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I hold my hand out, palm up, like I’m a waitress preparing to carry a plate. I raise it slowly, then turn my palm over, so it’s facing the ground. Papa Bear shifts closer to me. Another lumbering step, and his head is right under my palm. He rises up, and I feel the soft warmth of his head against my hand.
“There ya go,” I whisper.
This is what I trained for, what I live for.
Papa nuzzles my hand, and I sift my fingers through his coarse fur. He leans slightly against me, almost knocking me over with his weight. It makes me laugh.
He makes his happy noise, a borderline illicit sound that’s outright silly. I feel his legs shift as he leans against me.
“You’re a good guy. You know that, right?”
Papa nuzzles me with his nose before he waddles off into the trees. I head back toward the gate, feeling elated.
As I’m stepping through it, onto the pebble path that leads back to my porch, I hear a loud thwak!
FOUR
Gwenna
All my muscles lock up as my face flushes and my heart races.
Thwak!
My hand dives into my pocket, wrapping around the handle of the .38 as my eyes fly around the woods.
Thwak!
The sound is somewhat distant, not right here but not far either.
Thwak!
THWAK!
It sounds like…someone punching a taut piece of material. Or jumping on one of those small, indoor trampolines…
I step forward, hand still in my pocket, wrapped around the gun. Two more thwaks confirm the bow noise is coming from a single location.
BOW noise!
Could that be the sound of arrows flying through the air, then hitting something?
Thwak!
The thought ratchets my heart rate up a notch, enough so that I have to take a big breath and let it out slowly before I walk toward the sound.
Thwak!
Thwak!
I point myself at the woods directly behind my house, at the small swatch of forest I own that’s not within the walls of the enclosure: the area where, farther up the hill, I do my workout in the clearing. Then I adjust course so I’m walking in a trajectory that will lead me to the property line between my land and Mr. Haywood’s.
Thwak!
I swallow hard. Maybe it’s not a bow, I tell myself. Maybe someone’s chopping down a tree. The new homeowner. But it doesn’t really sound like that, and anyway, it couldn’t be the new owner. The offer was only just accepted.
Thwak!
I should go home. Instinct tries to tug me that way, but curiosity pulls harder. It’s my nature. I walk deeper into the woods, hating the crunch of my boots on the dry leaves. My hand is still in my pocket, because if someone was watching me—and I tell myself they’re definitely not—I wouldn’t want them to know I have a gun on me. Not yet.
