Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best summer books .TXT) 📗

No way was she going in there after the fool dog. “Come back here, now!”

The bad critter emerged looking like a black-stockinged cancan dancer, her legs covered with mud. She also smelled like dead fish, even from ten feet away.

“Great. Now I have to give you a bath.” Abby turned toward home. “See if I take you walking again, you bad girl.”

* * *

Quinn slowed his truck at the intersection—he rarely came to a complete stop. But he did stop when he saw Abby and that little dog walking up from the boat ramp. He rolled down his window. “Hey. How’s your waterlogged cat doing?”

She came closer. Her honey-brown hair glowed with golden highlights in the afternoon sun. Her skin glowed with a golden tan. Her eyes… Shut up, he told himself. Stop looking at her.

“Griff?” She shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t seen him since he went swimming in your pool. He’s probably hiding out somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and Quinn wondered if she suspected him of having something to do with the cat’s impromptu swimming lesson. Then she put a hand up to shade her eyes from the sun. “What are you doing out and about? I thought you’d be working on your pool all day today.”

“Hardware-store run. Needed more chemicals. Got the pump running, though.”

“That’s good.” She nodded. “Hey, have you seen that stray dog lately?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Hey—” they both said at once. He was about to say Hey, I’ve got to go, but he’d been taught to be a gentleman, so he motioned for her to speak first.

“You want to come for dinner tonight?”

Terrible, bad idea. He should say no. Keep his distance. “Sure.” Being a friendly neighbor was one thing; getting to know the neighbor was another thing entirely. He could still come up with an excuse. “I’d love to come. What time?”

* * *

Wolf paced the water’s edge, then the fringes of the tall grass. Afraid to go either way, he whimpered. His side burned with every breath, but he couldn’t stop panting in fear.

Where had the creature gone? Wolf had tumbled into the water, and by the time he’d climbed out, the creature had abandoned his pursuit and disappeared. Was it waiting for him in the water, or hiding in the marsh? Trembling with indecision, Wolf let out an involuntary howl.

The thing growled again.

It was in the marsh. Hiding, but not from Wolf. Hiding from something bigger and more terrifying than itself. A loud roar echoed across the water, even louder than the creature’s bellow. The loud roar became a high-pitched vibrating whine that hurt Wolf’s sensitive ears. He yelped, turning in confusion. Which direction was safe?

The roaring whine flew toward him over the water like a bullet. Like a car. Like a truck. But it floated on top of the surface, then skimmed over the sand, landing halfway on the bank and halfway in the water. He knew he should hide, so he backed up to the tall grass where the creature hid, but he didn’t step into it.

The people in the bullet water-car made whooping sounds like the bad kids he’d heard at the farm earlier today. He watched the people who might hurt him, but he listened for the sound of the creature who had tried to eat him.

“Whoa!” one of the men yelled. “Look over there! It’s a wolf!”

Afraid to move in either direction, Wolf cowered.

Another man leaped into the water and splashed onto the shore, moving toward Wolf with purpose. “It’s not a wolf; it’s a dog. He’s hurt.”

One of the women squealed. “Get back in the boat, you idiot. Do you want to get bitten?”

“Probably belongs to somebody,” someone else said.

But the man kept coming. Bending low, he held out a hand and talked in a soothing voice. “Come here, puppy.”

The name Puppy sounded different when this man said it than when Abby had. Abby’s voice had been soft with compassion. This man’s voice held a different vibration; he genuinely wanted to help, but also had an ulterior motive.

Wolf shivered with indecision.

But a rustling sound in the reeds behind him made up his mind. He stood on shaky legs, the wound in his side flaming.

The man looked back at the—what had the woman said?—boat. “Somebody bring me a rope or something.”

Wolf didn’t understand all of the man’s words. He had learned some of the sound patterns that humans used, along with their meanings. That knowledge, combined with his ability to understand human thoughts and intentions, gave Wolf a more complete understanding of the nuances of human language.

He understood that this man’s intention was to get Wolf into the boat. Whether the man’s motivations proved to be good or evil, Wolf’s best option was to go with him, away from the certain death that awaited in the marsh or the uncertain potential of escape into the choppy brown water.

Decision made, he leaned briefly against the man’s side, then walked toward the boat. At the bank he hesitated, but the man picked him up and carried him, then dumped him inside. Wolf fell, landing hard on his injured side. He scrambled to get upright and quickly found a place to hide under an empty seat. People sat in all the others, talking above the loud music that seemed to be coming from everywhere. They all seemed content to drink beer and ignore Wolf.

All except one.

“Dude!” The biggest man—the alpha—swatted a towel at Wolf. “He’s getting mud all over my boat. And blood, too! Ugh.”

“Fuck you,” Dude said. The word was ugly, but he said it in a bored, disinterested tone. He pushed the boat away from the bank, then hopped inside and sat in the seat under which Wolf hid. “I’ll wash your damn boat. This dog’s a wolf hybrid. He’s probably worth a lot of money.”

Wolf understood only three words of that exchange. Fuck meant “I don’t like you.” Wash meant “bath,” a horrible punishment he’d only received once. Boat, he