How to Howl at the Moon (16 page)

Chance licked Tim’s face.

“I should jump all over Sheriff McHotty, right? Or at least throw myself in his path like a Victorian damsel. Assuming he ever comes around again.”

Chance barked an affirmative. He was going to make sure of it.

*                          *                         *

It was nearly dawn. Lance
’s consciousness let go of the last fingers of a very pleasant dream. He stretched and smiled, his eyes still closed. He’d been dreaming about Tim, running after him in the woods on all fours, playing rambunctiously. Then he wasn’t on all fours anymore, he was on two legs. He caught Tim, held him, pressed him tight against his throbbing erection. His whole body was on fire as he…. Mmm… pressed him close, rubbed.

Lance snuggled contentedly against the warm body in bed with him, lazily thrusting his erection against Tim’s bare leg. Tim always slept in just his underwear and a T-shirt and his skin was warm and he smelled like heaven and—

Lance’s eyes flew open. Fear and panic slicked through him like a flash flood.

He was in Tim Weston’s bed. In his human form. Naked. With an erection pressed up
against Tim’s leg.

Lance barely caught himself from leaping out of bed. No doubt he’d make a racket and wake Tim up. Right then Tim was deeply asleep, his face turned toward the wall, one hand up by his head, lightly curled.

Dear God. When Tim had gone to sleep, it had been with Chance curled up next to him. If Tim caught him here like this, what would he think? He’d think that Sheriff Lance Beaufort had broken into his home and gotten into bed with him naked and horny and uninvited. He’d think Lance meant to rape him. The very idea of Tim thinking that, of scaring Tim like that, made the gorge rise in Lance’s throat
, instantly quelling his desire
.

Very
quietly and
very
slowly, Lance pulled back from Tim. When he was finally free of contact, he slipped out of the bed. He didn’t breathe again until he was on the other side of the bedroom door.

Heaving a shaky sigh of relief, Lance let himself out of the house, shifted into his dog, and ran all the way back to his cruiser at the overlook.

Once dressed, and safely inside, he sat behind the wheel, trying to calm down. He couldn’t believe it. He’d shifted back to human form
in his sleep
. He’d come this close to ruining everything for good.

As the panic faded, Lance was left with a heavy feeling of sorrow. This was a wake-up call, a slap in the face that reminded him that what he was doing was more than ethically dubious. It was
wrong
.

There was no way around it. Seedlings or no seedlings, Chance had to disappear.

Puppy Bait

TIM WONDERED where he’d obtained the curse that was currently looming like a black cloud over his head. He couldn’t recall offending any leprechauns or gypsy women. Or meeting any, really. Sure, he’d had a falling out with Marshall, but Marshall was more wiseass than wizard. He didn’t have the mojo to wither the green thumb Tim had had since birth.

Or to cause his dog to abandon him. Or the hot sheriff not to call.

Two days ago, in sheer desperation, Tim had broken his carefully breadcrumbed budget to drive down to Fresno and purchase a new supply of vegetable seeds. They weren’t even very nice varieties, just the ordinary sort you could pick up at Home Depot. But he didn’t know what else to do. Two hundred dollars later, Tim had planted a whole new round of seed trays. Now he had to wait for
those
.

If these didn’t come up, he’d truly lose his mind. Or maybe he’d already lost it. Tomorrow it would be a week since he’d last seen Chance, and he felt the dog’s loss like a final, fatal blow. It was hard enough trying to keep his spirits up. He needed his best friend. And he was terrified something had happened to Chance. Was he lying hurt somewhere? Tim had called every vet in the area, but there were no reports of a black collie. He’d walked the nearby trail they’d hiked multiple times, calling for Chance. There was no sign of him. Had someone grabbed Chance and locked him up? Tim should have gotten a collar for Chance with his name and address on it. At least then, if Chance had another family he went to during the day, they might have called him to see what was up. But he hadn’t done that. It was just another way he’d fucked up.

Tim
used a small dibble to poke
at one of
the
first seedling trays
he’d planted
. He couldn’t
even find the damn seeds, and
he’d gone through three
rows by now.

What the ever loving fuck?

There was a knock on the greenhouse door. Tim was so focused on his task that he jerked upright and gave a tiny, but still embarrassing, scream.

Sheriff Lance Beaufort stood in the greenhouse doorway, wearing his uniform. Tim’s heart made an effort to perk up and get excited about it. But he was just too low.

“Hey.” He turned back to his seed trays with a sigh. “You don’t have elves living around here, do you? Very spiteful, evilly sadistic elves?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Lance came over and stood close to Tim—overly close, as was his wont. He watched Tim poke around. “Still no luck?”

Tim dropped the dibble. “I don’t get it! I can’t even find the seeds themselves. It’s like someone just sucked them all out. I’ve never heard of mice or squirrels messing with seed trays. And even if they had, the soil would have been disturbed. I’ve seen nothing like that!”

Tim looked up at Lance, frustrated. Lance had a worried, thoughtful look on his face. “Hmmm. You don’t—you don’t know anyone who could be messing with you?”

“Like who?”

“I dunno. Someone you knew before? Someone who knows you’re living here?”

Lance seemed to be implying something specific, but Tim didn’t know what. The only people who knew he was here were Linda and Marshall. Linda had no reason to mess with him. As for Marshall, he might wish failure on Tim, but to actually do something like this? He’d never be that clever or work that hard.

“I can’t believe anyone I knew in Santa Barbara would drive all the way up here and dig up all my seeds. That’s seriously weird. I guess it could have been an OCD rodent. I have no idea.”

“Well.” Lance cleared his throat.

Tim blushed. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be so self-absorbed. Hi, Sheriff, it’s nice of you to stop by. Unless you plan to arrest me or something.” Tim laughed nervously.

“No.” Lance took a step closer, which meant his uniform jacket and Tim’s blue jean shirt
were practically touching. “And it’s Lance, remember? I wanted to see how you’ve been doing.” He had worry lines around his frowning mouth, like he actually cared.

“Me? Sucky. My dog, Chance, has disappeared. He hasn’t been back since last Saturday night. I’m afraid he’s gone for good.” Tim swallowed an invisible lump. It hurt more than Tim could express, but anyway, Lance didn’t want to hear it. Tim knew most people wouldn’t understand. Chance wasn’t just a dog. He was special. Chance understood him more than any person ever had.

“I heard about that. It’s terrible to lose a dog.” Lance sounded sympathetic. “My, um, my mom said she saw you at the grocery store yesterday and you were really upset.”

“Yeah. She seemed upset about Chance going missing on my behalf. Almost angry. She’s a character, your mom.”

“Yes.” Lance sighed, his intense blue eyes staring into Tim’s. “I truly am sorry about Chance.”

“Okay? It’s not your fault, though.”

“Well… I brought you something. Wait here.”

Lance left the greenhouse. Tim wondered what it could be. Food? Maybe Lily made him a stop-being-suicidally-depressed casserole, one with a gazillion tons of fat and salt. His stomach grumbled in anticipation. He was way over mac and cheese and tuna.

Instead, Lance walked in with a puppy.

It was a very large puppy, though clearly quite young. It was black and white and tan, had long hair, and was so cute you could die.

“Oh my God!” Tim put his hand over his mouth. “What…?”

“It’s a mix but mostly Bernese mountain dog. It’s a good breed for you. He can keep himself occupied in the yard while you work, but if you want to go hike, he’s athletic enough for it. And he’ll take all the cuddles you can dish out.”

Lance held the dog out. Despite Tim’s conflicted feelings—surprise, joy, doubt—he took the puppy. It licked his face with instant devotion.

“But… I can’t take this. It’s too much. Plus, I feel… I mean, I’m not ready to move on. Chance hasn’t even been gone a week and… and he’s my dog.”

“Chance wouldn’t want you to be alone,” Lance said firmly. “And if he does come back, the two can keep each other company. Or if you can’t handle both, I’ll take the pup. That’s no problem.”

It was tempting, especially with both Lance and the puppy looking at him so hopefully. “Honestly, I don’t even know where I’m going to be come September. If I can’t get my produce business going, I’ll be out on my ear. I shouldn’t take a dog when I might end up homeless. He deserves better than that. He should find a forever home while he’s still little and cute.”

Lance stepped closer, his face sad and very serious. “Tim, that’s not going to happen. You will never be homeless. We take care of our own here in Mad Creek.”

Tim chewed his lip. “But what if I end up having to take a job in Fresno or Sacramento or something? I might not find an apartment that’ll take a dog. And I’ll be at work all day….”

The puppy wiggled in his arms, anxious, and Lance stroked his head, gently shhhing him. “You’re worrying the pup. Don’t fret. If for any reason you can’t keep the dog, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. He can always stay with me. Really. I want to do this for you. You need a
companion
.”

That was sweet. Tim finally allowed himself to register the fact that Lance, Sheriff McHotty, had brought him
a
puppy
. It was weird but also possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for Tim. He hugged the dog tighter. The puppy wasn’t Chance, but his fur was baby soft and his pink tongue licked Tim’s cheek eagerly. Tim wanted to say thank you, but his throat was thick and he was afraid he’d betray too much emotion if he opened his mouth. He loved Chance madly and nothing could ever replace him, but maybe there was room for this little guy too. Hell,
all
the dogs. Just bring him all the dogs. If he couldn’t raise plants, maybe puppies would do.

Lance was watching him, and he seemed to know that Tim had relented. He smiled. “This dog here has a good heart. I picked him out especially for you.”

“Oh? You speak dog?” Tim laughed, feeling more in control of himself.

“Yes,” Lance said seriously.

Tim snorted. “I bet you do.” He held the puppy up. “Man, you’re heavy for such a pipsqueak. Are you going to be a big boy?”

Lance took one of the puppy’s front paws and rubbed it. “He’ll be big, but no bigger than Chance.”

“How do you know Chance?”

Lance blushed. “You—you described him to me. Remember?”

Had he? Tim vaguely recalled talking about Chance at the party. He’d had four beers, so maybe he’d even run around on all fours and imitated the dog. Anything was possible.

“Oh. Okay. In that case, if you see Chance around? On your patrols or anything? Can you call me? Here. I have a picture.” Tim pulled out his cell phone and showed Lance a photo of Chance. He was sitting in the backyard posing, his head tilted inquisitively. The image made Tim’s heart ache.

Lance
looked at it, his jaw set. “What a remarkably fine looking dog.
I’ll let you know if I see him
.”

Tim put away the phone. Then he realized Lance was standing so close he was half supporting the puppy. They were both holding and petting it. The two of them. Together. It was almost like a family or something.

Tim felt a rush of heat, which was predictable because,
hot guy
, but an equally strong surge of longing for that—a family. That was unexpected.