Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

It’s not our animals that has Oscar riled up, so what is it? Could it be the other dog in trouble? Are there more bear traps on our property, waiting to snag an unsuspecting leg? If so, why wouldn’t Oscar go home to get Roy?

Unless he figures Roy will shoot him on the spot.

I shake my head at myself. This is a dog. He doesn’t figure anything.

What if this is about Roy?

Did he have another heart attack? Is he lying somewhere dead, or close to it?

“Shit.” Miserable SOB or not, I can’t ignore Oscar and go about my day with that thought in my head. My gut is telling me Oscar is behaving like this for good reason.

And he has come to me.

I try calling Jonah to see what he thinks, but there’s no answer on either his cell phone or the satellite phone. Toby doesn’t answer his phone, either. I even try Muriel, desperate for advice. But her phone is rarely on her person, and she doesn’t answer now.

Oscar’s frantic barks are not relenting.

I waffle on indecision for another long moment, and then, swallowing my unease, I pull on my rubber boots and a jacket, grab my bug spray, and head out the door to the ATV, where Oscar awaits.

He takes off ahead, running awkwardly on three legs.

I crank the engine and follow, past Zeke, who doesn’t trot to the gate as per usual, his creepy horizontal pupils locked on Oscar. Oscar pays no attention, though, slinking past the garden and off to the left, through a narrow clearing in the bramble.

I slow for a moment.

Just long enough to second-guess the intelligence of this. I could use the roads to get to Roy’s house, rather than cut through the trees. It’s probably safer, given I’m alone.

But what if Roy is not at his house? What if he was out for a walk and he dropped?

Oscar stops and turns to eye me, barking again.

It’s not like I’m totally alone here. He is a large dog … wolf … whatever.

With a quick text to Toby as a welfare measure—since he’s the closest and likely the quickest to respond, I follow Oscar into the woods.

My pulse races with adrenaline.

* * *

I know how Oscar has been traveling between our houses.

The distance between us and Roy is shorter when you cut through the thicket, rather than use the long driveways and the road. It took some careful navigating around old stumps and fallen trees with the ATV, but Oscar stopped every so often to make sure I was following as he led me all the way here.

I slow to a stop in front of the woodpile and hold my breath, waiting—hoping—for the cantankerous old man to emerge from either the house or the barn. Roy’s truck is here, covered in dirt and parked by the pile of firewood. The black dog paces in front of the barn door, not charging me in a barking frenzy as he has the other two times I’ve rolled in.

A sinking feeling settles into me as the moments pass with no sign of Roy. When Oscar limps toward the barn, it only solidifies my worry.

I cut the engine and hop off, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Thankfully, Toby has responded.

Toby: Where are you?

Calla: Just got to Roy’s and I think something bad has happened.

Toby: On my way.

Taking a deep breath, I follow Oscar through the gaping door and into the quiet barn, my heart pounding in my chest

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