Dad went still. "What?"
"A puppy. In the fort."
"You found a puppy in the fort?" Dad said it slowly, carefully, his face giving nothing away.
"No, in the ditch. There were two. In a bag. I thought they were dead, so I was going to move the bag before Kate found them, and I was carrying it across the road when I realized one puppy was still alive."
"One was . . . ?"
Logan nodded, and the look that passed over his father's face . . . It was a half-dozen expressions, all flickering fast, shock and surprise and anger and outrage and then something like grief and regret as he said, "You were moving dead puppies for your sister."
"I didn't want her to see that."
Dad's expression said he'd rather Logan hadn't seen that either, but Logan started walking again, still talking, "At first, when I thought the puppy was hurt, I was going to take it to Jeremy. But then it was fine, and I . . . I put it in the fort."
"The fort?"
"I wanted to give it to Kate for Christmas." Again, he blurted the words before he could stop himself. Then he hurried on. "I mean, that was my first thought. I know I can't now. It's a bad time. But I didn't know what to do with the puppy, and I was trying to figure it out while I was looking after it, which is why I went out tonight. I thought you didn't smell a mutt this afternoon--just me and the puppy. I was sure that's what it was. So I was going to feed it." He took the baggie of meat from his inside pocket. "Otherwise, I'd never have gone out."
Dad gave a slow nod. They were within sight of the fort when he finally said, "You wanted to give it to Kate. For Christmas."
"I know I can't, so I'm not asking. That isn't fair."
"Isn't fair?"
"To make you and Mom say no. Especially Mom. She wants a perfect Christmas, and a puppy would be, well, perfect. For Kate. So Mom would either have to say no and feel awful or say yes when she really doesn't want to. That's not fair."
Dad's hand fell on his good shoulder again, and before Logan knew it, Dad had pulled him into an embrace. Tight and brief and fierce, saying nothing, just that hug that said everything.
"All right, then," Dad said. "Show me your puppy. Before it breaks down that door."
The puppy was indeed trying to break down the door, throwing itself at it as it yipped and howled. Logan opened it, and the puppy flew out. So did the stink of puppy poop, and Logan's hand flew to his nose. The puppy jumped and leaped against his legs, yelping to be picked up.
"I'll clean that up," he said quickly.
"You look after your puppy," Dad said. "I'll handle the rest. I've changed plenty of diapers."
Dad cleaned out the fort while Logan fed the puppy. He came out again as Logan was trying to get the puppy to eat more.
"Food first, then play," he said to the puppy, dancing around his feet. He looked up at his dad. "It likes to play."
"It?" Dad's brows shot up. "You can't tell if it's male or female?"
"I haven't looked. I don't want . . ." Logan busied himself shoving the meat back into the baggie. "It's not important."
Not important if they couldn't keep it.
Dad scooped up the puppy in one hand. He flipped it onto its back. "Female."
Logan nodded. Dad tried to put the puppy down, but it--she--climbed onto him, licking his face.
"Okay, okay," he said, handing her back to Logan. "You haven't named her, I'm guessing."
"I didn't want to form an attachment."
Dad snorted, as if to say it was already too late. "Play with your puppy for a while. Tire her out."
Logan wished he wouldn't say your puppy. It meant nothing, but it felt like something, like that dream of something just out of reach that you know you're not going to have, and the tease hurts so bad. But he pushed that aside, and he played with the puppy, and Dad did a little too, feinting and chasing, the way he used to when Logan and Kate were little, wearing them out for their nap.