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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Lucy Gilmore

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks

  Cover image © Shirley Green Photography

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Puppy Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  Now that was a dog.

  Harrison Parks stood in front of the Great Dane puppy, watching as he stumbled over his feet and struggled with the weight of his oversize head. Already, the animal’s sleek gray fur was something to behold, those beautiful eyes like the sky after a rainstorm. It was easy to see what he would someday become—majestic and muscled and massive, more like a trusty steed than a canine.

  “He’s perfect. Where do I sign?”

  A cough sounded at his back. “Um, that’s a Great Dane.”

  Harrison turned to find the slight, well-dressed woman who’d greeted him at the door. She looked apologetic and hesitant and, well, the same way most people looked when they met him for the first time.

  In other words, like this was the last place in the world she wanted to be—and he the last man she wanted there with her.

  “I thought he might be.” He attempted a smile. “What’s his name?”

  “Rock.”

  Yes. Rock—durable and solid, the kind of dog a man could count on. Harrison crouched and put a hand out to the animal, his fingers closed in a fist the way the woman, Sophie Vasquez, had shown him. It seemed like overkill, this careful approach to an animal who hadn’t yet reached six months of age, but what did he know? The closest he’d come to having a pet was the raccoon that lived under his back porch.

  “I think he likes me.”

  Sophie coughed again, louder this time. “Rock is great, but he’s a stability dog, I’m afraid.”

  Harrison turned to look up at her, struck again by how out of place she seemed among this room of scurrying puppies. It wasn’t just her air of fragility, which made it seem as though a strong wind would topple her over. It wasn’t her age either, although her short crop of dark brown hair and her round, sweet face made him suspect she was still in the youthful flush of her twenties.

  No, it was the ruffled dress she wore, which seemed better suited for a tea party than a dog kennel.

  He did his best to smile again. He was trying not to scare her away within the first ten minutes. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that to a woman. Or a man. Or, if he was being honest, any living creature with a heart in its chest and eyes in its head. He wasn’t saying he was a bad-looking man—a bit rough around the edges, maybe—but he did have a tendency to come across more forcefully than he intended. His friends blamed it on what they called his “resting brick face.” Like you’re going to throw the next man who crosses you into a brick wall, they laughed.

  Which was all well and good after a long day of work, but it wasn’t the least bit helpful here.

  Just smile and relax, they said. Be yourself. And for God’s sake, lower your guard an inch or two to let in some air.

  Well, he’d tried. The smile—both of them—had already fallen flat, and the idea of relaxing under that woman’s wide-eyed stare was impossible. No one had warned him that the puppy trainer was going to be a delicate, fragile wisp of feminine perfection. One of those things he might have been able to handle, but all of them?

  Yeah, his guard was going to stay right where it was. It gave him someplace to hide.

  “What’s a stability dog?” he managed to ask.

  “Well,” she began, “some of our clients need dogs that can provide physical support.”

  When he didn’t do more than nod encouragingly, she added, “As he grows up, Rock will be great at leading someone with vision issues or providing a safe landing for someone prone to seizures. You know—for stability.”

  “Oh.” Harrison blinked. “I don’t need that.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well, what about that one, then? He looks like he knows his way around a back alley or two.”

  He nodded toward the bulldog in the next slot over. Like Rock the Great Dane, this one was prancing about in one of a dozen half-walled pens built in an extension off the back of Sophie’s house. Unlike other dog kennels, Puppy Promise kept none of their animals fully caged in. They had room to climb and jump and pop their heads up to say a friendly hello to their neighbors. And they did too, wet noses being pressed and kissed from one animal to another. When added to the bright-blue walls and not-unpleasant smell of organic cleaning solutions and puppy breath, the result was strangely inviting.

  “Rusty?” Sophie asked as the wriggling, wrinkly puppy came bounding forward. His expression held a belligerence that appealed to Harrison on a visceral level. This dog might not be as physically intimidating as a Great Dane, but he sensed a kindred spirit. Grump and grumpier. “No, you don’t want him. He’ll be a nice emotional support dog someday, but he can’t smell worth anything.”

  Harrison bit back his disappointment and allowed his gaze to skim over the other options. He immediately bypassed a tall white poodle that looked as if it had been recently permed and a tiny, yappy thing with eyes like raisins. A soft golden retriever with a mournful expression peeped up at him from the corner. “How about—”

  Sophie coughed once more, cutting him short. When he turned to see what the problem was this time, he found her standing a few paces back, holdi
ng her hands out in front of her as if warding him off. His gaze was immediately drawn to those hands—so smooth and soft, her nails carefully polished to match her outfit. His own hands were like burned leather, cracked and callused all over. That was what happened when you spent half of your life battling wildfires. What the elements didn’t scorch, the flames did.

  “What is it?” he asked, his heart sinking at the sight of those hands. They were nice hands, obviously, but he knew what that gesture meant. Harrison Parks has done it again. Ten minutes in this woman’s company and she’d already seen through his sorry exterior to the even sorrier contents of his soul.

  “The truth is, Mr. Parks, we only have one dog right now that matches your specific needs.”

  “Okay.” He swallowed. “Which one is he?”

  “He’s a female, actually. And she’s really sweet.”

  “Female? Sweet?” Harrison could work with that. In fact, he quite liked both of those things, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  “Oh yes. You wouldn’t believe the nose she’s got on her. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a more promising puppy. We were lucky to get our hands on her. Most of our animals come from breeders, but this one was rescued from a puppy mill. She’s fantastic, even if she is still a little skittish.”

  Skittish could have applied to several people in his life right now, including the woman standing opposite him. Ever since the episode last week, everyone—from his boss at the Department of Natural Resources to his doctors to his very own father—was acting as though he, like Sophie Vasquez, was one strong wind away from toppling over.

  But he was fine. It was one small coma. He’d get a dog, and it wouldn’t happen again.

  “She may need some extra work because of it, but I promise she’ll be worth it in the end.” Sophie broke into a smile—her first since he’d walked in. It struck him forcibly that it was a good thing she’d been too wary to pull it out before now. A smile like that, so warm and real, was a transformative thing. It made him almost happy to be here.

  Almost.

  “The best things in life usually are, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “Come on. I’ll introduce you. She’s been eyeing you since we walked in. I think she knows you’re going to become good friends.”

  Harrison didn’t have time to fully absorb that remark before a tiny bark assailed his ears. A very tiny bark. One might even call it a yap.

  “The great thing about this dog is that she’s highly portable. You can carry her everywhere.”

  Portable? Carry her?

  He stopped and tried to dig his feet into the concrete, suddenly seeing the oncoming disaster with perfect clarity. Unfortunately, there were some things he couldn’t resist, no matter how hard he tried.

  One was the power of a beautiful woman’s smile.

  Another was the force of a 100,000-acre forest fire devouring everything in its path.

  And a third, apparently, was a pair of raisin eyes lifted to his in trusting supplication.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said as the miniature ball of fluff twirled and stuck a small pink tongue out the side of her mouth.

  This couldn’t be right. He was a man who spent literal weeks in the wilderness, fighting fatigue and flames. He walked for days with an ax over one shoulder and a team of men at his back. He needed a trusted companion, a sturdy beast he could count on to keep him alive.

  Not…

  “This is a joke, right? Someone put you up to it?”

  “No joke, Mr. Parks,” Sophie said. “Please allow me to introduce you to your new diabetic service dog, Bubbles.”

  * * *

  It was a truth universally acknowledged that a large, gruff man in search of a puppy would always choose the largest, gruffest one he could find.

  Sophie didn’t know how or why it happened, but every time a man entered the kennel, he was drawn inexorably toward the animal most like him in appearance. It was as though they walked up to each pen and, instead of seeing the puppy for its strengths and talents, they saw a mirror instead. Like getting dressed in the morning or buying a car, they wanted a puppy that exactly reflected the image they presented to the world.

  Which was why she’d known, the second Harrison Parks walked in the door, that she was doomed.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said, watching the expression that crossed his face as his gaze shifted from Bubbles to the Great Dane and back again. Disappointment was a disappointingly inadequate word for it.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “And I know she’s probably not what you had in mind when you signed up for this, but she’s very suitable for your needs.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Small dogs require a lot of care, which means you’ll be forced to slow down a little when you’re working. That’s a good thing, right? To be reminded to take more breaks, to put your needs first?”

  “No, that’s a terrible thing.”

  “Plus, Pomeranians are much better suited for this type of job than you’d think. They have exceptional noses.”

  “No.”

  That was all he offered this time—just that one syllable, that one deeply rumbling sound, a death knell meant to end any and all discussion on a project that she’d thrown her whole self into prepping for. She wasn’t sure which part of it caused her to crack, but she suspected it was that last one.

  Well, either that or the fact that he looked so unfairly good while he did it. From the top of his disheveled brown locks to the tips of his heavy work boots, Harrison Parks was exactly what she’d imagined when she’d heard about his case. The man was a wildland firefighter, a hero. Every year, when flames swept across the dry lands of the Pacific Northwest’s interior, he headed out with his hose and his determination until every last spark was gone. He was tall and muscular, his expression weary with the devastation he’d seen.

  A bit on the crusty side, Oscar had described him, but totally harmless.

  What he hadn’t said was that Harrison was also a half-buttoned flannel shirt away from being the quintessential lumbersexual—rugged and outdoorsy and built like a tank.

  In other words, he was a Great Dane. A bulldog.

  And he wasn’t giving either Bubbles or her a fair shot.

  “Listen, Mr. Parks.” The sharp rap of her voice startled even herself. “I appreciate that Bubbles isn’t what you had in mind, but you need to at least consider what she has to offer.”

  His gaze—that hard, disappointed one—snapped in her direction, and Sophie instinctively froze. Now that she’d uttered her reproach, she wasn’t sure what came next. Her sister Lila would probably segue into an articulate and professional speech about the Pomeranian’s finer points. Her other sister, Dawn, would try a coy smile and a low purr to get her way.

  Sophie didn’t have any such methods for handling recalcitrant clients. No one had let her have a recalcitrant client before.

  “She’s not nearly as bad as you think,” she said, soldiering on. “In fact, I think you’ll like her. You just have to take a deep breath and give her a try.”

  He held her stare, his eyes a stony gray that made her think of battlements and cavernous quarries, but at least he complied. Even breathing, he seemed to be exercising every muscle in his body, the swell of his massive chest like an ocean rising.

  It worked though. Already, he looked much less like he wanted to storm out the door and report her to the authorities—or, worse, to her sisters.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m breathing. What’s next?”

  Sophie blinked. Breathing had seemed like the most logical first step, but she had no idea what came after that.

  Yes, she did. Cuddles. No one could resist puppy cuddles—it was almost as universally acknowledged as the fact that Harrison had chosen the Great Dane as his first pick. Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad at this after all.

  “That all depends on you,” she said. “Would you rather climb into
the kennel with Bubbles for your introductory session or take her outside?”

  For the second time in as many minutes, his gaze sharpened as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t blink or move, just stood there staring at her as though he were looking through a ghost. People did that quite a lot actually—looked through her as though she were nothing—but not like this.

  He didn’t seem dismissive of her or more interested in the greener pastures that lay beyond. He seemed, well, scared.

  “You want me”—he pointed at himself—“to climb in there? Do you have any idea how far the human body can feasibly bend?”

  Sophie had to tamp down a laugh. Now that he’d pointed it out, the idea of that six-foot bear of a man climbing into a pen and snuggling with a baby Pomeranian did seem a little preposterous.

  “Outside it is, then,” she said. “Just scoop her on up. Don’t worry—she won’t be afraid of you. She likes to be carried.”

  He didn’t, as she’d hoped, follow her orders. Instead, he glanced down at the little puppy, his brow growing heavier the longer he stood there. It was the same glower that had made him seem so fierce when he’d first walked in.

  It didn’t seem nearly as intimidating when he shook his head and said, “No, thank you.”

  She laughed again, unable to stop it from fully releasing this time. All of her tension seemed to be seeping out the more she realized this man was nowhere near as hard as his gruff expression indicated. All bark and no bite. “Well, at least you’re being more polite about it. I promise she won’t bite, and she won’t pee all over you. She’s a very good girl. Aren’t you, Bubbles? Aren’t you the most precious little ball o’ fluff?”

  Harrison took a wide step back from the pen and clasped his hands behind his back. If Sophie didn’t know better, she’d think he was afraid of touching the puppy for fear she would infect him with her adorableness.