The Shepherd (The Game 6)

“Nooo,” he complained. “I can have it.”

“Okay—only because you’re fucking cute.”

He hummed and rested his head on my shoulder.

When he absently began playing with the hair at the back of my neck, I was ready to let Sloan drive the truck while I broke a couple laws and had Loki on my lap. Even when he was crabby as fuck, he was the cuddliest little boy I’d ever met, and I dreaded the day that stopped. He’d just turned three a couple weeks ago, so I knew our time was running out.

It was gonna be a reenergizing weekend. I took a deep breath and squeezed Loki to me. Maybe I needed the weekend more than Sloan did.

It was easy to get swept away when the kids were so happy to get out of the city for a while. Even Jason came to life; he loved dogs, and I currently had five of them, with a sixth inbound soon.

The atmosphere shifted noticeably in the truck as soon as we hit the dirt road leading up to my house. Emma-Jo and Jamie rambled about what they wanted to do and asked if anything had changed since last time, if the kittens had grown, if there were any apples and cherries left in the trees, if I had more chickens now, if the pool was ready—there was no stopping them. And I had to repeat that, no, the pool wouldn’t be ready until next spring.

Pool was a stretch, to boot. I had a creek that slithered along the eastern side of my property, and I’d dug out a pit nearby that I was going to layer with sand and rocks to create a swimming hole. But it was just me out here, so progress was slow.

Yeah, the kittens that weren’t even mine grew fast. It was my neighbor’s cat that treated my house like an extension of their lands—but as long as they killed mice, I was happy.

Same number of chickens since the kids had last visited two weeks ago. I did have some fall apples that were delicious. No more cherries for the year. I didn’t have much left in my garden to eat either, but given the season, I was hoping I could rope the kids into picking mushrooms with me. They were plentiful in the hillside forest behind my house. It was my miniature Shenandoah, with red oak and chestnut that burned in brilliant colors in the fall.

I pulled into the carport on the side of the road, near my mailbox, and the kids were quick to jump out.

It felt good to be home. It felt even better to have my adopted family here with me. I just had to make Sloan realize he belonged here too—permanently.

I’d restored my old farmhouse on my own, except for the times I’d bribed my brothers to come down to help me with shit I needed extra pairs of hands for.

It was a house I’d dreamed up during deployments.

In the middle of the desert, I’d decided I wanted a big house, for a big family, with a wraparound porch and a picket fence. A garden, a chicken coop, rescue dogs, the whole nine yards.

As soon as Jason got near the picket fence, my dogs went from alert and waiting to excited and barking. I could thank my Rex for the discipline. I’d had my German shepherd the longest, and he was essentially me when I was out. The other dogs fell in line and mirrored his behavior—except for Odin. Odin gave no fucks; he was too old and spent most of his time resting on the porch.

Several of my dogs came from homes of families who shouldn’t have pets for the most ignorant reasons. Oh, they didn’t know Odin would grow up to be a giant. He was a fucking Great Dane. Buddy and Beast, my two American mastiff mixed breeds—same there. They dwarfed children and, hell, many adults. Their previous owner hadn’t considered how big they’d get, how much they’d eat, and how expensive they were to take care of.

I’d taken them in temporarily at first, but now I couldn’t part with them. They belonged here with me.

While Sloan wrestled their bags out of the truck, I unstrapped Loki’s seat belt and carefully picked him up. The boy was half asleep, and his forehead felt a little warm.

He whined a little but settled against me, his cheek resting on my neck, his hand gripping the neckline of my tee.

“Let’s park your little butt on the couch.” I kissed his forehead and shut the door. “I’m thinking cartoons and cuddles—what do you say?”

He nodded sleepily. “Ice cwream also.”

Yeah, I wasn’t gonna be able to say no. Sloan would have to handle that.

Jason was a pig in shit, buried underneath the dogs that were all too happy to greet him. My only small dog, Monster, one of those rat Chihuahuas, wagged his tail on the sidelines to keep from being trampled. Emma-Jo swooped him up.