Children from the Coast Range eastward were vibrating in joy over the white Christmas they’d begetting.
Travelers were advised to stay home and stay away from the passes. All the stores were out of milk andbread.
I wondered if Ryder had decided not to chance the trip. He might have turned back or sheltered somewhere along theway.
That would have been the smart move. The forecast called for more ice to follow the snow, enough to shut down the passes and much of I-5.
“Have you called him?” Myraasked.
“It goes to voicemail.”
She didn’t say anything while I hung the rest of the ornaments. Whatever Christmas spirit I’d been feeling was getting railroaded byworry.
“He’ll be okay.” Myra pressed a mug of coffee into my hand, and I realized I’d been standing there for a while, staring at the tree, my mind a million milesaway.
Or exactly one hundred and ninety-one milesaway.
“I know,” I said. “He’s lived in Oregon and Chicago. He knows how to handle snow. He won’t do anythingstupid.”
But my heart was heavy and my pulse was rapping. Why hadn’t he answered his phone? Maybe he’d been stranded, ran out of battery on his phone. Maybe he was stuck in traffic, moving slowlyalong.
Maybe he was just outside of town and almosthome.
“Are you sure it’s a dragon?” She pointed her coffee at thefireplace.
The dragon-pig had acquired several more stuffed things and had stacked them into a pile. Spud must have offered enough of his toy hoard to have gained the dragon’sfavor.
The dog was curled up on top of the toys. Dragon was right there with him, sprawled on his mountain of treasure, little piggy head propped on a blissed-out Spud’sback.
That dog and that pig could not look morecontent.
It was cute. They werecute.
“I’m sure it’s a dragon,” Isaid.
“Isn’t it too small and soft? I know they can be anything, but I’ve never heard of one that turned itself into something so…adorable. Plus, this is Crow we’re talking about.Crow.”
“You know what?” I said in a loud conversational tone, “you’re right. I should take some of those toys back to Spud’s box. They don’t need thatmany.”
The pig opened one eye. It glittered with fire, and a little puff of smoke drifted out itssnout.
The pig drew the toy hoard in closer, making it clear I touched it at my ownperil.
I raised an eyebrow atMyra.
“Okay,” she said. “I see it. It’s a dragon. I thought he wasjoking.”
“Nope.”
“Any idea why Crow wants you to haveit?”
“Something to do with it bothers Bathin. He can’t hide from it? They weren’t veryclear.”
We both drank our coffee and stared at the mythical farmyardconundrum.
“Crow called him Black Heart,” Isaid.
“Thepig?”
