There were so many of them. Everywhere Macayla looked out across the expansive grounds of Harmonie Kennels she saw clusters of men and women in uniform.
There were police officers and sheriffs’ deputies, state troopers, SWAT team members, and even firefighters, all in dress uniform. At the far end of the drive, a contingent of military people were emerging from a convoy of three Humvees. Many of them had K-9s in their arms or on leashes. Their alertness and responsiveness to their handlers signaled that these were professional K-9 teams.
Oliver had used words like small and intimate when describing the wedding he was inviting her to. Even so, she knew she’d feel out of place, especially among a tight group of friends. But he’d said that he wanted her to meet the most important people in his life. And who turned down a chance to meet the most important people in the life of someone you cared about?
He hadn’t said anything about a wedding that included military and law enforcement maneuvers.
Now he wasn’t even here to greet her.
She’d gotten a text when her flight arrived in Richmond, telling her that a last-minute problem had cropped up and he couldn’t meet her flight. But he’d arranged for a rental car for her, and left her instructions for the drive to Harmonie Kennels. He said he’d be back in time for the wedding. Great.
As she stood indecisively next to her rented car, a contingent of three walked by with the letters FBI emblazoned on their backs. They were all headed toward a grassy area at the far end of the pasture where rows of white chairs formed two semicircles around a gazebo decorated with grapevines and deep-red flowers she couldn’t recognize from this distance.
“Do you suppose the president is invited?” Macayla murmured under her breath as she cuddled her armful of Lab puppy. Security was tight enough.
The man at the gate had checked her credentials against his clipboard before offering her a smile. “Welcome, ma’am. Drive right through and park on the right wherever you find a place. Your packet contains all you need to know. Make yourself at home.” He ended that little speech with a snappy military-type salute. Now she understood why. She was the only civilian she’d seen so far.
The packet included a seat assignment for both the service and the reception.
After another soothing pat and kiss on his velvet-soft head, she tucked Pickle back into his carrier and adjusted the windows to be certain he had enough air. She’d decided on the name Pickle for no reason other than it made her smile, and he responded to it. But she wasn’t about to bring Pickle among the throng of shepherds, Malinois, and other large dogs strolling past. Even for Macayla, the sheer number and assortment of law enforcement personnel was intimidating. Poor little Pickle would be terrified of that alpha-dog K-9 gathering.
The day was warmish but not hot. It was safe for a dog in a car parked in the shade, as long as she kept checking on him.
Macayla blew out her breath as she joined the crowd walking in the direction of the gazebo. But her gaze kept straying to the old farmhouse, in pristine shape, and its surroundings tucked into the river valley of the Shenandoah Mountains. So this was the famed kennel. Even she knew a bit about it.
She’d been amazed when Oliver first told her who his best friend was marrying. Harmonie Kennels and Yardley Summers, the bride and part owner of the kennels, were K-9 legends. You didn’t have to be a K-9 handler to know the name Yardley Summers. She even appeared on TV from time to time when an expert on K-9 teams was needed.
In the male-dominated field of K-9 law enforcement, Yardley Summers was both an enigma and a rock star. Rumor tagged her as everything from retired Special Ops to a sometimes still-operative spook. Oliver said she never admitted to any of that. But what she did have was access to the highest echelons of both the political and military arenas. One of the top K-9 law enforcement training facilities in the country, the business had been run for the past year by her half brother, Law Battise.
Macayla glanced around, hoping for a glimpse of her missing man friend. All she saw were groups of men who looked like they could be models in K-9 recruitment advertisements. Was it a requirement to be hot to be a K-9 officer? It sure seemed like it, if this was a representative sample. Oliver fit right in. As much as a man of his size and outrageous sexiness could. She’d bet a week’s salary he sported the only man bun at the wedding.
That thought made her laugh out loud as she passed a group who smiled back at her in a totally appreciative male way that made her aware in every cell of her body that she was female. Wow. Just wow. She smiled but kept moving.
Walking more quickly, she passed buildings marked CLASSROOMS, BUNKHOUSE, and GYM. The sprawling facility included a dining hall, a series of canine training suites, and, farther on, barracks for handlers. Finally she passed the temperature-controlled low-roofed barn that served as the accommodation for the animals Harmonie Kennels bought and/or trained for law enforcement and the military.
No one seemed to be about so Macayla tried a door. It was unlocked; she stepped inside. Almost immediately she realized her mistake.
A woman stood just inside. She turned on Macayla with an expression that was anything but inviting.
“Who are you?”
Macayla stopped short. At five foot nine with long dark-red mahogany tresses and coal-black eyes, Yardley Summers was instantly recognizable though Macayla had only seen pictures of her. At the moment, her long-legged curviness was mostly hidden beneath military fatigues and a windbreaker. Still, there was no mistaking her for anyone else.
“You must be Yardley Summers. I’m Macayla.” She held out her hand.
The taller woman didn’t bother to shake hands. “What are you doing in my kennels?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know this area was off limits.”
The woman folded her arms, giving Macayla a drill sergeant’s penetrating stare. “I asked what you’re doing here.”
“I’m a guest at your wedding. Oliver Kelly invited me. He’s not here and I don’t know anyone so I just thought I’d look about. A bit.” Macayla’s smile faltered. Clearly she’d breached some rule of kennel etiquette. “I’ll just be going.”
“Not necessary. I know who you are.” Yardley smirked. “The Pet Detective.”
Ouch. Macayla felt her face burn with the snark the woman had put on her profession. During the past weeks, the media had put every kind of spin imaginable on the story of a “cute” and “wacky” Pet Detective who’d broken the case of a wealthy philanthropist couple who’d committed murder. Some had dredged up her past as a heroine who once took a bullet while protecting a child. The result was that the notoriety made it impossible for her to continue working in the field for Jefferina. A PI who couldn’t be anonymous on the job wasn’t worth much. She’d been basically unemployed for several weeks.
Yardley was still eyeing her as though she were a perspective canine for purchase who didn’t meet her standards. “So you’re Oliver’s girlfriend.”
Macayla pulled herself together. No one got to talk to her as if she were a mongrel. “Oliver and I aren’t really in a formal relationship. Early days and all that.”
Yardley shrugged. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I didn’t mean to bother you. Honestly, I thought I’d chat with the dogs. But I’ll just leave.”
“No need. I’m checking on that Dutch Shepherd.” She pointed to a nearby crate. Though crate was a stingy name for the six-by-eight-foot area each of the dogs inhabited alone. “You know dogs. See anything unusual about him?”
Macayla moved closer, watching as the dog with a rough salt-and-pepper coat rose and came to the front of the crate to be petted. She frowned as she watched him move. “It appears that he’s got a strained ligament in his right hind leg. It’s not bad enough that he’s limping but he’s not placing as much weight on it as the other three limbs. He should see a vet before he does more injury and goes lame.”
Yardley’s expression didn’t change, so Mac wasn’t certain what the trainer thought of her remarks. “Any other dog catch your eye?”
Macayla looked around, taking her time as she walked between cages. She moved quickly over to the one containing Jackeroo. “Hey, big fella. Where’s your lesser half?”
He barked in greeting, a bright happy sound of recognition. She reached through the bars and gave the Australian Shepherd a scritch but she didn’t linger there. She wasn’t certain why she was being tested but she knew she was. So she moved on.
“This guy over here.” She paused and pointed to a midsized dog with a thick yellowish-gray coat, pointed snout, erect ears, and the white face mask of a wolf. “He seems pretty unhappy about something. Anxious is maybe a better word. He—” She broke off and turned back to her interrogator. “Listen to me. Telling you about dogs. How arrogant is that?”
“He’s a Czech wolf dog. Ever see one before?”
“No.” Macayla shrugged. “Do you know who he belongs to?”
“Yes. Me.”
“Oh. Well. Hm. Put both feet in my mouth and chewed, didn’t I?”
“I know Oleg is unhappy but I’m not sure why.”
“I’d guess that he’s frustrated. Lots of changes going on. New people. Travel.”
Yardley’s expression soured. “Oleg and I do search and rescue for a living. He’s always traveling and meeting new people.”
“Okay then.” Macayla tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her sound even more idiotic. “Have there been any unusual upheavals in his life lately?”
Yardley came over and put her fingers through the wire, but Oleg backed up and sat down. “You mean other than the fact that his handler is three months’ pregnant, about to get married, and terrified of screwing up her marriage and her child?”
“Ah.” Macayla smiled. “That would be enough to upset your pack.”
Yardley wheeled away from the cage. “This is my brother’s fault. All these people and all this fuss.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the land beyond the windows. “This is payback for me trying to run his life a while back when he was in a bad way. I told him that all I wanted was a small wedding with maybe six to ten people. Law, that’s my brother, invited the horde you see here tearing up the grass.”
“Yes, I can see why you’d hate having lots of friends witness your wedding to the man you love above all others.” Macayla couldn’t stop herself. “Has your brother always been a bully?”
Yardley’s eyes narrowed. “Law’s not a bully. He’s a good brother. If not for him, Kye and I—” She paused and gave Mac a knowing glance. “You always speak your mind?”
“Probably too often. Not my most attractive feature.”
“A trait we share.” Yardley nearly smiled. “What do you recommend I do about Oleg?”
“You’re going to think I’m wacky.”
“I already figured out you’re not Oliver’s usual type.”
Macayla decided not to ask. But, oh, it was tempting. “I’d recommend a doggy massage.”
“Dog massage. You do them, of course.”
“Yes, but usually on more docile animals, pets. And I’ve given them a bath and trimmed their nails before we get that intimate.”
Yardley laughed at last. “You’re an unusual woman. What if I hold him, are you game for a little physical therapy on my dog?”
Macayla glanced at the imposing wolf dog, whose yellow eyes were watching her every move. She could almost swear he understood her every word. Spooky. “Do you have time? With the wedding to get ready for?”
Yardley shrugged. “Oleg’s supposed walk down the aisle with Law and me. If he takes a chunk out of a guest that will be bad.”
“Okay. But I suppose I should try to get in touch with Oliver again first.”
“You can’t. I sent him to Richmond for last-minute items. Best man duties and all that. For some reason he’s not answering his phone. Probably because the bachelor party ran on until sunrise, and he’s pissed I mustered him out after two hours’ sleep. Or his phone died because he forgot to plug it in. I usually wouldn’t mind his giving me attitude but he almost always forgets at least one thing on the lists I give him. And it’s important he gets it all today.”
“He’s got a pretty good memory. Maybe if you just read him the list.”
Yardley slanted a long look at Macayla. “You know, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She wasn’t about to admit she knew about Oliver’s dyslexia when she was pretty certain he’d told her that none of his colleagues knew. But maybe they did, and respected his privacy by not asking him about it.
Yardley stared at her until she was ready to scratch. “Loyal, too. I’m liking you better and better, Macayla Burkett. Oliver’s never brought a girl home before.”
Macayla gave her a vague noncommittal look—annoyed by the term girl—and then quickly shifted her gaze away out the window.
Yardley followed her gaze. “Oh, look. Kelly’s back.”
As Macayla headed for the exit, Yardley spoke again. “I know I’m being a misery. The third month of pregnancy is making me crazier than usual.”
Macayla turned back. “I can imagine there are a lot of stresses in your life today. Even if they are happy ones.”
She nodded. “You don’t have to say yes. But would you consider trying a massage on Oleg?”
There was a funny mix of hope and expectation of rejection on Yardley’s face. Macayla couldn’t help but wonder about what life had done to this strong woman to prepare her to be disappointed.
“I’m game.” She looked down at her dress and heels. “Got a place where I can change?”
* * *
An hour and a half later, Macayla found a seat near the back row of semicircular chairs next to a pretty woman with dark hair who cradled a baby as everyone prepared for the ceremony to begin. She’d seen Oliver only briefly and from a distance when she went to feed, water, and walk Pickle. He’d merely waved at her, his height and beard making him a standout among standouts. Disappointed by his lack of welcome, even if he was on call as best man, she had decided to simply pretend she was on her own.
She introduced herself to her seat mate. The mother was a police officer, Cole Jamison Lucca. And the three-month-old in her arms was named Gabriel John Lucca, after his father’s father and brother, his mother explained.
Macayla cooed at the happy bundle with deep-blue eyes and thick dark hair. “He’s gorgeous. Of course, that seems to be a requirement for men in this crowd.”
Cole gave her a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you noticed?” She glanced about for a prime example. She didn’t have to look far. One was striding toward her. Lean of body and dark-haired, the man gave off the kind of suppressed sexual energy that women craved and other men envied. Though he was dressed nicely, something about him seemed a bit dangerous and wild. Maybe it was the expression on his face, like he’d seen something that he intended to make his. A little astonished by her assessment, Macayla turned back to Cole and pointed discreetly. “For instance, who the heck is that?”
The woman looked up and her face lit up like a switch had been flipped. “Oh, that’s just my husband, Scott.”
Macayla nodded. Just Scott. Of course he was.
She barely glanced up when the man said, “Excuse me,” as he stepped past her to sit next to Cole and her baby. He kissed his wife quickly and then bent to brush his lips over the top of the baby’s head before leaning past his family to say, “Hi, I’m Scott Lucca. And you are?”
“Macayla.”
He shook her hand, an experience she thought she should not think was so singular. More than ever, she wished Oliver was sitting beside her.
The procession music, provided by a flutist and a drummer, was hauntingly sweet. The groom, a handsome man of Polynesian heritage, and Oliver, both looking heartbreakingly handsome in matching cream linen shirts and trousers with a lei around each of their necks, moved into position at the front of the gazebo.
Macayla turned in her seat to see only one bridesmaid, a woman with a nimbus of bright red-gold curls leading the procession. She wore a sage-green dress and carried a bouquet of autumn flowers.
Next came Yardley. She wore a gown of simple cream buckskin with fringe falling from the sleeves, the bodice, and the uneven hem. The butter-soft leather draped over her body in a flattering silhouette. Her long hair was parted in the middle and fell over her shoulders like a dark-red waterfall. The ends were tied with matching leather strips. Her only jewelry was a collar of jade turquoise and bone from which hung a pendant made of mother-of-pearl, turquoise, and shiny black feathers.
Beside her on her left Oleg walked easily on his leash. Her brother Law accompanied her on her right. It was easy to believe they were related. Tall and oh so handsome, he shared not so much his sister’s features as her easy and confident way of walking. Oliver said he’d lost a leg in Afghanistan. She could not tell by his walk today.
The sweet fall air was soon laced with the odors of cedar and smoky burning sage as the celebration began with a smudging to rid the service of bad spirits and create a place for new beginnings. The couple made their vows in whispers, holding an eagle feather in their left hands. Macayla didn’t know the significance of each part of the ceremony but it was clear by the time the couple was wrapped in a ceremonial blanket for the final blessing that these acts held a great deal of meaning for them. It was beautiful. Simple. And her eyes were no longer dry.
She tried to catch Oliver’s gaze as the wedding party walked back down the carpet rolled out in the grass, but he didn’t return her smile because the redhead on his arm had attracted his attention by leaning in against him with easy familiarity and pressed her hand against his chest as she whispered things only he could hear. The laughter that erupted from him seemed much too intimate for Macayla’s peace of mind.
Her temper flared and she looked quickly away. Everyone here seemed to know everyone else. Was the redhead an old girlfriend? A former fling? Competition?
Mulling that over, she went back to the car to check on Pickle while the wedding photos were being taken.
Those questions were still very much on her mind when she had made her way to the open-sided tent where the reception had been laid. It was dark now, twilight where the tent glowed like a lantern from the many twinkle lights.
“Finally.” She was snared by the waist and pulled in close by Oliver, who’d been standing just inside the entry waiting for her. He caught her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a thorough kiss, long and deep and very personal. When he pulled back he was grinning that Aussie grin she’d learned to love. “Crikey. I thought I’d never get a chance to do that.”
“You’ve been busy, I see.” She glanced deliberately at the redhead standing nearby, who was now talking to a man who looked very unhappy.
Either Oliver didn’t catch her glance or he chose to ignore it. “Remind me to elope. I never want this much to-do on my account. Ever.”
Oliver held on to her waist as he steered her toward one of the tables at the front of the tent. “You met Yardley, I hear.”
“Yes.” Macayla hesitated. “I went into the kennels without asking. She wasn’t happy about that. Did she tell you?”
He glanced at her. “I heard nothing about that. She likes you.”
“How do you know?”
“She told Kye that you were a show-off know-it-all and that BARKS should talk you into coming to Hawaii to see our search-and-rescue setup. We’re in need of a stress relief program for our SAR K-9s, and you’re good with dogs.”
Macayla brightened. “Yardley Summers said I’m good with dogs?”
“I know. There’s no higher compliment. So you’ll think about it?”
“I’ll think about.” But she pulled back as he was about to pull out a chair for her. “Dance?”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
She went easily into his arms, and he seemed at ease on the floor, moving them together to a slow country tune she couldn’t remember the words to but could hum along with anyway. Yet she couldn’t concentrate on being happy. Being a woman, there was a question she needed to ask. “I saw you flirting with the maid of honor.”
He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright with the reflected light of the hundreds of tiny lights strung in the ceiling of the tent. “Who?”
Macayla nodded toward the curly redhead, who’d moved onto the dance floor with a hunk who had FBI stenciled across the shoulders of the jacket he wore.
“Oh, that’s just Georgiana. And to be correct, she was flirting with me. She and Brad, the guy she’s dancing with, are an on-and-off thing. Mostly because they keep winding up on the opposite sides of the law. She’s a photojournalist who takes on some hairy assignments. Just happened again. She took a case he asked her not to. So he walked out. She’s determined to get him back, on her terms.”
“Just as long as you’re not one of those terms.”
He grinned. “Jealous?”
“I don’t know. Never had the feeling before. Does wanting to snatch her glorious red hair out by the roots sound like jealousy?”
“It’ll do.” He leaned in close and kissed her behind an ear. “Just so you know, I’ve made it known I’m in a relationship.”
Macayla leaned away from him and gave him a look. “With whom?” But she couldn’t keep a big fat smile from appearing on her face. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
“The way you look at me, I’d have to be made of asbestos not to feel the heat.”
Macayla blushed. “Definitely arrogant.”
He slid a hand tighter around her waist and drew her in against him. “So, are you coming to Hawaii?”
“When I can afford a ticket.”
“Still hung up on earning your own way.”
“Always have. Always will.”
“What if I gave you some opportunities to earn that tick—”
Macayla cut him off by reaching up and tugging his head down until her inviting mouth found his. It was all the encouragement he needed to stop dancing as he deepened the kiss and lifted her up against him.
“Get a room!”
Startled, they looked around to find Kye, the groom, shaking his head at them in mock disgust. “Trust an Aussie to try to steal the thunder from his best friend’s wedding.”
Oliver glanced down at Macayla, a playful smile on his lips. “Did I ever confess that I actually did strip for a living? Just one summer.”
Macayla shook her head. “Oh no. I fell for that once.”
“Because I’ve been practicing some of my old moves just to impress you.”
She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He noticed immediately. He took her hand. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
They left the light and music and laughter under the tent, and walked until they were secluded in shadow under a tree near the edge of the woods. Only then did he turn to her and pull her into his arms. One hand firmly on her waist, he brushed his free hand slowly over her head until he cupped her chin. “I know I tease a lot. I’m not good at being serious. But what you did today, coming here for me, it means a lot.”
Macayla smiled. “Glad to be of service.”
He frowned. “Don’t. Don’t make light of it. Always before, when I liked a woman, it was always about the sex. This is different. I don’t know how to be what I want to be around you. But I’m trying.”
“What are you trying to be?”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Someone you’d like to keep seeing. Outside the bedroom.”
“You don’t have to try, Oliver. You had me at g’day.”
He leaned back to try to catch her expression in the dark. “I never say g’day.”
Macayla just smiled. Then she rose up on tiptoe in her very high heels and kissed him like her world and his depended on it being the very best kiss in the whole wide world.
And judging by the feelings spiraling up through her, it was that good.