Dragged through Hedgerows

by Forthright

  Coop sat by his side, eager to learn the lore handed down from one generation to the next. Scuffed and stained and freckled and fearless. Carefree because his father took all the cares upon himself. Yet canny enough to see the need for canine companionship.

  So Daroo-fen watched like a dog. And waited his turn.

  It had come every night. It would come again.

  A lone wolf knew better than anyone that fear and courage ran together, rivals in a race with an uncertain course.

  “Maybe it tastes bad?” Cole was looking more than a little concerned. “Do you think that’s it?”

  Charles checked his steps on his way to the clothesline, shifting a laundry basket so he could see. “Did he try any?”

  “Nope. Maybe it smells bad?”

  Abandoning the load of towels, Charles joined his son on the back porch where Beast was snubbing his first proper meal. The ever-helpful Mrs. Lundgren had sent her husband to the feed store on their behalf, where he’d secured fifty pounds of the best kibble money could buy. However, the food bowl of name brand dogfood might as well not exist for all the attention their wolf paid it.

  “It’s the same kind my dad always bought,” said Charles. “I think it’s supposed to provide Beast a balanced diet. It’s good for him.”

  Cole picked up some kibble and sniffed. “Like broccoli for dogs?”

  Charles followed suit and grimaced. “Closer to liver.”

  “Maybe wolves won’t eat dogfood because they’re wolves. Not dogs.”

  Beast’s tail thumped the porch, as if he liked the excuse much better than the mysterious brown nuggets they expected him to eat.

  “Dare you,” said Cole, who held a single nugget to his mouth.

  Charles smirked. “Double dare you.”

  Cole waited for him to select his own chunk of kibble. Together, they popped them into their mouths and crunched down. Beast’s head had come up, and his nose was working overtime while awaiting their verdict.

  “Ugh,” said Cole.

  “Double ugh. Split a bottle of root beer with me?”

  While his son ran to the fridge for their chaser, Charles reached for Beast, roughing up his fur. “Sorry, boy. I shouldn’t have bought such a big bag.”

  Beast delicately plucked a piece from the bowl and sat back, crunching contemplatively.

  Cole returned with bottle and an opener shaped like an electric guitar. “Did he try it?” he asked eagerly.

  Charles hummed. “I don’t think he’s impressed.”

  But the wolf kept eating.

  “I’ll keep sneaking him food under the table,” promised Cole.

  With eyebrows up, Charles said, “I thought I was the only one feeding Beast on the sly.”

  Cole snickered and passed him the root beer.

  They kept Beast company while he worked his way through his portion, unhurried and unceasing. It reminded Charles a little of Drew sorting junk mail. He couldn’t wait to introduce the two of them.

  After some negotiations, he and Cole decided to put a little food in Beast’s dish every day. And to feed him any wolf-friendly parts of their dinner. Since he was part of the family.

  Beast finished the dogfood, but Charles was almost positive he did it to be polite.

  “How many days?” asked Coop.

  “Check the calendar,” said Charles, in a tone that meant he knew but wasn’t telling.

  Daroo-fen pricked his ears. Did they have plans?

  “Is this today?” Coop pointed to a square.

  Was it Thursday already?

  “Yes, that’s today.”

  “Two more days?” the boy whined, as if that was too long to wait.

  Charles smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be Saturday soon.”

  Understanding took its time arriving, but Daroo-fen was sure as phases. They meant him. They were looking forward to Saturday, which would bring Drew Hunter to their door. They were counting on it. And him.

  If he was going to keep his standing appointment, then Beast needed to establish his right to roam. Quickly. Which led Daroo-fen to one irrefutable conclusion. Although he wanted nothing more than to stay, it was time to run away.

  Run Away Home

  He timed his first vanishing act for later that morning. While Cole was reading a naptime story to Rose, Charles retreated into the den, where he knelt at the foot of his bed, folding a pile of tiny clothes that belonged to Rose.

  Perfect.

  With a whispery wuff, Daroo-fen gained the glance he needed. And the double-take that followed.

  He was clumsier than he would have liked, but paws were limiting. Still, he was more than capable of turning a doorknob. On the second try, he opened the door leading onto the tunnel of greenery and the garden beyond.

  “Aren’t you clever,” Charles said.

  Daroo-fen trotted over, tail waving. He accepted Charles’ praise and licked his cheek and chin, all the while willing the man to understand. I can open and close doors. I can come and go as I please.

  He ran to the door, then bounded back, washing Charles’ face again.

  “Yes, I’m impressed. And covered in drool.” He grabbed him by the ruff, just the way Beast liked, and looked him in the eyes. “You’re something else, you know?”

  Yes, something else. Something other. And you need to trust me. He licked Charles’ chin. Trust me to come back.

  This time, he ran out the door and kept running.

  He heard Charles call after him, softly, so as not to interrupt naptime. But Daroo-fen’s ears were keen enough to catch the note of worry.

  Daroo-fen ran faster, sure his resolve would crumble otherwise.

  Hours took their time passing, and Daroo-fen lost patience with them. Surely this was enough. He ran all the way home and skidded to a halt under a trellis before properly registering the scents that hung in the air—smoke, soot, coal, and charring meat.

  He loped closer. Were they grilling? Was Coop … fanning?

  “Dad! Dad! It worked!” exclaimed the boy. He dropped the clumsily pleated newspaper and ran to Daroo-fen. “I knew you’d come back!”

  Coop babbled on about emergencies and good excuses and big plans. That’s when Daroo realized that Charles and Coop were both wearing shoes.

  “Smells good, doesn’t it?” the boy asked, pleased and proud. “It’s all the best stuff. Plus, Dad bought popsicles and ice cream sandwiches. But those aren’t for you. Don’t be sad though. You can have meat.”

  Daroo-fen’s mouth was already watering. Had they really bought steaks and sausages to tempt him home? And had they really donned shirts and shoes in order to do so?

  Charles came over then and knelt to look in his eyes.

  To Daroo’s utter mortification, the man’s were threatening tears. He didn’t scold or ask questions. Only muttered a gruff welcome.

  Daroo bumped Charles onto his rump and bowled him over to bathe his face. That way, Coop would think his dad was only crying because he was laughing so hard.

  That evening, Daroo decided that the Coopers’ ploy might actually work. He’d snapped up every tender morsel they’d offered over dinnertime, and he now weighed too much to waddle away. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t allow himself to drop off. This was neither the time nor place for a long sleep. Or the kinds of dreams the moon sent.

  By the time Charles retreated into his den for sleep, Daroo-fen was having trouble remembering why leaving had seemed like such a good idea in the first place. It was probably just as well that Charles reminded him.

  “I think Drew will like you.”

  Daroo-fen bounded onto the bed ahead of Charles and sprawled expansively.

  “He seemed comfortable in the woods. And you’re very woodsy.” Charles shoved and shimmied his way into his usual place. “You’re gone for half a day, and you forget how to share?”

  Rolling onto his back, he whined an apology.

  Charles flung an arm around Daroo and mumbled, “I shouldn’t have worr
ied.”

  But he had. And regret made the wolf question his methods. If he was going to be a true comfort, he needed to help Charles find his confidence. How else could he have a share in it?

  In the dark hours before dawn, Daroo’s light doze was interrupted by a whimper. Charles was prone to nightmares. A jostling paw. A snort in his ear. The man woke enough to whisper his name and reach for him. He stifled a sob, and Daroo groaned in sympathy.

  If only there were something he could do.

  How could he comfort without words?

  He wanted Charles to feel safe, to find solace. But Daroo’s thoughts and feelings weren’t going to reach him. Not in this form. Unless ….

  Cautiously, Daroo-fen pushed against Charles, not with his body—though the young man still clung close—but with the person he was. As if the force of his will could settle over the shivering light of the man’s soul, as warm a weight as furs in winter.

  All his thoughts were bent on comfort. Could his presence have a calming effect? I’m here. You’re not alone. I didn’t abandon you. Here I am. Right here.

  It was as clumsy as paws on a doorknob, but it seemed to help. Charles relaxed, and his breathing slowed. He fell into a deep sleep, and his grip slackened enough for Daroo to ease away.

  Because small noises were coming from the playpen. And Charles needed sleep.

  So Daroo-fen took speaking form in order to lift Rose, his tail swaying as he carried her into the kitchen. He readied a bottle and offered it with the little rumbles one reserved for cubs. She waved a hand at him, and he lowered his face, letting her pull at his nose.

  She gurgled.

  He hummed.

  She took the bottle.

  He took a seat.

  A slanting moonbeam offered enough light to betray several of his truths, but Daroo-fen knew his secret was safe even as he revealed it. Rose regarded him with solemn eyes as she suckled. “Our secret, little flower,” he rumbled.

  When he smiled, she stopped eating long enough to smile milkily back.

  Five White Envelopes

  When Drew Hunter arrived at the Cooper residence via the front door, Charles was a mess of mixed feelings. Offering his hand, Daroo-fen asked, “Is something amiss?”

  “What? No. Sorry. We’re fine. Except … there was a delivery just now. Registered mail.” His fingers were cold, and he held onto Drew a few beats too long. “I think I need a lawyer.”

  “Show me.”

  Two things waited on the dining room table—one fat packet from an out-of-state lawyer and five white envelopes from Woodruff, Thackeray, and Hunter. Daroo-fen hadn’t realized they might be having that particular conversation today.

  Indicating the former, he asked, “May I?”

  “Please.” Charles mumbled, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Daroo-fen wasn’t a divorce lawyer, but he’d made a couple of calls to old classmates in the wake of Charles’ initial admission. Those—and several hours’ reading—had informed him enough to understand the language in the papers Ally had served.

  They riled him. And they left him heartsick.

  What would they do to Charles?

  He replaced everything in the envelope and went to find Charles. The man was at the kitchen sink, hands submerged in suds, unseeing eyes fixed on something beyond the backyard.

  “Charles?”

  “Sorry. Ready?” He dried his hands, scooped up Rose, and joined him in the dining room.

  Daroo-fen asked, “Where’s Coop?”

  “Out back, getting things ready for a wander through the woods. You’re invited.” With a tight little smile, he promised, “We’re better provisioned this time. Steak sandwiches.”

  “I would enjoy that.” Daroo indicated the two items on their agenda and asked, “Where do you want to start?”

  Charles’ gaze flicked to the letters from his office. “Do all of those say the same thing?”

  Only the topmost envelope had been slit. “They do.”

  His expression clouded. “Drew, am I rich?”

  “Not especially. Unless you liquidate your assets through land sales.”

  “So the reason you’re here is because you want the land.”

  Daroo-fen sighed. “I do represent a group that is interested in procuring—and preserving—the property you’ve inherited.”

  “So you want the land.”

  “Yes.”

  Charles looked away, but not quickly enough to hide his disappointment. “Can it wait a while?”

  Catching the leading tone, Daroo-fen asked, “Why?”

  “To keep you around.”

  Daroo wasn’t sure which part of that statement buoyed him more. The half-joking admission that his friendship was welcome. Or the implicit willingness to consider a sale.

  “I’m here because I want to be.” Daroo bluntly added, “I enjoy spending time with you and your family.”

  Charles’ gaze softened. “We look forward to Saturdays.”

  “Me, too.”

  That seemed to satisfy Charles, for he changed the subject. “I wish I could show you the newest member of the family, but he ran off earlier. He’s ours, but I think he still belongs to the woods, too.”

  Daroo inclined his head. “Coop confided his plans in me. You have a new pet?”

  “He’s more than a pet,” Charles quickly countered. “You’d understand if you met him.”

  “A wolf needs its pack. He’s probably grateful to have found a place in yours.”

  Charles’ grin was boyish. “I hope that’s it. Because I can’t afford to keep feeding him steak.”

  Daroo coaxed the story out of him, then wheedled Rose out of his arms. And for a while, they chatted as if the fat envelope on the table didn’t matter. Because Coop galloped through, and Charles chased him into the bathtub. And then the boy was full of news about the amazing Beast. After that, there were diapers to change, formula to mix, and sandwiches to pack.

  Coop was reading to Rose before Daroo was able to guide Charles back into the dining room. He rested his finger on the envelopes from his office. “I am concerned that this will cause problems with this.” He placed his hand on Ally’s paperwork. “You didn’t know about the acreage?”

  “No.”

  “Is it safe to assume your wife doesn’t know?”

  “My parents didn’t like her much. I can’t see them volunteering information.”

  Daroo-fen asked, “Do you want my advice?”

  “Please.” Charles’ voice was rough with pain, and sadness steeped his scent.

  “Do nothing with the offer from my offices. Keep it a secret.” He flicked his fingers at the divorce papers. “Give her everything she wants.”

  Charles’ jaw tightened. “Except the kids.”

  Daroo shook his head. “She’s granting you full custody.”

  The man winced.

  He thought he understood the wounded expression. He sighed and lowered his voice. “Your worth does not depend on her estimation of it.”

  “She doesn’t want any of us.”

  Daroo-fen resisted the instinct to reach for the man. For now, comfort would have to come in the form of words. “She will keep everything she values, and she has given you everything you value. The concession suggests that she knows you are a good parent.”

  “But she ….” Charles blinked hard. “She still doesn’t want any of us. She doesn’t want me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I vowed it,” he whispered. “I promised to love her forever.”

  Daroo understood vows. And he thought he understood Charles. Slowly, he settled his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You love her.”

  “I do.” He laughed weakly at his own words and hid his eyes.

  Nothing he could say would change matters, so Daroo-fen settled on a firm tug that pulled Charles into a one-armed hug. It was awkward, but not excessively so. Charles only needed a few moments to pull himself together. When he stepped back, it was with whispered than
ks.

  Daroo-fen said, “While I cannot fathom her reasons for abandoning you to your own resources, I can protect those resources. Trust me, and all will be well.”

  “Okay.” Charles drew himself up to his full height and looked him in the eye. “I’ll trust you.”

  Duty and Delight

  For the next several days, Charles determinedly cleared everything out of his parents’ bedroom. It was one of only three upstairs rooms—theirs, his old one, and a large cedar closet for storage. By rights, he should have laid claim to the master bedroom, but in the end, he decided to keep to the den.

  “Let’s fix up the big room for Rose,” he suggested over cornflakes. “For when she outgrows the playpen.”

  Cole considered this and asked, “Not right away, though. Right?”

  “I’ll keep her in with me for a while yet.” Charles didn’t like the idea of putting his daughter’s bed so far from his own. “I’m just planning ahead.”

  “Because we’re staying.” Cole wasn’t really asking.

  “Yes.” Charles poked at his cereal. “We’ll stay.”

  “Okay,” his son agreed, as if the matter was both simple and settled. “Is Mr. Hunter coming over?”

  “Is it Saturday?”

  Cole grinned. “Can I wait on the front step?”

  “If you can wait for me, I’ll wait with you.”

  Galvanized by their new goals, father and son shoveled cornflakes like it was a contest.

  “You’re looking especially scruffy,” remarked Daroo-fen, who was trying not to look too eager. Or too winded. He’d gone out the back during breakfast, proceeding to and from his woodland den at speed. Because Mr. Hunter couldn’t pull off neat-and-pressed after a week on four feet. A bath in the creek and a raid of his stores had left him presentable. And almost late.