But now things were different.
She had felt the excitement in the WWP pack the day the strangers came. She sensed that things were about to change, yet again. One of the strangers would take her home.
Yet no one handed her off. They simply dropped her leash and let her roam among the strangers, sniffing out a need. Her choice. It was not hard.
The sad man needed her to be his pack. She’d picked that up the first day. No Alpha, even the strongest, was healthy when he was without his pack.
The Alpha dropped his wallet and cursed.
Samantha hurried over and scooped it up in her mouth before he could bend down for it. He looked surprised then frowned. She felt confused by his frown. Then proud when he took the wallet from her.
He nodded at her but did not offer the affection of his hand or a treat. “Gute Hund.”
She licked his hand to show that she didn’t mind that he didn’t know how to behave. He would learn.
She did not always understand his words, but she would learn.
When he sat to tie his shoe, she moved close and weighed her big head on his thigh. She watched him, her eyebrows twitching up and down as if she could signal to him that he was not alone anymore. She would help with the sadness, and calm his worries. She was now his pack.
CHAPTER TWO
Jori Garrison wasn’t having a great morning. She’d been awakened by yet another phone call from the person she’d been dodging all week. Then she’d discovered she didn’t have food for Argyle. So here she was, not even showered, looking for cat food on the shelves of a nearby convenience store.
She had just located the single box when she noticed someone passing the end of the aisle. Her stomach did a jump of recognition as she came to her feet slowly, so as not to draw his attention. She needn’t have bothered. He was headed straight for the back of the store with a determined stride.
Though she had had only the briefest glimpse, there was no mistaking those broad shoulders stretching the limits of his olive-drab T-shirt. Or the Native American tribal tattoo riding the heavy biceps of his left arm. Lauray Battise.
For three days she’d been working with him and the other four veterans who had come to receive a service dog from Warriors Wolf Pack. Despite all her efforts to dismiss her feelings, heat simmered beneath her skin whenever he was around. She literally had the hots for the man. Too bad he wasn’t even remotely likable.
Jori clutched the cat food box to her chest as her gaze followed him. He might be rude and standoffish, but he certainly was nice to look at. He had been exercising, hard. Dark circles of sweat made his tee cling to his back, revealing the taut contours of muscles beneath. Everything about him radiated strength, determination, a force to be reckoned with. That solid muscular physique was a testament to months of hard unrelenting therapy.
If he’d been wearing long pants, she doubted casual observers would have known he had a disability. Instead, he wore basketball shorts that revealed the prosthesis where his left leg should be. She liked that he wasn’t self-conscious about that. She, on the other hand, was uncomfortably aware of him.
As he stopped to fill a cup with hot coffee from an urn, she noticed how his dark hair stuck out from under his ball cap at weird angles. His thick black beard was in serious need of pruning, too. No need to wonder if there was a woman in his life. No one who cared for him would have let him go out looking like that. Not that his relationships with women were any of her business. Or ever would be. But she couldn’t help admiring the solid definition of the man, or wondering if every part of him was as impressively large.
That’s just prison talking.
It’s what her second cell mate Ethylene would say whenever conversation at the women’s correctional center rolled around to talk of men and sex. Which it had at some point each day.
After a few seconds more, she realized that he had stopped pouring and was staring off to one side. She followed his gaze to the refrigerated cases next to him. She could see his reflection clearly in the glass door. Oh. If she could see him that meant he could see her, too. He wasn’t staring at the drinks, but at her.
The impact of his gaze hit Jori with a scorching effect. It was intimate, exhilarating, and completely male. Which was saying a lot, considering his stare was reflected by chilled glass.
Embarrassed to be caught eyeing him, she hitched up a hand in greeting.
He didn’t respond but, after another second, opened the door and reached for a bottle of water.
She turned away, uncertain about what had just happened. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at her, after all. Yet the hot knot of sexual awareness balled in her stomach told her he’d seen her, all right. And dismissed her.