Page 12 of Black Dog

She pushed him away. “Get away now, Helm. I’m sick and you don’t want this.”

“I’m no’ gettin’ sick,” he said with certain assurance that he could control such things.

“Can we come in?” Storm said. “It’s cold out here.”

Helm gave Storm a sad, but sheepish smile. “Sorry. O’course…”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Elora pushing past intending to drag Litha into the kitchen.

“Hold on, would you?” Storm protested. “We’re still attached.” He took a key out of a zippered pocket on his fleece vest and unlocked the handcuffs that had bound them together for the journey.

As soon as Litha was free, Elora pulled her away. “Sit here by the fire,” she said. When the house had been renovated, Elora had insisted on a small, waist-high kitchen fireplace. She pulled a leather armchair out for Litha. “I’ll make tea. Lemon Chamomile?”

“You’ve learned how to boil water?” Litha asked.

“I see you’re not too sick to crack jokes,” Elora said.

“That sounds good. With honey,” Litha said just before sneezing into the tissue she held tightly in her hand.

Storm fished a fresh box of lotion-treated tissues out of a hastily put together overnight bag and set it on the table in front of Litha.

“Thank you,” she said. “Where are Gale and Gavain?”

“Upstairs. Hooked up to some electronic device no doubt,” Elora said.

By the time the kettle was whistling, Ram had returned from taking care of the animals, and greeted the guests. The four adults sat at the kitchen table sharing tea, or cocoa, while Helm stood silently waiting for better news.

“I don’t know if I can track at all with this.” Litha waved at her head. “But I brought a couple of things.”

“Can we help?” Elora said.

“Honestly no. Tracking is a solitary activity. I’ll do best on my own. So I hate to run you out of your own kitchen…” She didn’t have to ask them twice. Ram, Elora, and Helm were on their feet and ready to vacate. Litha read the question in Storm’s eyes. “Go on with them. Let me do my thing.”

Storm’s hesitation was miniscule, but Litha noticed. He hated that she was sick. He shuffled away dragging worn square-toed boots across the ancient wide-plank floor that the Hawkings had kept intact.

Elora curled into Ram on the crewel print sofa, taking comfort in his feel and his smell.

“How’re things at the vineyard?” Ram said.

“Heading into the slowest time of the year. This is when I usually catch up with my wife. Some of the wineries give tours. We don’t.”

Ram grunted. “So you can just sit around and gaze into each other’s navels?”

“Rammel!” Elora slapped at his bicep.

“We could,” Storm said without missing a beat, “and it wouldn’t hurt the business.”

Ram shook his head. “Can’t imagine. Wolf-dogs and sheep have to be tended every damn day of the year.”

“Can’t you hire somebody to help?” Storm asked.

“Yes!” Elora said. “He’s just complaining because we let them stay home for Yule.”

Storm smiled, knowing that Ram had just made a play for sympathy. “Wow.” He looked at Ram. “You never change.”

“How about you, Storm?” Elora asked. “Have you changed?”

Storm looked at Elora a little too long for Ram’s liking before shrugging. “Not much I guess.”

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