My heart melted as I met the most earnest pair of circular brown eyes I’d ever seen peeking out from a very furry face.
I dropped to my knees and petted the adorable dog. “Oh, my God. What a cute dog. Is this a girl or a boy?”
“Her name is Molly. She’s a Lhasa apso, and she’s one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever helped train. I thought you could use some company for a while. But she’s just on loan. Her owner will want her back, eventually.”
I smiled as I sat, and Molly moved into my lap, licked my face, and then made herself comfortable on top of my crossed legs.
I ran my hand over her silky coat as I asked, “Don’t Lhasa apso dogs usually have really long coats?”
“Usually,” he agreed. “But Molly isn’t a show dog, and it’s too damn hot here to make her wear a fur coat like that.”
“Not that she isn’t adorable just the way she is,” I assured him. “She almost looks like a puppy.”
“She’s five, and most Lhasas look like puppies forever with a shorter haircut.”
“She’s so sweet. Who’s her owner?”
“Me,” he answered with humor in his voice. “And my golden retriever, Tango, will go into perpetual mourning if I don’t bring his buddy back at some point.” He motioned to the canine. “Molly. Come.”
I was slightly sad when the pup immediately went to Jax’s side.
“Down,” he instructed.
Molly laid down instantly.
“Wait,” he said calmly.
The dog put her head down on her front legs like she was perfectly content to stay exactly where she was right now.
“She’s such a good girl,” I said in a slightly awed tone as I got to my feet. “Did you really help train her?”
He nodded. “I’ve been working with an organization that trains service dogs for veterans with PTSD for several years now. Molly was the one dog I just couldn’t give up after her training, but I can lend her out for emergencies when somebody needs her.”
Okay, I was surprised. I’d definitely never pegged Jax as a dog lover, or the kind of guy who donated his time to help train them. Most likely, he supported this organization financially as well if the program was something he believed in that strongly.
I went into the kitchen, found a clean coffee mug, and started making myself a cup of coffee. “I’ve heard about a few of those programs. Is it helping our military vets?” I asked curiously.
“Definitely,” Jax replied. “We can tailor a dog’s training for different levels of PTSD. Sometimes all they need is an emotional support dog, and sometimes they need a dog with a higher level of training to be a service dog.”
“So what’s the difference between the two?” I questioned.
I finished making my coffee, and then brewed another for Jax when he confirmed that he wanted one. While he was waiting, he explained how the program worked, and how they trained different types of dogs.
By the time he was done, I had to give the guy kudos. It sounded like his heart really was into helping veterans.
“So what got you interested in this program?” I asked as I gave him his coffee and we went to sit in my living room.
The space seemed much too small as Jax lowered his powerful body into my recliner, and I sat on the couch.
He called Molly into the living room. “Do you want her to sit with you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Just call her up to you,” he instructed.
“Molly, come,” I said tentatively.
Without any further instruction, the dog happily leaped onto the couch and settled herself right beside me with her head in my lap.
“Good girl,” I crooned as I stroked her silky head.
“I got involved because I believe in the program,” Jax said, finally answering my question. “I don’t think I ever realized how much some of the things I saw on a few of my missions affected me until I was actually out of the military. Maybe once the adrenaline wasn’t constantly pumping, I finally noticed how hypervigilant I was, even when I didn’t have to be. I started having some occasional flashbacks, and I went through several months of not sleeping more than a few hours because of recurrent nightmares. When I signed on with Last Hope, Marshall saw a few of the signs, and he pushed me to go see a good therapist for PTSD, and recommended I