Chapter 12
Dean
The German Shepherd puppy in my arms squirms like he's trying to escape a dogfight, and I adjust my grip before he launches himself onto the sidewalk. Again.
"Easy, Maverick," I tell him.
He licks my face.
Great. My grand gesture smells like puppy breath and I've got drool on my collar. This is going exactly as planned.
I've flown missions where one wrong move meant people died. I've landed planes with failing engines, navigated through storms that turned the sky black, and once talked a rookie pilot through an emergency landing when his instructor passed out.
Walking into O'Connor Veterinary Clinic with a puppy and a speech I've been practicing for days might actually be the scariest thing I've ever done.
The bell above the door chimes when I push through. Maverick barks—high-pitched and excited—and I hear movement from the back.
"Be right there!" Callie's voice.
My heart does something that would get me grounded if it happened in the cockpit.
The puppy wiggles harder, his little tail going like a rotor blade. I set him down on the floor and he immediately tries to eat the welcome mat.
"No," I say, tugging him back. "Bad first impression, buddy."
Footsteps approach from the hallway. I straighten up, hands suddenly unsure what to do. In my pockets? No, that's too casual. Crossed? Too defensive. At my sides? That just feels wrong.
The puppy solves the problem by lunging for a display of dog treats, nearly taking me out at the knees.
Then Callie steps into the waiting room and everything stops.
She's in scrubs, hair pulled back, no makeup. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
She sees me. Stops cold.
The puppy barks again, straining against the leash I'm barely holding.
"Dean." Her voice is careful. Guarded.
"Hey." Smooth, Mercer. Real smooth.
She looks at the puppy, then back at me. "What are you doing here?"
"I, uh..." I clear my throat. "This is Maverick. He's eight weeks old. German Shepherd. Smart breed. Good temperament."
"I can see that." She hasn't moved from the doorway. "Why is he in my clinic?"
"He's a new recruit," I say. "For the Iron Creek K9 program."
Her expression doesn't change. "Congratulations."
"He needs a vet." I take a breath. "Someone who knows working dogs. Someone who can train him right. Someone who..."
"Dean."
"Hear me out," I say quickly. "Please."
The please does it. She nods once, arms still crossed, but she nods.
Maverick chooses that moment to flop onto his back, exposing his belly and looking ridiculously adorable. Little traitor's working the room better than I am.
"I was wrong," I start. The words I've practiced feel clumsy now, but I push through. "About everything. The way I asked you—no, scratch that—the way I told you to come to Texas. Like it was simple. Like you'd just pack up your whole life because I wanted you to."
Callie's jaw tightens, but she doesn't interrupt.
"I didn't ask. I assumed. I made it about what I wanted, what I needed, and I didn't stop to think about what you'd be giving up.
Your clinic. Your life here. Everything you've built.
" I run a hand through my hair. "I'm really good at making plans.
Flight plans, mission plans, five-year career plans.
But I'm shit at asking people what they want to be part of those plans. "
"Dean—"
"I'm not finished." The words come faster now, easier. "I talked to Jake. My brother. Told him I couldn't come back to Iron Creek if it meant losing you. And you know what he said?"
She shakes her head.
"He said I'm an idiot." I laugh, but it comes out rough. "He said there's room for both of us. That the business needs a good vet more than it needs another handler. That if I showed up without you, he'd kick my ass from Texas back to Colorado."
Callie's arms loosen slightly. "Your brother said that?"
"Well, the ass-kicking part is implied, but yeah." I take a step closer. Maverick waddles after me, tail still wagging. "I don't want Iron Creek without you, Callie. I don't want the uniform without you. I don't want any of it if it means not having this—us—whatever this could be."
"This has been a week," she says quietly. "Not even. How do you know—"
"Because I know what it feels like to want something and not have it.
" I meet her eyes. "I know what it's like to make the safe choice, the smart choice, the one that makes sense on paper.
I've been doing it my whole career. And then you showed up and made me want something I couldn't plan for.
Something that scared the hell out of me. "
She's watching me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve.
"I'm not asking you to give up your life," I say. "I'm asking if you want to build a new one. With me. Not me first and you following. Together. Partners."
The silence stretches. Maverick sits down on my foot and starts gnawing on my shoelace.
"Say something," I finally add. "Even if it's no. Especially if it's no. Just—"
"I was scared," Callie interrupts.
I shut my mouth.
"When you asked me to come to Texas, I panicked.
" She uncrosses her arms, one hand rubbing her opposite elbow.
"Because I wanted to say yes. I wanted it so badly it terrified me.
And that's not—that's not how I make decisions.
I'm careful. Methodical. I don't just uproot my life for a guy I've known for a week. "
"But?"
"But safe isn't happy." She takes a breath. "And I've been choosing safe for a long time. So long I almost forgot what it felt like to want something enough to risk it."
Hope flares in my chest, sharp and bright.
"I'm still scared," she continues. "Probably going to be scared the whole way. But I'm tired of letting fear make my choices."
"So..." I don't want to assume. Not this time.
"So if we do this, we do it right." She steps closer. "Partners. Equal say. I'm not following you to Texas—we're going together. And I have conditions."
My heart kicks into overdrive. "Name them. All of them. Whatever you need."
"I need to finish my consulting work for the base. Give them proper notice, help them transition. That'll take at least two weeks, maybe three."
"Done."
"I need to find someone to take over my practice. Someone good. That could take longer."
"However long it takes."
"And I need you to stop looking at me like I just agreed to marry you, because this is terrifying enough without your golden retriever energy."
I grin. Can't help it. "I'm more of a German Shepherd guy, actually."
She tries to hold back her smile. Fails. "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"I'm reconsidering."
Maverick barks, high and sharp, and we both look down. He's tangled himself in the leash, wrapped it around my ankles, and is now trying to climb my leg.
"Sit," Callie says firmly.
The puppy sits. Immediately. Tail still wagging like crazy, but he sits.
"Show off," I mutter.
She laughs—really laughs—and the sound breaks something open in my chest. The tension that's been coiled there since I left her house drains away, replaced by relief so strong it makes me dizzy.
"Come here," I say.
"You're tangled in a leash."
"I'm aware."
She crosses the remaining space between us, careful to step over Maverick's impromptu obstacle course. When she's close enough to touch, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her.
It's different from before. Softer. Less desperate and more promising. Like we're not trying to fit a lifetime into one moment because we actually have time now. Time to figure this out, to build something real.
When we break apart, she's smiling.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi yourself."
"So. Texas."
"Texas," she agrees. "Eventually."
"Partners."
"Partners." She glances down at Maverick, who's trying to eat my shoelace again. "Does this mean I'm stuck with your dog too?"
"Actually, about that..." I bend down and untangle myself, scooping up the puppy. "Maverick here is yours. If you want him. Part of the Iron Creek program, but you'd be his primary trainer. Get to shape him from the start."
Her eyes go soft. "Dean."
"Plus, I figured you needed someone to boss around while we drive to Texas. Might as well start with a puppy."
She takes Maverick from me, and he immediately tries to lick her face. She laughs, turning her head. "What about Ranger?"
"Officially retired as of yesterday. They expedited the adoption paperwork since I didn’t reenlist. He's mine now. Full custody. Though he's been sulking since I told him we're leaving Colorado."
"Poor baby." She scratches behind Maverick's ears. "Guess you'll have to share your new house with an old grump."
"Story of my life," I say.
She elbows me. Gently. "You're lucky you're cute."
"That's what I keep telling people," I reply.
"And humble," she adds.
"It's a burden," I say with a grin.
Maverick squirms, and Callie sets him down. He immediately makes a beeline for the corner where Biscuit's bed sits, circles three times, and flops down like he owns the place.
"He fits right in," I observe.
"He's a menace." But she's smiling when she says it.
"So," I venture. "Where do we stand on the priority list? Me and dogs?"
"The dogs get priority," she says without hesitation.
"Obviously. But where do I rank?"
"Hmm." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Well, there's Ranger. And now Maverick. And Biscuit, obviously."
"Obviously."
"And my work. And my coffee maker."
"Your coffee maker?"
"It's a really good coffee maker."
I pull her close, hands settling on her hips. "So I'm what, sixth?"
"Seventh. I forgot about my heated blanket."
"That's cold, Doc."
"That's the point of the heated blanket."
I pull her in and kiss her because I can, because she's here and she's mine and we're doing this. Together. She tastes like coffee and something sweet, and when she sighs against my mouth, her hand curls into my shirt like she's anchoring herself to me.
When I pull back, she's got that look—the one that means she's thinking too hard.
"What?" I ask.
"I just realized I'm leaving Pine Valley." The words are soft. "My whole life is here."
"Hey." I duck my head to catch her eyes. "You're not losing anything. You're gaining something. A pain-in-the-ass pilot, a retired K9, a puppy that's going to destroy at least three pairs of your shoes, and a family business in Texas that desperately needs someone who knows what they're doing."
"When you put it that way..."
"Plus, Iron Creek has a bookstore. And a diner. And probably some kind of weird small-town tradition involving livestock."
"Sold." She's smiling again. "I'm very pro-livestock traditions."
"I knew you were a Texas girl at heart."
"I'm a Colorado girl who's agreeing to relocate. Don't get ahead of yourself."
Maverick chooses that moment to wake up, notice we're across the room, and scramble to his feet with a bark. He gallops over, trips over his own paws, and crashes into Callie's legs.
"Graceful," I say.
"He's learning." She picks him up again. "Just like his handler."
"Ouch."
"You walked into that one."
"I did." I wrap my arms around both of them—Callie and the puppy. "But I'd do it again."
She leans into me, Maverick squirming between us. "You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
"I'm starting to."
We stand there in her clinic, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and dog treats, a puppy trying to eat my watch, and I realize I've never been happier. Never wanted anything more than this—this woman, this life, this messy, unplanned, terrifying future.
"So," I say against her hair. "Two weeks?"
"At least. Maybe three."
"I can wait."
"You? Wait? The guy who just showed up at my clinic with a puppy and a rehearsed speech?"
"I'm a changed man."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm patient now. Mature. I'll give you all the time you need."
She tilts her head back to look at me. "And what are you going to do for two weeks while I wrap things up here?"
"Well." I pretend to think. "I could go back to Texas. Get the house ready. Set up the business stuff."
"Or?"
"Or I could stay in Pine Valley. Help you pack. Annoy you daily. Take you to Maggie's for pie."
"The pie is tempting."
"I know."
"And the daily annoyance?"
"Also tempting, if we're being honest."
She laughs, and it's the best sound I've ever heard. Better than engines roaring to life, better than the clear tone of a successful landing, better than anything.
"Okay," she says.
"Okay?"
"Okay, you can stay. Help me pack. Take me for pie." She pauses. "But you're getting your own hotel room."
My face must do something, because she laughs.
"I'm kidding," she says. "You can stay with me. Ranger and Maverick too." She glances at the puppy, then back at me. "Only if Biscuit approves, of course."
"Deal."
"And you're buying the pie."
"Also deal."
"And if Maverick eats my couch, you're replacing it."
I look down at the puppy, who's now trying to gnaw on Callie's stethoscope. "That's fair."
She kisses me again, quick and sweet. "We're really doing this."
"We're really doing this," I agree.
Maverick barks his agreement, and somewhere in the back of the clinic, Biscuit barks in protest. Callie's phone buzzes with what's probably a client message. My watch beeps with a reminder I forgot I'd set.
It's chaos. It's messy. It's completely unplanned.
And somewhere between the puppy trying to eat everything in sight and Callie's sarcastic commentary about my place on her priority list, I realize I've stopped thinking about flight plans and mission objectives and carefully plotted trajectories.
I'm just here. With her. With dogs who don't respect personal space and a future that doesn't come with a manual.
Best decision I've ever made.