Dad gave him a quick hug back and tucked him in, kissed his forehead like he used to when they were little and then padded from the room.
There was no resolution to the puppy problem the next day. It was Christmas Eve, and it seemed Mom and Dad didn't want to think about that. Mom said she and Dad would look after the puppy that day--they needed him and Kate to stay out of the woods, in case the mutt came back.
Logan was fine with that. As much as he told himself she was just postponing disappointing him, he couldn't help but think that if she really didn't want to disappoint him, she'd get it over with before he got his hopes up. So yes, he did get his hopes up. Way up, if he was being honest.
Then, lying in bed that night, stuffed with hot chocolate and Christmas cookies, he began to feel, well, a little sick, and it wasn't from overeating. He kept thinking about the tree, with Kate's gift under it, and how much he wished he could have given her the puppy, how happy that would have made her. He decided he needed an answer. Just an answer, so he could stop hoping if there wasn't any point in it.
When he snuck downstairs, he heard his parents in the study.
"--don't know how to tell him," Mom was saying, and he stopped short.
"I know."
"I keep going over it and over it," she said.
She's decided against the puppy.
Logan took a deep breath. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could still talk--
"There isn't a solution," she said.
"I know," Dad replied.
"And you're really not helping."
"I know."
A whack, as if she'd smacked him, and Dad let out a soft laugh, and then there was another sound, another smack--a kiss--and Dad said, "You don't need to figure it out right now, darling."
"I do." A sharp intake of breath. "Distracting me isn't going to help."
"Mmm, yes, I think it will. I'll distract you, and you'll stop fretting, and then we can both come up with a solution later."
"It has to be tonight."
"Which has only begun. Now, come back here and . . ."
A laugh, cut short by a kiss. Logan's shoulders slumped, and he trudged back to bed.
Logan tossed and turned all night. He drifted through nightmares of the puppy back in the bag, a new owner getting tired of it. Then, dreams of him handing the puppy to Kate, which were almost as bad, because he'd wake up and remember that wasn't happening. Couldn't happen.
When he first woke thinking he heard the puppy, it was obviously more self-torture. He snarled and pulled the covers up over his head. But, as soon as he started falling asleep, the puppy returned, howling, the sound muffled, as if she were calling to him from the fort, begging him to come out and play, not to send her away to strangers who might do the same as--
He bolted up with a growl, shaking his head sharply. His room was silent, the puppy only in his head. He looked at the window. It was still dark out.
He reached for the books on his nightstand. There was always a stack. He hunted down the titles for the one least likely to contain canines of any kind. Muller's A First German Reader. That would do. He opened the book at random, and his gaze traveled down the page.
Leine: line, rope or leash.
He slapped the book shut, and he was reaching for another when he heard a yip and the scrabbling of nails. He lifted his head and blinked hard. Then he heard another yip.
No, that wasn't possible.
More blinking. More yipping and scrabbling, like tiny nails against a door. Had she escaped the fort? Maybe Mom or Dad had been distracted and didn't quite shut it up right, and the puppy had escaped and followed their trail to the house.
He had to get down there before Kate heard her. That would be the worst Christmas morning ever: his sister waking to a puppy she couldn't have.
He raced into the hall, slowing only to tiptoe past Kate's room, and then trying his best not to thump down the stairs. He could clearly hear the puppy now, and he followed the sound, expecting to hear it at the back door, but it seemed to come from the study.