Page 13 of Montana's Bravest

Against the warnings bubbling under my pores, I stop and brace myself to look into his eyes. The second time aroundshould be easy, but—Goddamn! The proverb ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ comes to life right in front of me. This man isn’t afraid to show emotions—his remorse, his care, and dare I say, affection? Whatever it is, I’m sucked into it.

I halt my steps. “No, I won’t. He’s just one hyper-enthusiastic dog.” I bite a smile, recalling Maximus’ coat against my chest and his gooey tongue attacking my face. “But you should keep a tighter leash on him. Next time he might not be so lucky.”

Admitting his lapse, he nods. I take that as my cue to leave this enigmatic man, whose path I doubt will cross mine again. I stride toward the front of the bar where I parked my car—and where Mr. Gray Diamond’s friend and the mutt in question are waiting.

“Ma’am.” He nods at me. Gosh, I can’t get over how young he looks. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry about the dog.”

“I’m fine. It’s no trouble.”

The baby-faced man catches the logo of The Thirsty Fox on my shirt. He then asks, “Are pets allowed here?”

I peer at Maximus, who’s sitting calmly, grinning as if he’s done a good job. Was the dog practicing catch-the-suspect with me earlier? Despite failing to present himself as a ‘good dog’ on first impression, I’m sure the mutt is well trained. And I wasn’t imagining it, his left front paw is missing. Observing his military-patterned collar, I ask, “Is he a service dog?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Gray Diamond says, taking over Maximus from his friend as he formally introduces his dog to me. “Staff Sergeant Maximus, U.S. Army, 1st Battalion, 25thInfantry Division.”

Maximus sits straight, his dark nozzle points right at me, his eyes focused.

I could be fired if my boss finds out, but rejecting a veteran is a crime—be it man or dog.

“Come on through, guys,” I usher the threesome inside as my mind races at a hundred miles an hour. “So, are you in the military too?”

“We were,” Mr. Gray Diamond responds.

As the pieces fall into place, I recognize them—not locals, but former military. And although these two men aren’t clad in suits, I’m adamant they are the heroes from the Noah Forbes rescue.

Still, I keep my cool. Running a bar means keeping it together, no room for getting swept up in the moment, let alone being star-struck. So I nod politely at the two men. “I thank you for your service,” I say, extending the same courtesy to Maximus with a gentle pat.

After what my mom and I went through, I’ve made a rule never to entangle my heart with a military man. Not that I will ever date Mr. Gray Diamond, but knowing that he’s no longer enlisted brings an irrational sense of relief—one that’s similar to the effect of finding out your celebrity crush is single again. Meaningless, but uplifting.

Lisa, who’s just served Charlie the Brit our Montana-famous cheeseburger, greets us. I say to her, “Could you take care of these gentlemen, please? And their canine companion?”

“Sure. I’ll get a bowl of water,” Lisa obliges even though her face says I shouldn’t have allowed the dog in.

“Bring out some of those beef meatballs for the doggie,” I add. Then I turn to my handsome guest. “It’s all organic. Your dog okay with that?”

“You bet.” He shoots me a joyful gaze, which I politely turn away from to avoid further catastrophe to my heart.

The band members are tuning their instruments and testing the sound system.

“Is your dog okay with live music?” I ask.

“What kind of music?”

Now that he’s seated, somehow the intensity in his gaze has mellowed. But I enter another predicament—the sight of his perfectly formed ass gracing the bar chair which, on any other day, is an ordinary piece of furniture.

“Pirate jazz,” I smirk, and he vanquishes me with a lopsided smile, telling me he knows that my eyes had been somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.

“Pirate jazz?” He turns his head to the stage, giving me a chance to breathe. Perhaps he knows I’m about to have a heart attack.

“Yeah. Jazz with a touch of the Caribbean.”

“Are you trying to turn Helena into Havana?” he quips.

I love Helena. With my fear of water, I’ll never wish for it to become a coastal city. “It’s just my boss’s choice of entertainment,” I respond.

“Well,” Mr. Gray Diamond plays with Maximus’ ears. “I’m pretty sure the dog prefers classical, but he’s got nothing against jazz.”

My lips form a grin. It feels unusually tight on my face—it could be mistaken for a pre-kiss pout. As the man moves his lips as if mimicking me, I remind myself of my daughter.

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