The Search Read Online Free

tire swings and ramps gave most the impression of a woodsy play area for kids.
    Not that far off, Fiona thought. The kids just had four legs.
    The other two of her three kids stood on the covered front porch, tails wagging, feet dancing. One of the best things about dogs, to Fiona’s mind, was their absolute joy in welcoming you home, whether you’d been gone for five minutes or five days. There lay unconditional and boundless love.
    She parked, and her car was immediately surrounded by canine delight while, inside, Peck wiggled in anticipation of reunion with his best pals.
    She stepped out to nuzzling snouts and wagging tails. “Hi, boys.” Ruffling fur, she angled to open the back door. Peck leaped out so the lovefest could begin.
    There was sniffing, happy grumbling, body bumping, then the race and chase. While she retrieved her pack, the three dogs charged away, zipping in circles and zigzags before charging back to her.
    Always ready to play, she mused as three pairs of eyes stared up at her with hopeful gleams.
    “Soon,” she promised. “I need a shower, dry clothes, food. Let’s go in. What do you say, wanna go in?”
    In answer, all three bulleted for the door.
    Newman, a yellow Lab and the oldest, at six, and the most dignified, led the pack. But then Bogart, the black Lab and the baby, at three, had to stop long enough to grab up his rope.
    Surely someone wanted to play tug.
    They bounded in behind her, feet tapping on the wide-planked floor. Time, she thought with a glance at her watch. But not a lot of it.
    She left her pack out as she had to replace the space blanket before she tucked it away. While the dogs rolled on the floor, she stirred up the fire she’d banked before leaving, added another log. She peeled off her wet jacket as she watched the flames catch.
    Dogs on the floor, a fire in the hearth, she thought, made the room cozy. It tempted her to just curl up on the love seat and catch her own power nap.
    No time, she reminded herself, and debated which she wanted more: dry clothes or food. After a struggle, she decided to be an adult and get dry first. Even as she turned for the stairs, all three dogs went on alert. Seconds later, she heard the rattle of her bridge.
    “Who could that be?”
    She walked to the window trailed by her pack.
    The blue truck wasn’t familiar, and on an island the size of Orcas there weren’t many strangers. Tourist was her first thought, a wrong turn, a need for directions.
    Resigned, she walked outside, gave her dogs the signal to hold on the porch.
    She watched the man get out. Tall, a lot of dark hair, scarred boots, worn jeans on long legs. Good face, she decided, sharp planes, sharp angles blurred by the shadow of stubble that said he’d been too busy or too lazy to shave that morning. The good face held an expression of frustration or annoyance—maybe a combo of both—as he shoved a hand through the mass of hair.
    Big hands, she noted, on the ends of long arms.
    Like the boots, the leather jacket he wore had some years on it. But the truck looked new.
    “Need some help?” she called out, and he stopped frowning at the training area to turn toward her.
    “Fiona Bristow?” His voice had an edge to it, not anger so much as that annoyance she read on his face. Behind her Bogart gave a little whine.
    “That’s right.”
    “Dog trainer?”
    “I am.” She stepped off the porch as he started toward her, watched his gaze skim over her three guardians. “What can I do for you?”
    “Did you train those three?”
    “I did.”
    His eyes, tawny, like warm, deeply steeped tea, shifted back to her. “Then you’re hired.”
    “Yay. For what?”
    He pointed at her dogs. “Dog trainer. Name your price.”
    “Okay. Let’s open the floor at a million dollars.”
    “Will you take it in installments?”
    That made her smile. “We can negotiate. Let’s start this way. Fiona Bristow,” she said, and offered her hand.
    “Sorry. Simon Doyle.”
    Working hands,