Page 31 of Rescued By the Dog Trainer

"It's fine." She takes a slow sip of the scalding coffee. Her eyes narrow over the rim. "Gets me where I need to go."

"You favor it." I set my mug down on the counter with a soft thud. "You lean to the left when nobody's looking. I've seen it since the day you drove up the mountain."

"You pay attention." She sets her mug on the pine table. Her fingers remain curved around the warm tin. "Habit of the job."

"Which job?" I step closer to the table, leaning my hip against the edge. "The flight nurse who won't talk about her service, or the woman who saved a man's life tonight?"

Silence settles over the kitchen. The flight-deck armor she wears like a jacket covers her features. Her expression flattens as the feeling rises. Maren counts under her breath. Her jaw tightens as she pulls her collar up around her throat.

"I ran a transport deck." She looks down at the table. Her thumb traces the rim of her tin cup. "When a patient comes through the hatch with an arterial bleed. Nobody asks for credentials. You stop the bleed and keep them breathing. It's simple."

"It's simple." I step toward her chair, unable to keep my eyes off her. "You ran that scene like you owned the mountain. You didn't check if anyone outranked you."

"Did you want me to?" She looks up, her eyes meeting mine with a quiet challenge.

"No." I close the last bit of distance between us until I'm standing right in front of her chair. "I liked every second of watching you take charge."

She maintains her position. She sits straight in the wooden chair. Her dark braid rests against the gray thermal fabric of her shirt. Her chest rises in a measured breath.

"You follow hand signals." Her pulse throbs in the side of her neck. The rhythm beats fast under her pale skin. "Most men with your build like the sound of their voice."

"Wind steals voices." I lean down and place my hands on the arms of her chair. I trap her gently in the warm space between us. "Hand signals stay clear when the gale hits. And I don't always need to be in charge. Sometimes, stepping back is the right thing to do."

"Where'd you learn that?" Her fingers tighten around the edge of her chair.

"Afghanistan." I lean closer, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her jaw where her pulse beats fast. "And Landstuhl after."

She freezes under my touch. Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes widen.

"Landstuhl?" Her voice drops into a raspy whisper.

"The hospital." I curve my calloused hand around the side of her neck, my thumb lingering over her collarbone. The warmth of her skin radiates against my palm. "I woke up in a ward with a rebuilt leg and a song stuck in my head that I couldn't place. I've been searching for the quiet ever since."

She doesn't pull away. Her gaze locks onto mine. Her chest rises in shallow breaths. The distance between us shrinks to nothing. The smell of cedar, rain, and the heat off her skin fills every breath I take.

"You never talk about the flights." My voice turns to rough gravel as I lean down until my lips are brushing the shell of her ear. "But you ran that rescue like you couldn't afford to lose one more."

"I don't like to talk about them." Her hand comes up, her fingers resting lightly against my chest over my vest, holding herself steady against my weight.

"You carry every single patient you couldn't save." I shift my grip to her chin and tilt her face up. Her lips part, a soft breath escaping her as her gaze drops to my mouth before rising back to mine. "You give everything to the rescue, but you won't let yourself stay for what comes after."

"Staying costs more." Her voice trembles against my lips. Her breath stays warm against my skin. "When a person stays. They witness what breaks."

"Then let someone else help carry the load." My thumb traces the soft line of her lower lip. My voice drops to a low gravel against her mouth. "Let me in."

I cover her mouth with mine.

The kiss is unhurried and heavy. I take her breath and replace it with mine. I cup the back of her neck with my right hand. My scarred fingers thread through her soft dark hair and pull her up against my chest while I deepen the angle.

She gasps into my mouth. Her hands come up to grip the front of my canvas vest. Her fingers lock into the fabric and pull me down into her until there's no air left between us. She surrenders to the pull with a quiet hunger that matches mine. Her lips open under mine and take everything I've spent three winters hoarding behind my ribs.

My blood burns. The cold room, the storm on the roof, and the noise in my head vanish. The space fills with the taste of her skin, the heat of her mouth, and the truth of her hands holding me steady.

Steadiness is what I offer to everyone in this mountain town. The trainees rely on it. The rescue dogs need it. Jesse's memory demands it. But holding Maren Hale in the dark while receiving the weight of her trust terrifies me more than the Humvee fire in Kandahar.

Because if I take this from her, I owe her everything I am. I lack a way to pay a debt like that without coming apart.

I pull back slowly with my forehead resting against hers. Our breath mingles in the warm air of the break room. My thumb traces the soft line of her lower lip and feels the thumping pulse beneath her jaw.