A Christmas Call of Duty (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Colt

W hat are the odds that the first woman to catch my eye in six years used to date my brother? Way to go, Ralston. You finally meet the girl of your dreams, and already, she hates your guts.

I read the badge on her nameplate as she bustles around the clinic, and quickly notice how nothing about Dr. Shay Mason is average. First of all, she makes my five-foot-nine height feel like a six-foot-four. People would be surprised by how many women discount guys like me because of height. Not to mention how stunning she is. Long blonde hair. Sun-tanned skin. Oh, man… and those eyes. Even if they're a close resemblance to the icy daggers she keeps shooting my way, a man could drown in those pools of blue.

Something tugs at my chest when I see her slide out a small stool from behind the reception area to reach a jar of dog treats on the shelf. I smile, despite myself, and she turns just in time to catch me in the act. I straighten my shoulders, a habit ingrained from years of military service. I can’t change Shay’s past, but I can control how I handle our current situation. And right now, that means finding a way to show her I'm not the enemy she thinks I am.

"Anything I can do to help?" I offer, keeping my tone light and friendly. Her eyes narrow, and I add, "Not that I think you need it."

Her lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile but is fighting it. It's not much, but I'll take it. After all, I didn't survive eight years in the military by giving up easily. This night might be a disaster, but if there's one thing I know, it's how to navigate dangerous terrain.

As the wind outside begins to howl, Shay glances nervously at the front door, then back at me. "Sure. Think you can help secure the windows?"

I nod and follow her lead, hyper-aware of how close we are in the narrow hallway. The scent of her shampoo—something warm and flowery—wafts toward me, and I'm intoxicated. Easy, Ralston. Don't be one of those creeps who goes around sniffing a woman’s hair without her permission.

As we check each room, Shay keeps a careful distance. It's like I'm a bomb that might go off at any moment. It stings, but I get it. Whatever Zane did, it must have left some deep scars. We're in the last room, and our hands brush when we reach for the window latch at the same time. Shay jerks back like she's been burned, and I instantly miss the warmth of her skin against mine.

"Sorry," we both mutter under our breaths. Our eyes meet. And for a split second, I see something in her flicker. Something that isn't entirely hostile. But then it's gone, replaced by her now-familiar scowl.

I clear my throat, desperate to break the tension. "So, uh, any other battening down of hatches we need to do?"

Shay raises an eyebrow at my choice of words but then nods. "We should gather some emergency supplies in case we lose power."

I nod again, following her to a small supply closet in the back with my senses on high alert. The lights flicker, and I instinctively move closer to her, ready to shield her if necessary. She tenses, and I step back, remembering she's not exactly thrilled to be here. Especially with me. "Sorry. Force of habit."

She rolls her eyes, then turns to reach for a flashlight on one of the higher shelves. When she stretches, her scrub top rides up just enough to reveal a small tattoo on her lower back. It looks like... a paw print? Interesting.

"Here." I reach over her, easily grabbing the flashlight, then hand it to her. Our fingers brush again, but she doesn't pull away as fast this time.

Now is when I start to notice the little things that make her so adorable. Like the way she bites her lower lip when she's concentrating. And how her hands move with practiced efficiency. There's a quiet strength about her that I find incredibly attractive. Speaking of strength, she looks like she's packing some serious muscle under those scrubs. I better be on my best behavior unless I want to learn firsthand what her right hook to my face feels like.

The lights flicker again, and everything goes dark. I hear Shay take a sharp breath.

"Don’t worry, I've got it." I fumble with the flashlight, then click it on, lighting up her face. For a moment, her guard is down, and I catch a look of vulnerability in her eyes. A look that makes me want to wrap her in my arms until she feels safe.

"We should hurry. I want to go check on the animals," she says, her eyes breaking away from mine. She rummages around for another moment while I hold the light, then passes me a stack of heavy blankets while she fishes out an old oil lamp.

I nod, leading the way toward the waiting room. The need to protect her feels stronger than ever, even though I know she's more than capable of handling herself. Back in the lobby, I set up a makeshift camp while Shay checks on Jack. She’s so gentle with him. A stark contrast to the walls she keeps up around me. Then again, I guess I can relate, seeing how I prefer dogs over most people, too.

Once we're settled, Shay gets cozy under her blanket on the couch while her cat, Brandon, curls up at her feet. The tension in the room still feels heavy, but there's a strange comfort in sharing the space with her.

“So, um, how long have you been a vet?” I ask, hoping to break the ice between us. The room is dark, and her surprised glance in the dim light of the lamp catches me off guard.

“About three years now,” she replies, brushing a long strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve always loved animals. Sometimes I think they’re easier to understand than people.”

“I get that. It’s one of the reasons I chose to work with K-9s. The bond with them is incredible.”

I watch confusion spread across her pretty face. “K-9s? I thought you said you were military."

“Army. And I did. But you never asked what my job was. I'm a K-9 handler. So, most of my work revolves around them." The energy in the room shifts, and I feel some of the tension between us fade in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

"That's... not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I ask, feeling my smile grow wider.

She shrugs, pulling her blanket tighter. "I don't know. Infantry? Special ops? Something more like... G.I. Joe, I guess."

I can't help but chuckle at the stereotype. "Sorry to disappoint. But trust me, I see just as much action working with dogs."

"How long have you been doing it?" she asks, her voice sounding more curious and less edgy.

"About six years now. Started at Fort Carson in Colorado, then put in for a transfer to Fort Drum last year after my dad retired." I debate whether I should mention how I’m planning to get out in the next year. But a part of me is still afraid to admit it to myself, let alone to the bombshell veterinarian who knows my brother.

"So, if all your family's here, how come I've never seen you around?" Her next question comes out sounding more skeptical than anything else.

"I was in Afghanistan from January to September. I've been down to visit a handful of times, but it's been hard adjusting. I don't get into town much when I'm here, but I’m hoping to change that.”

She glances at Jack, who’s sleeping on a makeshift bed nearby. "And what about him? Is he one of the dogs you work with?"

"Jack? No. He's a retired MWD—military work dog. My dad adopted him a few years back after he suffered partial hearing loss from an explosion and couldn't work anymore. Otherwise, MWDs usually aren't allowed off base with their handlers."

I see a hint of a smile on Shay's face and try to imagine what the real thing must look like. "What kind of work do you do with the MWDs?"

"Mostly explosives detection and patrol. Max is my current partner. He's a Belgian Malinois. Probably one of the smartest dogs I've ever worked with. This was our first deployment together."

Shay leans back again, and I swear I see a sparkle in her eyes even though she looks away as soon as I notice. "Well… thank you for your service."

"Thanks for the acknowledgment," I nod. Not ready for the conversation to end, I shift the focus back to her. "What about you? Any family in town?"

She hesitates, running a slow hand over the ball of fur that's now curled up in her lap. "Just grandparents. I was supposed to go visit for dinner after I got off, but obviously, that 's not happening."

"Yeah," I say, laughing nervously. "Sorry about that. If it's any consolation, my mom didn't take it so well when I called to let her know I had Jack, and we were snowed in. So, uh… what about your parents? Are they...?" I let my voice trail, realizing I may be walking into a minefield asking a question like that.

She answers with her gaze fixed on her cat. "Never knew them. My mom was young when she had me. Couldn't take care of me. Then, skipped town before I ever got a chance to know her. That's when my grandparents stepped in."

Her answer stirs up feelings I didn't know I was capable of. Not for someone I just barely met. I don't push asking about her dad. "Must be nice having them close for the holidays, though. Right?"

"I guess," she says thoughtfully. "But holidays aren't exactly my thing. In fact, they might actually be my least favorite time of year." She laughs like she just told a joke, but I can tell by her tone she means it.

I lean back in my seat and run a hand through my hair. "Okay. Valentine's Day I could see. Maybe. But seriously, how could anyone not love Christmas?"

She sighs, shifting her body toward me, and I can only hope it’s because she’s starting to feel safe with me. "It's just... everyone expects you to have someone special to celebrate with, you know? All those happy couples posting ridiculous pictures of their matching pajamas on social media. Or those picture-perfect families going caroling and building snowmen in the park. I don't need designated days throughout the year to remind me of what I don't have."

Her logic hits a little closer to home than I expect it to. "It can be lonely when you're single. I get that part," I say, feeling a familiar ache in my chest. "Serving in the Army, I've missed more holidays with my family than I can count. And I think the last real relationship I had ended the day I finished advanced training and got assigned to Fort Carson. And that was a loooong time ago. I guess it's hard to convince yourself anyone cares when there's no one around to remind you."

For the first time, Shay looks at me—like, really looks at me—and, for a moment, it feels like she sees me. "Sounds like we both know something about that, huh?"

I nod, offering up a smile. "Yeah, I guess we do."

Suddenly, my stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl that makes Shay's eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry. Guess I didn't realize how hungry I was." I glance over at the jar of dog treats she grabbed earlier. "Those dog biscuits are starting to look pretty good right about now."

Shay gives me a disgusted look, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her adorable and oh-so-kissable mouth. "Yeah. Maybe. If you don't mind spending the rest of your night hugging a toilet."

"It's a valid argument," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. "But at this point, I might be desperate enough to try it anyway. Wish I'd have packed an MRE or something."

"You know," she says, tilting her head to the side, "Gladys is always telling Doctor Weber to quit trading baked goods for services rendered. I wonder if—"

"Please tell me you have pie!" The sudden revelation has me out of my chair before she can finish her train of thought.

She stares at me blankly. " Seriously? "

“What? I like pie," I say shrinking back.

"Okay… There’s a fridge in the breakroom. I'll go see if we have anything edible," she says, disappearing down the hallway with her flashlight.

The moment she's out of sight, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It feels like I’m making progress with Shay, even if it's just a tiny crack in her icy exterior.

Jack lifts his head, giving me a quizzical look, and I reach over to scratch behind his ears. "What do you think, buddy? Think we're wearing her down?"

He lets out a soft woof that makes me smile. "Yeah, I hope so too."