"So you can go out again. With me."
"My jeans are wet."
"Because you didn't wear snow pants." She sighed. "For such a smart kid, you can do some really dumb things, Lo."
"Because I'm still a kid. It's allowed. Give me ten and I'll be there."
"Fine. But if I drink your hot chocolate, it's your own fault."
"How would it be--? Never mind. I'll be there in ten minutes."
He set the timer on his phone, knowing if he wasn't within sight of the house by the time it went off, his sister would come looking for him. Patience was not one of her virtues. He was still fussing with his phone when he bent distractedly over the bag and caught the smell and stopped short at the reminder of exactly what he was doing.
He couldn't think about it. Just couldn't. Sometimes doing the right thing meant doing stuff you really didn't want to. He might have a bad dream or two after this, but finding the dead puppies would give Kate screaming nightmares, wondering if they'd been alive when--
Nope, he wasn't thinking about that. Wasn't.
He picked up the bag . . . and it seemed to move. Which he was clearly imagining, because he'd just been thinking about the puppies being alive.
So he was going to presume they were dead without checking? That would give him nightmares. He steeled himself and peered inside, recoiling as he saw the puppy with its eyes open. There was no doubt it was dead. No doubt at all.
The one underneath it had its eyes shut, but its lip was curled back as if in a final snarl of defiance. He saw that, and he wanted to cry. Not rage and curse but cry, because, when he looked at that puppy, he felt what it must have.
Like his sister, he'd always had an affinity for dogs, that sense that they shared a common bond in their canine side. But it wasn't until now that he really felt that bond, and all he could think about were the last minutes of life for that puppy.
He'd planned to leave them in the bag, but now that seemed as wrong as if he'd put them there himself. He reached in and took out the body of the first puppy, cold and stiff. Then the other . . .
The other was not cold and stiff.
Logan nearly dropped the first puppy in his hurry to get the second one out. He scooped it up with both hands.
It was warm. Warm and pliant, its head lolling. He put one hand under its muzzle to support it while he pushed his fingers deep into the thick fur around its heart, searching for a beat.
The puppy lay on his hands, a dead weight.
Dead weight.
He blinked back tears. Tears of frustration and disappointment now, and maybe a little of anger, as if he'd been tricked, some cruel joke making him think that the puppy lived.
No, the joke was worse than that. The puppy was still warm, meaning that maybe, if he'd gotten to it faster . . .
He swallowed and wrapped his hands around the puppy.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "If I wasn't fast enough, I'm sorry."
The puppy whimpered.
Logan froze. His heart pounded, and he was sure he'd imagined the whine, that it was an echo of his own voice. His fingers dug into that thick fur again, checking in case, just maybe . . .
There was a heartbeat.
A faint heartbeat.
Logan sat down fast, put the puppy on his lap and examined it for injuries. No obvious broken bones. No soft spots on its small skull. As he looked down at the puppy, he swore he heard his sister's voice in his ear.
It's cold, you dope. It's been lying in the snow. Stop playing doctor and start playing nurse.
Right. Yes. Of course. Hypothermia. He unzipped his coat fast and put the puppy inside. Before he could zip it up, he took it out again and put it under his shirt too, right against him. Then, being careful to leave his zipper undone enough so it wouldn't smother, he wrapped his arms around it and started to run.
Get to the house. Get Jeremy's help. He was the Pack medic. He'd know what to do. As for what he'd do about Logan bringing a puppy home? They'd deal with that later.
He was under no illusion that his parents would say, "You found a puppy? All right then, you can keep it." And when they didn't say that, when Kate had a puppy in the house, only to see it sent to the shelter? When she blamed their parents? Let's just say it wasn't going to be a very Merry Christmas.
But he couldn't think about that. The important thing was the puppy. Maybe he could convince Mom and Dad to set a timeline for Kate. To tell her, "Not this puppy, but another. In a year." Definitely in a year. Logan knew they would both love to give her that puppy, but they just couldn't right now, not with the Malcolm problems and everything else going on.
He was halfway to the house when the puppy woke up. Fast. Like he'd dropped it into a frozen pond. All four tiny limbs shot out and sixteen tiny--and remarkably sharp--claws ripped at his chest.
"Whoa!" Logan said as he skidded to a halt, snow flying. "Hold on!" With one hand, he rubbed the puppy, trying to calm it--and keep from being totally shredded--as he got his coat open and pulled it out.
Once free, the puppy froze, motionless, as if trapped in the jaws of some massive predator. Logan tried to pet it, but it started trembling, like a rabbit under a wolf's paw. Logan's own heart pounded along with the puppy's. What if he did exactly what he'd warned Kate about with that purse dog? If he rescued it, only to give it a heart attack from his scent?
"It's okay," he said. "Everything's okay."
He kept his voice low and soothing, but the puppy whimpered, as if his talking only made things worse. It twisted in his arms, wriggling and struggling. He couldn't let it go--it wasn't old enough to survive out here--but if he scared it to death . . .
He growled with frustration. The puppy stopped wiggling. It went still. Then, slowly, it looked up at him, confused. He growled again, and it tilted its head, but stayed motionless, watching him. Its nostrils flared as it sorted out his scents--canine and human--and he wondered if it wasn't the canine one that had made it freak out.
He growled, keeping the noise low, the kind of reassuring growl a parent might give. The puppy gave a yip of joy and started wriggling madly, in excitement now, small tongue bathing his face.
"Okay, okay," he said. "We're good. That's great. Now just . . . Can you--" The tongue slid into his mouth. "Ugh. No, stop--" He held the puppy at arm's length. When it stopped, he settled it, firmly, in his arms. "You're obviously fine. Which is great. But . . ."
But it was also a problem, because as much as he'd tried to remain sensible and mature about the whole thing, a part of him had still been shouting, I found a puppy! The part that hoped maybe, if he brought home an injured and abandoned dog, and it had to stay with them to recover, their parents would see it wasn't a big deal and let them keep it. Now, though, he had a perfectly healthy abandoned dog, which would be easy to just whisk off to the shelter. That was, he had to admit, not what he wanted. Not at all.
He looked down at the puppy. It was black and white with medium-length fur. Border collie was the breed that sprang to mind. Border collie mingled with something else, because it was already an armful, meaning there was a larger dog mixed in there. German shepherd, maybe?
Kate had researched the various breeds, trying to find the right one. He'd helped, allegedly just because he enjoyed research but admittedly because, well, because he wanted to dream a little, too. Border collies and shepherds were at the top of their list. Intelligent and loyal working dogs. Shepherds appealed more to Logan, but Kate had her heart set on a border collie or Australian shepherd, like Reese used to have. Something loyal and intelligent but also cuddly.
Logan looked down at the ball of fur in his arms. This was her dog. There was no other answer. He'd found exactly the perfect dog for her two days before Christmas. That meant something. It had to.
His sister was supposed to have this dog.
His phone jangled, the alarm sounding.
Shit! Er, crap.
He hit speed-dial as fast as he could, juggling the phone with the puppy. It rang.
Rang again.
Come on, Mom. You haven't put your phone in a drawer yet. I'm out in the forest, which means you'll keep it in your pocket--
"Hey," came the answer.
He exhaled. "Mom. Good. You're there."
"Not sure where else I'd be, but, yep, I'm here. Your sister's on her way out to find--"
"No!"
"Hmm?"
"That's what I'm calling about. Can you stop her? Keep her there? Distract her or something?"
The puppy wriggled, and he adjusted his grip on it.
"Is everything okay?" Mom asked. "You sound--"
"I'm feeling a little off. Restless."
"Is it--?"
"No, no. Just restless, like Kate gets. Anyway, it's nice and quiet out here and . . ."
Mom chuckled. "And your sister will shatter that silence?"
"I just need time by myself to walk it off. I'll be in before it's totally dark. I promise."
"I know you will. And you are, as always, entitled to time on your own. I'll keep your sister at bay."
"Thanks, Mom."
He hung up. That should do the trick. Even for twins, Logan and his sister were close. Best friends who understood each other in a way no human playmate ever could. But Mom worried that they might need time to themselves now and again, especially as they got older. She'd keep Kate away. Now he had to figure out what to do.
Two days until Christmas. Two days to figure out how to tell his parents that he planned to give his sister a puppy.
His stomach twisted at the thought, because it felt disloyal and a little underhanded. No, a lot underhanded. They weren't saying, "No pets" without good reason. If he said he wanted to give this puppy to Kate, it would kill them to refuse.
What he needed was a defense. Not an impassioned plea, but a reasonable argument. Which meant he had two days to come up with a way to convince his parents, while not making them feel they'd been tricked into agreeing . . . or like they were monsters if they refused.
What to do with the puppy until then . . .
The playhouse.
He and Kate had a fort in the forest. Uncle Nick, Reese and Noah had built it for them a couple of years ago. Or they'd tried. When it failed to actually stand upright, they'd recruited Morgan, who had more experience with construction. The result was a perfect shelter from the elements. Also the perfect place to hide a puppy.
Putting the puppy in the fort was a fine idea . . . except that it required the cooperation of the other party, and the puppy was having none of it. After trying several times to leave the dog--only to have it start howling--Logan decided the answer was the same one his parents had used when their "puppies" wouldn't go to sleep.
He brought the dog into the snow and played with it, and while he told himself he was just trying to wear it out, he was a little disappointed when it did finally collapse, exhausted. He scooped it up and took it into the fort, where he'd made a nest with his hoodie, and the puppy fell into snoring slumber.
"I'll bring you food later," he whispered as he filled an old Frisbee with snow and mashed it down for drinking water.
Bringing food would mean sneaking out at night, and he hated that, but, if the alternative was letting a puppy starve, it really was no question at all. The rules had to be broken. Just this once.
Next, he had a much less pleasant task: burying the dead puppy. He did that, burying both the bag and the puppy deep in the snow across the road. Then, he started back to the house, deep in thought, until the smell of deer made him pause, instinctively lifting his face to inhale the scent.
Scent.
Oh no.
He stank of dog.
He looked up. Pine needles? Would that smell be strong enough? Maybe if he rubbed them on his clothes and then made a beeline for the shower. But how would he explain to Mom and Dad that he really needed to wash his clothing? By himself.
Well, I have to learn sometime, right?
Dad might let it pass, but Mom had a keenly tuned sense for when something wasn't quite right with her kids, and she'd sniff out answers like a hound on a trail.
What he needed was a dead animal. Gross, yes, but it would cover up the dog scent. When he sniffed the air, though, he picked up a smell that would do that job even better. Except . . .
He walked to the source of the scent, looked down and shuddered.
Kate had really better appreciate this Christmas gift.
"Oh my God," Kate said as Logan walked in the door. Her hand flew over her nose. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Kate!" Mom called. "Language."
"You said there's a time for cursing," Kate yelled back. "I think this is it. Logan's covered in deer poop."
Mom sighed, probably just relieved Kate had said "poop." Then she rounded the corner and stopped short, her hand flying up to her nose in a matching pose. "Oh my God, Logan."
"Language, Mom," Kate said.
Logan lifted his hand, "Don't come any closer."
"Don't worry," Kate said. "We're not. What happened?"
"Ice."
Kate's lips twitched. Then, she burst out laughing. Mom tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stifle hers, snorting half-choked laughs.
"Thanks, Mom," Logan said.
"Sorry, baby. It's just . . ." She struggled to swallow more laughter.
Dad's footsteps thudded down the stairs. He poked his head into the mudroom. "What's . . ." His nostrils flared, and then he drawled, "Well, that's unfortunate. Ice?"
Logan nodded. He turned and pulled off his boots.
"On your back too?" Mom said. "How'd you manage that?"
"Ice. It's slippery. Very slippery if it's covered in snow."
"So you fell on your face in deer poop," Kate said. "Got up and fell in backwards?"
"My face is fine."
"Uh, no, actually there's a little . . . Eww. Sorry, Lo. You really stink. I'll go watch Jeremy make dinner."
"You could help Jeremy," Mom called after her as she left.
Kate laughed and kept going. Dad followed. Mom turned to Logan.
"Okay, baby, strip down, and I'll get your clothes into the laundry."
"I can handle it. It's my mess, so it's my cleanup."
"You don't have to--"
"I've got it." He gave her a wan smile. "It's not something you want to do before dinner."
"Just toss your clothes in the washer, and I'll run it after we eat."
"No, I--"
Dad reappeared with a wet washcloth.
"Please tell me Kate was kidding about my face," Logan said.
Dad shook his head and walked toward him, as if to wipe it off, but Logan took the cloth and backed up. "Got it. I've got the laundry too, Mom. I want to learn. I've been thinking I need to take on more responsibilities."
"All right. I'll show you how to run it. I am sorry about laughing."
"But it was funny," Dad said.
"And it'll get funnier each time your sister retells it."
Logan sighed.
Mom gingerly reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You just need to find something to hold over her so she doesn't tell everyone at Christmas. Not that I'd recommend blackmailing your sister . . ."
"Yeah, we absolutely recommend it," Dad said. "It's the only defense."
Logan smiled, and they left him to strip down and run upstairs to the shower.
Logan was quiet over dinner, but no one noticed. Kate spent the meal regaling him and Jeremy with stories of the "strange behavior of humans"--all the weird things she'd witnessed while out Christmas shopping. Mom's eye rolls said Kate was exaggerating. Dad's smirks said she wasn't exaggerating very much.
That was part of growing up in a werewolf Pack. Humans sometimes seemed a foreign species to Logan and Kate, the way they did to Dad, who'd been bitten when he was a kid. Mom had grown up human, so she didn't pay any attention when humans did things like let their kids wander off in a mall, or yell at them in public or cuff them upside the head. Logan got the feeling none of tha
t was weird--or foreign--to his mother. He wondered what her childhood had been like, but she never talked about it, and if he or Kate asked, she'd just tell them a funny story from her school days.
With Kate entertaining at dinner, no one noticed he was quiet. Quiet and deep in thought, his brain racing to come up with all the necessary facets of "the puppy plan."
He had to get his parents onside. Jeremy didn't count. No, that sounded wrong. Jeremy definitely counted--it was his house, and he was Dad's foster father and also the former Alpha. He always counted. When it came to raising Logan and Kate, though, Jeremy kept out. He was like . . . Logan wasn't really sure what Jeremy was like, because he had no frame of reference other than what he could glean from other families. Jeremy seemed more involved than a grandparent. He wasn't like a parent either, because he left all the decisions to their mom and dad. One of Logan and Kate's school friends had a stepdad, who did everything a dad did, except when it came to discipline and decisions about raising him. That's what Jeremy was like. As close as you could get to a parent without actually being one.
When it came to getting a dog, Jeremy's position was simply "whatever your parents say," as it was on everything else. He wouldn't even be here for Christmas. He was leaving tomorrow to spend a few days with his girlfriend, Jaime, and then they'd both come back for the big Pack holiday Meet on the twenty-sixth.
The two people Logan had to convince, then, were his parents. He'd considered going straight for Dad. His father might be the most feared werewolf in the country, but his kids saw a very different side of him. Last summer was the first time he'd really raised his voice to them--getting into a shouting match with Kate long after their mother had lost all patience with her acting out. But Kate had had a reason for her bad behavior, and they'd sorted it out, and Dad went back to being his usual self, which meant if Logan had to pick who he could more easily woo to his side, it was definitely Dad.
That was a problem. The rest of the werewolf world might think Dad was the scary one, but he wasn't Alpha. Mom was. That meant that Logan shouldn't go around her to his father to ask for something. Yes, Mom wouldn't want him saying that. She wanted to be his mom, not his Alpha. But she was his Alpha, and he felt that.
Even if she hadn't been Alpha, he shouldn't go around her to his dad. He'd never heard his parents disagree on something to do with him and Kate. So either they never disagreed, or they just didn't do it in front of the kids. They wanted to stand together as parents, and he shouldn't pit them against each other. Which meant he had to ask them together. That did not, however, mean he couldn't work on Dad first.