Page 85 of Untouchable

* * *

Light catcheson something moving in the corner of the valley and Harp tenses. He sits up higher, nearly toppling Parker out of his lap.

"What's up?" Parker asks, scooting away.

Harp stands up, the moment of aching and uncertainty falling away. It takes Harp a moment to confirm his fears, but after he watches for a moment, it’s unmistakable.

"There's a coyote snooping around at the house."

“Oh, fuck,” Parker says, getting to his feet. He squints at the house. “Shit—the kittens. In the house we made. Fuck—”

"Do you have your cell phone?" Harp asks, patting himself down. He can't remember if he grabbed his own on the way out the door or not. He'd been so fucking distracted with Parker and his big grin.

“Uh, yeah,” Parker says. “I brought it for pictures.” He has to wriggle through several layers of clothing to extract it from his sweatpants pocket, and he hands it to Harp. “I don’t think I have service though—”

Harp holds the phone up, looking at the bars in the corner. An ugly NO SERVICE message shows, and Harp turns helplessly wondering if another angle might work. It only seems to work when he holds it as high in the air as he can, and that won't work. He checks the coyote again. The animal is going slow but making a beeline for the house.

"It only works up high. Can you get on my shoulders?" Harp asks, pressing the phone back into Parker's hand.

“Er, yeah,” Parker says, biting his lip uncertainly. “I’m, uh, not sure the coyote has a cellphone, though. No thumbs, you know?”

Harp drops to his knees. "Come on," he says, gesturing to his back. "Get up and call my house phone."

* * *

Parker realizes now is probably notthe time to admit that he has a fear of heights. He takes a deep breath and clambers onto Harp’s back, feeling a little bit like a koala, and lets out an embarrassing little eep! when Harp stands up, his stomach flipping unpleasantly. Parker holds the phone up again, and, when he’s sitting up as straight as he can, he has a single, weak bar of service.

“I have service,” he says breathlessly, trying to relax the vice grip of his legs. He peels off his glove with his teeth and quickly taps in Harp’s home phone. It takes a long, tense moment for the call to connect, and then Parker hears it ringing. “Okay, it worked—”

Parker wobbles unsteadily, and he shudders.

"Squeeze your legs together—don't fall," Harp orders. He grabs Parker's thighs just above the knees to steady him. "Grab onto my hair if you have to."

"Okay, it's ringing," Parker says.

"When the answering machine picks up, I want you to talk to my dogs. Get 'em riled up and barking."

“Okay,” Parker says through clenched teeth. He rests his free hand on top of Harp’s head—he feels slightly more secure with Harp’s hand steadying his legs, but it’s still not exactly fun. He waits a moment longer, still trying to see out over the valley—and then he catches it, a sliver of a shadow slinking along under the window. Parker’s stomach tightens, and without meaning to, his hand clenches, tugging at Harp’s hair.

The answering machine picks up, and a monotone robot instructs him to leave a message.

“Bo,” Parker says, raising his voice and talking quickly. “Bo, wake up—I need your help. Wake up your sisters. Get Gunny and Petunia—I need your help for a very important rescue mission—Bo! Gunny! Petunia! I know you can hear me, you lazy dogs, wake up and start barking. C’mon, Bo, you little fucker—”

The coyote disappears into the shadow cast by the house across the side yard.

"Goddamn it," Harp says under his breath.

"Bo, c’mon, Bo! Now is not the time to be quiet. Get ‘im, Gunny girl!" Parker says, practically shouting into the phone.

* * *

Harp is aboutto let Parker down off of his shoulders, planning on hollering at the top of his lungs as he runs as fast as he can towards the house. But at the least minute, a clear, high bark rings out, only slightly muffled by the distance and walls of the house. It's Bo.

“Good boy, Bo! Save the day!” Parker continues to babble into the phone, and soon Harp can hear Gunny and Petunia join in, a medley of low woofs tangling with Bo’s little yip. Harp can just make out a tiny smudge in the window—Bo has his paws up on the window frame, his nose pressed against the glass.

The coyote shoots away from the house as the dogs' barking echoes. Dogs in the neighboring valley pick up the cry in the direction that the coyote is running. Relief floods Harp's chest and he laughs as Parker coos praise for the brave dogs through his phone. Bo is throwing an absolute fit in the window.

"You did it," Harp crows. He holds Parker's legs tighter and spins in a circle, overwhelmed by relief that his plan worked, by the silliness of the moment now that the danger is drained out of it.

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