“Not yet!”
I walked the fence line, one hand on the rough wood to keep my bearings, squinting into the dark beyond the headlight beams. The snow was knee-deep in places, drifting against the posts. If a dog was out here, if it had burrowed down to escape the wind?—
“We might have to come back,” Beckett called. He was ten feet away but his voice sounded distant, swallowed by the storm. “When it clears.”
When it clears could be twelve hours. More. No dog would survive that long in this.
I pushed forward another few steps, then a few more. The headlights were dimming behind me, the snow too thick. I should turn back. I knew I should turn back.
Then I saw it.
A darker shape against the white, tucked low against a fence post about twenty feet ahead. It could have been a shadow. A drift. A trick of the wind.
But it wasn’t.
“Beck!” My voice cracked against the cold. “Coop, over here!”
I stumbled forward, half-running, half-wading through the snow. The shape resolved into something real—a cardboard box, half-buried, collapsing on one side, tucked against the fence like someone had just... left it there.
I dropped to my knees beside it.
A growl. Low, warning.
Then a face emerged from the shadows of the box. A lab mix, maybe, with intelligent eyes and a protective stance. Thin. Too thin. But alert.
And beneath her, huddled together for warmth, four tiny bodies.
Puppies. Four of them. Barely two weeks old from the look of it, eyes just starting to open, making small mewling sounds that cut through the howl of the wind.
“Coop!” My voice cracked. “Beckett, there are puppies.”
He was beside me in seconds, Coop right behind him.
“Jesus.” Coop crouched down, his easy humor gone. “Someone just dumped them out here? Like garbage?”
The mama dog growled again, but it was weaker now. She was cold, exhausted, running on nothing but the instinct to protect her babies.
“Hey, girl.” I kept my voice soft, steady. “We’re here to help. I promise. We’re going to get you somewhere warm.”
She watched me with wary eyes. Deciding. Then, slowly, her body relaxed. Just a fraction. Just enough.
“Let’s move,” Beckett said. “This storm’s getting worse. We’ve got to go.”
We worked quickly—Coop taking the box with the puppies, handling them like they were made of glass, while Beckett coaxed the mama dog to her feet then picked her up. She was shaking badly, still growling under her breath, her eyes on the box holding her babies.
“You two need to get back to Pawsitive.” Coop was already shrugging off his coat, wrapping it around the shivering mama dog. “I’ll take them.”
“Coop—”
“The animals at the sanctuary are counting on you. This storm’s only getting worse, and you’ve got a barn full of creatures who need feeding and checking on.” He lifted the box of puppies carefully, cradling it against his chest. “I’ve got these guys. I’ll get them somewhere warm.”
He wasn’t wrong. And every minute we delayed was a minute the roads got worse.
“You sure?” Beckett asked.
“What else am I going to do tonight?” Coop’s grin flickered, that loneliness surfacing again before he buried it. “At least now I’ve got company.”
We loaded up—Coop with a truck full of dogs, us with an anxious Jet and a long drive through a worsening storm.
