Page 66 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“You bought powdered milk?” Lou sounds stunned again, but not quite as desperate.

I quickly open the lid, pull out a packet of powder, and crawl backward before Lou actually slams the door shut.

“Of course.” Smiling triumphantly, I slide out of the storage compartment and hold the blue package in Lou’s face. “Got it.” I glance at the pup in Lou’s arms—like he always belonged there. A strange pang burns in my heart, a fleeting memory of something I once thought.

Mother. Father. Child.

“I hope he drinks it”—I look at her seriously—“if not, I’ll have to drown him.”

“What?” Stunned, she hugs the wolf even tighter.

“So he won’t suffer, I mean.”

“You’re insane!” Her blue eyes sparkle with indignation. “That is completely out of the question.”

I raise my hands reassuringly. “Lou, be reasonable. If he doesn’t drink any milk, he’ll starve and he’ll die a miserable, painful death. Is that what you want?”

She takes a few steps back, and in that second, all I can think about is that she’s going to be a good mom to her kids when it’s time. Children she may have with me. Eventually. I watch her as she stands there caressing the tiny wolf’s fluffy fur. A tender, wild desire pulses in my stomach. For a moment, we stare at each other.

“He’ll drink it,” Lou says quietly, her eyes glowing with determination. “I know he will!”

Lou followed me into the RV and simply took it upon herself to wrap the pup in my dark blue fleece sweater. I see this as progress because usually, she asks my permission for everything. May I open the window? May I go to the bathroom? May I watch Hero of the Week? May I lie down.

“We have to weigh him so we can monitor if he’s growing,” I say and turn on the gas burner to boil the water for the milk. Then, I rummage around in the kitchen drawers until I find the sandwich bags. Three years ago, when I decided to venture into the wild, I watched a lot of wildlife documentaries. In one, two farmers found an orphaned fox cub and nursed it with milk in bags. They didn’t have milk bottles and the tractor had to be repaired. Until they were mobile again, they fed the little one from these plastic bags and it worked—until the fox was old enough and never came back from its excursion into the wild.

But wolves are different from foxes. Wolves bond quickly with humans, and when they love someone, they love them forever.

I remove a plastic bag and make a point of holding it up for Lou to see. “This’ll be our milk bottle.”

She frowns like it’s not good enough for the wolf. “That? How?” she asks skeptically.

I put the bag next to the milk and use the enclosed spoon to measure out the amount of powder I need. “I’ll cut off one corner and he can suckle on it like a teat.” I carefully pour the powder into a measuring cup and look at Lou, who uses my sweater to warm the pup with her hands. “The first domesticated wolves were nursed by human women. Did you know that?” An image of Lou breastfeeding the pup pops into my head and I can’t help but smile in amusement. “I doubt that would work with you though.”

She practically pierces me with her gaze. I turn away quickly, grab the scale from the base cabinet, and place it on the table.

I press the On button with my thumb. “Go ahead, put him on there before we feed him.”

Lou unwraps the pup from my fleece sweater and lays him on the smooth surface. The way he lies there is a pathetic sight. He’s shaking and won’t stop whimpering.

“Hurry up, he’s getting cold.” Lou is standing now, her hands clenched.

I press the button again and read the display. “Seventeen and a half ounces.” Dammit, he’s even lighter than I feared! “Way too scrawny. Wolf pups normally weigh that when they’re newborns and this one must be three or four weeks old.”

“How can you tell?” Lou boldly grabs the pup and wraps him once more in my sweater as if to protect him from me. And indeed, he is suddenly quiet as if he knows that only good things will happen to him with her.

“His eyes are open,” I tell her. “So, he’s more than two weeks old. Plus, he reacts to sounds. Watch!” I let out a throaty sound, a wolf howl like I made greeting the pack on my property two years ago. I must have been desperate, I think. Desperate and extremely lonely.

The little guy in my sweater probably thinks my howl is lifelike because he immediately starts yowling, this time even louder than before.

“See!” I tell Lou happily. “They don’t start doing that for at least three weeks.”

Lou looks at me sternly. “You’re scaring him,” she replies angrily. With the wrapped wolf on her lap, she turns away from me as if shielding him from me.

I laugh. “This guy? Nah.” The kettle on the stove begins to whistle, so I turn and prepare the milk. I realize I’m usually different. I laugh because I feel like it not because I think it’s appropriate. Measuring cup in hand, I turn to Lou and study her for a moment. All her interest is focused on the pup, who is making pitiful noises again. “Believe it or not,” I say impulsively, “there are people and animals in this world that aren’t scared of me.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your food in a minute,” she whispers to the little one, not responding to what I said. Maybe she didn’t hear it.

Suddenly, she jerks her head up. “Do you think he can handle the powder?”

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