A Temporary Arrangement

The tumbledown house off to the left might be the Peters place Ethan had mentioned. And ahead…

“Is that it?” She pointed across a shallow valley to fenced pasture. Beyond that lay a collection of buildings nearly hidden by a grove of trees.

Keifer straightened in his seat to see over the dash. “There’s Buddy, Dad’s horse. The cows are prob’ly over the hill. And the goats—”

“The goats?”

“Three. They’re probably in the garden.”

“I’ll bet your dad wants them in there,” Abby said dryly.

“Not really, but he can’t make them stay out,” Keifer announced with relish, his mouth curved in a faint, smug smile. “They can get out of anything, he says. Baxter’s real mean.”

As she drove down the next slope, the mud grew deeper, grabbing at the tires and pulling the vehicle to one side. An ominous stretch of deeply rutted road lay between them and the Matthews place ahead.

She debated briefly, then gunned the motor and held the steering wheel in a death grip as the car shot forward. Halfway there. Three quarters…

The vehicle slowed as it sank deeper and deeper until it mired down with its wheels spinning uselessly and mud flying into the air behind them.

“Shoulda taken the truck,” Keifer observed, darting an I-told-you-so look at her.

“We might still be all right. Don’t worry just yet.” Abby unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door. The car was buried to its frame. “Okay. Now we can worry.”

The bright afternoon sunshine had gradually disappeared behind clouds during the past half hour. Her cell phone reception was mostly just static.

And the only towing service in the area was back at Blackberry Hill, though she’d overheard a disgruntled nurse complain that the owner often quit early and went fishing.

And she was almost sure she’d seen a truck emblazoned with Mel’s Towing ahead of her car as she’d driven out of town.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN the car and the next dry stretch of road, Keifer lost a tennis shoe in the mud and Abby realized her taupe slacks and loafers were a total loss.

By the time she and the boy trudged up the last hill—which was much farther away than it had appeared from the other side—and reached the Matthewses’ mailbox, thunder echoed through the dark sky and bolts of lightning shook the ground beneath their feet.

“Run, Keifer!” Abby shouted over the rising wind. “I’ve got a key for the house.”

“Dad doesn’t lock it anyway!” he shouted back to her.

Even minus a shoe, he raced up the long driveway and reached the covered porch well before she did.

Soaked and shivering, she joined him at the log house and stared out at the deluge. “Well, this is certainly an adventure,” she said, wishing she dared put a comforting arm around his thin shoulders. “But at least we got here, right?”

He must have sensed her thoughts, because he pointedly moved a few yards away. He looked down at his muddied sock and some of his tough-kid veneer slipped away. “Mom is gonna kill me when she hears about my shoe.”

“Surely that won’t be a big deal. Not when she hears the whole story, right?”

When he didn’t answer, she grinned at him. “Anyway, you’re here with your dad for the summer. I’m sure he’ll get you another pair if we can’t find it.”

“I guess.”

“I suppose we’d better go inside, don’t you think? You can put on some dry clothes, and I’ll call for a tow truck. Then you can tell me about the animals we should feed while we wait for help.”

She followed Keifer to the end of the wrap-a-round porch, where a side door led into the kitchen. It felt strange walking into Ethan Matthews’s house with him away.

Several bloodied towels still lay on the counter by the sink, a macabre reminder of Ethan’s accident earlier in the day. She quickly filled the double sinks with cold water and put the towels in to soak while Keifer changed upstairs.

By the time he returned, she’d mopped up the rest of the evidence of Ethan’s injury and had left a message for the towing service. “I should call the sheriff and let him know about the road hazard, too. I’d hate to have anyone rear-end my car in the dark.”

“No one lives back here but Dad,” Keifer said as he rummaged in the cookie jar on the counter.

Now, there was an eerie thought, with a storm rumbling overhead and the kitchen lights flickering. “No one?”

“The road dead-ends just over the hill, so no one ever comes out this far, Dad says. That’s why I can ride his horse all over and he doesn’t worry.”

“Oh.” Feeling a sudden chill, she rubbed her upper arms. “So he doesn’t have any neighbors?”

“He doesn’t want neighbors.”

Well, that certainly fit her impression of the man. A stubborn recluse, who clearly resented any sort of interference from others—even with a serious injury to contend with. Abby suddenly felt very sorry for Keifer, who faced an entire summer in such isolation. “So…we’re entirely alone, then.”

“Yeah.” Keifer didn’t look too concerned. “Dad likes it because—”

He broke off suddenly as a fierce rumble of thunder shook the house. He hurried to the window. “Holy cow. The animals are loose!”

She went to look out the window, too. Her heart sank. There had to be four or five cows milling just beyond the chain-link-fenced perimeter of the yard.

Her heart sank even further when at least three goats and several muddy sheep wandered by. “Where are they supposed to be?” she said faintly. “And how on earth will we put them back?”

He looked up at her, his cocky bravado now gone and his eyes wide. “I think I know where they belong, but I don’t know how to make them go there.”

So in minutes those animals could be spread to the four winds, and there’d be little hope of finding them. And who knew how many more of them were already gone?

Matthews had been groggy when he’d handed her his keys, but she’d seen the distrust in his eyes and it had rankled ever since. For some reason he’d instantly judged her as incompetent…but who was he to judge?

She sure as heck didn’t want to prove him right.

“Wait a minute, I remember a pasture fence running along the road when we came up here, and lining both sides of the driveway. Wasn’t there a gate down by the mailbox?”

Keifer shrugged.

“If the entire property is fenced, and I can pull the gate shut across the driveway, then the livestock can’t escape. Right?”

“Maybe.” He chewed his lower lip. “But I don’t know anything about the other fences.”

“At least I’d be doing something to help.”

A gust of wind blasted the side of the house and rattled the gutters. A light tap-tap-tapping overhead rose to a deafening roar as hail battered the roof. Torrents of marble-size pellets bounced crazily off the driveway.

The livestock were clearly agitated as they disappeared into the sheltering trees. Where, she hoped, they wouldn’t find another way to leave.

“The moment this lets up I’m running down to close that gate. Stay here in the house. Promise?”

“You kidding? There’s no way I’m going out there.”

She waited until the hail stopped and the rain slowed, then grabbed a yellow slicker from a peg by the door. Outside, she crossed the yard and ran down the long, sloping lane. Slipping and sliding, she careened into a fence post once and then fell to her knees at the bottom of the hill.

With cold, wet fingers she struggled to untwist the wire that held the metal pipe gate securely open. She dragged its heavy weight shut across the rain-slick gravel just as the rain began to pick up again with a vengeance.

“Of course. Why not?” she muttered as she started back to the house, her head bowed against the wind. Nothing had been easy since she moved here, and now she and Keifer were stranded at this isolated place with no way to get back to town.

And then a long, dark shape materialized not twenty feet ahead. Its form blended like watercolor into the early dusk and driving rain, but the piercing yellow eyes were unmistakable.

She took in a sharp breath and stumbled to a stop, the hair at the back of her neck prickling. Her senses sharpened with an elemental awareness of danger. The house was too far away. There was no place to hide. She could never outrun it. The wolf took a step closer…

CHAPTER FOUR

ABBY’S HEART LODGED in her throat and her knees threatened to buckle as she stared at the wolf.

It stared back. Silent. So perfectly still that it seemed more apparition than real, its gray coat melting into the rain.

Primal fear flooded her veins with adrenaline. She took a small step backward. Another.

The wolf lifted its head, its gaze never wavering.

But there was nowhere to run.

Behind her, past the gate, Keifer had told her there were thousands of acres of government land. Even if she could scramble over the wire fence, the wolf could clear it much faster.

And running away would immediately identify her as prey.

Visions of lurid newspaper headlines rushed through her head as she took another step back.

Nursing Professor Killed By Rabid Wolf.

Stupid City Woman Killed While Roaming North Woods Of Wisconsin.

Through the mist she heard the distant sound of Keifer calling her name. And suddenly the situation was far worse.

Did wolves kill for sport? If she didn’t show up and the boy came looking for her, would he be killed, as well?

At that thought she ripped off her yellow slicker. Swinging it wildly in front of her, she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Stay in the house, Keifer. No matter what, stay in the house!”

After a long pause she heard, “Why? What’s going on?”

The wolf turned its head toward the house. Took one more long searching look at her. And then it melted into the shadows, leaving behind a swirl of mist and the sound of her pulse hammering in her ears.

Though God knew it could be waiting. And bears. Weren’t there lots of bears up here, too?

Taking a deep breath, she put a tentative foot forward, then another, singing at the top of her lungs and shaking her yellow slicker. Rain plastered her hair to her neck, drizzled down her collar. She slipped once on the slick gravel, slamming her knee against the rough stones and almost crying out.

Except that might be an invitation to a predator.

Forcing herself to walk steadily, she made another ten yards. Twenty.

Imagined the hot breath of the wolf at her back.

Thirty yards.

She almost wept with relief when she reached the porch.

Inside the kitchen she slammed the door shut and locked it, then dropped the raincoat, shucked off her ruined shoes and sagged onto a settee doubled over her folded arms.

“W-was something out there?” Keifer chewed his lower lip, his eyes darting nervously toward the door.

“Everything’s fine. Just…fine.” Shaking from the cold and the rain, but most of all from her overwhelming relief, she dredged up a smile. Then realized that she’d be doing him no favors if she didn’t tell the truth. “I saw a wolf.”

His tension faded to boyish disdain. “They wouldn’t come up by the house. Dad said so.”

She studied the poor young child, who could someday end up a snack for something with very large teeth if he wasn’t careful, and held back a curt reply. “Well, this one did. Maybe he was lost in the fog, but he saw me, and I sure saw him. We are not setting foot outside this house again tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Human attacks are rare,” he said, clearly reciting what he’d learned from his father. “We aren’t their natural prey.”

“If my wolf could get lost in the fog, he could also mistake you for one very large rabbit,” she said dryly. “Maybe he’s got dementia. We’re locking every door and we’re staying inside.”

When Keifer just rolled his eyes again, she gave up. “I could use some dry clothes. Could you help me find something?

That seemed to throw him. “Uh, there’s only Dad’s stuff here. He just has sweatshirts and stuff.”

“Show me where, okay?” The lights flickered. “But first we’d better find a flashlight…candles and some matches, too. We might not have electricity much longer.”

She glanced around the kitchen—a Spartan place, with bare windows, stark white cabinetry and none of the homey touches indicating a family lived here. On top of the cupboards she found a serviceable kerosene lamp and a quart of lamp oil.

Keifer pawed through the kitchen drawers and held up a box of matches and some white tapers. In another drawer, he found a flashlight.

“I think there’s more candles in the living room. There’s a fireplace, too.”

She put the lamp and candles on the round oak kitchen table and followed him. “Any wood?”

“Uh-huh.” Keifer switched on the light in the living room.

Close at his heels, she pulled to a stop.

Because the kitchen was devoid of personality and warmth, she’d expected the same in here. But this room, a good twenty by fifteen, was paneled in dark, burnished oak, with a lovely crystal chandelier hanging over a long dining room table. Beyond that, a matching set of overstuffed chairs, sofa and love seat were grouped in front of a massive stone fireplace, which took up half of the far wall.

With the framed Robert Bateman wildlife prints on the walls, Navajo throw rugs on the oak floor, and gleaming brass-and-glass sculptures accenting the end tables, it was a comfortable and very masculine room. Right down to the dust, Abby thought with a smile, glancing again at the chandelier.

Keifer crossed the room to the fireplace and prodded a well-stocked kindling box with his foot. “He’s got lots of logs, if we want a fire.”

“That’s a relief. You wouldn’t by any chance be a Boy Scout, would you?”

His head jerked up. “Why?”

Touchy. What was it with this kid? “I just wondered if you knew how to start a fire, that’s all.”

Behind her, an open staircase with a log railing led to a balcony, where three doorways presumably led to bedrooms. To the left of the fireplace, a door stood ajar. She rubbed her upper arms, shivering. “I can take care of making the fire. But first, I need some dry clothes.”

The boy put several logs in the fireplace. Studied them, then arranged them in the reverse order. From the stubborn tilt of his chin she suspected that it was just guesswork.

“Um, Keifer, could you tell me where I’d find your dad’s closet?”

The boy hitched a thumb toward the door near the fireplace.

“You don’t think he’d mind if I borrowed something?”

“Nah. He always wears the same old stuff anyway.”

Maybe this charming room was out of character, but Ethan’s choice of clothing apparently wasn’t. It really was surprising, she thought as she moved to the doorway and tentatively reached inside for a light switch. A recluse like Ethan, having such a lovely home.

Inheritance, maybe.

Or the lottery.

Perhaps even something illegal, which would account for his worry about a stranger taking care of his son. Kids tended to talk too much and if there was some sort of evidence…

She pushed the door open wider, expecting to see a sea of clothes scattered across the floor and a rumpled bed that hadn’t been made since 1970.

But again, Ethan surprised her.

The bedroom was huge—easily double the size of her own back in Detroit. There was definitely male clutter. Magazines piled next to the bed. A pair of jeans and a shirt slung over a chair. But the log-framed bed was made, and intriguing wildlife paintings hung on the walls.

Filling the wide outward curve of floor-to-ceiling windows stood a built-in desk topped with a computer, two printers and a phone/fax. Stacks of paper tilted precariously on the desk, on the floor next to it and on the chair. There were books open on every flat surface not filled with electronics and crumpled wads of paper lay like snowballs across the hardwood floor.

Whatever Ethan Matthews did, he certainly did with a vengeance.

She stopped to study a framed eight-by-ten on the bedside table. Ethan sat on a boulder with the boy—perhaps four or five—on his knee. Fall sunshine lit a backdrop of bright fall leaves and caught the golden highlights in his chestnut hair.

Abby’s breath caught at seeing the man in his element. She’d seen only his injury. His stubbornness. She’d been focused on his immediate need for appropriate care.

Here, his teeth flashed white against the tanned planes of his face. She couldn’t help but appreciate his broad, muscular shoulders, square jaw and strong cheekbones, yet she was even more impressed by the protective way he held his son.

Standing in his most personal space, she suddenly felt very much like an intruder. “Hey, Keifer,” she called over her shoulder. “Could you come here a second?”

He grudgingly showed up a few minutes later, a smudge of soot on his cheeks and his fingers blackened.

She hid a smile. “Could you help me find those clothes you mentioned? I hate to go hunting through your dad’s things.”

“The drawers,” he mumbled, pointing across the room. “Over there.”

She’d made it past the king-size bed when a loud crack! shook the house and the lights went out. The pungent, sharp tang of ozone filled the air.

She spun toward the door. Stumbling over something, she reeled into the edge of the desk. A towering stack of paper showered to the floor. “Keifer! Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. “Keifer?”

Shuffling through the paper on the floor, she reached to steady herself against the desk and yet another stack of documents cascaded over the edge.

“Keifer!”

When she finally reached the door, the empty living room was dark and illuminated only by flashes of lightning, and she could hear the back door in the kitchen banging against the wall as gusts of damp air blasted through the house.

A door she’d locked just minutes ago.

“My God,” she whispered into the darkness. “Why would he leave?”

IGNORING THE SOUND of Abby calling his name, Keifer took a wary step off the porch stairs, clutching the edges of his rain slicker together with one hand. He aimed the flashlight around the yard, hoping Rufus would come running.

It was all the way dark now, with the rain falling in steady icy sheets. Such total blackness that the flashlight hardly mattered, and with the wind tearing at his raincoat, the beam wavered, creating spooky shapes and shadows.

Shaking as much from the cold rain as his lifelong fear of the dark, he took another step. And another. Then he gave up trying to hold the coat closed and gripped the flashlight with both hands. “R-Rufus? Roooo-fus!”

He heard whining from the direction of the toolshed. A faint yelp.

Lightning flashed. The surrounding trees lit up for a split second, their gnarled branches reaching for him, the whorls of bark on their trunks forming misshapen faces straight out of some slasher movie.

Stifling a sob, he ran to the shed and fumbled with the latch. From inside he heard the frantic scrabbling of toenails against the wood and a sharp bark. “Rufus?”

She burst through the door the second he got it open, twisting and wiggling around his legs, jumping up to lick his cheek. He fell flat on his butt, his hands palms down in the squishy mud. She licked his cheek again, but by the time he scrambled to his feet she’d disappeared into the shed again.

“Rufus!” He tried to fight back his panic as lightning struck again. “C’mon, girl. Please!”

She didn’t appear.

Warily, Keifer aimed the flashlight into the shed. Creepy stuff hung from hooks: ropes and saws and garden tools, the glittering blade of a scythe he’d seen Dad use to cut weeds. A few old rabbit cages were piled in a corner.

In the center, an old quilt covered a lumpy shape roughly the size of a grizzly.

“R-Rufus?” he whispered. “Where are you?”

Thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking dust from the rafters. He wavered, took a step back.

The black lab emerged from the shadows a second later with something small and limp hanging from her mouth. His stomach lurched. A rat?

Then something clamped onto his shoulder, and all he could do was scream.

CHAPTER FIVE

KEIFER’S KNEES BUCKLED as he panicked. Escape—but where?

He was already too far into the shed.

The door was blocked—

“It’s just me, honey…I called your name. Over and over.” Abby released his shoulder and patted him on the back, talking loudly above the wind-driven rain lashing the shed. “You scared me to death, running off like that!”

His fear turned to embarrassment and anger. “You’re not my mom.”

“I’m responsible for keeping you safe,” she said in an even voice. “Let’s go into the h—”

She stared over his head. He turned and saw Rufus had returned with that rat-thing in her mouth. He suppressed a shudder.

“Did you know she was going to have puppies?” Abby crouched and crooned softly to the dog. “I wonder if your dad knew they were due?”

Rufus edged farther into the pool of light from his flashlight. Sure enough, she held a bedraggled pup in her mouth. “It looks dead,” Keifer whispered.

Abby studied the puppy. “No, but I bet the poor thing is cold. Does the dog have a bed in here? Anything your dad might’ve set up to help keep her family warm?”

Keifer held out his hands, palms up. “He never said anything to me.”

“I think I’d better check.” Abby searched the floor with her flashlight.

Uneasy, Keifer looked over his shoulder at the darkness outside. Anything could be out there. Watching. Waiting. Back at home, he never slept without a night-light in his room and the hallway light on. Here, everything was darker. Lonelier. A lot more scary.

“Oh, dear,” Abby called. “Two. Three. Four, five, six…I think there’s seven, and they’re all huddled together on an old burlap sack. I’ll bet the mom wants to take them someplace else.”

“The kitchen, maybe? We could make a bed there, and I could stay with them all night.” Abby didn’t say anything for a moment, and he started to worry. “Are you still here?”

She reappeared with a small cardboard box filled with squirming puppies. Rufus whined and nosed through them, as if she was counting. “I was just thinking. You know, your dad’s kitchen is awfully clean and tidy. I’m not sure he’d want dogs in there.”

“Sure he would!”

“But I didn’t see any dog dishes. I’ll bet this gal is an outside dog, don’t you think?”

“He has her inside, too, sometimes. Honest.” Abby still looked doubtful. “Really. She’s in the house all the time, and he just lets her outside a lot. I’m sure of it.”

Rufus gently released the pup in her mouth. She licked it from head to tail, the puppy rolling over with each sweep of her tongue.

“Well…if you’re sure.” Abby frowned down at the pups in the box. They were shivering and squirming over each other as though trying to get warm. “Let’s bring them in tonight, anyway. It’s awfully chilly out here.”

Rufus followed them anxiously to the house. When they reached the porch, Abby put the box down and held on to Rufus’s collar. “You go on in and close the door to the living room, okay? And bring me an old towel so I can wipe the mom’s feet.”

In twenty minutes the pups and Rufus were settled into a corner of the kitchen in a big cardboard box cushioned with an old blanket Abby had found in the basement.

Keifer had found a sleeping bag upstairs and rolled it out next to the puppy’s box. He’d brought in a stack of books, too. With the thunder rolling outside and the glow of light from the kerosene lantern on the kitchen table, it almost seemed like camping.

“I’m going to work on that fireplace,” Abby said. “I think we’ll want a little heat tonight…and the extra light would be nice. Maybe we can warm something up for supper, too. Like a campfire. Does your dad have any hot dogs? Marshmallows?”