This time I'll grant no such pleasure.
With a pout, she pulls her foot back into the car and slams the door, crosses her arms over her chest, and assumes a petulant little girl look. Good. She can sit there until I'm ready for her.
I press the button on my key ring to lock the door, when something flashes behind a shade of trees to my right. I turn, looking sharply toward whatever moved, but the forest lies still. I take another step toward the place I saw movement, my handgun at my waist in my hand, cocked and ready. I hold a hand out to Olena behind me. If she gets out now, I will whip her so soundly she won't sit for a fucking week.
I take another step, then a second, when I hear the sound of twigs snapping. A dog emerges from the brush, his head bowed in submission. I exhale a breath I didn't know I held, and fall to one knee, my hand outstretched in greeting. It's an Eastern Shepherd dog, not quite adult but not quite a pup, ragged and weather-worn, with caramel-colored hair around his ears, and black patches on his back and underbelly. His coat is thickly coated in mud, so thin his ribs stand out against his skin. When he reaches me, he drops to the ground and licks my palm.
"Are you the cabin guard, now?" I ask him. He whines appreciatively and closes his eyes when I scratch behind his ears. Russia has one of the highest populations of wild, homeless dogs than any other country. Collarless and barely full grown, I know this one has no home. He does now. I nod my head, welcoming this little intruder. Shepherd is the perfect guard dog.
"We could use a guard," I tell him, cognizant of the fact that all security falls on my shoulders. Without the brotherhood at my back, it's me, the disobedient little girl I've dragged here, and this dog. I go to the cabin door, open it, and gesture for the dog to go in. Tail wagging, he quickly obeys.
"Good to know someone knows how to obey," I mutter, before turning back to Olena.
I walk back to her, open the passenger door, reach in, and take her hand. "Out," I order sharply.
But her eyes are on the cabin. "Did you find a dog? Where did he come from? Are we keeping him?"
I give her an incredulous look.
"We're hardly establishing a domestic arrangement here," I warn her. "That dog can serve as guard and nothing else." I can't have her growing attached to a damn dog.
"Clearly," she says, but she walks quietly with me to the cabin. "A dog will be helpful, though, no?"
"Yes, but a guard dog isn't a pet," I admonish her.
She doesn't respond, but when we reach the cabin, she pulls her hand out of mine and drops to both knees by the dog. Instead of stretching her hand out in greeting, she outstretches both hands eagerly, like she wants to give the damn thing a hug.
"Olena," I warn, but it's too late. The dog's already lapping at her face, both paws on her shoulders. I shake my head. This might be a mistake.
I lock the cabin door. "Get over here. Put away this food."
I hate having her in here. I hate that she's in the place where I lived with my Taya. I hate how every inch of this place brings back memories. I want to eradicate those thoughts from my mind, but it seems the harder I push them away, the harder they assault me.
Olena leaves the dog reluctantly and comes over to me. She's frowning, her eyes cast to the floor while she begins doing what I said.
Christ, I'm an asshole, but I don't care.
She takes out a few canned goods and in silence, I remove them from her hands and put them in the cabinet above the stove. She puts the cold food in the fridge, and I take the paper goods out. We work in silence, while the dog sniffs around the place.
"Pretty cabin," she says. "I like how remote it is."
I look over at her and nod.
"It's yours, then?" she asks curiously, her head tipped to the side so her crazy mass of curly hair bobs around her face adorably.
Don't think that. Don't let her get to you.
"It was." I don't want to answer any more questions. "Go in the bedroom and lie on the bed," I tell her. I want her to remember her place. The dog follows her, wagging its tail and trotting to keep up with her like we're on a damn vacation.
"This dog needs a good bath," she shouts out.
She's right. "Yeah," I say, putting the final things away. I have no interest in the dirty animal getting the cabin dirty.