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--?"