Gifted (Cainsville 0.6)

"Is that she doesn't want to talk about it, and she's hoping we'll forget."

"But that's not what she means this time. It isn't no. It's not now."

Logan nodded.

"What if we laid out a timetable?" Dad said. "Figured out when we might be able to make this happen?"

That was exactly what Logan had been hoping for. Before the puppy.

"Maybe the end of the school year," Dad said. "We'd need to discuss it with your mom, but she was already talking about that. Spring's a good time for puppies. She says we can put in our name with a breeder and then pick out the puppy as soon as it's born." Dad smiled. "Apparently, she's done her research."

Logan forced a return smile.

"And that's not what you wanted," Dad said slowly.

"It's just . . ." Logan squirmed.

"Did you see puppies for sale? Is that where this is coming from?"

No, Logan wanted to say. I already have one. It's out back, and if you come and see it, you'll know it's perfect for Kate, and it would be the best Christmas present, and it would make her so happy, and I really want to give it to her.

That's why he couldn't say it. Because it really would be the best gift ever, and there was no way his parents would want to say no once they saw the puppy, and then he'd feel as if he'd forced their hand.

Instead, he nodded and said, "I saw a sign."

Silence. It was so long he thought Dad wasn't going to answer. Then, he said, "I wish I could say yes, Logan."

And that hurt, really hurt, because he didn't want to make Dad feel bad. His parents did have lots going on, and Logan saying, "But I want a puppy!" was selfish and spoiled, and he never wanted to be either. He wanted to be mature and understanding and acknowledge that, compared to most kids, he was pampered and spoiled, and a kid couldn't ask for a better life or better parents. He always wanted to remember that, especially when things didn't quite go his way.

"Dad!" Kate shouted from the bottom of the ladder. "Logan!"

"We'll be down in a few--" Dad started to call back, but Logan rose and yelled, "Coming!" Then, he said to his dad, as maturely and sincerely as he could, "I understand," picked up a box and headed down.

After everyone went to bed, Logan snuck out with leftover roast beef and a hoodie from Kate's hamper. He'd give the puppy the

sweater to sleep on, along with the one of his own he'd left. That would get the dog accustomed to both their scents. Not that the puppy would be staying but just . . . Well, he wasn't sure why. He told himself he was taking the hoodie so, if she did see the puppy, it wouldn't be afraid of her.

He also brought a backpack with a separate set of clothing, which he'd change into for puppy-detail and store near the fort.

He tried not to feel guilty about sneaking out. He still did. That was his wolf brain. It wasn't just breaking the rules that made him feel sick. He'd made a mistake. A big one. He should have taken the puppy to the house right away. Told his parents what happened and let them deal with it. He'd gone behind their backs, hiding it in the fort, and now he was digging himself deeper into a hole. There was no way he could go through with his plan now. He shouldn't even try. Which was a good and mature realization. Except . . . well, that still left the puppy.

As soon as he drew near the fort, the puppy started whimpering. He trudged those final steps, because he didn't want to see it. He wanted to shove the meat through a hole in the wooden walls and run back to the house. That wasn't fair, though. This wasn't the puppy's fault any more than it was his parents. He'd started it; he had to follow through.

He opened the fort and the puppy launched itself at him. He fell back on the snow as it jumped on his lap and wriggled, whimpering and whining in excitement. It licked away the tears on his cheeks, because, yes, there were tears, as much as he'd tried to hold them back. After a moment, when he didn't respond, the puppy's wiggling and whimpering became more frantic, a little panicked. So, he wiped away the tears, gave it a fierce hug and took out the meat. The puppy licked a piece, gulped it and started to choke, which meant a major freak out, until he managed to pull the strip out of its throat. That's when the tears threatened again, when he looked at the puppy on his lap, coughing and shaking its head, and all he could think was, I can't do anything right.

"Feeling sorry for myself isn't going to help, is it?" he said, his voice echoing in the night.

The puppy whined and licked his face, its whole body shaking with fresh excitement. Logan took the puppy in his hands and looked at it.

"You're not old enough for meat. I should have thought of that."

The puppy kept dancing in place, tiny claws scrabbling against him, just happy to hear his voice, to have his attention.

"We don't have any baby bottles. I don't know what else . . ."

How did wolves feed their young once they were ready to start meat? He knew the answer. Regurgitation. He made a face. "I can't do that. But I guess . . ." He took a piece of meat from the bag, chewed it and spit it into his hand. The puppy gobbled it up almost before it hit his palm.

"Well, that works," he said. "Still gross."