He blinks. My heart flutters.
‡‡
My heart races like a roller coaster as she opens her eyes, and we stare at each other. What just happened?
My entire body is in protect mode, and I want to jump up, and hold her, keep her safe - forever. Yet, I lie here, useless, broken, in pain.
The tingling of the strange sensation still vibrates through my body. By the look in her eyes, I know Kimberly felt it, too. Her hand shakes, and doubt and confusion play across her face.
I wish I could take her in my arms and tell her it’s going to be alright. She looks so fragile right now; a single blond curl has fallen across her pale cheek, and her eyes shimmer in the darkness of the room.
When she moves and pulls her hand back, it’s like someone stole the warmth from the room. I want her to put it back, want her to touch me again, but I understand her confusion.
Even I don’t know what just happened, but at least I know that underneath all this broken mess of a wolf, I am human. All she sees is a dog. A wolfhound. Maybe, a Malamute. I’ll have to wait until she bathes me to know what she really thinks I am.
“Sleep, now, silly boy.”
There is a quiver in Kimberly’s voice, even though she’s trying to be playful. I can’t move or do anything else, so I blink.
Wrong move.
It makes her heart flutter in strange ways, and she sighs. Kimberly casts me one last sad look, then turns her back on me.
It’s late, but it takes her another hour to fall asleep. I stay up with her, even though I am beyond tired. I don’t want to miss one moment of being with her. We connected, somehow, and I need to figure out what it means.
‡‡
“How is your patient this morning?” Dad asks, coming down into the nursery.
“He made it through the night,” I say vaguely while I mix the vitamin shakes for the bitches.
“Good, good,” he mumbles and wanders over to the crate.
I stop what I’m doing and hold my breath. With my father standing in front of the crate, I can’t see the dog. My pulse quickens, and I want to rush in to intervene.
“He’s quite a mess, isn’t he,” Dad says, “but I don’t think he’s a Wolfhound. A Malamute, maybe. He sure is big, though.”
“Yeah,” I take a breath, “that’s what I thought, too. Once I’m done with my morning chores, I will wash some of that blood off him. Maybe it’ll be easier to tell.”
“Want some help?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks, Dad.”
“Alright, see you outside in a minute, then.”
He grabs an armful of vitamin shakes and stomps off through the back door. I stash my own shakes in the pockets of my parka and then move to the crate.
“I have work to do this morning, but I’ll be as quick as I can. I promise.”
Those glacier eyes bore into me, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve done everything I can this morning to make him comfortable, yet I still feel so guilty for leaving him.
“I won’t be long,” I whisper and run to the door.
Like Dad predicted, Alaska wants us to have an early winter. Tiny snowflakes swirl around the yard, pushed by a wind that can’t make up its mind.
My brothers are on the other side by the kennels, feeding the males, and the noise coming from there is deafening. I grew up with that sound, and I love it. So many dogs baying for attention - yipping, growling, barking.
Our four employees are already busy sweeping through the four massive kennel sections to do the first clean-up for the day. Sixty dogs sure poop a lot in one day.
“Hey, girls,” I greet the bitches when I reach their enclosure.
Immediately, there’s pandemonium. All ten of them want my attention at once. They are fickle creatures, and only my dad, Blake Four-Paw - who cleans up after them - and I are allowed in their enclosure.
“Let’s go,” Dad calls to me from inside the food hut.
“On my way.”
We have it easy - feeding only ten dogs every morning. Before my brothers were born, Dad used to feed the males by himself, or with the employees. Then, when my brothers were born, he used to help the boys.
Now, it’s my brothers’ duty, and my Dad helps me with the bitches. It’s my job to prepare all the dogs' regular vitamin shots, but the bitches get extra to get them ready for breeding.
Once we’ve mixed the bowls, we take them through into the enclosure. Blake holds the gate open for us as we enter. My Dad goes first and puts his two bowls down by Gaia and Maleficent before he goes back to fetch two more.
As I get to Hera’s kennel, the bitch yanks on her chain to get to me.
“Easy, girl. Hungry this morning?”
I set the bowl down beside her, but she’s not interested. She’s glued to me, sniffing me as if I’m a piece of meat. Her tail is stiff, and her body trembles slightly.
“Dad, are you seeing this?”
I step away from the Husky and put the other bowl down by Artemis. Dad watches as the alpha female reacts the same way. When Artemis bares her teeth and growls, Dad grabs me by the arm and pulls me away.
“I’ll feed the others. You better go shower.”
A rush of blood surges through my veins as I realize what he means - I smell like him.
The bitches must sense something. Is it the sickness they smell on me? Are they afraid of it?
“Ma’am,” Blake Four-Paw says, “it’s the wolf magic. The bitches know what you saved. Believe in the miracle.”
The Native American is one of our best dog handlers, but he often says strange things like this.
I hurry back home and go straight back to the nursery. There’s no point in showering if I’m to wash the dog. I may as well get that over with, first, before I get myself clean.
After having been in the crisp mountain air, the stench in the nursery assaults my senses as I step through the door. The open windows last night helped, but the source of the problem still lies in that crate.
As I approach, he wags his tail, and although he looks a mess with the blood plastered all over his body, half his hair shaved off, and stitches all along his legs and belly, there is a light in his eyes when he looks at me.
I can’t help the tiny flutters in my tummy as I kneel beside him or the smile that spreads across my face.
“I told you I wouldn’t be long,” I say to him.
He blinks.
The flutters in my tummy take flight.
I take a breath.
“Alright,” I clear my throat, “let me get some warm water going, and get everything ready. Are you up for this?”
He blinks again.
No matter how his blinks make me feel - as weird as it is - at least we have now established a way to communicate. I smile, then catch myself. Communicate?
I’m losing my mind. He doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Dogs need to blink just like any other animal. It’s those damn blue eyes that have me all freaked out.
Get a grip.
I go to the sink and run hot water into a large plastic tub. From under the counter, I get a sponge and some towels. Today, I’m only washing the filth off him, so I’m not using any dog shampoo. I want his wounds to heal, first.
Back at the crate, I set the tub down and use the hose to add cold water until the temperature is lukewarm.