Part 6
Lark made the two-mile trip standing over the puppy box, braced against each turn. At Erin’s farmhouse, she inspected the utility room, the fenced yard, and both volunteers before she lay down. Only then did Nate carry the litter to her.
He stayed through the night on Erin’s couch. At each feeding, he waited for her to assign the work. Sometimes she handed him the bottle; sometimes she did not. The habit of not taking over felt awkward enough to show him how rarely he had practiced it.
On Sunday morning, his packed duffel stood beside the back door. Lark followed him into the kitchen but stopped when she saw the bag. Her ears lowered, and she leaned against Erin’s leg.
“I can call every day,” Nate said.
Erin poured coffee into his father’s dented green thermos. “Call because you want to talk. Gail has the care schedule.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t send me three thousand dollars because you feel guilty. Use the rescue account.”
“Okay.”
She screwed on the thermos lid and held it out. “You’re taking this. Dad hated my coffee.”
Nate accepted it. On the metal near the handle, Cal Mercer had scratched a series of short lines to mark years of rescue seasons. Nate ran his thumb over them.
“What do you want to do with the cabin?” he asked.
“Nothing this week.” Erin looked almost suspicious of the question. “Can you stand that?”
“I can try.”
It was a small answer, but she nodded.
Nate crouched several feet from Lark before he left. She did not come to him. He said her name once, placed his hand on the floor, and waited until she returned to the puppies. Then he picked up his bag and went.
For the first month, his calls with Erin lasted less than ten minutes. She told him the smallest puppy had learned to shove between her brothers at feeding time. Nate told her which weekends he might be unavailable and did not call those absences emergencies. When Erin was too tired to talk, she said so, and he called another day.
The county’s case moved more slowly than the puppies grew. Roy’s signed agreement gave Blue Elk Animal Rescue permanent ownership of Lark and the litter; the review of Granite Run continued, with the remaining dogs still under outside care. While the case remained open, Lark gained weight and the puppies kept growing.
Eleven weeks after the storm, Nate turned into Erin’s drive on his next leave. This time he had called from the county line. He parked and stayed behind the wheel until she came onto the porch and waved him in.
Three of the puppies had gone to screened homes the previous weekend. The smallest, whom Erin had named Blue for the polish mark that refused to disappear completely, was leaving for hers on Monday. She was no longer the smallest by much and attacked Nate’s bootlace with the confidence of an animal who had never seen snow as an enemy.
Lark stood behind her. Healthy weight had softened the sharp line of her hips, and new sable fur covered the marks from the sling. The tips of her ears remained slightly blunted from the cold. Dr. Ortiz did not expect that to change.
Nate lowered himself near the steps. Lark watched him for several seconds, then crossed the yard and pressed her forehead beneath his chin with enough force to rock him backward. He laughed into her coat before he could stop himself.
Erin leaned against the porch post. “She remembers who served the chicken.”
“I was hoping it was my personality.”
“She has standards.”
They took Lark and Blue to Black Pine that afternoon to finish sorting their father’s things. Erin had decided to keep the cabin through one more winter. She had also told Blue Elk they could call if a storm stranded an animal or driver on the ridge, but she made no promise beyond that winter. Afterward, she said, they would look at the numbers again. Nate did not turn her decision into forever.
The blue front door still stuck at the bottom. Nate reached for his shoulder out of habit, but Erin handed him a screwdriver and pointed to the loose hinge. He knelt and adjusted it while she carried boxes from the bedroom, deciding which went to donation and which went home.
At dusk, they found Cal’s old radio log beneath a stack of road maps. The last page contained weather reports, vehicle descriptions, and a grocery list written in the same block letters. Erin sat on the floor and read it without speaking.
Nate did not tell her what it meant. He sat beside her until Blue crawled into the open box and began chewing the corner of the logbook.
“Absolutely not,” Erin said, lifting the puppy away.
Lark stood in the doorway between the kitchen and hall, watching both of them. She no longer counted every sound outside. When the wind moved through the pines, one ear turned toward it and settled again.
Before they left, Erin switched on the amber porch light. Nate carried the donation boxes to her truck while Lark and Blue waited beside the open door. The last box was awkward, and Erin took one end without being asked.
They crossed the threshold together. Lark followed, then Blue, leaving a scatter of damp paw prints across the boards before Erin pulled the blue door shut.