Page 9 of Wounded Christmas Wolf
Chatting over the dividing up of post-storm duties carried them through breakfast. Cupcake settled under Holly’s stool, looking up hopefully.
“No feeding pets at the table.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Holly said, hastily slipping half a piece of bacon out of her napkin and back onto her plate.
“You sure that critter’s supposed to look like that?” Her dad couldn’t stop staring, craning to look under his feet as Cupcake circled the kitchen island to see if there was any hope of tidbits coming from the other side.
“The shelter lady said so.”
“Does he need a, uh ...” Her dad looked like he’d bitten into something sour instead of a bite of blueberry pancake with syrup. “.... winter coat or something?”
“Probably,” Holly sighed. Cupcake had looked awfully cold outside. “I looked it up on my phone last night, and it looks like you can make a quick coverall for a small dog by cutting the ends off a sock.”
“A sock,” her dad repeated flatly.
“A big sock.”
“The other dogs are gonna laugh at him.”
“The only other dog around is Rocket, and she’s too nice.”
Summoned by her name or the smell of pancakes, Rocket scratched at the door. Holly was done eating anyway, so she jumped up to let in the border collie, who bounded into the kitchen covered in fresh snow, sniffed around the food area, and then went to accost Cupcake. Holly kept an eye on them to make sure no new jealousy was going to arise. But Rocket had always been good with other dogs at the tree farm. She sniffed at Cupcake and gave his topknot a friendly slurp.
“See? Rocket’s a sweetie. Ugh, you’re wet. Do you have any old wool socks with holes in the toes I can use, Dad?”
“Yeah, go through my sock drawer if you have to,” her dad grumbled. He cleared his throat. “By the way, we have another job today, and that’s getting one of the Christmas cottages ready for a guest.”
“Really? Someone’s staying there? Dad, that’s wonderful!”
The village of Christmas-themed tiny houses on the hill behind the farmhouse had been her parents’ passion project. They had rented them out as a B&B, and every Christmas, her dad had opened them up for free to veterans with nowhere else to go for the holidays.
But since Mom had passed, the cottages had stood empty, with only their Christmas lights sparkling high and lonely on the hill when Dad turned them on every December. Every now and then, one of her dad’s extensive network of old military buddies and friends-of-friends came to stay for a while and get back on their feet. It hadn’t happened since Holly had been back on the farm, though.
“Yeah, buddy of mine sent him our way. Guy doesn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays.”
“Oh,” Holly said. She quietly put away the hope in her heart of hearts that her flyer had made its way to the maintenance guy from the community center. But what were the odds, after all? She mustered up more enthusiasm. “Well, I’m glad we can help.”
It would be good to have more people around, anyway, she told herself as she rolled up her sleeves and started washing dishes. She had honestly been dreading these weeks before Christmas, with just her and Dad. The past few years, she had showed up for the holiday itself, but she had missed the lead-in to Christmas, those lonely days that used to be full of baking and decorations and Christmas carols.
This year, she and Dad had been rattling around sadly in the empty house, and Dad dealt with his grief by burying himself in work, so he wasn’t even available to watch Christmas specials with her or do anything else festive. He seemed to be going out of his way to find new projects around the farm that kept him busy long into the evening.
A guest would at least give them someone else to talk to,until whichever of her sisters managed to make it home for Christmas this year started to arrive.
Sudden growling erupted in the living room. Holly dropped the plastic milk glass she had been washing back into the soapy water in the sink and ran to break the dogs up. “Rocket, no!” she was already yelling when she arrived in the living room.
She was afraid she would find Rocket shaking Cupcake like a rawhide pull. Instead, she discovered Cupcake laying on Rocket’s big dog bed in front of the radiator. The growling was Cupcake. Rocket lay on the floor a few feet away, making a tortured moaning noise as if she had decided to expire of angst.
“Cupcake, no!” Holly picked him up. “That’s Rocket’s bed.”
Cupcake’s growling subsided, but Rocket waited until he was safely away, all ten pounds of him, before she leaped on her bed, sniffed it all over, and wound herself into a watchful ball with her silky ears pricked.
“Fine guard dog we got here.” Holly’s dad had followed her into the living room. He ruffled Rocket’s ears. “Just got bullied off your own bed by a wet rat.”
“If they’re going to fight, I’ll get Cupcake a kennel,” Holly sighed. She wondered if there was anything in the barn or the attic left over from their many childhood pets. It would probably be good to make sure Cupcake was kennel-trained anyway; she still didn’t know if he would turn out to be a problem in the house, and he would have to be alone there for hours. Rocket could hang out all day at the Christmas tree farm and play in the snow, but Holly was pretty sure Cupcake would expire of hypothermia in a matter of minutes.
Her dad snorted. “That wasn’t a fight so much as a butt-whupping, and Rocket got whupped. Maybe that little dog has some spunk in him after all.”
Holly cautiously put Cupcake down. He immediately ran back to Rocket’s bed. Rocket raised her head in alarm, and Holly also tensed, but instead of driving the bigger dog off her bed this time, he curled up next to her, half buried in Rocket’s long black and white fur.
