Crystal-clear water lit by sunrays that cut the surface. I float weightless among colorful fish, shimmering in lazy patterns. Tiny disruptions chop the waves. Bullets pierce the calm area where I float. The fish jerk and scatter. Concussions of rapid fire surround me. Fear of being struck freezes me immobile. A torturous bang rattles my brain then I sink toward the depths…

A warm, wet lick slurped from his nose to his ear. Throwing off the sheet, Beck sat upright in his bed and drew the back of a hand across his stubbled cheek. His heart thundered in his chest. “Ugh.” He pried open his eyes and glanced at the German Shepherd, bracing front paws on the mattress edge. “King, sitta.”

The dog dropped to all fours on the carpeted floor before lowering onto his haunches, gaze glued to the man in bed.

Beck ran a hand over his face then squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. Damn, overslept again. Sleeping with his undamaged ear buried in the pillow meant he heard almost nothing, maybe ten percent of any exterior noise. The diagnosis was hard to digest, and he clung to the hope his hearing would return.

With a whine, King scratched a paw on the mattress.

“Yeah, right. I’m up.” Beck shoved to his feet, grabbed a pair of camo pants from where he’d dropped them the night before, and pulled them over his hips. King was a couple hours past due for being outside. As soon as Beck opened the bedroom door, he smelled brewed coffee. His roommate and landlord, Tag, must be up and about.

King remained right where he’d settled, ears pointed forward.

The training continued, even if he and King didn’t have specific tasks. “King, fri.” Beck stood to the side, watching the Shepherd scamper from the room. Then he walked to the kitchen and checked the yard to make sure Tag wasn’t running a dog training class before opening the back door.

King shot outside and raced to lift a leg on the nearest fence post.

Yawning, Beck tipped back his head and gazed at the blue sky marked by a handful of clumpy clouds. Sure never saw views of rugged mountains on the horizon in the Nebraska corn fields where he’d grown up.

The warming morning air felt good on his skin. He scratched a hand across his bare chest, fingers lingering over the rough scar above his right pec. Another souvenir from the team’s last mission. Four months earlier, when he’d been medically discharged from the army due to profound hearing loss, he hadn’t known where to go. Or what he’d do after almost a decade in the military, the last four years working with bomb-sniffing dogs.

A phone call from Tag Redmond, a Ranger he’d gone through military dog handler training with, had provided a roof over his head and a possible way back into civilian life. Tag had convinced Hank Patterson, his boss at Brotherhood Protectors, that ex-military dogs would be a great addition to the private security service. Especially canines with explosive-sniffing abilities.

Problem was, now that Beck and King had been here in Eagle Rock, Montana, for a couple months, he couldn’t get King to reengage in tracking work. He and Tag had worked King through the drills they’d learned at Lackland Air Force Base, but King wouldn’t budge from Beck’s side.

Beck moved to the counter and reached down a ceramic mug for his first cup of coffee. Before taking a sip, he angled his head in all directions, listening. No sounds came from any other part of the house. Wonder where Tag is today. Probably somewhere with his lady, Malin.

Thirty minutes later, Beck jogged in the forest at the back side of Tag’s property. The late August air was hot enough to raise a sweat on his exposed shoulders. King followed close at his heels, and they moved under a canopy of red cedar, larch, and pine trees. Running without a thirty-pound pack on his back still felt strange. But a daily run at almost five thousand feet elevation taxed his body in different ways.

Ahead, a jackrabbit dashed under a honeysuckle bush.

King sprang after the animal, burying his nose deep into the pink and white flowers on the shrub. “Ai-aiyee!” The shepherd howled and rolled on the ground, rubbing a paw over his muzzle.

After a moment of staring, slack-jawed, at his dog who’d broke all training protocols, Beck ran close and dropped to his knees. He rested a hand on King’s shoulder. Angry bees buzzed, and he stilled, waiting for them to settle. Already, the skin along King’s lip had puffed. Beck stood and snapped his fingers. “King, häl. Komma.” He trained with Swedish commands so King would mind only him in the worst and most dangerous situations. He dug out his cell phone from his shorts pocket. “King, häl.”

Head low, King complied and trotted behind.

As he fast walked, he punched words into the keyboard then scrolled through the listings, looking for a local address for a veterinarian who handled walk-ins. Dr. Whitaker listed by appointment only. Gallatin Animal Hospital was more than twenty miles away. Crazy Mountain Rescue, just outside of Eagle Rock, handled emergencies. That’s the one. After a ruffle of King’s ears, he grabbed jeans and a T-shirt before heading into the bathroom to rinse off the sweat and grime.

When Beck loaded his dog into his pick-up, he noticed King kept shaking his head. On the road heading south out of Eagle Rock, he barely kept under the speed limit. Thankfully, the rescue facility was easy enough to find. A gray, two-story farmhouse sat a hundred feet or so off the road with white-painted rail fencing marking the border of a big back yard. Colorful curtains on an upstairs window indicated the vet probably lived on premises.

Beck clipped a lead onto King’s collar then led him through the front door into what once must have been the living room. A hallway disappeared down the left exterior wall, and two doors were positioned about eight feet apart along the wall behind the reception area. The silhouette of a cat adorned one door with a dog on the other.

“Hello. How can I help you?” A dark blonde-haired woman wearing a pink shirt printed with dogs and cats spoke from behind a short counter.

On a shelf behind her, a bird with a bandaged wing sat at the bottom of a cage.

“My dog suffered bee stings. I don’t know how many but his lip is swelling fast.” Beck leaned his right elbow on the counter, made eye contact with his dog, and pointed to the ground next to his feet. “I need the doctor to take a look.”

Brow wrinkled, King sat and watched him, head tilted. At this point, the lip on his right side swelled enough to expose the tips of his teeth. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth.

Beck couldn’t be sure, but he thought his dog’s breathing sounded raspier.

“I know you haven’t been here before, or I’d have remembered.” As she handed him a clipboard, she flashed a dimpled smile.

Beck focused on the printed form so he didn’t have to acknowledge the interest he heard in her voice. Until he got his life in order, he had no intention of dating. Only with great effort did he keep from making sure the hair over the top of his left ear covered the hearing aid he wasn’t yet used to wearing. “Yep, I’m new in the area.”

He grabbed a pen from the cup on the counter and walked over to a plastic chair. Damn, he should have collected King’s shot record from their discharge papers. From memory, he filled out what he could then double-checked his phone for Tag’s number to list as emergency contact.

After returning the clipboard, he walked the perimeter of the small space. On the wall hung photos of a dark-haired, smiling woman with several species of animals, including a goat, a lamb, a couple horses, and a multitude of dogs and cats. In each photo, she touched the animal with what looked like a caring hand. He imagined strokes bestowed by those long fingers being languid and soothing.

“Mr. Gunnar, bring King this way, please.”

He nodded, stooped to collect King’s lead, and led him to where the assistant stood next to a scale.

“Have King step on the platform.”

Beck followed her direction, gave the hand signal for sit. “Huh, he’s lost five pounds since our last weigh-in.” Another sign his canine buddy wasn’t back to his old self.

“Okay, I’ll note that for the doc.” She waved a hand toward the dog-designated door. “Right through here. Dr. Orestes will be with you shortly.”

As he walked them into a small examination room, Beck noted the pressure of King’s shoulder on his calf. He settled into a chair and dropped the lead, listening to the dog’s heavy breathing. That sound is not normal.

King belly-crawled to work his way under an adjoining chair and positioned himself between Beck’s shoes, facing outward.

Not an easy feat for a seventy-pound dog. When the team had traveled to missions—in planes, helicopters, trucks, or cars—King was trained to stay close. Often, having the canine between the handler’s feet was the best way to keep the dog safe. Resting his elbows on his knees, Beck let his fingers dangle and sift through King’s thick brown-and-black fur. On the opposite wall hung a framed certificate…probably a license. A diagonal crack ran through the glass. Odd. Everything else about the room was in neat order.

The door whooshed open, and in walked the slim woman from the photos, her wavy hair pulled into a high ponytail. “Hello, Mr. Gunnar. I’m Dr. Orestes.” She stopped at the edge of the metal examination table and extended a hand, her gaze flicking between the room’s occupants.

The lady vet was even better-looking in person. Her dark eyes sparkled as she smiled at the man and dog team. He shot to his feet and clasped her hand. “Call me Beck.” The firmness of her handshake surprised him, and the warmth of her touch proved hard to ignore. He stared, noting crinkles at the edges of her eyes that evidenced time spent outdoors.

“Now, where did this big beautiful guy get stung?” The doctor squatted, her attention on the hiding dog.

Beck inched to the side, unsure if he should command King to heel or if the doctor expected to forge her own relationship.

“You poor baby. Your swollen lip looks painful.” She reached out a hand, fingertips down, and waited. When she got no response, she sat cross-legged opposite the dog.

Crooning, she complimented King on his amber eyes, muscular frame, and thick fur. Nonsense statements that had nothing to do with determining his ailment, but her calm tone permeated the air. Beck was just about ready to follow her anywhere.

King belly-crawled from his spot and rested his jaw on her knee. His reward was an ear scratch.

Slowly, she slipped a stethoscope from around her neck and pressed the silver disk against his rib cage. Angling her elbow upward, she glanced at her watch while still cupping fingers around his ear. “Hmm. I don’t like the sound of his breathing.”

So, he had been right. Beck forgot all about her soothing voice and pretty face. “What’s wrong?” He dropped down to one knee and scratched his fingers along King’s belly.

“Just like people, some animals are sensitive to bee venom. An intravenous antihistamine infusion will combat any constriction in his airway.” As she explained, she ran her fingers through the fur along King’s throat.

The dog relaxed enough to lie on his side, still panting.

Infusion. His gut clenched. Needles. “Sure, no problem.”

“I’ll want to observe him overnight.”

“Whatever’s necessary.” Better you than me. He’d endured the requisite vaccinations and immunizations determined by the locations where his team might have been sent. But he always dreaded the experiences.

“Excuse me.” The doctor unclipped a walkie-talkie from her waistband and gave several precise instructions.

Almost before he knew what was happening, Beck watched a stocky male attendant slide a noose-like loop over King’s head and lead him through the back door.

Beck stood, staring at the spot where his buddy disappeared. King didn’t even glance back. Poor dog must be hurting more than Beck imagined. The pair hadn’t been apart since Beck’s hospital discharge. Not hearing the click of King’s nails or feeling his weight against his leg disconcerted him.

“Will that time be convenient?” The doctor cocked her head, her brows pinched.

“Sorry, what?”

“One o’clock for a pick-up time.” She smiled. “I realize you probably weren’t expecting to leave him here, Mr. Gunnar.”

“Beck, please.” Something about this woman drew him. He hoped she’d take the hint to become better acquainted on a more personal basis.

“Only if you call me Danae.”

The name sounded as elegant and different as she appeared with her olive skin and dark wavy hair. “You’re right, Danae. I thought you’d give me some pills I’d have to hide in his food.” He ran a hand down his face and looked to the side, afraid if he kept staring into her compassionate eyes he might start bawling. His gaze caught on the cracked certificate. “I could replace that glass, you know.”

“Oh, no.” Smiling, she shook her head. “I leave that hanging like my badge of courage. Or stupidity, I haven’t decided which one.”

“Gotta be a story there.”

“That’s my reminder not to underestimate the power of a wounded animal. On my first day, a client brought in a Great Dane with a tooth ache. I made the mistake of touching its face before restraining it and got knocked against the wall.”

Her self-effacing tone relaxed him, and he returned her smile. He admired those individuals who admitted their mistakes.

A phone trilled.

Danae lifted a cell phone from her scrubs pocket and swiped a finger along the screen without glancing at it. “Hello, Dr. Orestes speaking.” Her dark eyebrows bunched, and she angled her body toward the opposite wall.

If Beck hadn’t been studying the intriguing woman, he might not have noticed the subtle signs of distress--whitened knuckles, a hitch in her breathing, shoulders inching closer to her ears. He stiffened, his gaze narrowing on her tight expression.

“You are mistaken…I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please do not call again.” After punching a finger at the screen, she jammed the phone toward her back pocket and missed.

“Is everything all right?”

A second passed before she took a deep breath and succeeded in replacing her phone. “Just a crank call.”

Bullshit. “Really?” What made someone who had been so open and easygoing a moment ago just shut down?

She reached to a breast pocket for a pen, but her hand shook. “Uh huh.” She flipped open the file folder and moved to the back counter to jot notes. Her left foot bounced against the vinyl floor.

All his senses were on alert. The lady doctor was really bothered. He stepped close, so she couldn’t ignore him in her peripheral vision. Instinct told him he had the skills to help. Pride told him he might be the only one who could. Ego told him he wanted her calling him a big beautiful guy. “Tell me the truth.”