Its ears lifted, head cocked to the side. Listening.
“T’as faim?”
Nothing.
“Don’t speak French, I guess.”
It was apparently hungry enough to take another step closer, before cowering back. Did those nuts beat their animals? Weren’t these religious people supposed to be peaceful and kind, with their faith and old-fashioned demeanors? He couldn’t picture the woman from today—Abby—hitting a dog.
“Allez, dégages. Go, go on.” He tried to shoo it one last time, with no luck at all. The dog was a mess. Could it even move?
Its head tilted, ears lifting higher, looking hopeful. For a brief second, Luc recalled the expression on Abby Merkley’s face when she’d offered her hand to shake.
“My God,” he whispered, and the dog, with that sixth sense these creatures had, moved toward him, its steps halting. On a clean wave of anger, Luc wondered if the creature needed to be put down.
He picked it up. Pure skin and bones.Just like the woman they’d sent over to him.What the hell was wrong with those people?
He considered putting it into the truck bed, but something about the animal’s frail legs and mangy fur, the way it trembled in his arms, made him shove his bags into the footwell and lay it down carefully on the front seat.
He stopped and cocked his head. What was that? A sound in the deathly quiet? A dip in temperature? A crackling in the cloud-muffled night? Luc sniffed, expecting the smell of smoke, not the stench of death that followed it on the air.
This dog wastheirs. The neighbors’. He was sure of it. First, they sent a woman to him—looking for work, no less—and now a dog, left out to starve in the middle of winter? Well, he’d had enough.Enough.
Flying in the face of every one ofGrandpère’s expressions about good neighbors, he turned the truck around and accelerated back down the drive toward the neighbors’ place, ignoring the itch of premonition that skimmed his nape like an icy finger.
* * *
Abby pushed opened the door to Hamish’s cabin.
My cabin, she thought with a sudden, futile spasm of ownership.
It was dark inside—the kind of pitch-black she imagined modern women never experienced, with their cell phones glued to their hands and purses probably equipped with flashlights. They were so practical, those women, with their bare heads, jeans, and easy cotton shirts.
She scrabbled on a side table for matches, lit the first lantern, and turned to see a silhouette. She dropped the matchbox with a strangled sound.Hamish?The fear and shock quickly morphed into relief as the shape came into focus.
Just Sammy.
“Hi, Abby” came his voice, slow and a bit high.
“Goodness, you almost killed me.”
“I did?”
“No. I mean, not really. You just scared me, standing here in the dark, is all.”
“You said to come, Abby. I’m sorry.” He sounded crestfallen.
She immediately went to him, put one arm around his narrow shoulders, and led him to one of the straight chairs in the kitchen area. “Don’t be, Sammy. Don’t be. I meant it. I was just… It was just a little fright, but I’m happy that you’re here. What’s a little fright compared to that, huh?”
“Yeah?” His smile lit up those sweet features, the tiny nose and high forehead that made him different from everyone else and made her love him all the more.
“No room at your parents’?” she asked.
“No. Denny and Angie wanted to be alone. So I went to see Benji and Brigid, but he…he tole me to go, too.”
Abby knew exactly why the Cruddups had kicked him out. Well, at least one of the reasons. They might be his birth parents, but his differences made him a failure in their eyes—in the eyes of the Church—and they needed to make up for it by coupling and giving the Almighty more babies, despite their advanced years. It was their responsibility as God-fearing members of the Church, and tonight, apparently, they were fulfilling their spousal duty. It sickened her, the idea that they’d rather do that than care for Sammy, already here and alive. A son who especially needed them.
“Did you get dinner?”
