How to Howl at the Moon (10 page)

Playing Games

LANCE
TALKED
himself into going back to Tim
’s, and then out of it, then in—all day long.

On the one hand, he wanted to keep an ‘insider status’ until those seedlings came up, and until Roman had verified that they weren’t cannabis. Once that was done, assuming Tim was cleared, Lance would have no reason to go back there.

On the other hand, going back felt… dangerous. Tim Weston, like most humans, didn’t even know quickened existed, so it was unlikely he’d ever guess ‘Chance’ was more than a dog. But that wasn’t what worried Lance. He was worried that it felt too comfortable to be with Tim like that. He’d always enjoyed being in dog form, even though he hadn’t had much time to indulge it lately, so that was no surprise. But he was alarmed at how good it felt to be with Tim
as a dog
. He didn’t want to encourage that feeling because there was no place healthy to go with that.

On the theoretical third hand, something niggled inside Lance relentlessly. The best word he had for that niggle was ‘worried’. Tim appeared to be broke and friendless—digging an entire field by himself, with an old shovel. Honestly! There was just something sad about him. And that picture Lance had seen of Tim beaten-up as a child. That was the
last
thing he’d needed to see. Lance’s dog instinct was already insisting Tim was pack and wanted to herd him into the fold, make sure he was safe. The photo made it ten times worse.

In the end, the dog won out. Lance didn’t fight his instinct very hard. He respected and valued it too much to ignore it. So after he’d gone home for the day, he showered quickly and shifted. Then he ran the five miles through the woods to the Fitzgibbons property.

*                          *                         *

Tim was making himself mac and cheese when there was a scratch on the back door and a bark. He flung the door open.

“Chance! You came back!”

In an instant, the storm clouds that had been hanging over Tim all day cleared. He felt himself grinning. The dog looked up at Tim calmly, panting as if he’d been running hard. But he didn’t resist when Tim sank to his knees and hugged him. He licked the side of Tim’s neck and wagged his tail in a burst of doggy pleasure.

“Where’d you go? I didn’t think you were coming back, so I didn’t go out and buy you food.”

Chance didn’t look overly concerned.

“I have a can of tuna. Will that do?”

Chance brushed by Tim and sat on the kitchen floor. It was getting nippy out, and Tim closed the door on the dark with a shiver. He put down a clean bowl of water for Chance, which he drank.

“Where’s your bandage, huh? Doc said you needed that.” Chance ignored him. The leg didn’t look swollen or anything.

Tim went back to making his mac and cheese, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re kind of a jerk running out on me like that,” Tim scolded him lightly. “I thought you must have gone back to your owners. Maybe you’re just a free spirit, huh? He Who Shall Not Be Leashed. No ties on you, is that it, Chance?”

Chance had no comment.

“Uh-huh. You’ve probably got an owner in every port, am I right? A hambone here, a grooming appointment there, a cushy bed somewhere else. I’ve got your number.” Tim chatted aimlessly, hardly even aware of what he was saying. Every so often, Chance barked in agreement.

Now that Chance was back, and larger than life sitting in Tim’s kitchen, he was able to reassess the dog. Last night seemed like a dream in a way, but there Chance was in the bright kitchen light. He really was a handsome and healthy-looking dog. His fur was super thick and still silky from the bath. It was so black it had blue undertones. There was a small patch of snow white on his chest and a dot of it on one ear, like a snowflake had landed there. His eyes were that brilliant sky blue, and he watched Tim intently. Even though Chance appeared to be relaxed, sitting on his haunches on the kitchen linoleum, there was an alertness to him that said he was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“Do you know what’s wild? You remind me a little of Sheriff Beaufort.” Tim drained the cooked noodles. “He stares at me just like that, and his eyes are the same gorgeous blue. He’s gotta be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life, but I think he’s a few calls short of Bingo. If you know what I mean. Besides, he’s pure alpha male, and I have this love-hate thing about men like that. Nice to look at, but they make me all nervous.”

Chance’s bark sounded annoyed.

“I know. I shouldn’t talk bad about the guy. He brought me a fruit basket after all. Honestly, give me a nice big banana and I’ll follow you anywhere.” Tim snorted laughter at the stupidity of his own joke. “Too bad there were no doggie biscuits in that basket, huh?”

The mac and cheese was ready, and Tim grabbed a can of Costco tuna and opened it, putting the contents in a bowl. “Mayo? Yes? No? Guess I shouldn’t risk it. I’m not sure what dogs can eat.”

Tim put his bowl of mac and cheese on the table and placed Chance’s bowl of tuna on the floor next to his chair. Chance walked over and looked at the bowl. Tim couldn’t resist stroking his silky ears. “Thank you for coming back, Chance,” Tim’s voice sounded a little deep. He cleared his throat. He was not going to cry over the dog’s reappearance. He might be lonely, but he wasn’t
entirely pathetic. “Bon appetit.”

Chance gave what sounded like a resigned sigh and delicately ate the tuna.

After Tim cleaned up the dishes, he changed into his flannel pj bottoms and brought what he thought of now as ‘Chance’s comforter’ into the living room. Chance was sitting on the couch.

“You going to hang out with me on the couch this time, buddy?” Tim turned on the TV and arranged the comforter over both of them. After a minute, Chance relaxed and leaned against Tim. Tim put his arm around the dog and that felt perfect. He was warm and soft, and he didn’t think Tim was an idiot. Or if he did, he hid it really well, and that was good enough for Tim.

“What shall we watch?” He flipped channels. When he paused on ABC news, Chance put his chin on Tim’s shoulder and gave him a pathetic look. On Extreme Ice Fishing, he growled.

“No? What do you like, Chance? I don’t get Animal Planet.”

Tim flipped to an old Vincent Price horror movie in black and white. Chance hesitated, then gave it an approving yip.

“Yeah? Okay. As long as you don’t mind if I make stupid comments. My best friend in high school and I loved to do that.”

Tim tossed the remote on the coffee table and snuggled down, pulling Chance closer. The dog put his front paws on Tim’s lap, and Tim tucked the comforter around him. Yeah, this was nice. His own little house and Chance to share it with him. If only it could last.

*                          *                         *

Tim wasn
’t kidding about the stupid comments. Most of them revolved around the blatant subtext or cheap effects.

“Why yes, I would like to order. I’ll take one of your kidneys please, with a side of garlic bread.”

“The fog machine is coming! Help!”

“But I… want you, Frank. Those rotten teeth make me so hot.”

Lance was rolling his eyes internally at first, but then he realized that the comments were so dumb they were actually funny, and he found them more and more hilarious as time went on. Soon he was waiting for Tim’s next remark much more avidly than he was watching the movie itself. And Lance… Lance had plenty of funny ideas, but of course, Chance couldn’t say them,
mores the pity.

Tim was all floppy and lanky on the couch, relaxed and cuddly and cooing over Lance when he wasn’t making jokes. His hands were pure magic as they stroked and scratched his fur.

Then Tim leaned in and nudged Chance’s temple playfully with his nose. Chance tried to hold himself aloof, but his reserve was a sinking ship. He turned his nose into Tim’s cheek and nudged back. Warmth blossomed in his chest.

Shit. His dog really, really liked Tim.

He, Lance, liked Tim. He almost didn’t care that there was a possibility Tim was growing pot.

He wondered if Tim could ever be this comfortable around him when he was Lance Beaufort. And that made Lance imagine what it would be like—him, in human form, sitting there on the couch watching a movie with Tim Weston. Of course, two guys didn’t cuddle up under a blanket like this or snuggle and pet or bump noses.

Unless… Unless they did.

Something hot burned in Lance’s stomach, desire and panic. What an idea! But like Tim’s jokes, the longer the notion sat in his brain the less stupid and more appealing it became.

If he were himself, sitting on the couch with Tim, would Tim have his arm around Lance? Or Lance around Tim? Would Tim be goofy and affectionate like this? If Lance were in his human form, Tim might look at him as he had this afternoon when he’d brought of the fruit basket, his eyes going warm, his pulse kicking up, and his pheromones sending out tantalizing signals.
Yes. Please. Now.
Tim had confirmed as much in the kitchen—he thought Sheriff Lance Beaufort was hot.

Chance whined and jumped down onto the floor, lay down and put his head in his paws.

“You too warm? Here’s let’s get rid of this.” Tim tossed the blanket aside and patted the couch. Lance didn’t move. “Is this a bid for popcorn? ‘Cause I’m thinking it is. Subtle, bud. I’m on it.” He got up and went into the kitchen, humming to himself.

This was wrong on so many levels it hurt Lance’s brain to even think about it. Lance should not be picturing cuddling and, yes, maybe making out with Tim Weston while in dog
form. Or any other form!

But what if… what if Lance came back as himself? And just… what? Ask Tim if he wanted to hang out together? Ask for… a date?

The thought was absurd. Lance was the sheriff. He didn’t date. The dog side of him didn’t do casual like that, not the way humans did, having sex with people they hardly knew. To Lance, people were either part of his pack or they were strangers. If they were pack, they had a specific role. There was a hierarchy—his mother, close friends, colleagues, acquaintances, weaker pack members that he had to protect. There had never been a
mate
. Lance didn’t have the time or room in his life for one. And if he ever changed his mind, he certainly wouldn’t choose a
full-blooded human male
.

Intermarriages occurred between human and quickened. Often. But as a fourth genner, Lance had always had the not-so-subtle view that quickened were superior to full-blooded humans, and a marriage with one was somehow marrying down. That view might have been pushed a wee bit by his dear mother. As for Tim’s gender, it wasn’t disturbing per se. There were bonded male couples in Mad Creek, both quickened and human. When a dog bonded, it was more about the other person’s spirit than their gender. Lance personally believed the quickened were more evolved that way, more attuned to what truly mattered in a person. He trusted a quickened’s judgment—or a pure dog’s for that matter—far more than he did a human’s.

But even so, choosing to mate with a male meant not having children, and that was a big decision to make, one that would give his mother fits. Then again, he’d told himself that he didn’t plan to ever marry and have children. So what difference did it make if Tim couldn’t have pups?

Wait.
Mating
? Why was he even thinking about that? He wasn’t going to mate, not with Tim or with anyone else! Why had he even—

Oh, yeah. Because he’d been thinking how lovely it was to cuddle on the couch with Tim. And if he was going to cuddle with Tim, he really ought to do it as himself, not under the guise of a dog. But human cuddling… that wrote all sorts of checks Sheriff Lance Beaufort couldn’t cash.

A forlorn whine emerged from his throat. Never before had Lance’s dog wanted something
so badly that outright clashed with the complications of human life. And never had it seemed so much easier to just be a dog. Chance could accept affection from Tim, goof around with him, they could hang out, and it didn’t mean anything. Those moments were out of Lance’s reach.

Tim brought in a big bowl of popcorn. He was in his socks, and Lance appreciated the sight of his long, lean legs in the flannel pjs. Instead of starting the movie again, though, he stood in the middle of the room.

“Hey, Chance. Watch this.” He threw a piece of popcorn up high with one hand and caught it in his mouth. He chewed it and grinned. “Now you. Ready?” Tim threw a piece of popcorn at Lance. Lance remained, head on paws, still a
s
a statue. The piece of popcorn bounced off his nose and onto the floor. He ignored it.

“Oh, come on! You have to at least try.”

No, I really don’t.

“Chance! Come on, buddy. Watch again.” Tim repeated the stupid pet trick, catching a piece of popcorn in his own mouth. “Now you. Get it, Chance! Get it!”

The piece of popcorn bounced off Lance’s unmoving snout. He gave a low growl.

“Oh, you think you’re too dignified to catch popcorn, huh?” Tim snorted.