Page 53 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
And if I was honest with myself, that had everything to do with the man walking beside me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he belonged under these stars in ways I was only beginning to understand.
13
FOSTER
The past twoweeks had been a blur of stolen moments and sleepless nights. Of Tommy’s hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, and him whispering my name against my throat when he thought I was asleep.
Strictly physical, I’d said.
Well, fuck knew, we had the physical part down.
The “strictly” part wasn’t going quite as well for me. Not when my stomach somersaulted every time Tommy smiled at me from across the training yard, or a mountain trail, or a classroom. Not when I found myself holding him—fine, cuddlinghim—long after he fell asleep, just so I could spend a few more minutes inhaling the clean, citrus scent of his shampoo. Not when I’d had to stop myself multiple times from thinking, “Next summer, Tommy and I should…” as though another summer with him was a thing I might have.
But I wasn’t the only one suffering from my distraction. Chickie’s training had suffered, too.
And that stopped today.
“Come on, girl,” I called, clipping on her leash as she bounded toward me with her usual enthusiasm. “Time to actually learn something useful.”
I’d picked a secluded meadow at the outer edge of campus, far enough away that we wouldn’t be disturbed but close enough people could find us if we were needed. The morning sun slanted through the pine trees, warming the grass and creating perfect conditions for scent work.
Tommy appeared from our cabin, looking unfairly good in tactical pants and a fitted SERA T-shirt. “You sure you want me for this? I don’t know anything about dog training.”
“You don’t need to,” I said, trying to ignore the way his shirt pulled across his chest. “You’ll be the victim. Chickie needs to learn to track.”
“I can do that,” Tommy said, crouching down to let Chickie lick his face. “Hey there, girl. Ready to learn some new tricks?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. These past weeks had shown me a side of Tommy I hadn’t expected—playful, curious, completely lacking in ego about learning new things. He’d asked a dozen questions about search and rescue techniques, had practiced rope knots until his fingers were sore, and never once acted like his medical degree made him too important for other wilderness skills.
It was endearing as hell. And dangerous for my peace of mind.
“Alright, first lesson,” I said, pulling a plastic bag from mypack. “Scent articles. She needs to learn your specific scent, not just follow any human trail.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “How exactly do we do that?”
“By giving her something that smells like you.” I handed him the bag. “I stole the shirt you wore yesterday. Rub it on your hands, maybe your neck. The stronger the scent, the better.”
I watched as Tommy worked the fabric between his palms, then dragged it along his throat. The simple motion shouldn’t have been erotic, but the damned tease wanted to make an entire meal out of the thing.
“Like this?” he asked, batting his eyes with mock innocence.
I yanked it away from him and muttered, “I feel like I’m suddenly in a threesome with that shirt.”
For the first fifteen minutes, everything went smoothly. I walked Tommy through the basics. How to lay a scent trail by walking normally but letting the shirt drag the ground slightly behind him. Where to hide so Chickie would have to work to find him but not get frustrated. How to reward her with praise and treats when she succeeded.
The problem was that every lesson required me to touch him. Guiding his hands to show him the right angle for dragging the shirt. Crouching behind him to demonstrate how to move quietly through the underbrush. Standing close enough to smell his shampoo—that fucking delicious shampoo—while I explained the theory behind scent dispersal.
“Alright,” I said after Tommy had successfully laid his first practice trail. “Now, hide behind that fallen log, and let’s see if she can find you.”
Tommy jogged over to the designated spot while I held Chickie back, letting her get excited about the game. “Find Tommy,” I told her, releasing her leash.
What happened next was not tracking. It was a missile launch.
Chickie took off like she’d been shot from a cannon, completely ignoring the careful, meandering scent trail Tommy had laid and heading straight for his hiding spot. She didn’t pause to sniff or investigate—she just ran directly to him like she had GPS coordinates.
“Chickie,no!” I called, but it was too late.
She launched herself at Tommy, knocking him backward onto his ass and covering his face with enthusiastic licks before he could even attempt to make her sit and wait for her reward.
