8 - Dog
The faint jingle of the front door closing was the last sound Dog heard before the clinic fell silent.
He walked back to his office, his limp feeling heavier than usual.
It had been an exhausting, mind-numbing day of overseeing plumbing and electrical installs, followed by hours battling vendor contracts.
But now, all that stood out was the ghost of a woman in an expensive sweater, talking about “seamless guest experiences.”
He surveyed the room. Chaos, yes. He frowned.
The teetering stacks of catalogs were no longer quite so precarious.
The half-eaten protein bar was gone. The SEAL challenge coin, which he’d absentmindedly left on a textbook, was now nestled securely in the small divot of his desk organizer.
A small, neat pile of what he recognized as “immediate action” invoices had appeared on the corner of his monitor.
It was still a disaster, but it was an organized disaster. He could almost discern the method in the madness. Margaret Fletcher. The woman had been here for perhaps an hour, and she’d already begun to impose order on his world.
He shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Then he remembered the background check. And the sheer, unadulterated terror that had flashed across her face. He hadn’t liked it. Not one bit.
He realized now that he never even got her phone number. Without it, there was no way to contact her, no way to send a text. Damn it. He needed to get that number before she left for the day. He hadn’t asked if she even had a phone.
Damn it.
His gut clenched. He’d just tasked her with an impossible job and effectively told her she was under a microscope, all while knowing she was running from something that made her look like she’d seen a ghost. Letting her wander off to some anonymous motel on Route 250 felt irresponsible.
Like leaving a wounded man exposed. His protective instincts, finely honed over years in the Teams, screamed at him.
And what if she’s still married? The thought, sharp and unwelcome, cut through the noise of his fatigue.
He was a doctor, a protector, not some hormone-driven idiot.
He was already tired, already committed to Mountain View Farms for dinner. But he had to make sure. There were only a couple places in town where she could stay.
Dog grabbed his keys, then paused, his gaze falling on the door leading upstairs to his apartment. Empty. Unfurnished. Her assignment. A solution clicked into place, pragmatic and efficient, just the way he liked it.
He jogged out of the office, his limp more pronounced, and found Margaret just outside the clinic doors, already walking towards her car. Her shoulders were hunched against the evening chill, her purse still clutched tight.
“Miss Fletcher!” he called out.
She turned, startled, her eyes wide. “Dr. Berkshire? Is something amiss?”
“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.
She hesitated, her gaze dropping. “I…I have arrangements.”
He recognized a falsehood when it presented itself.
“No, Miss Fletcher, you do not possess accommodations of any merit, certainly nothing secure,” he said, his tone adopting a decidedly more urbane cadence.
“That establishment on Route 250, I must advise you to forgo it entirely.” He gestured toward the clinic.
“The apartment above possesses all requisite amenities, sturdy walls, a proper roof, running water, and it stands vacant. You require proper quarters for the night, and I, in turn, require your presence here promptly at first light to commence the work still necessary on this building.” He indicated the entire structure with a sweeping motion.
“Consider it an integral component of your ‘trial run.’ You might well begin with the master bedroom in the morning and determine its suitability beyond that of a mere air mattress.”
Her eyes darted between him and the building, a complex mixture of exhaustion, relief, and deep-seated apprehension warring on her face. “Are you offering me a place to stay?”
“I am informing you of your accommodations,” he said, his tone deliberately gruff in an effort to conceal the small victory he felt.
“I shall be retiring to Mountain View Farms for the evening, as I shall be staying there, thus the apartment will be entirely at your disposal. You face a formidable task ahead, and it is imperative that you be well-rested.” And I need to know where you are.
She chewed on her lip, then nodded, a faint, weary smile gracing her lips. “Understood, Dr. Berkshire. Thank you.”
“Very well. The keys are located upon the counter in my office. I trust you will take care not to set the place ablaze. I am departing shortly for the farm to attend to dinner arrangements. Please ensure the premises are securely locked upon your departure.” He did not wait for a response, already turning toward his truck.
He needed to make his way to Mountain View.
The drive to Mountain View Farms was short, the winding mountain roads familiar even in the deepening dusk. Bear’s house was a beacon of warmth and light. He could smell the grilling meat before he opened the door.
“Dog! Get in here!” Bear’s booming voice greeted him as he stepped inside. The warm, savory smell of Flora’s cooking and the chaotic energy of family life immediately enveloped him.
Instead of the sterile operations center, tonight was about grounding himself.
He stepped into the dining room where Bear’s wife, Flora, was setting a massive roast on the table.
Their three kids, Rhys, Kenzi and Amelia, were already scrambling into their seats and bickering good-naturedly over who got to sit next to their “Uncle” Dog.
Around his friends, Dog’s polished, formal articulation slipped away without his notice, replaced by a casual, effortless manner of speaking. Years of early childhood training had ingrained in him the ability to modulate his speech, but here at Bear’s table, he could just be himself.
“Good to see you, man,” Dog said, taking a seat and accepting a plate from Flora with a grateful smile. “How’s the rest of the team holding up? Feels like half the roster is out of state.”
Bear loaded his plate with mashed potatoes. “Pretty busy around here these days. Moose and Elena finally wrapped up their renovations and passed all the social worker inspections. Their boarding house is officially open now, giving kids who age out of foster care a safe place to land.”
“That’s incredible,” Dog nodded, genuinely impressed. “Moose has a good heart. What about Shadow and Jax?”
“Road trip,” Bear replied, passing the gravy. “They snagged a contract providing close protection for a multi-state rock band tour. From what Jax texted me yesterday, the lead singer is a handful, but the pay is astronomical.”
“And Viper is on a date!” Amelia piped up, her young voice cutting through the adult conversation with gleeful clarity.
Kenzi’s eyes went wide, and she immediately leaned over, swatting her younger sister’s arm. “Amelia! Shush! We weren’t supposed to tell them!”
Forks clattered to the table simultaneously. Bear and Dog froze, the relaxed family atmosphere instantly evaporating, replaced by the rigid, hyper-focused intensity of two very protective, Alpha-male older brothers.
“A date?” Bear’s voice dropped an octave, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his daughters.
Dog leaned forward, his protective instincts flaring up right alongside Bear’s. “With who? Who is he?”
“Where did she meet him?” Bear demanded, pulling his phone out of his pocket as if preparing to launch a full-scale tactical investigation. “What’s his last name? Has he been vetted?”
“Is he local?” Dog added, already mentally calculating how fast Link could run a background check. “Tell me somebody ran his plates, at least.”
Flora rolled her eyes to the ceiling, letting out a long, exasperated sigh as she set down the gravy boat. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Both of you, stand down and eat your dinner. I think she is perfectly capable of having dinner with a man without the two of you treating it like a hostage situation.”
Bear and Dog exchanged a dark, unconvinced look across the table.
It didn’t matter to either of them what her resume said, how old she was, or how many confirmed kills she had from a mile away.
To them, she was still their little sister-in-arms, and that meant any guy taking her out to dinner was stepping into a minefield.
“A sniper needs a spotter,” Bear grumbled, picking his fork back up but keeping his phone dangerously close to his plate. “A basic threat assessment wouldn’t hurt.”
“Agreed,” Dog muttered, slicing into his roast with far more force than necessary. “Civilians are unpredictable. We’ll have Link run a full work-up on him right after dessert.”
Flora just shook her head, smiling fondly at the two massive men sulking over their mashed potatoes. The tension over Viper’s date eventually dissolved back into the familiar, chaotic hum of the dinner table.
As Dog reached for another roll, eleven-year-old Rhys leaned over, his eyes bright with excitement. “Hey, Uncle Dog? Sammy and I almost finished the chassis for our new battle bot. We figured out a way to mount the pneumatic flipper without throwing off the weight distribution.”
Dog smiled, his demeanor softening completely as he gave the boy his full attention. “Is that right? Last time I checked, you two were arguing over the battery placement. Sammy doing okay? I know he’s been going stir-crazy being laid up.”
“He’s good,” Rhys said, stuffing a piece of roast into his mouth and talking around it until Flora shot him a warning look. He swallowed quickly. “He’s stuck on the couch since the helicopter crash, so he’s done all the coding. He gets his leg cast off next week.”
“Then the real fun begins,” Bear chimed in from the head of the table. “He starts physical therapy on Tuesday. He thinks he’s ready to run a marathon, but PT is going to humble him real quick.”