"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.