by L. E. Horn
Mystified, she told me to have at it. So I raced into the hardware store in town and stocked up on supplies before returning to stare in dismay at the horses stomping around in the paddock. They’d returned to the hay, since the pasture grass was not yet growing. Fortunately, the dirt had hardened in the pre-dawn chill, so my efforts were not in vain.
Keen found the prints. I noticed her sudden intensity as she tracked through the paddock, and I pushed her aside to see them, crystal clear in mud, still frosted at the edges. I stared at the impressions, my brain racing, until Keen poked me with her nose.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I’d spent part of my sleepless night exploring the fine art of preserving footprints in plaster. It took me almost four hours before I had all three prints preserved and dug out of the ground. By that time, the husband, watching from the front porch, had given up on me and stomped off to do other things.
I carted my prizes back home and straight to the person I trusted most in the world. Checking my watch, I sighed with relief. The Sasquatch would be at work.
“Careful,” I said, as Peter lifted the cast for a closer look. “They won’t be fully cured for a few days yet.”
Even if you knew nothing about animal tracks, these prints were enough to make you sit up and take notice. The two I assumed were fronts showed a handprint similar in shape to that of a giant raccoon, with four fingers and a fifth digit much like an opposable thumb. Except raccoon tracks tended to be solid, and this had interruptions between long, narrow pads along the fingers and a single, fatter one associated with the fifth digit. And of course, the size ruled out any fuzzy bandit involvement. With the digits splayed, likely while running, it measured almost a foot across. Claw impressions showed clearly at the tips of the fingers. The single hind paw print was even weirder. The innermost toe appeared larger than the other four and a little apart, and the others decreased in size to the outermost toe. Again, long narrow pads ran along the toes and there were clear claw impressions.
“Any idea what made these?” I asked Peter.
“You said it killed a hare and scared the Thompsons’ horses?”
I nodded as I watched Chloe, who bustled around the kitchen, putting away lunch plates and making us tea. She’d barely glanced at the casts. I noticed her movements seemed stiff. Was something bothering her? Did she have another fight with Dillon?
Chloe didn’t meet my eyes as she handed me a steaming mug.
“But it wasn’t a wolf?” she asked.
“No, it wasn’t a wolf,” I said, adding sugar to my tea and stirring.
When I looked up, they were both staring at the plaster casts.
“It was dark; you sure? Could it have been a dog?” Peter asked.
“Do those look like dog prints to you?”
“The mud was soft. That can alter tracks.” Peter’s pale-blue eyes locked with my disbelieving stare, and he sighed. “If it wasn’t a wolf, what the hell was it?”
That’s the million-dollar question. “I have no idea. It could be a new species.”
Peter hesitated. “Yeah, I guess.”
His skin had an unhealthy, flushed tone. Is he coming down with my flu?
“Do you feel okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I’m fine.” He dropped a hand to trace the cast’s contours. “Have a few friends I’d like to run these by. Can you leave them with me?”
I had intended to see if I could round up someone at the university to take a peek, but running them by some of Peter’s local hunter friends had merit. “Sure, that’d be great. I’ll put them near the window to dry.”
Peter stood to help. The old farmhouse had started life as a log structure, and the width of the walls and heavy wooden windowsills remained the only clue to what lay within. Even so, the casts of the paw prints were so huge that they hung over the edge.
Peter sat back at the table and poured himself more tea. “You feeling okay?” he asked.
“Good. I’m over that flu.”
“Still having animal issues at work?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. I keep dousing myself with cologne, but it doesn’t fool the horses.”
“Your mood been good? Upbeat? No anger or frustration?”
What the hell? What does my mood have to do with the animals at the clinic, or the flu? Unless . . . “I don’t have rabies, Peter. I’m vaccinated. All our vets are.”
I looked at him, but he and Chloe had locked glances, like they were sharing a telepathic secret. Does he know I like Chloe? Of course he does. I am such a dumbass. My thoughts switched to Dillon. Has she had her talk with him yet? If I were to pursue anything with her, I needed to be sure they were no longer an item. Which, considering the kiss on Thursday, seemed unlikely.
“How’s Dillon doing?” I asked. “Does he like his job?”
Both swiveled my way and stared. Uh, okay, weird. Hello, I’m Liam. Here in your kitchen.
“He’s alright,” Peter answered. “He’s a good mechanic when he doesn’t lose his temper.”
“That wasn’t his fault,” Chloe said with heat. “That guy was a prick. Said Dillon left the drain plug out after he changed the oil. Dillon would never do that.”
“Chloe, he hit him. Dillon’s lucky the guy didn’t call the cops, and that I’m buds with the garage owner.”
“The guy got in his face, shoved him.”
The tone of her voice told me more than the words. She defended Dillon as though—well, as though she loved him. I had no doubt that Dillon had crossed the line with the client. I mean I barely knew the Sasquatch, but I’d seen the rage the guy carried like a club. If Chloe could only hear herself, she’d be able to answer the relationship question. They’re way more than friends.
Sighing, I gestured to Keen, who trotted to me from under the table. “I’m going for a run.”
“I can come.” She took an eager step after Keen. Her eyes held not a glimmer of guilt, only excitement.
“Stay.” Peter’s voice brooked no argument. “Dillon’s due home.”
Chloe frowned and stepped back, and I took Keen out to run off my worries, my work, and my frustration.
* * *
When I returned, the Chevy was in the driveway. Any doubts that Dillon had returned vanished as I approached the house. I could hear the shouting from the backyard.
Curiously, it stopped when I appeared out of the bush—a sure sign that I was the topic of discussion. Keen and I entered my suite with total silence above.
I was unprepared for the surge of unpleasant memories. Terminated whispers, and furtive glances. I shook them off with irritation as I grabbed first a towel to wipe my face, then my container of grapefruit juice. Halfway to the bedroom, there came a knock.
Even before I opened it, I knew who it was. The small window sat high enough that few people showed in it, and I could see the shadow of a head through the curtain. If I’d had any doubts, Keen’s reaction would have alerted me. She leaped toward the door, barking fiercely, hackles up.
I sighed. I couldn’t say I was surprised. “Just a minute,” I shouted and grabbed Keen by the collar. She protested every step of the way, but I dragged her to the bedroom and shut her in. That accomplished, I opened the door and faced the Sasquatch.
His dark expression hadn’t changed since I’d seen him last, but now I had some sympathy for his situation. “Come in,” I said. “Want a beer?”
“Ain’t a social call.” His voice had guttural tones, more like a growl. From the bedroom, Keen howled and scrabbled at the door. Had I been wise to shut her away?
“How can I help you?” I leaned against my table, keeping my body language neutral even though my self-preservation instincts had kicked into full gear.
“You kissed Chloe.”
Wow. She told him? Bet she didn’t tell him who started it. Tempted as I was to enlighten him, I doubted he would believe me, anyway, so I decided on a different kind of honesty.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you guys were still
together, and now I know, I’m out.”
The dark eyes glowered at me and his huge hands curled into fists. “Stay away from her.”
“I won’t touch her again, but Peter and I are friends. If she’s there when I visit him, there’s not much I can do.” Be damned if I was going to avoid Peter too.
His big frame stiffened with tension. I kept my body loose as I leaned against my table, shifting a foot beneath me in case I needed to move fast. Keen had stopped barking and scratching, but in the silence, I could hear the continual rumble of her growl through the door.
“Chloe’s mine.” The way he said it sent a frisson of ice down my spine.
“Does she know that?”
“She. Is. Mine.” Before I could even so much as flinch, he took a step right into my space. He reeked of gasoline and oil from the cars he worked on, and beneath that, an animal rankness that made my head spin. His anger radiated off him in waves.
I should have moved away, but instead something within forced me to straighten, to push back. He read it in my expression and retreated a step, his face contorting into a snarl. I curled my upper lip away from my teeth in a crazy mimicry of Keen. Despite the differences in our height, I matched his glare with my own and got a front-row seat to the ignition in his eyes.
The fist came at me like a blur, and no one was more surprised than I when I caught it with my open hand. The force of his blow rocked my body through my stiffened arm.
“Dillon!” Fingers appeared on Dillon’s shoulder, pulling him away from me. Peter spun the younger man to face him. Dillon towered over him, but Peter’s anger expanded his personal presence to fill my small kitchen.
“Haven’t you been in enough trouble this week? Now you’re attacking Liam?”
“Stay out of this, old man.”
Peter’s pale-blue eyes blazed. “I. Will. Not.” I had never seen him so angry. He took a step into Dillon’s space as he continued. “You want my help, you abide by me. And leave Liam alone.”
Dillon wants Peter’s help? Other than personality lessons, what did Dillon need help with? The guy had rage issues. And his attitude toward Chloe was downright scary. Obsessive, stalker-type scary. So yeah, I guess Dillon needed Peter’s help, and so did Chloe.
The man in question kept his gaze locked on Peter’s, but something shifted in his stance, a slight lowering of the shoulders and chin, before he spun on his heel and left.
Peter looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” I said, becoming aware that my hand hurt like hell. I debated, but I needed to know. “Is Chloe in over her head with that guy?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Some things you don’t know, and I can’t tell you,” he said. “Dillon has issues. We’re trying to help him.”
“He said Chloe belonged to him. That sounds a little unbalanced.”
Peter’s face paled, but he nodded. “Maybe you shouldn’t come by for tea. Until things cool down.”
My heart sank, and for a moment, it was as though a pit opened beneath my feet. Memories surged—helplessness, terror as my world dissolved around me. Get a grip, Liam. You haven’t thought about that crap in years.
“Give us a few days,” Peter said. “I need to get a handle on things.”
I thought of the human mountain that had just stalked out the door. “Peter . . . be careful.”
He nodded, and I saw shadows of everything he wasn’t saying in his eyes. When he left, I let Keen out of the bedroom. Suddenly, I didn’t want to stay in my suite for the evening. I felt cut loose, like a ship that had lost its anchor. Sitting at the table, I scratched Keen. Man, I need to get a life.
On that thought, I punched in a number and reached Greg, one of my few friends. He’d been a client at the clinic, and we’d joked around enough to know we shared a sense of humor. After a few outings, we’d attained the point of casual friendship.
I was in luck. He was, as he put it, between relationships and bored stiff, so we decided to see a movie in Winnipeg.
I disconnected and looked at Keen. “Sorry, girl. I’m ditching you for humans. But I promise I’ll leave you a bone to chew on.”
She wagged her tail. I got ready to go, gave her the promised bone, and left. I was almost at the vehicle when I hesitated.
I thought of Keen, happily chewing on her bone. Alone.
Vulnerable.
I returned to the door, pulled out my keys, and locked it.
6
My heart still hurt, but I felt much more human after the movie and a beer with Greg. Life had gained some perspective. Chloe—possibly nuts and off limits. Dillon—definitely nuts and best avoided. Liam—would be fine as long as he obeyed the new world order.
It all made perfect sense with my beer-induced insight. I noticed Keen’s bone had vanished and she fixed me with her “I’m ready for a walk” look. I stood at the door, leash in hand. Considering how my last two late-nighters had gone, was this a great idea? But Keen had been shut in the house for hours.
Just a short one, I promised myself. I teased and tickled her as we headed out onto the road. She loved every minute, mouth hanging open in a broad grin, dancing and spinning until I had to untangle both of us from the leash. I turned the opposite direction from last time, heading toward the dairy farm at the other end. A thin sliver of moon cast its feeble light, and the night had that crystal clarity that usually means frost by morning.
The dairy had several yard lights, evidence of the crazy hours the operators kept. I knew the farmer well, and he often called me if he had an emergency. I’d saved bovine lives by being mere minutes away.
All appeared quiet tonight. Our breath hung like fog in the air as Keen trotted along, unraveling the day’s mysteries with her marvellous nose. I could smell the pungent aroma of silage, a common and nutritious feed for the cattle. Pastures and fields of alfalfa for hay surrounded the large buildings that formed the beating heart of the farm. The cows must have been in the back areas, because I couldn’t see them from the road.
We walked until I contemplated a hot shower and a soft bed. I slowed and debated turning when Keen stopped moving and stared ahead at the empty pasture. She whined low in her throat. Nervous, my eyes scanned the darkness, and what I’d interpreted as a mound of dirt, moved. I clutched Keen’s leash tighter as the thing drew closer, getting larger, the yard lights catching the odd flash of limbs—not fluid like a coyote, but powerful, its back rising and falling in a now familiar rhythm. I backed away, pulling Keen. She looked from me to the oncoming form, but oddly, did not growl. When the light reflected in shades of red and brown off the coat, I realized this was the smaller animal, the one who’d saved me that first night. She—I somehow knew it to be female—watched Keen and me as she came to within fifty feet of the road.
To my shock, Keen’s tail wagged. What the hell? If she’d been off her lead, she might have trotted over to say hi. And gotten eaten for her trouble.
I blinked, trying to make out details in the dim light. The creature paused and tilted its head as it considered us. I pulled Keen in. She whined, but her silly tail continued to wag.
Then the animal rose on its hind legs. It didn’t sit up like a gopher or even pop up to wobble like a dog. It stood, back straight, forelimbs hanging down its sides—like a human. And any illusion of it being a wolf shattered completely and forever.
For a few seconds, it held position as we contemplated each other with all my neck hairs standing straight on end. The jaws opened in a sharp-toothed grin before it turned and took three long strides on two legs. At last, it dropped back to all four, vaulted the pasture fence, and was swallowed by the darkness.
My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest. I gathered Keen’s leash, pointed for home, and broke into a jog. Soon I pelted along the road, trailed by a confused but enthusiastic dog. When I slowed in front of Peter’s house, I sucked in huge mouthfuls of air and realized I’d held my breath almost the entire way. I didn’t stop until I stood in
my kitchen, trembling, with a locked door between the outside world and me.
Was that for real? Or was I losing my frigging mind?
* * *
Dragging myself out of bed on Easter Sunday, I re-established my determination to face life from a normal, non-crazy perspective. The Chevy’s absence in the driveway was a positive sign, and I decided repairing the front fence would be a good start to my day.
I dug new boards out of the barn, loaded them with a hammer and nails into the wheelbarrow, and set off across the grass, Keen at my heels. A short time later, as a balm to my lonely soul, Peter appeared. Keen greeted him with enthusiasm as he carried a pair of lawn chairs to where I worked, offered me a beer, and sat.
“Dillon working?”
“Chloe and he are doing a movie and dinner. Thought it might help.”
I finished prying off an old rotten board, grabbed a beer from him, and planted myself in the second chair. Knowing neither Dillon nor Chloe were around relaxed me. I hoped that wherever they were, things would get resolved, one way or the other.
“You go out last night?” Peter asked.
I straightened in my seat, and the events I’d successfully suppressed came crashing back. He noted my expression and his eyebrows rose. “Anything wrong?”
He was talking about going out, like to the movie, you idiot. “I saw a movie too,” I said, but I must have sounded weird because he continued to stare at me. “Took Keen for a walk after. And . . . I saw one of those creatures again.”
Peter rubbed the beer bottle along his brow as though he had a headache. “Uh huh. Did you get a close look at it?”
“Yeah. Good enough to draw it. Hold on, I’ll get it for you.” I left him with both beers and trotted to the house. When I returned, he was staring across the road, his eyes unfocused.
