When Brody entered Darby’s home, Sheba raced to him and shoved her nose into his crotch.
“Whoa. A new addition?”
“Sheba. She was Dennis’s dog. Don’t worry. She’s harmless. Just wants to get to know you.”
“Lucky me.” Sheba cocked her head to the right, then left, when he spoke to her.
“Pretty, isn’t she?”
He grabbed both her ears and rubbed and scratched. Her head went back and her eyes narrowed.
“She likes that. Think you’ve made a friend.”
“I can tell.” He bent down and gave ear scratches to the rest of Darby’s four-pawed brood. “You’ve got your hands full.”
“Tell me about it.”
Brody did a causal walk-through of Darby’s home while she was busy putting away groceries, so it took her a while to realize he wasn’t in the kitchen helping.
As she watched him move down the hall she could see his military training. He stood straight and tall, and moved with purpose, triggering a flashback to her father that hit her like a ton of bricks He did the exact same thing every time they entered their home when she was a child. You can take the man out of the military, but you can rarely take the military out of the man. Her dad was always doing that—scanning his surroundings, noticing details most people didn’t see, looking for things out of place, people who didn’t fit.
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