Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay, Babette Jongh [book club books txt] 📗

“Sure thing, dude. You have a couple months to think about selling that land. I’ve got some other deals in the making, so that can stay back-burner for now.”

Abby’s light went out, leaving the farmhouse next door a dark silhouette in the moonlight. “Bye now, JP. Thanks for calling.”

“I won’t ask anyone else about that job, either, until I hear back from you. You’re the best carpenter I know, and I want you on our team when this thing gets going.”

Quinn just wanted to get off the phone. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.” Or not.

He ended the call and turned off the TV.

A distant, mournful howl made goose bumps erupt on the back of his neck. That wolf dog had been howling for the last few nights, the sound of loss and despair, maybe even of pain. Quinn went outside onto the patio. The pool pump made soft humming noises, and the automatic pool cleaner made chug-chugging sounds as it ate its way along the pool bottom.

Abby had said something about feeding the wolf dog. She’d forgotten to do that today. He’d do it, then. The stray was probably hungry. She’d been taking water to it, too, so Quinn took an almost-empty milk carton from the fridge, poured out the suspicious-smelling dregs, then rinsed it and refilled it with water. He’d pour the water into the bucket she’d left out there. “Okay. What next?”

Food wouldn’t be as easy. Quinn didn’t have dog food here, or any kind of processed pet food. He opened the fridge door again and peered inside.

Beer… No.

Raw eggs? Because he wasn’t going to cook for the damn dog… No.

He had just enough lunch meat and cheese to throw together a sandwich for himself tomorrow morning. “Nope, not gonna sacrifice that.”

He didn’t even think about the steak he knew was in the meat drawer. That steak was his. He planned to throw it on the grill for dinner tomorrow night.

He closed the refrigerator door and checked the pantry.

Peanut butter… He could make the dog a sandwich. He took out the remnants of a loaf of bread, but only enough slices remained for his own breakfast and lunch.

Canned soup… No.

Brownie mix? He’d bought it for Sean’s visit. And though Sean wasn’t coming this weekend, the mix would last, and again, not cooking for a damn dog.

The freezer yielded the only possible food item he could take to the still-howling wolf dog. A frozen pepperoni pizza. He wasn’t cooking for the dog, but hey, if it was hungry enough, it’d eat whatever was offered, frozen or not.

Right?

Right, he told himself.

He took the gallon of water and the frozen pizza out to the roadside, lighting his way with his phone’s flashlight. Hearing something walking beside him—after he damn near shit himself with surprise—he swung his light toward the sound.

“Georgia. What are you doing here?” His first panicked thought of whether Abby was okay slipped away when Georgia wagged her tail and leaped up to sniff the pizza. He didn’t think the dog would be this interested in pizza if she’d come to him for help. He hadn’t thought before this moment that Georgia probably went outside at night on a regular basis. She had her doggy door to the outside, and even if Abby hadn’t decided to start leaving the gate open, Georgia was small enough squiggle under it. God only knew what rich sort of night life this little dog got up to when everyone else was sleeping.

Quinn emptied the water into the bucket. Then, while Georgia sat up in an admirable begging sit with her front paws in prayer position, he flung the boxed frozen pizza, Frisbee-style, out into the cat’s-claw forest.

Chapter 11

Wolf and Georgia sat together in the cat’s-claw forest, looking up.

“Why do you suppose he did that?” Georgia asked.

Wolf stood on his hind legs, his front feet up on the big tree’s slanted trunk. “Maybe it’s a test. Maybe if I climb the tree and rescue the food, they’ll let me stay.”

Georgia climbed partway up the trunk, but stopped where it grew straight up. She sniffed the air; the thawing pizza’s scent leaked from the closed box. “I think he doesn’t know how to throw pizza. He brought you water; maybe this pizza was supposed to be for you, too.”

Wolf sniffed the air, too. “It might rain. Maybe the box will get knocked down if it rains.” His stomach growled. “Are you sure it’s not a test?”

Georgia hopped down from the tree trunk. “Who knows? People don’t know what they’re doing half the time. I think he just can’t throw.”

Wolf put his head on his paws and groaned. “I was hungry.”

Georgia licked his face. “There’s kibble and fresh water on the back porch. Abby just put it out for you.”

Wolf sat up. “Really?”

Georgia sniffed the wound in his side. “This smells bad. Are you keeping it clean?”

Wolf turned to demonstrate his inability to turn around far enough to reach the tear in his flesh. “Can’t reach.”

Georgia came close and tenderly licked the wound, using her teeth to pull out bits of matted hair, dead skin, leaves, and twigs that had stuck to the raw, oozing gash. Wolf eased to his elbows on the leaf-cluttered ground, then stretched out to allow Georgia better access.

The wound stung and itched with every swipe of her gentle tongue, but Wolf lay quietly, aside from a few twitches he couldn’t help. Finally, she finished, and moved up to his face, licking his eyes, his ears, and his mouth. Showing love and deference. Granting him the privilege of being her alpha.

* * *

Abby woke the next morning to Reva’s text: Sorry for the sad text yesterday. I have to learn that we can’t save everyone. Mama deer looks okay this morning; still sad, but okay. Next came a picture of Reva sitting on the floor of a stall, petting the deer.

Later that morning, Abby waited outside the aviary complex while Quinn unlatched the