Daniel moved, one hand gripping the railing. “I’m going after him.”
Then a splash.
Hudson burst through the surface, gasping, wild-eyed. Rascal squirmed weakly in his arms, coughing and kicking, his small paws barely moving.
“I’ve got him!” Hudson shouted. But they were too close to the rocks, farther from the boat. The current wasn’t draggingthem out to sea. It was dragging them sideways, ready to slam them straight into the cliff.
Daniel maneuvered the boat in an instant, sliding it between Hudson and the cliffside just in time. The current did the rest, smashing them against the hull. Rascal let out a sharp yelp, his paws scrabbling for grip. Hudson winced and almost slipped under again, but he held on.
“Help me!” Daniel said and reached down.
I was right beside him. Together, we hauled up Hudson, who was still cradling Rascal tightly against his chest.
As soon as they were in, I took the white little dog from him. Hudson collapsed onto the floor of the boat, soaked and coughing, blood pouring from a deep gash in his leg.
“He accidentally clawed me,” Hudson gasped between breaths.
Daniel crouched beside him. “You’re okay. Breathe.”
Rascal whimpered low against my chest. His soaked fur was cold and clung to my shirt. He shook like a leaf, staring back toward the cliffs like something had chased him straight to the sea. Something had terrified him. Something more than falling in the water.
Daniel reached for the throttle. “Let’s go.”
Back at the house, Tara met us at the front door, her face pale.
“What happened?” she asked. Her eyes darted between Hudson and the wet dog in my arms.
“Rascal,” Hudson said. “He jumped into the water. Tried to get to us.”
“But the dogs can’t get down to the boat launch. There’s a gate at the top of the stairs,” Tara said, confused.
“He wasn’t by the launch,” Daniel said, helping Hudson onto the couch in the library. “He was on the boulders.”
“But they never go down there. They’re scared of the cliff,” she muttered, already hurrying off. A moment later, she returned with towels and a first aid kit.
Daniel rushed off for dry clothes, while Tara and I wrapped towels tight around Hudson’s shoulders. His wound didn’t look too bad.
“Can you dry Rascal?” Hudson asked.
“Of course,” I said, sitting next to Hudson on the couch. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Rascal without moving him far from my chest. He stayed burrowed there, trembling, pushing closer like he couldn’t get warm enough.
“Something must have scared him.” Tara knelt by Hudson and began cleaning the wound. “Damn dog. Why did you do that to your dad?” She reached out and gently pet Rascal.
From the corner, Mochi was watching.
“Stupid dogs,” he suddenly squawked.
My head snapped toward him. “What did you just say?”
“Stupid dogs,” he repeated. “Die.”
I rose and gently passed Rascal into Tara’s arms. She eased down beside Hudson as he took over, carefully wrapping a bandage around his calf. “It’s not very deep,” Hudson said. “I’ll be all right.”
I moved toward Mochi’s cage. “Mochi, please don’t say that.”
He fluffed his grey feathers. “Stupid dogs. Stupid dogs. Die.”
“Hey,” I scolded him. “That’s not okay. ‘Stupid’ and ‘die’ are bad words.”
