Duke trotted beside her, and she was glad she’d put him on his leash because the trail did get close to the water. She couldn’t see the mud Harry was talking about, but she believed him.
In the distance, she heard the sound of a dog barking.
Duke stopped, his whole body tensing up before he barked back.
The barking in the distance became desperate, and Brynn started to jog toward it because that dog sounded scared. She’d grown up around dogs. Two of the series she’d been on had “family” dogs, and she’d learned how to work with them. Hanging out with the dogs and their handlers had been one of the best parts of her job. She knew what a fearful bark sounded like, and this dog was scared.
She would also bet the dog was big.
“Hey, calm down, girl.” That was a human voice. A deep, masculine voice.
She rounded the curve on the trail and stopped because a big, gorgeous man was standing thigh-deep in the water, and he wasn’t alone. He had a terrified pit bull mix around his shoulders, clinging to him. The dog had obviously spent some time in that water because she was wet, covered in mud to her hindquarters.
“Sweetie, if you don’t stop moving, I’ll drop you, and I really don’t want to drop you,” the man said. He was in sweats and a soaking-wet T-shirt that clung to his very muscular chest. He’d obviously not gotten Harry’s memo about staying away from the water.
Duke barked and his stubby legs moved, stretching the leash to the max, because despite the fact that he was a little dog, he firmly believed he could handle anything. She was sure his doggie brain had plans to save everyone.
The man’s head came around at the sound of the bark and his eyes flared. “Hey. Wow. Hello. I could use some help here if you don’t mind.”
He was stunning, and she’d been around a lot of attractive men. But there was something about this one. Maybe it was the fact that he was trying his hardest to comfort a frightened dog. Or it could be the chiseled jaw and that bit of scruff that made an almost-too-pretty face rugged.
He was in trouble, and she was almost drooling. This was not who she was. She was practical and tactical, as one of her old directors liked to put it. She got the job done.
“Of course. Let me take off my shoes and roll up my jeans and I’ll help you with her.” She would have to secure Duke, too, or he would go right in that water.
“Absolutely not.” He nearly shouted the words. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to join me. I’m stuck.”
“Stuck?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We were on our daily jog and Dolly here decided to try to play with the fish. She got stuck in the mud. I got her out and, well, I’m worried I live here now. And it’s not a good place after dark, if you know what I mean. The neighbors have lots of teeth.”
“I can call 911.”
“Please, don’t. I’m a deputy for the local sheriff’s department and honestly, I would rather die here than listen to the crap I’ll have to take for the next . . . well, forever. It’ll become a whole urban legend.” The gorgeous man sighed. “How about you save Dolly and if anyone asks, a gator got me.”
So, he was a very dramatic man. She’d dealt with the type. She also got the whole saving-face thing. “All right, then I’ll have to fashion something to get you out of there. I have this guy’s truck, and there was some lumber in the back.”
“Wait. Are you staying at the B and B? You’re one of the production crew?”
He asked the question like her saying yes would give him some hope. “I am.”
“Yes,” he said under his breath. “You’ve got Harry Jefferys’s truck. Drive the truck down here. He’s got a winch.”
She wanted to make a joke about winch versus wench, but she actually knew what he meant. She’d grown up around a whole bunch of production crew who’d adored a little girl who’d wanted to learn what they did. “All right. Hold on. I’ll be back soon.”
It looked like her sketch time would have to wait.
* * *
* * *
Major Blanchard was having a rough day.
It had started with his father forgetting who he was and arguing that they were actually living through the 1950s again. And now it looked like it would end with a slow death by mud.
Oh, and he’d lost his damn cell phone, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t paid that sucker off yet.
He’d managed to rescue his rescue dog. He’d had her for two months, and she was a never-ending ball of energy. Zep Guidry had brought her into the station house and loudly told his wife, Roxie, that he feared the poor puppy would have to be put down because her breed was misunderstood and feared, and wasn’t that sad because she was such a sweetie.