Gifted (Cainsville 0.6)

As he started through the ditch, snow billowed over the top of his boots. He should have worn snow pants, but, on the first snow last month, he'd declared he was too old for them. The price for maturity, apparently, was wet jeans and snow sliding down the inside of his boots.

His foot hit something buried in the snow. A rock or a root. When he went around it, the smell faded. That's when he decided curiosity wasn't always such a good thing.

He had a good idea what he'd just kicked in the snow. A dog. Or the body of one that was struck by a car and made it into the ditch before dying. He scowled at the thought. Sometimes, you can't avoid hitting an animal on the road, and it isn't safe to try, however much Kate would protest otherwise. But if you did hit a dog, you should at least stop. Help it if you can, and find the owner if it's too late.

He didn't need to see a dead dog. But, when the snow melted, Kate would see it, and that would upset her. A lot. She'd been trying for the past year to convince their parents to let them get a puppy. Reese had dogs growing up, and he said if you raised them from pups, they were fine with the werewolf smell. But werewolves and pets were two things that didn't normally go together, and, with everything else that was going on, this was one time when their normally indulgent parents held fast. Maybe in a year or so. Not now.

Kate didn't need to see the dead dog. Logan would move it deep into the woods on the other side of the road. It wasn't something he wanted to do--at all--but it was something he should and could do, and that's what counted.

He peered up into the sky. The sun had not miraculously stopped dropping, which meant he ought to leave this task until morning, when he could bring a bag. First, he'd check and see how big a one he needed, and if he should bring the toboggan, too.

He returned to the spot where he'd kicked the poor thing, and he bent to scoop out snow. It was light and powdery, easy to move. He shifted the snow off and saw a bag. A canvas one, like the kind potatoes came in. Which meant this wasn't a dog hit by a car. As for what it was . . .

Let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong.

He undid the tie at the top and opened it to see . . .

Logan's stomach clenched so hard he doubled over. Tears prickled as he squeezed his eyes shut, but the image stayed emblazoned there. Two puppies, one on top of the other, the top

one's eyes open, pink tongue sticking out between its tiny teeth.

Logan dropped the bag and scrambled to the road and started pacing, heaving deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. Get his temper under control. Everyone said Kate was the one with the temper. Not completely true. His didn't come out nearly as often as hers, but, when it did, it was like a fire in his head and in his stomach, burning through everything.

How could people do this? No, really, how? If they couldn't keep the damned puppies, they could damned well find someone who could or leave them at the goddamned shelter, because this, this was unforgivable. Someone should put them in a bag. Toss them by the roadside like garbage. That's what he'd like to do if he found them, and he didn't care if it was wrong. It was fair.

He paced until he stopped raging. And stopped cursing. Then he rubbed his hands over his face, took a deep breath and . . .

Harsh bass boomed from his pocket, making him jump. The opening chords for Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl." Kate's ring tone. She set up everyone's ring tones, an idea she got from Savannah, though his sister's taste in music was somewhat more eclectic.

Logan answered quickly.

"I thought you were staying in the city for dinner," he blurted.

"Dad and I got tired of being out. Mom did, too. She just wouldn't admit it."

He turned his back on the bag.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Sure. Just out walking."

There was a pause. Kate trying to emotion-read him through the phone. That was not, he was aware, the technical term for what she did. There probably wasn't a technical term, because her ability to interpret mood and emotion bordered on the preternatural. But, after a moment, she gave up and said, "I'll join you."

"It's almost dark."

"Which is fine as long as we are together and have our phones. I know the rules, Lo. I even kinda follow them. Oh, and I'll bring your hot chocolate. We picked it up in town. The good stuff from the new coffee place. I'll have to reheat it and put it into a thermos. There was whipped cream, but it melted. I could say I ate it, but that would be gross."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"Does it help if I say I used a spoon?"

"Did you?"

"Where are you? I'll be there in ten."

Logan started to tell her. Then he spun back toward the bag. "No! I'll . . . I'll come there. I was just heading in."

"So you can go out again. With me."