Harrison glanced down. Even though they were a good distance from the fire now, the Pomeranian hadn’t stopped her shifting, whining movements. He’d assumed she was trying to get free, and that she wouldn’t be happy until she’d put as much distance between herself and the flames as possible, but something about Sophie’s crossed arms gave him pause.

So did her question. “When was the last time you did a finger stick? Or, for that matter, the last time you ate something?”

His eyes flew open as he appraised the tiny dog. She’d managed to free herself from the sling just enough to bring her face to his, her little head nudging his chin with an urgency that couldn’t be denied. Now that he was paying attention, he recognized that nudging as the action they’d been working on for the past few weeks.

It was what she did whenever she was brought the swab containing the smell she was trained to alert him to. It was what she did whenever she was brought the swab containing the smell that meant danger.

“You mean she’s—?”

Sophie’s face broke out in a grin. Even in the deepening twilight, the stars and nearly full moon providing the sole illumination, that grin was breathtaking. It lit up every part of her. “She’s not letting you down, Harrison. She’s not scared of the fire. She’s doing exactly what she’s been trained to do.”

He stared in wonder down at the puppy. He knew, from Sophie’s careful explanation, that this was exactly what he should expect from having a service dog. He could relax some of his own vigilance, slow down to assess Bubbles’s needs and his own at the same time, trust in the puppy to know what he needed before his continuous glucose monitor registered the changes in his blood sugar.

It made sense, from an intellectual standpoint, that Bubbles could handle all this, especially given how well she’d handled training back at the house. To see it in action, however, to know that this tiny, quivering ball of heat was saving his goddamn life right now, was almost more than he could take.

“Come on.” Sophie held out a hand. “Let’s go get you checked. I assume your things are in your tent?”

His first impulse on hearing the words your tent was to dig his feet into the dirt and refuse to allow Sophie anywhere near it. Nothing good could come of having her inside those ten square feet of nylon with him.

But that was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to attack him. She wasn’t going to ravish him.

At least, not without asking first.

“What a good little nugget you are,” she cooed. “So smart. So brave.”