Gifted: A Holiday Anthology (5 page)

“Okay, okay,” he said. “We’re good. That’s great. Now just . . . Can you—” The tongue slid into his mouth. “Ugh. No, stop—” He held the puppy at arm’s length. When it stopped, he settled it, firmly, in his arms. “You’re obviously fine. Which is great. But . . .”

But it was also a problem, because as much as he’d tried to remain sensible and mature about the whole thing, a part of him had still been shouting,
I found a puppy!
The part that hoped maybe, if he brought home an injured and abandoned dog, and it had to stay with them to recover, their parents would see it wasn’t a big deal and let them keep it. Now, though, he had a perfectly healthy abandoned dog, which would be easy to just whisk off to the shelter. That was, he had to admit, not what he wanted. Not at all.

He looked down at the puppy. It was black and white with medium-length fur. Border collie was the breed that sprang to mind. Border collie mingled with something else, because it was already an armful, meaning there was a larger dog mixed in there. German shepherd, maybe?

Kate had researched the various breeds, trying to find the right one. He’d helped, allegedly just because he enjoyed research but admittedly because, well, because he wanted to dream a little, too. Border collies and shepherds were at the top of their list. Intelligent and loyal working dogs. Shepherds appealed more to Logan, but Kate had her heart set on a border collie or Australian shepherd, like Reese used to have. Something loyal and intelligent but also cuddly.

Logan looked down at the ball of fur in his arms. This was her dog. There was no other answer. He’d found exactly the perfect dog for her two days before Christmas. That meant
something
. It had to.

His sister was supposed to have this dog.

His phone jangled, the alarm sounding.

Shit! Er, crap.

He hit speed-dial as fast as he could, juggling the phone with the puppy. It rang. Rang again.

Come on, Mom. You haven’t put your phone in a drawer yet. I’m out in the forest, which means you’ll keep it in your pocket—

“Hey,” came the answer.

He exhaled. “Mom. Good. You’re there.”

“Not sure where else I’d be, but, yep, I’m here. Your sister’s on her way out to find—”

“No!”

“Hmm?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. Can you stop her? Keep her there? Distract her or something?”

The puppy wriggled, and he adjusted his grip on it.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asked. “You sound—”

“I’m feeling a little off. Restless.”

“Is it—?”

“No, no. Just restless, like Kate gets. Anyway, it’s nice and quiet out here and . . .”

Mom chuckled. “And your sister will shatter that silence?”

“I just need time by myself to walk it off. I’ll be in before it’s totally dark. I promise.”

“I know you will. And you are, as always, entitled to time on your own. I’ll keep your sister at bay.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He hung up. That should do the trick. Even for twins, Logan and his sister were close. Best friends who understood each other in a way no human playmate ever could. But Mom worried that they might need time to themselves now and again, especially as they got older. She’d keep Kate away. Now he had to figure out what to do.

Two days until Christmas. Two days to figure out how to tell his parents that he planned to give his sister a puppy.

His stomach twisted at the thought, because it felt disloyal and a little underhanded. No, a
lot
underhanded. They weren’t saying, “No pets” without good reason. If he said he wanted to give this puppy to Kate, it would kill them to refuse.

What he needed was a defense. Not an impassioned plea, but a reasonable argument. Which meant he had two days to come up with a way to convince his parents, while not making them feel they’d been tricked into agreeing . . . or like they were monsters if they refused.

What to do with the puppy until then . . .

The playhouse.

He and Kate had a fort in the forest. Uncle Nick, Reese and Noah had built it for them a couple of years ago. Or they’d tried. When it failed to actually stand upright, they’d recruited Morgan, who had more experience with construction. The result was a perfect shelter from the elements. Also the perfect place to hide a puppy.

Putting the puppy in the fort was a fine idea . . . except that it required the cooperation of the other party, and the puppy was having none of it. After trying several times to leave the dog—only to have it start howling—Logan decided the answer was the same one his parents had used when
their
“puppies” wouldn’t go to sleep.

He brought the dog into the snow and played with it, and while he told himself he was just trying to wear it out, he was a little disappointed when it did finally collapse, exhausted. He scooped it up and took it into the fort, where he’d made a nest with his hoodie, and the puppy fell into snoring slumber.

“I’ll bring you food later,” he whispered as he filled an old Frisbee with snow and mashed it down for drinking water.

Bringing food would mean sneaking out at night, and he hated that, but, if the alternative was letting a puppy starve, it really was no question at all. The rules had to be broken. Just this once.

Next, he had a much less pleasant task: burying the dead puppy. He did that, burying both the bag and the puppy deep in the snow across the road. Then, he started back to the house, deep in thought, until the smell of deer made him pause, instinctively lifting his face to inhale the scent.

Scent.

Oh no.

He stank of dog.

He looked up. Pine needles? Would that smell be strong enough? Maybe if he rubbed them on his clothes and then made a beeline for the shower. But how would he explain to Mom and Dad that he really needed to wash his clothing? By himself.

Well, I have to learn sometime, right?

Dad might let it pass, but Mom had a keenly tuned sense for when something wasn’t quite right with her kids, and she’d sniff out answers like a hound on a trail.

What he needed was a dead animal. Gross, yes, but it would cover up the dog scent. When he sniffed the air, though, he picked up a smell that would do that job even better. Except . . .

He walked to the source of the scent, looked down and shuddered.

Kate had really better appreciate this Christmas gift.

“Oh my God,” Kate said as Logan walked in the door. Her hand flew over her nose. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Kate!” Mom called. “Language.”

“You said there’s a time for cursing,” Kate yelled back. “I think this is it. Logan’s covered in deer poop.”

Mom sighed, probably just relieved Kate had said “poop.” Then she rounded the corner and stopped short, her hand flying up to her nose in a matching pose. “Oh my God, Logan.”

“Language, Mom,” Kate said.

Logan lifted his hand, “Don’t come any closer.”

“Don’t worry,” Kate said. “We’re not. What happened?”

“Ice.”

Kate’s lips twitched. Then, she burst out laughing. Mom tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stifle hers, snorting half-choked laughs.

“Thanks, Mom,” Logan said.

“Sorry, baby. It’s just . . .” She struggled to swallow more laughter.

Dad’s footsteps thudded down the stairs. He poked his head into the mudroom. “What’s . . .” His nostrils flared, and then he drawled, “Well, that’s unfortunate. Ice?”

Logan nodded. He turned and pulled off his boots.

“On your back too?” Mom said. “How’d you manage that?”

“Ice. It’s slippery. Very slippery if it’s covered in snow.”

“So you fell on your face in deer poop,” Kate said. “Got up and fell in backwards?”

“My face is fine.”

“Uh, no, actually there’s a little . . . Eww. Sorry, Lo. You really stink. I’ll go watch Jeremy make dinner.”

“You could help Jeremy,” Mom called after her as she left.

Kate laughed and kept going. Dad followed. Mom turned to Logan.

“Okay, baby, strip down, and I’ll get your clothes into the laundry.”

“I can handle it. It’s my mess, so it’s my cleanup.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ve got it.” He gave her a wan smile. “It’s not something you want to do before dinner.”

“Just toss your clothes in the washer, and I’ll run it after we eat.”

“No, I—”

Dad reappeared with a wet washcloth.

“Please tell me Kate was kidding about my face,” Logan said.

Dad shook his head and walked toward him, as if to wipe it off, but Logan took the cloth and backed up. “Got it. I’ve got the laundry too, Mom. I want to learn. I’ve been thinking I need to take on more responsibilities.”

“All right. I’ll show you how to run it. I
am
sorry about laughing.”

“But it was funny,” Dad said.

“And it’ll get funnier each time your sister retells it.”

Logan sighed.

Mom gingerly reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You just need to find something to hold over her so she doesn’t tell everyone at Christmas. Not that I’d recommend blackmailing your sister . . .”

“Yeah, we absolutely recommend it,” Dad said. “It’s the only defense.”

Logan smiled, and they left him to strip down and run upstairs to the shower.

Logan was quiet over dinner, but no one noticed. Kate spent the meal regaling him and Jeremy with stories of the “strange behavior of humans”—all the weird things she’d witnessed while out Christmas shopping. Mom’s eye rolls said Kate was exaggerating. Dad’s smirks said she wasn’t exaggerating very much.

That was part of growing up in a werewolf Pack. Humans sometimes seemed a foreign species to Logan and Kate, the way they did to Dad, who’d been bitten when he was a kid. Mom had grown up human, so she didn’t pay any attention when humans did things like let their kids wander off in a mall, or yell at them in public or cuff them upside the head. Logan got the feeling none of that was weird—or foreign—to his mother. He wondered what her childhood had been like, but she never talked about it, and if he or Kate asked, she’d just tell them a funny story from her school days.

With Kate entertaining at dinner, no one noticed he was quiet. Quiet and deep in thought, his brain racing to come up with all the necessary facets of “the puppy plan.”

He had to get his parents onside. Jeremy didn’t count. No, that sounded wrong. Jeremy definitely counted—it was his house, and he was Dad’s foster father and also the former Alpha. He always counted. When it came to raising Logan and Kate, though, Jeremy kept out. He was like . . . Logan wasn’t really sure what Jeremy was like, because he had no frame of reference other than what he could glean from other families. Jeremy seemed more involved than a grandparent. He wasn’t like a parent either, because he left all the decisions to their mom and dad. One of Logan and Kate’s school friends had a stepdad, who did everything a dad did, except when it came to discipline and decisions about raising him. That’s what Jeremy was like. As close as you could get to a parent without actually being one.

When it came to getting a dog, Jeremy’s position was simply “whatever your parents say,” as it was on everything else. He wouldn’t even be here for Christmas. He was leaving tomorrow to spend a few days with his girlfriend, Jaime, and then they’d both come back for the big Pack holiday Meet on the twenty-sixth.

The two people Logan had to convince, then, were his parents. He’d considered going straight for Dad. His father might be the most feared werewolf in the country, but his kids saw a very different side of him. Last summer was the first time he’d really raised his voice to them—getting into a shouting match with Kate long after their mother had lost all patience with her acting out. But Kate had had a reason for her bad behavior, and they’d sorted it out, and Dad went back to being his usual self, which meant if Logan had to pick who he could more easily woo to his side, it was definitely Dad.

That was a problem. The rest of the werewolf world might think Dad was the scary one, but he wasn’t Alpha. Mom was. That meant that Logan
shouldn’t
go around her to his father to ask for something. Yes, Mom wouldn’t want him saying that. She wanted to be his mom, not his Alpha. But she
was
his Alpha, and he felt that.

Even if she hadn’t been Alpha, he shouldn’t go around her to his dad. He’d never heard his parents disagree on something to do with him and Kate. So either they never disagreed, or they just didn’t do it in front of the kids. They wanted to stand together as parents, and he shouldn’t pit them against each other. Which meant he had to ask them together. That did not, however, mean he couldn’t work on Dad first.

The next problem was getting Dad away from Mom. Like Kate and Logan, they weren’t
always
together, but it usually seemed like it. Luckily, this was Christmas, which meant routines had changed. Last night, they’d all gone out to cut down a tree. Tonight, they’d trim it. Dad’s job was getting the decorations out of the attic while Mom and the twins made hot chocolate.

“I don’t think three of us need to do this anymore,” Logan said as Kate stirred chopped chocolate into the milk.

Mom got out the mugs. “Someone needs to make sure all that chocolate goes into the pan.”

“I’m not five, Mom,” Kate said . . . and tossed a chunk of chocolate his way before eating a piece herself.

“I thought I’d help Dad this year,” Logan said.

“Why?” Kate said. “You liked the smell of deer poop on your clothes so much that you want to see if mouse poop smells just as good?”

He flicked the back of her head and dodged as she kicked backwards.

“Go on,” Mom said. “Just ignore the cursing.”

Dad was definitely cursing. He was snarling, too, as he stomped around in the dark attic.

“Where the hell did she move everything?” he was muttering to himself as Logan climbed up. “Goddamn it.”

“Language, Dad.”

His father only looked over and snorted. Logan got the feeling the “no swearing” rule came from Mom. Logan understood it, though—if they were allowed to curse at home, then they’d slip up at school, and Mom didn’t need more calls from the teacher.

“Mom didn’t move the decorations. You just toss them up here after the holidays and then forget where you put them.”