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something about lunch as he’d left.
    It was already past mid-morning so unless he planned to starve her, lunch couldn’t be too far off.
    Patience had never been one of her virtues, though.
    “At least he left you with me.” She turned away from the windowsill and studied Atlas.
    The dog lay stretched out on the floor with his head on his paws, as close to her perch on the couch as possible. He’d opened his eyes and lifted his big ears in her direction at her movement.
    “You are my job, after all.” She continued to consider him.
    His attitude really had changed overnight. The look in his eyes was still somewhat reserved in her opinion, but he was more obvious about listening to her. Not as aloof or disinterested as yesterday, or first thing in the morning, for that manner.
    Good signs, all of them.
    David was a good dog trainer. She had no doubts after having seen him greet the other dogs at the kennel. Every one of the dogs in the care of Hope’s Crossing Kennels jumped to their feet at his approach, eager for a word from him or the chance to work. His body language was always relaxed, confident. He moved with the kind of easy readiness—potential for explosive action in every muscle—that commanded respect. The dogs were sensitive to it, acknowledged him as a dominant in the territory. With him, there was no question as to who was in charge.
    “But you need more than clear leadership,” she murmured to Atlas. He blinked and blew a huff of air out of his nose.
    She held out her hand in a loose fist, the back of her hand toward him. He considered for a long minute before lifting his head and extending his nose. One sniff. Then he returned to resting on his paws again, looking away from her. Not interested in more than acknowledging her.
    “It’s good to have this time to get to know you.” She always talked to dogs when they were relaxing. If she’d been working with him instead of enjoying quiet time—and there was a difference—she’d give him clear and concise commands instead of conversational commentary. Even eager-to-please dogs still needed to understand what it was a human wanted them to do and they didn’t precisely speak human. They learned to recognize short commands combined with body language. Any human could speak a command, in any language, and it’d still take a dog a minute to really understand what the human wanted unless the human copied a known trainer exactly in words, tone, and gestures. Then the dog probably made an educated guess.
    “You’re smart enough to know what we all want from you,” she murmured. “But obedience and working aren’t what you want to do right now, are they? You’ve lost your heart.”
    She didn’t blame him. Being heartbroken was something she could understand.
    “I’ve never had my heart broken by a boyfriend, mind you.” She leaned her head back against the couch’s arm rest. Confiding in dogs was one of the most secure ways of getting something off her chest. And opening herself up to them gained their trust in return, every time. “I think human hearts break, too, when the people we live for disappoint us. Like our parents. I have trust issues.”
    Of course, if David was to walk in, he’d probably think he was interrupting a therapy session. Only she was the one on the couch talking about her emotional baggage while Atlas was the shrink listening.
    There was a method to what she was doing, though. Atlas was getting used to the cadence and tone of her voice. Her scent surrounded him in this room. And every movement she made was being cataloged in a library in his mind associated to her. The introduction process was a long one, and the more time the dog had to interact with her, the more comfortable he’d be because he’d know what she was likely to do.
    Her phone rang, the tone bringing her bolt upright in her seat. Atlas was on his feet beside her, his entire body tense and his ears forward at alert. A low growl rumbled from his