commanded her to stay.
“She’s impressive,” Bree admitted.
Since they were alone, Matt walked over to Bree and leaned down to give her a proper hello kiss. He lifted his head. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She blinked up at him, her hazel eyes softer and more vulnerable than usual.
“I’ve missed you.” As he said the words, it struck him how true they were.
She rose on her toes and kissed him back. “I’ve missed us.”
Warmth spread through Matt. Bree wasn’t demonstrative. Small gestures and words meant more coming from her than most people. A tragic childhood had taught her to hold her feelings close. But he was chiseling through those walls.
She cleared her throat and stepped back. “When will Greta be ready for training?”
“She’ll be ready for the academy by the time you have the money.”
“Then I’ll cross my fingers the fundraiser is enough.”
“You need to be more optimistic. Tickets will sell out.” Next to Matt’s leg, Greta wiggled, bored. “Do you want to pet her?”
“Not really,” Bree said. “I wish I did, though.”
“She’s not vicious, just excitable.” Matt glanced down at Greta. Her attention hadn’t left his face. “And focused. Very focused.”
“Honestly, her size and intensity are intimidating.” Bree had been mauled as a child and had a lifelong fear of dogs. “Ladybug is about all I can handle at this time.”
“How is she?”
“Pretty good.” Bree smiled. “I know I was mad at you for tricking me into adopting her, but now I’m really glad. I never thought I’d say it, but she’s good company. Kayla has been sad with Mother’s Day coming up, and Ladybug won’t leave her side.”
“Dogs know.” Matt commanded Greta to heel and headed for the house. “Let me put the dogs away, and we can go.”
Bree stepped backward as Greta passed. Her response seemed automatic. Bree might have adjusted to having the completely unintimidating chubby rescue dog in her life, and she was even warming up to Brody. But a hardwired, energetic young German shepherd was clearly a totally different animal. Matt put the dogs in the kitchen and closed the metal gate he’d bolted into the wall.
“Will that hold her?” Bree eyed the gate doubtfully.
“Not if she wanted to get out, but she’ll stay with Brody. And he can’t jump over anymore.” The thought of his dog aging saddened Matt. He and Brody had been through so much together. There were only a handful of people he was closer to than his dog. Bree was on that short list. In the brief time he’d known her, they’d faced multiple crises. She’d always had his back. Maybe she also had his heart.
Brody stretched out on his orthopedic bed. Greta stretched out next to him and licked his face. He sighed.
“I’ll see you later,” Matt said to the dogs. “Cady will come at lunchtime to let you out. Be good.”
He and Bree went outside and climbed into the SUV.
Behind the wheel, she chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I used to think the way you talk to the dogs like they’re children was weird. Now I’m doing it.”
“Don’t you talk to your cat?”
“Yes, but like he’s my equal—or superior.”
Matt laughed. “Your cat is an asshat.”
“Yeah. But he’s my asshat.”
They rode in silence for a few miles. Then Bree turned toward town. “Todd did a little research on the company last night. Beckett Construction has been in business for more than thirty years. The business was started by Paul’s father, who died years ago. Considering the nature of their business, they’ve only had a few minor lawsuits over the years, and they have an excellent reputation.”
“What type of construction do they do?”
“High-end kitchens, including new construction, renovations, and additions,” Bree said. “Paul Beckett is married to Angela Beckett. They have twin nineteen-year-old boys.”
A short time later, she pulled into an industrial complex. Beckett Construction occupied a small office building and an adjoining warehouse. Bree parked and they went inside. The office was bare bones, with drop-ceiling tiles and flat, commercial-grade carpet. Beckett Construction clearly didn’t waste money on overhead.
The secretary had obviously just arrived. She was a tall, robust woman in her late fifties with short, ash-blonde hair. She was stowing her purse and brown-bag lunch in her desk drawers as the pair approached.
Bree introduced them. “We’re here to see Paul Beckett.”
The secretary glanced at the closed door behind her and frowned. “Mr. Beckett isn’t in yet. Did you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Bree said.
“Then he’ll be here.” The secretary typed on her phone with both thumbs. “Usually, he stops at our current jobs first