the woman said.

He was grateful when they all went back to their breakfasts and conversations. He didn’t want to talk about Baby Garner. He was anxious to get something to eat and head back out.

Jason found a table by the window far enough away from the others. Creed sat down and told Jason to go ahead. He’d settle the dogs. He could see the kid eyeing the buffet line even when the manager was still trying to throw them out. To his surprise, Jason brought him a mug of coffee and set it on the table in front of him then bee-lined for the food. Sometimes Creed was still amazed at how much the young vet had changed.

The first time they met, Jason had a chip on his shoulder the size of Montana. An IED had blown off half his arm and sent him home. It had also left him belligerent and morose. He’d even admitted to Creed that he had fantasies of suicide and was proud of the fact that he had hoarded enough pharmaceuticals to do the job right.

As different as the two men were, Creed could relate. He’d been sent home from Afghanistan by an IED, too. Alone and missing his K9 partner—the only good thing in his life at the time—he had been angry and depressed. The first time he met Hannah he was drunk and had started a brawl with three men in the bar she was tending. She saved him. Lectured him then listened to him. Helped him figure out a way to give his life purpose.

When Creed recognized a glimpse of himself in Jason, he took a chance that Jason needed the same thing. He gave him a puppy. Told him if he wasn’t going to stick around, he’d need to give the dog back. It wasn’t fair to the puppy to get attached then have his master off himself. Creed had been blunt, made it sound like he didn’t care what Jason did to himself. That was his decision. But he wouldn’t let Jason desert a puppy he’d committed to taking care of and training.

Creed bent down and petted the black Lab that sat next to his boots watching and waiting for his handler. Scout and Jason made a good team. Both hardheaded and full of energy. Creed often described Scout as a jackass, but he meant it in a good way. Scent dogs needed that over-the-top curiosity and addiction to adventure. The stuff that drove ordinary dog owners crazy, or sadly prompted them to give up the dog, was exactly what Creed looked for in a search dog.

He saw Jason’s tray piled high and wiped at the smile on his face. That was the other thing the handler and his dog had in common, both of them were eternally hungry. Both loved food, but were lean and muscular—not an ounce of fat on either from working hard.

“Is there anything left?” He asked Jason as the kid unloaded from his tray to the table. There were several plates and saucers overlapping and filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy along with a tall glass of orange juice and another of milk.

“Very funny.”

The dogs had already been fed before they’d left their rooms, but Scout was licking his chops, eyes fastened on Jason’s hands, ever hopeful for a dropped morsel.

“Aren’t you getting yours?” Jason asked, sitting down and ready to dig in, but again, waiting and trying to be polite. It was obvious this was a new habit for the kid.

Creed lifted his mug. “I will. Just having some coffee first.”

When Jason still hesitated, Creed added, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

In between bites, Jason said, “You’re worried about Brodie.”

A statement, not a question.

“Hannah said she had a nightmare last night. And another panic attack. Found her at the top of the stairs like she was getting ready to race down and out of the house.”

Jason washed down a mouthful before he said, “She hasn’t done that in a long time.”

“Not since the first week. She did it in Omaha pretty often.”