Page 7 of Black Dog

“Enough of the flattery, Flannery.” He grinned. “So what’d you get me?”

“No’ tellin’.”

After dinner, the family opened gifts by the fire. It turned out the large wrapped, but unmarked package that had arrived days before was a present for both Ram and Elora. Helm had taken a photo of the photo that sat on the mantel at the New Forest cottage and had it made into a large oil painting of a younger Ram and Elora in front of the Rockefeller Center tree.

Of course Elora cried. “Helm. You are the most romantic boy who ever lived.”

Of course Ram looked at his son with the kind of admiration and appreciation Helm craved.

They hung the painting over the fireplace, not in the great room, but in the small, easier-to-heat family living room with shabby chic furnishings where they spent most of their time.

“I love it,” Elora said, just before giving Helm another big kiss on the cheek.

When the house was quiet, Elora turned to spoon Ram’s back. She heard Blackie’s nails on the old wood floor. It was his habit to patrol every so often during the night, but he always returned to his heavy corduroy loveseat that sat at the end of their bed.

Elora listened to Blackie rustling as he got comfortable and then heaved a mighty sigh. It made her smile.

“I can feel you smilin’,” Ram said.

“You cannot.”

“Can.”

“How?”

“Been with you a while.”

She laughed silently against his back. “I love having everybody in the house.”

“I know you do.”

“Don’t you?”

“No’ sayin’ anythin’ likely to get you goin’. You’re ripe for tears at the slightest provocation. Have been all day.”

“It is kind of emotional.” He took the hand attached to the arm thrown around him and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I can’t believe the time is going by so fast. Our baby is taller than you.”

Ram turned over so that he was facing Elora. “’Tis goin’ by fast because it’s good. I’m grateful that I survived to have this life, fast or slow. Grateful that you survived.”

“You promised me that most knights die of old age in their own bed surrounded by great-grandchildren.”

He grinned. “Let’s make that a goal.”

In the gray of early morning Elora heard a soft whine at her back and groaned. She wanted to stay right where she was, spooned against Rammel’s back; hard, warm heaven. She didn’t have to hunt for a device to know it was early, just like she didn’t have to hunt for a device to know it was cold outside the cocoon of warm covers.

With a groan she turned over far enough to see Blackie staring intently into her eyes as if he could communicate urgency that way. His entire body was moving from the wagging of his tail.

“Oh, alright,” she said and threw away the covers with a mighty effort. Her feet found the reindeer slippers she’d left by the bed as she grabbed for the robe she’d tossed on the chair by the bed. It was thick white fleece with faux fur collar and sleeves. Ram had given it to her. He loved seeing her in white.

Half asleep she descended the stairs. She’d done it so many times raising three elflings that she could be completely asleep and still navigate the stairs.

She shuffled straight to the mud room and opened Blackie’s door flap. He charged through without a backward glance.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled as she made her way back to bed thinking about how much satisfaction there would be in putting her freezing cold feet on Ram’s warm bare legs. He would make a sound that could only be compared to a squeal and then insist that knights of The Order of the Black Swan do not squeal.

The next time she opened her eyes it was in response to bacon and coffee aromas drifting up the stairs from the kitchen. She didn’t need to confirm that she was alone in bed. Ram was the only other person in the household who would fill the early morning with smells designed to draw young from their beds.

She brushed her teeth and put on skinny jeans with a white turtleneck and a thick red cable-knit sweater.

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