by Forthright
“That’s okay,” said Coop. “We need your shirt and shoes.”
Charles jostled the boy with his elbow, who grinned and jostled him back. Shaking the hair out of his eyes, Charles said, “Would you be willing to run a small errand for us?”
The level of excitement buzzing between father and son had Daroo curious. “How may I be of service?”
Coop snickered.
His father grinned sheepishly. “We’ve decided to embrace a slightly different lifestyle for the summer. We’re in the process of toughening up our feet.”
“We’re going to see how long we can go barefoot!” Cole interjected helpfully.
Charles extended a slip of paper and a couple of folded bills. “Could you stop in at the hardware store?”
Daroo-fen took and scanned the list. “Fishing line?”
“The hooks and tackle I found were good, but the line kept snapping. It’d gone brittle.”
“I see.” He pocketed the funds. “I will range into civilization on your behalf, since you’re clearly determined to leave it behind.”
Charles’ smile was easy. “Come to the wild side. We have trout.”
“I’ll return shortly … and prepared.”
Daroo-fen strolled back the way he’d come, mentally tallying up a few things he’d like to bring along for a day in the woods, when the slap of bare feet stopped him in his tracks. Coop ran up, and Daroo assumed Charles had thought of something else to add to the list. But the boy offered him a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
“This is mine. Birthday money from Grandma Pfeiffer.” Coop’s earlier determination hadn’t faded. “I need a thing from the store. Will you get it for me?”
“Does your father know?”
“No. I want to surprise him.”
“What kind of surprise are we talking about here?”
“Promise not to tell?”
“I can’t promise that, Coop. Reason with me, and I’ll keep your secret if it’s safe to do so.”
The boy bunched up his mouth, then rolled his eyes heavenward in obvious exasperation. Daroo couldn’t help wondering if he was witnessing one of Ally’s mannerisms … and if it was too late to train it out of the boy.
“I need a dog collar. And a leash.”
“You don’t have a dog.”
“I’m getting one,” explained Coop. “I already found him, but I need to catch him.”
An uneasy feeling crept up Daroo-fen’s spine. “You found a stray?”
“Nope. He’s a wolf.”
This kid.
Very carefully, he asked, “Are you aware that wolves are wild?”
“Not this one.” Coop sounded utterly convinced. “I’m going to catch him and give him to Dad.”
“What for?”
“Father’s Day,” the boy answered with exaggerated patience. As if he were used to getting the third degree.
Daroo-fen figured the boy was in for a world of disappointment. But he had to ask, “Why would your father want a wolf?”
“Mom wouldn’t let him have a dog.”
“But … you can’t keep a wolf. They’re meant to be free.”
“This one’s different. And so’s Dad. We’re wild, too.” The inescapable reasoning of a child. “I think maybe he’s like Dad. He got lonesome.”
Daroo-fen feared that he was about to do something very foolish. In fact, he already had, for the crumpled bill was in his hand. As he pocketed it, he said, “I hope you’ll treat him kindly.”
“Sure we will.” Coop’s smile was sunny. “He’s going to be part of our family.”
White Collar Wolf
The next day, Drew Hunter changed his answering machine message, stopped his mail, and posted a notice in the window of his office door. He was on vacation. Apologies for any inconvenience. Not that there would be any. Other than the occasional legal question, which Daroo-fen always responded to with a referral, the offices of Woodruff, Thackeray, and Hunter did little actual business. Not with humans.
But appearances must be maintained. This was a long game, and his role was essential.
He waited for dark before moving a few essentials to the woods. It had been years since he’d visited his old den, but the wardstones were still in place. And behind barriers, a sigil-crusted wall hummed contentedly. All their secrets were safe. And that was worth any sacrifice.
Even though it was hard.
Perhaps that’s why he was taking this tiny risk. He’d spent decades pretending to be human—dressing the part, docking his tail, and walking the same patch as dogs. But underneath all his civility, some crumpled, bottled shred of his former life howled against necessities.
Why should he wear sensible shoes and keep office hours? If Charles and Coop could bare their chests and give up shoes and roam the woods for a summer, couldn’t he? It would have to be a secret, but his whole life was built around them. What was one more?
If he could pass himself off as a human, he could pass himself off as a pet.
Daroo-fen almost talked himself out of his scheme a dozen different times before Coop finally picked his way through the woods to the bramble, equipped with nothing but a creaky length of weathered rope.
He immediately felt bad. The boy was barefoot and footsore, with grass-stained kneecaps and a bruised elbow. But his eyes were bright with a delight that put a sway into Daroo-fen’s tail.
“I knew you’d be here.”
Dropping the rope, he offered his hands. Daroo obligingly set his paw on them, giving their greeting a bit of polish. Coop laughed and called him smart. Then sat right down and explained his whole plan. Which Daroo-fen had already heard, and which any other wolf wouldn’t have understood. But he rested his chin on folded paws and heard him out.
Once that formality was over, Daroo crept forward on his belly, then rolled invitingly onto his back. He wanted contact. Had been craving it since the last time. As soon as Coop was close enough, he snared the boy with his front paws and pulled him down.
Coop’s surprise turned into grin. “I knew you’d like my idea.”
As much as he admired the boy’s boundless confidence, he was more interested in another belly rub. And it had been forever since someone had scratched his ears. The kid pulled through, and Daroo-fen rewarded him by licking his nose.
“D’ya like that?” Coop asked.
Silly question. All four paws in the air, he drummed the ground with his tail. He was making a spectacle of himself, and he didn’t care. Because such simple pleasures were never meant to feel foreign.
Not that a wolf didn’t have his pride. When the rope came into play, Daroo couldn’t bring himself to meekly submit to the harness. But neither did he discourage the boy. He’d sit still while Coop approached, then leap back—head low, paws spread, tail wagging encouragement.
This was more than a game of chase. Coop would value his catch more if he worked for it.
“Come on, wolfy-wolf-wolf,” the boy coaxed. “I’m going to give you to Dad.”
Daroo-fen danced out of range and wuffed softly.
“We’ll give you a good home, and you can still run all you want, since this is our back yard. And you gotta be good to Rose, since she’s only a baby. But especially be good to Dad. You can be his, and then he won’t be alone, and then maybe he won’t cry so much.”
The game lost its appeal.
Coop slipped the noose of rope over Daroo-fen’s head. Awe suffused the boy’s face. “I did it,” he whispered. “Well, maybe it was both of us.”
True enough. Although it was difficult to say which of them was the culprit and which the accomplice.
Happy Father’s Day
Charles had grown accustomed to rude awakenings. They were one of Cole’s favorite ways to express affection. So when a certain Sunday dawned, he wasn’t especially surprised to find himself on the receiving end of a belly flop.
“Happy Father’s Day!”
“Your special day,” Charles mumbled, eyes shut.
&n
bsp; That seemed to throw Cole for a loop. “Nuh-uh,” he finally said. “Father’s Day is for dads, and you’re the dad.”
“But who made me a dad?” he asked.
His son wriggled closer. “Me?”
“Yep. You.” Charles hugged him tight. “I love you.”
“I know.” And more shyly, “I got you something.”
He sniffed unobtrusively, to see if anything was burning. “Not breakfast in bed?”
“Nope. But you can have it in bed.”
Charles peeled back the lid of one eye and squinted at his son. “I think I need a better clue.”
Cole’s smile was one of supreme satisfaction. Scooting to the edge of the mattress, he picked up and handed over the end of an old, frayed rope.
Mystified, he asked, “What’s this?”
“Pull.” The boy was bouncing with excitement.
So Charles gave the rope a tug. Which set something in motion. Something that tapped lightly against wood floors, the same way Sheba’s claws had when they were due for trimming. But it wasn’t a dog at the end of the rope.
An enormous wolf filled the doorway, all soft tans and medium browns. Since Charles’ bed was low to the ground, he could see his creamy underbelly. And what big eyes he had. And what big teeth he had.
With a panicked glance toward Rose, Charles scrambled onto hands and knees. “Come up here by me,” he ordered Cole.
But the boy misunderstood. Patting the mattress encouragingly, he said, “Come on, boy. Come up by us!”
The wolf sat where he was, watching Charles with an eerie intelligence. Like he hadn’t misunderstood.
“Don’t be shy now.” And before Charles could stop him, Cole darted to the wolf and flung his arms around its neck. “This is your big moment!”
Charles was half out of bed, driven by the need to protect his son, but the wolf didn’t seem to mind Cole’s rough affections.
“You always wanted your own dog, but a wolf is better, don’t you think? He’s wild like us. But friendly, too.”
The wolf blinked placidly.
“Where did you find him?” Charles asked weakly.
“In our woods. Me and him had a talk, and we both think he’s perfect for you.”
“Is that so?”
The wolf’s tail gave two small thumps that settled the matter.
Charles sagged back onto the mattress and cautiously admitted, “He’s beautiful.”
“You like him?”
“Yes. Thank you, Cole.” He patted the rumpled bedding and, in an entirely different tone, said, “Come up here by me.”
This time, the wolf obeyed, walking over until he loomed over Charles.
“Does he have a name?”
“Nope. He’s yours, so you should get to pick.”
Charles offered his fingertips for canine perusal. “What will you answer to, you big, beautiful beast?”
“Beast is good,” said Cole. “Oh! I almost forgot!”
The boy ran out. Meanwhile, the wolf lowered himself to the floor, his muzzle resting on Charles’ knee, his gaze fixed beseechingly on his new master’s face. The eyes were as tan as his fur, with subtle depth caused by fanning lines and flecks of dark and light. But the pupils were strange. Unusually narrow.
Cole returned with the rest of his gift—a collar and a leash. “Mr. Hunter ran an errand for me, too. He didn’t tell on me, did he?”
“He never said a word.” Charles scratched the wolf behind his ear. “It’s a good surprise.”
They spent much of the morning cleaning up the doghouse and moving it to its old spot on the back porch. That afternoon, they made lists and tried to figure out what to feed a wolf. Charles added dog food to the shopping list they were saving up for Drew, but it was a long way to Saturday. Beast dined on scrambled eggs and half of one of Mrs. Lundgren’s casseroles.
That night, Cole pushed a folded blanket inside the doghouse and tried to lure the wolf inside. Charles wasn’t convinced Beast would fit. Dad had loved big dogs, so the house was spacious, but this wolf was on a whole different scale.
Even so, Cole was determined.
He climbed inside to demonstrate how comfortable it was. And Beast listened with incredible patience while Cole explained all about doghouses and people houses and bedtime and the solemn duties of watchdogs through the ages.
Which apparently went double for wolves.
To Charles’ amazement, the wolf actually inserted himself through the door of the newly dubbed wolfhouse, turned his body around, and settled with muzzle on paws. It was almost as if he’d understood Cole’s words. Or at least his earnestness.
Charles couldn’t understand why Beast was alone. He was intelligent, obedient, and housebroken. Patient with children. Even careful of babies. That suggested he’d belonged to a family. Was he lost? Surely not abandoned. Could they really keep someone else’s pet? Maybe he should ask Drew’s advice.
He was relying rather heavily on his Saturday friend.
Maybe he shouldn’t.
Dependence had always made him feel like a burden. Now, it was a bad habit. One he wasn’t sure how to shake. Ally had thrust independence on him because she wanted her own. Right now, independence was a frighteningly lonesome prospect.
Drew had called him a capable man. Was he capable of this?
Den Sweet Den
When Charles came downstairs after tucking in his son, Beast had abandoned the doghouse. He sat on the other side of the screen door, as if done with his performance and ready for something more sensible.
He held the door wide, and Beast accepted the invitation. Hunkering down before the animal, Charles gently took hold of the thick fur on either side of Beast’s face, staring into eyes that were more feline than canine. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to live out of a box. Want a spot with me in the den?”
The wolf’s ears pricked, and he looked toward the correct door.
“You’ll have to be quiet. We’re sharing with Rose, so no growling or howling. Okay?”
Beast whined and wagged his tail.
“Good deal.”
By the time Charles reached his room, the wolf had already claimed more than his fair share of the mattress. He dimmed the nightlight and changed in the dark, then lowered himself to the edge of his bed. “Hey, you,” he muttered. “I know I don’t take up much space, but this is my bed.”
It took some shoving and shifting before Charles judged he’d claimed sufficient territory. Sighing, he reached for Beast and found an ear to fondle. The wolf pressed closer, resting his chin on Charles’ chest, which made it easy for him to bury both hands in thick fur. He worked his way up to the back of Beast’s ears, which he gave a good scratching.
This brought back memories.
Good ones. Better ones.
Father’s Day had always been awkward. People acted weird about it, like he shouldn’t be praised or honored for getting Ally pregnant. Like the whole thing was a mistake that was best forgotten. Like becoming a teen father meant he wasn’t a good one.
“I’m not sure why it’s always been my fault,” he whispered.
Beast’s ears pricked.
“Ally got exactly what she wanted.” She’d bragged about it afterward—finishing school, finding a job, buying the house. He’d been the next phase in a long-range plan. “I was thrilled, and then I was scared, and then I was married.”
Beast licked his ear, and Charles wrapped his arm around the wolf.
“My parents insisted I take responsibility, but all the decisions were made around me.” He stared at the ceiling. “But I was fine with it. Why not? Everything was set. Ally would work, and I’d stay home with our baby.”
Funny, how it helped to say these things out loud. Ally had her version of events, and he’d never set the record straight. You didn’t contradict Ally. You didn’t bite the hand that fed you.
He took a shaky breath. “I wanted more kids. She didn’t. When she found out she was pregnant again, I was in the
doghouse.”
Beast whined.
“She did keep the baby.” Charles didn’t think she really would have gotten rid of Rose, but she’d used the threat to hurt him. “But I never made it off the couch.”
The wolf made an odd grumbling sound and roused himself enough to drape more fully over Charles. Out of the doghouse and into the wolf’s den.
“Are you trying to smother me?” he complained.
Beast huffed in his ear but didn’t budge.
And Charles went along with it. Because it was so much better than being alone. Dogs—and apparently wolves—were such good listeners. They knew when they were needed.
“Know something?” he asked. Even though Beast couldn’t answer. “It’s a secret.”
The wolf’s nose snuffled against his hair, his ear, his neck.
Charles grabbed hold and tipped his chin toward the ceiling, blinking hard. He had to tell someone even more than he needed to hide the truth. And Cole had given him a confidante. So he whispered three words in the dark. “I’m. So. Scared.”
Coming to Heel
Daroo-fen had never been someone’s comfort before.
In years long past, he’d stood out as the strong one, the sure one, rightborn successor of the seven-score moons and valorous succor of the meek. Others had been his comfort, and he had been their confidence. How strange to have his role reversed.
To be part of a family without leading it. To listen and be mute, without a voice in decisions. To be held without holding, without an equal share in any embrace.
It was unsettling. But far from unpleasant.
Over the first few days, Daroo-fen learned several things about the household. That Charles was much the same when alone as he was when Drew Hunter dropped by. No front, no false face. That the Coopers had nothing resembling a schedule. Charles was less interested in the time than in the tasks he and Coop shared. Only Rose kept regular hours—napping and needing attention by turns.
He’d also underestimated Charles.
The man might cry himself to sleep every night, but he seized each day and put it to use. Giving proof to an old adage—night’s prey could rule the day. And anyone could see that Charles had been basking in the sun. His shoulders burned, then bronzed, and gold threaded into his hair. He had to take a scrub brush to his feet every night, for he stubbornly went without shoes. And now there was grease under his nails. He’d taken apart a tiller, spreading its parts across a sheet of plywood
