“Right.” He’d started to suspect as much. Something in her story had always been a little suspicious. “So, why make the call to the shelter in the first place?”
“Because the wait was too long for a trained service dog.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. She’d lost him in that last leap of logic. “You know, this might be easier if you just start from the beginning.”
She handed him a plate piled high with food, then took hers and put it down on the blanket. But she didn’t start eating. She stared at her food for long moments, then lifted her gaze to him. Totally open—no avoidance, no games.
“I wanted to do something to help you with what you’re going through. So I did some research into PTSD.”
He stilled. The last thing he wanted was Harper thinking he was a charity case or pitying him. “Learn anything interesting?” he asked, trying for a casual tone and unsure if he’d achieved it.
She nodded, clearly warming to her subject. “I saw some really good outcomes for veterans with a trained service dog. The dogs could head off anxiety attacks and wake their person from a nightmare.”
He’d heard similar things. “A friend mentioned once that he knew a couple of guys who had them.”
“But there was a waiting list, so I kept researching.” Her eyes were shining with enthusiasm, so he bit into a roll and lost himself in her light as she talked. “Another piece of advice I found was to do something for someone else. To help someone. But I knew you were worried about letting someone down again, and you already felt your plate was full with me, Ellie and the babies, so that wasn’t a great plan. It could make things worse rather than better.”
He winced. That was a harsh but fair assessment. Still, he didn’t want her feeling like she was a burden to him. “Harper, I don’t think of you as—”
But she interrupted him. “It’s okay, Nick. I know what you mean. And anyway, then I had an idea—what if the someone you helped wasn’t a person? What if it was a dog who needed you as much as you needed them?”
Her plan finally made sense. “So you called Megan and asked about special needs dogs.”
“And you met Frank and fell for him at first sight. Now that I think about it,” she said, her mischievous smile peeking out again, “you seem to have a habit of committing to people and dogs before getting to know them.”
“Since it worked so well with you, I thought it was worth a shot with Frank.” He glanced at the dog, who carried the weight of hope and expectation on his furry shoulders. It was a lot for a boy dealing with his own issues. “Harper, what if he doesn’t help me?”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “Then we’ll have a gorgeous family pet for Ellie, the babies and us.”
“Sounds like a perfect plan,” he said.
She popped a juicy olive in her mouth and chewed, watching him carefully, and when she’d swallowed, asked, “Are you mad at me?”
She’d lied by omission and had been poking around, researching something he found intensely personal. He should be annoyed. Strangely, he wasn’t.
“I’m grateful. That you researched it and came up with a strategy, and for Frank himself.” Frank looked up at his name, probably hoping for some cheese, and Nick ruffled the top of his head. “I think he’s already helping.”
She’d been right—it had been good to have someone else who needed him during the day when Harper was at work and Ellie was with her mother. He’d even taken to talking to him on their daily walk. Frank was a good listener.
They sat in companionable silence as they ate their picnic lunch and listened to the waterfall. When they were done, Harper lay back on the blanket, her hands behind her head, and Nick stretched out beside her, feeling surprisingly content.
“So now I’m wondering something,” she said, looking up at the clouds.
“It just so happens that delicious food and good company make me feel like sharing, too.”
“This place.” She waved an arm around to encompass their surroundings. “Tell me how you found it.”
Ah. He shouldn’t have been surprised she’d circled back around to the topic. After all, she was a lawyer. He braced himself and exposed a guarded part of his heart. “My dad brought me here. He said it was our place.”
She rolled to her side, her cheek resting on a palm. “Not Malcolm, too?”
“Our parents were always careful to let us do things together when we wanted, but to let us have our own experiences, too.”
“That’s a good tip for a mother-to-be of twins,” she said. “Why did he choose this spot for you and not Malcolm?”
Good question. In some ways it was such an obvious thing, but how to explain it?
“Malcolm was always more...social than me. He and our mother are two of a kind. Dad and I, on the other hand—” he glanced around at this place that had always been theirs “—well, we always craved a bit of space. Quiet space.”