A Temporary Arrangement. Roxanne Rustand

but by the time he scrambled to his feet she’d disappeared into the shed again.

      “Rufus!” He tried to fight back his panic as lightning struck again. “C’mon, girl. Please!”

      She didn’t appear.

      Warily, Keifer aimed the flashlight into the shed. Creepy stuff hung from hooks: ropes and saws and garden tools, the glittering blade of a scythe he’d seen Dad use to cut weeds. A few old rabbit cages were piled in a corner.

      In the center, an old quilt covered a lumpy shape roughly the size of a grizzly.

      “R-Rufus?” he whispered. “Where are you?”

      Thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking dust from the rafters. He wavered, took a step back.

      The black lab emerged from the shadows a second later with something small and limp hanging from her mouth. His stomach lurched. A rat?

      Then something clamped onto his shoulder, and all he could do was scream.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      KEIFER’S KNEES BUCKLED as he panicked. Escape—but where?

      He was already too far into the shed.

      The door was blocked—

      “It’s just me, honey…I called your name. Over and over.” Abby released his shoulder and patted him on the back, talking loudly above the wind-driven rain lashing the shed. “You scared me to death, running off like that!”

      His fear turned to embarrassment and anger. “You’re not my mom.”

      “I’m responsible for keeping you safe,” she said in an even voice. “Let’s go into the h—”

      She stared over his head. He turned and saw Rufus had returned with that rat-thing in her mouth. He suppressed a shudder.

      “Did you know she was going to have puppies?” Abby crouched and crooned softly to the dog. “I wonder if your dad knew they were due?”

      Rufus edged farther into the pool of light from his flashlight. Sure enough, she held a bedraggled pup in her mouth. “It looks dead,” Keifer whispered.

      Abby studied the puppy. “No, but I bet the poor thing is cold. Does the dog have a bed in here? Anything your dad might’ve set up to help keep her family warm?”

      Keifer held out his hands, palms up. “He never said anything to me.”

      “I think I’d better check.” Abby searched the floor with her flashlight.

      Uneasy, Keifer looked over his shoulder at the darkness outside. Anything could be out there. Watching. Waiting. Back at home, he never slept without a night-light in his room and the hallway light on. Here, everything was darker. Lonelier. A lot more scary.

      “Oh, dear,” Abby called. “Two. Three. Four, five, six…I think there’s seven, and they’re all huddled together on an old burlap sack. I’ll bet the mom wants to take them someplace else.”

      “The kitchen, maybe? We could make a bed there, and I could stay with them all night.” Abby didn’t say anything for a moment, and he started to worry. “Are you still here?”

      She reappeared with a small cardboard box filled with squirming puppies. Rufus whined and nosed through them, as if she was counting. “I was just thinking. You know, your dad’s kitchen is awfully clean and tidy. I’m not sure he’d want dogs in there.”

      “Sure he would!”

      “But I didn’t see any dog dishes. I’ll bet this gal is an outside dog, don’t you think?”

      “He has her inside, too, sometimes. Honest.” Abby still looked doubtful. “Really. She’s in the house all the time, and he just lets her outside a lot. I’m sure of it.”

      Rufus gently released the pup in her mouth. She licked it from head to tail, the puppy rolling over with each sweep of her tongue.

      “Well…if you’re sure.” Abby frowned down at the pups in the box. They were shivering and squirming over each other as though trying to get warm. “Let’s bring them in tonight, anyway. It’s awfully chilly out here.”

      Rufus followed them anxiously to the house. When they reached the porch, Abby put the box down and held on to Rufus’s collar. “You go on in and close the door to the living room, okay? And bring me an old towel so I can wipe the mom’s feet.”

      In twenty minutes the pups and Rufus were settled into a corner of the kitchen in a big cardboard box cushioned with an old blanket Abby had found in the basement.

      Keifer had found a sleeping bag upstairs and rolled it out next to the puppy’s box. He’d brought in a stack of books, too. With the thunder rolling outside and the glow of light from the kerosene lantern on the kitchen table, it almost seemed like camping.

      “I’m going to work on that fireplace,” Abby said. “I think we’ll want a little heat tonight…and the extra light would be nice. Maybe we can warm something up for supper, too. Like a campfire. Does your dad have any hot dogs? Marshmallows?”

      Keifer hadn’t seen anything in the bare refrigerator that looked as good as that, but he just shrugged and stared at the faint, muddy paw prints circling the kitchen.

      Rufus had brushed up against the white cupboards, too.

      He tried to imagine what Dad would say.

      He sure didn’t have to imagine Mom’s response—she’d be totally freaked out. Anything involving dirt, animals, blood or sweat freaked her out. Which is why he’d never had any real pets. Only some dumb fish that couldn’t do anything but swim in circles.

      After Abby left the room he stretched out in his sleeping bag, propped his chin on his palms and listened to the tiny squeaks and squeals from the puppy box.

      He’d counted the days until coming here, but the first morning had been scary. And now Dad wasn’t even here and a stranger had taken his place.

      But Abby said he’d probably be back tomorrow, and the puppies… He squirmed caterpillarlike in his sleeping bag until he could see over the top of the box and count them all over again.

      The empty feeling in his chest eased as he watched Rufus lick and nudge her pups. Even if Dad wouldn’t be able to do all the fun things he’d promised, there’d still be puppies to play with, and Keifer wasn’t going to be homesick for Mom and all his friends back home.

      He backhanded a hot tear before it had a chance to fall. Nope, he wasn’t going to miss them.

      Not much at all.

      AFTER A SLEEPLESS NIGHT on the sofa, Abby cracked an eye open to look at her wristwatch. She flopped back against the cushions and pulled the afghan up over her shoulders. Five o’clock.

      When had she last been awake at five?

      The storm had finally passed, but Rufus had barked anxiously at the door at least three times. She’d blearily shuffled out to the kitchen and then had stood on the chilly porch until the dog returned. Amazingly enough, Keifer had barely stirred.

      Drifting and dreaming, only half awake, Abby snuggled deeper under the afghan, thankful for the marshmallow-soft sofa.

      It was so peaceful here, the silence of the forest broken only by the distant hoot of an owl, a chorus of coyotes…gentle mooing….

      She sat bolt upright. Mooing?

      Throwing back the afghan, she hurried barefoot across the cold hardwood floor to the window and squinted out at the gray predawn landscape. Heavy fog hung low to the ground, leaving the tops of fence posts and bushes hovering weightless several feet above the ground.

      Farther away, large dark shapes drifted past like ungainly rowboats floating on a sea of fog. Very oddly shaped boats. One of them mooed.

      Keifer