least had something warm next to her that wouldn’t ask questions. That wouldn’t probe or curse when she didn’t get answers, if the nightmares did by chance invade the daylight.
At least this time, Skye might feel lonelier than ever, but she had company.
That thought had another tear sliding from her closed eyes. She still felt unwanted, though.
* * *
Logan couldn’t hear the pitiful whines coming from the patio anymore. The scratching against the glass was silenced, and the knowledge that while sleeping on the couch Logan could at least hear if she was in distress was no longer uppermost in his mind.
The little bit of fluff was a replica to one Logan had owned twenty years before, the last gift he’d received from his grandfather before his parents’ deaths.
Logan’s grandparents had given him the pup, a male that time, because he was about to drive them insane.
According to his grandmother, who bred the animals, the pup had cried since the first breath he took. He had been crying when Logan’s grandparents stepped into the house, glared at his father, then turned and looked at Logan with expressions that to this day he couldn’t decipher.
A mix between pain and rage in his grandfather’s gaze and the agony filling Logan’s grandmother’s.
His grandmother, Tandy Rafferty, had stepped slowly to him, the whimpering puppy in her extended hands. Large, wet brown eyes, creamy coat, and a black face. The minute Logan had accepted the tiny bundle he had stopped whining. His wrinkled face had stared up at him as though he was finally where he belonged.
Tandy had turned and left the house immediately without saying a word.
Saul had stared at Logan silently for long moments.
Crouching down, Saul had looked Logan in the eye and said, “Sometimes, there’s a gift waiting for you that you didn’t even know existed. That little baby has cried since the day he was born. Keeping it alive has been a pain in your gram’s rear. He’s yours now. He was meant for you. Take care of him, son.”
A year later he had died in Logan’s arms from a poisoned hamburger he’d found while Logan was at one of the socials the county threw through the summer.
He’d died as Logan and his cousins had stood outside the vet’s door banging and screaming at the man to help.
He’d been home.
He’d opened the door seconds after Jack, as Logan had called him, had taken his last, agonized breath.
Now there was another pup whose whimpering sounds of misery and distress hadn’t stopped since the day Logan had returned home to find her.
She couldn’t be more than ten weeks old. The same age as the pup Tandy Rafferty had brought Logan.
Grimacing, he stalked to the living room, jerked up his cell phone, and made a call.
“What do you want?” Ill-tempered, filled with anger, Saul Rafferty answered the phone on the first ring.
Logan paced back to the kitchen. “Why did you do this, you old bastard,” he snarled. “Come get it.”
Saul grunted. “That little bitch has squalled since it was born. Your grandmother wouldn’t rest until I gave it to you. Now you have it. Shut the fuck up and take care of it.”
“So you can kill another one?”
Silence filled the line for long moments before Saul Rafferty sighed with what seemed like weariness.
“Never turn your back on your food.” His voice dropped, and Logan was certain he only heard that hint of grief in Saul’s tone because he wanted to hear it.
“Fuck you!” Logan snapped.
“That’s the last litter out of My Gal, your gram’s favorite.” Saul ignored the curse. “She was diagnosed with canine cancer last week, only weeks after your gram was. I won’t take it back. She made me give it to you; now you have it.”
“I gave it away,” Logan said with distinct pleasure. “I don’t want a damned thing from either of you.”
Saul snorted. “You’ve given it away six times since I dropped it off and every time it’s been brought back. Stop
At least this time, Skye might feel lonelier than ever, but she had company.
That thought had another tear sliding from her closed eyes. She still felt unwanted, though.
* * *
Logan couldn’t hear the pitiful whines coming from the patio anymore. The scratching against the glass was silenced, and the knowledge that while sleeping on the couch Logan could at least hear if she was in distress was no longer uppermost in his mind.
The little bit of fluff was a replica to one Logan had owned twenty years before, the last gift he’d received from his grandfather before his parents’ deaths.
Logan’s grandparents had given him the pup, a male that time, because he was about to drive them insane.
According to his grandmother, who bred the animals, the pup had cried since the first breath he took. He had been crying when Logan’s grandparents stepped into the house, glared at his father, then turned and looked at Logan with expressions that to this day he couldn’t decipher.
A mix between pain and rage in his grandfather’s gaze and the agony filling Logan’s grandmother’s.
His grandmother, Tandy Rafferty, had stepped slowly to him, the whimpering puppy in her extended hands. Large, wet brown eyes, creamy coat, and a black face. The minute Logan had accepted the tiny bundle he had stopped whining. His wrinkled face had stared up at him as though he was finally where he belonged.
Tandy had turned and left the house immediately without saying a word.
Saul had stared at Logan silently for long moments.
Crouching down, Saul had looked Logan in the eye and said, “Sometimes, there’s a gift waiting for you that you didn’t even know existed. That little baby has cried since the day he was born. Keeping it alive has been a pain in your gram’s rear. He’s yours now. He was meant for you. Take care of him, son.”
A year later he had died in Logan’s arms from a poisoned hamburger he’d found while Logan was at one of the socials the county threw through the summer.
He’d died as Logan and his cousins had stood outside the vet’s door banging and screaming at the man to help.
He’d been home.
He’d opened the door seconds after Jack, as Logan had called him, had taken his last, agonized breath.
Now there was another pup whose whimpering sounds of misery and distress hadn’t stopped since the day Logan had returned home to find her.
She couldn’t be more than ten weeks old. The same age as the pup Tandy Rafferty had brought Logan.
Grimacing, he stalked to the living room, jerked up his cell phone, and made a call.
“What do you want?” Ill-tempered, filled with anger, Saul Rafferty answered the phone on the first ring.
Logan paced back to the kitchen. “Why did you do this, you old bastard,” he snarled. “Come get it.”
Saul grunted. “That little bitch has squalled since it was born. Your grandmother wouldn’t rest until I gave it to you. Now you have it. Shut the fuck up and take care of it.”
“So you can kill another one?”
Silence filled the line for long moments before Saul Rafferty sighed with what seemed like weariness.
“Never turn your back on your food.” His voice dropped, and Logan was certain he only heard that hint of grief in Saul’s tone because he wanted to hear it.
“Fuck you!” Logan snapped.
“That’s the last litter out of My Gal, your gram’s favorite.” Saul ignored the curse. “She was diagnosed with canine cancer last week, only weeks after your gram was. I won’t take it back. She made me give it to you; now you have it.”
“I gave it away,” Logan said with distinct pleasure. “I don’t want a damned thing from either of you.”
Saul snorted. “You’ve given it away six times since I dropped it off and every time it’s been brought back. Stop
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