Everyone Wanted the White Puppy—But He Wouldn’t Leave Without Her

Chapter 6

By the next morning, the wind over Ironwood had eased, but Pine Hollow was still dealing with the damage from the night before.

The electrical problem had not caused a major fire. But the sprinkler system had soaked part of the kennel wing, and several runs had to remain closed until the wiring was checked and the floors dried. Willow stayed in the medical section, where her injured hind leg was already being monitored. Frost had no usable kennel at all.

Jo arranged for him to be moved temporarily to a shelter nearly two hours away.

A worker brought a transport crate into the hallway and guided Frost inside. He entered — then immediately turned toward the medical wing. Somewhere down the corridor, Willow made a soft sound. Frost froze. The crate door closed.

He began scratching at it.

At first, the worker waited for him to settle, the way you wait for a puppy to understand that the car ride is temporary. Frost only became more frantic. He pushed his nose against the openings and clawed at the front of the crate until one of his already-damaged nails caught against the metal edge. A small streak of blood appeared on his paw.

The veterinarian checked him and stopped the transfer. Frost was not badly hurt. But nobody wanted to put a frightened three-month-old puppy through a two-hour drive while he fought the crate hard enough to injure himself.

Jo needed a foster home nearby.

Most of the shelter’s usual foster families were already helping with dogs displaced by the damaged kennel wing. Jo stood in the storage room, running names through her head, finding nothing.

Silas was carrying a box of dry blankets toward the shelf when he looked up and found her looking at him.

He stopped. “No.”

Jo raised an eyebrow.

“Dana… Jo. You haven’t said anything,” Silas said. “But I know that look.”

“I haven’t asked you anything.”

“You were about to.”

Before Jo could answer, Frost came around the corner carrying one of Silas’s gloves in his mouth. Silas stared at him. Frost stopped, tail moving, the glove held high like a prize.

Jo looked at the puppy, then back at Silas. “You two should probably settle this between yourselves.”

Silas held out his hand. Frost backed away with the glove. Silas waited. Frost backed up again, bumped the wall, and sat down, still holding the glove, looking entirely unrepentant.

“Three days,” Silas said.

Jo waited.

“Three days. That’s all I’m asking.” His house was close enough that he could walk to the shelter if necessary. The yard was fenced. Frost already knew him. More importantly, Silas could bring him back to see Willow every day. “Three days.”

Jo smiled slightly. “I heard you the first time.”

Before leaving, Silas brought Frost to the entrance of the medical section. Willow was standing just inside. Frost moved toward her at once. Their noses touched through the narrow opening between the gate and the frame. Willow shifted carefully on her weaker hind leg while Frost pressed closer, until Silas had to shorten the leash.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Silas said.

Frost kept looking at Willow. Silas waited a few seconds before leading him away. The puppy turned back twice before they reached the outer door.

Silas’s house stood beyond the strip of trees behind the shelter. The drive took only a few minutes. Little had changed there since Atlas died. The old dog door was still built into the mudroom wall, leading into the fenced backyard. Silas had stopped noticing it months ago.

Before letting Frost explore, he walked around the yard, checked the gate, and tested the bottom of the fence with his boot. Everything looked secure.

Frost stepped outside and immediately began investigating. He sniffed the porch, the fence posts, the old patch of grass near the back steps. Then he came back through the dog door without being shown how, as though he had used one his whole life.

A few minutes later, Silas heard a quick scuffle behind him. Frost passed through the living room carrying a sock.

“Frost.”

The puppy kept going.

Silas followed him into the kitchen just in time to watch Frost take a corner too fast, his paws losing traction on the smooth floor. The puppy slid sideways, scrambled back up, looked down at the floor, then looked at Silas with an expression of profound betrayal.

Silas laughed. “Don’t blame the house.”

Frost grabbed the sock again.

That evening, Silas put a bowl of puppy food near the kitchen wall. Frost finished it quickly, then stationed himself near Silas’s chair while he ate dinner.

Silas looked down. “You already had yours.”

Frost stared at the plate.

“That doesn’t work on me.”

Frost continued staring. A piece of chicken fell beside Silas’s boot. Frost swallowed it before Silas could move.

Silas looked at him. “Accident.”

Frost sat down again, apparently hoping for another accident.

After dinner, Silas carried his plate to the sink and reached toward the small radio on the counter. He stopped before turning it on. In the next room, Frost was pushing something across the floor with his nose. The scrape of it was rhythmic, patient.

Silas left the radio alone.