Page 52 of The Romance Fiasco

She frowns.

“I came to these cottages a couple of times, helped sort myself out. At first, I thought other guys in my position could use them too. But then when I was riding here with Boo, the idea expanded. It could be a place where I match retired military dogs with vets. Veterans, not veterinarians. Though, one of those on staff would be essential.”

I flick my gaze to her, standing in a patch of sunlight across the room. Never have I seen something, someone, so perfect. Her eyes are bright, intent as she listens carefully to me.

She’s not the kind of woman to jump into something on a whim unless she thinks it’s a sure bet. I wonder how the rest of this conversation will go.

“The idea is it would be part retreat center, part doggy-vet love connection.”

Lally laughs, and it’s a delightful sound...I think.

“Is that a dumb idea?” I ask, second-guessing myself.

“No, I like the way you phrased that. A love connection.”

Our gazes flit past each other then back again.

“Dogs need to have a purpose, especially working dogs, whether they’re retired or didn’t quite meet qualifications. Veterans, after experiencing the brotherhood, need to as well, especially if they were wounded.”

“And some wounds aren’t visible.”

This time our gazes hold. Does she know? Could she?

“Exactly.”

“By creating bonds between the vets and the dogs, they could begin to rebuild trust in themselves and others. They could heal and eventually forge meaningful relationships with humans.” I’m thinking on the fly, but it’s like it all comes to me from somewhere else, a place just beyond my knowing.

“Granted, not all veterans need this kind of thing.”

“Of course not. Many that I know are strong, well adjusted. They have ironclad trust bonds, great relationships...”

“But others hide it. We’ve lost too many...” I trail off, thinking about the ones who’ve taken their own lives. Thinking of Sean.

Lally wraps her hands around mine and then squeezes—the one without the bloody knuckles.

My breath is sharp with surprise and fills with her coconut scent.

“Magnus, it’s an amazing idea. I’ll help however I can, in whatever ways you’d like me to.”

“Really? Do you think so? It’s not hair-brained?”

She shakes her head and gets out a pen and notebook. We jot down ideas with everything from how to obtain and adopt dogs, find matches and guys in need, to creating a retreat center where they could come, stay a week, learn how to take care of the K-9s, and experience the wild side of this island with snorkeling, fishing, and a camp-like experience without connectivity and modern conveniences—much like it was among us brothers downrange.

“My friends Catherine and Kellan adopted a military dog. And I know a woman who volunteers at Angel Ears Animal Shelter—she helped someone open a branch in the UK. I’ll see what I can find out about that side of things.”

“You handle the dog end. I’ll focus on the vets,” I say.

Lally holds out her hand to shake. “It’s a deal.”

Like when we first met, I slide my hand into hers. In movies or books, you hear about the fit being perfect—like a hand in a glove. Mine is much larger and rougher, but feeling her palm against mine, I get the whole baseball mitt analogy now. It fits. It belongs.

She sucks her lip in slightly and an entirely different idea than dogs and veterans comes to mind. Something more personal...

The flare inside builds. The red flag waves.

The battle is over. I want this woman. I want her to be mine. I’ve lost everything. At this point, I only stand to gain.

I shift to draw her closer, but sense eyes on me, us.

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