“No, don’t.” Sophie spoke sharply, using the same tone that had snapped out when Harrison had initially refused Bubbles. At her sister’s raised brow, she hastily amended it with, “I’ll talk to him. It’s my responsibility. I’m the one who mishandled the situation.”

Lila’s brow didn’t come down, but she accepted Sophie’s decree with a nod. “Sure thing, Soph. Take the rest of the day off. Go see Oscar. He always makes you feel better.”

Sophie offered her a tight smile but didn’t say anything. Oscar did always make her feel better, but that wasn’t what she meant. She didn’t want a day off. She didn’t want someone to hug her and placate her and tell her everything would be all right.

What she wanted—no, what she needed—was to get her client back.

Glancing down at the Pomeranian, who was staring at the back door as if she too expected Harrison to come waltzing back through it at any moment, Sophie decided that was exactly what she’d do too.

Even if it was only so she could feel that sudden spark of battle coming alive inside her again.

Chapter 2

“You said he was going to be tricky.”

Sophie walked through Oscar’s door at the Deer Park Department of Natural Resources without knocking. His office was a small, one-room affair used mostly for administrative purposes, but he could be found there almost around the clock during the wildfire off-season. The May weather was still damp enough to stave off most forest fires, so she knew he’d be in.

“Did I?” Oscar didn’t bother to look up from the stack of papers he was sorting on his desk. “I must have been in a good mood.”

“You said he had a tendency toward stubbornness.”

“From your tone, I’m guessing you disagree.”

“You said I should tread warily.”

“Actually, I believe my exact words were, you should wear a hazmat suit underneath a flak jacket, but you’ve always had more tact than I do.”

She clamped her lips and crossed her arms, stopping short of tapping her foot on the floor. It took a full twenty seconds for Oscar to give in and glance at her, but Sophie was nothing if not patient. It was the one virtue all good dog trainers needed.

When he did finally look up, it was with a wry twist to his smile. The heavy lines of the older man’s face were both familiar and friendly, but she knew better than to take the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose and the bushy gray mustache as signs of a jolly, grandfatherly type. Oscar was as tough as they came.

He sighed and pulled the glasses off. “Oh dear. What did he do?”