Claiming the Enemy: Dustin (Porter Brothers Trilogy 3)

Moving to the other side to stand over the grave, he used his fingers to dig up enough dirt to lay the arrow down that had killed the fox. Covering it when he was done, he gently smoothed the soil over it, remembering the many times he had run his fingers through the dog’s fur.

Standing, he wiped his dirty hands on his jeans, picked up his bow, and then went back to the tree. He shimmied up until he was once again on the branch.

He almost slid off the branch when he nodded off. He was steadying himself when he saw the truck’s headlights coming up the dirt road. His father had come back much sooner than he expected him.

Curious, Dustin watched him get out of his truck, then reach inside before pulling out a small dog. Carrying it to the barn, his pa shut it inside. Instead of going inside, he then walked to stand below the tree Dustin was sitting on.

“Feed and water him before you go to school in the morning.”

Dustin remained silent at the order.

Thinking he was going to the house, Dustin was surprised when his father walked toward Duke’s grave. He saw his father nudge the packed down dirt with his boot before coming back to stand under the tree.

“You didn’t bury what you killed deep enough. Every critter in the woods will be coming, thinking it’s Thanksgiving in this heat.”

“I know,” Dustin grimly spoke the first words he had said to his father in over a week.

“It’s gonna be a while before that coon dog is trained enough to watch over those chickens.”

“I know.”

“Don’t forget to feed it.”

“I won’t.”

His father left him, going into the dark house.

Dustin relaxed back against the tree. The crickets started chirping again when they realized they weren’t going to be bothered any longer.

Mentally counting to stay awake, he stopped at the barking coming from the barn. Dustin put up with it as long as he could before climbing down the tree and walking across the lighted yard to the barn.

Opening the door, he stared down at the small puppy that sat down on his hind legs when he saw him.

“Fool dog, you want Pa to come out here to shut you up?”

The puppy barked again despite his warning.

Reaching for the flashlight that his father kept on the shelf beside the door, he turned it on. The gangly puppy eagerly looked up at him.

Duke had been black and tan. The pup had an easily recognizable coat color.

Frank Hayes must have owed Mag a lot of money for him to give up his litter of Bluetick hound dogs. The Hayes were the only ones in the county who could boast having one, and they refused to sell any of the puppies to the town folks when his bitch went in heat. Instead, he sold them without any effort to hunters out of state.

Dustin had heard his father complain that Frank had buyers sign contracts not to sell the dogs or breed them.

When the dog barked again, Dustin hurriedly scooped the gangly pup into his arms. “Shush. Pa won’t be happy you’re barking unless you see a critter.”

Shining the flashlight around the barn, he saw what he was looking for hanging from a nail on the wall. Duke’s old leash hadn’t been used since he was a puppy. Taking it, he had to search through several old boxes to find the collar.

Setting the dog down, he braced the puppy between his knees so he wouldn’t take off. Coon dogs could take off at the smell of anything that caught their attention. Satisfied that the dog wouldn’t be able to get away, he stood up.

Walking to the doorway, Dustin was glad the pup followed obediently.

Making sure to latch the door behind him, he led the pup to the tree. Tying the long leash around it, Dustin gave him a warning look before climbing back onto the branch.

His butt had no more than sat down before he heard the long barking.

“Dammit. There’s nothing around but chickens. You keep that up, and Pa is going to come out here and give us both a whipping,” he yelled down to the unconcerned pup that answered with another drawn-out bark.

“Jesus.”

Climbing down, he gave the pup an irritated glance before sitting down on the ground next to him. The mollified puppy sank down beside him, laying his head on his lap.

Dustin stiffly leaned back against the tree trunk, not wanting the dog to touch him, but not wanting him to bark again.

Reaching for his bow, he tried to ignore the pup for the rest of the night. It was almost dawn when he found himself unconsciously stroking the spotted fur. When he smelled his mother cooking, he stood, prepared to leave the dog tied to the tree, but the sad face had him untying it and leading him toward the house.