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Authors: Tanya Huff
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saying it or the paper for actually printing it.
The Children’s Aid Society requested that anyone with news contact them at any time, day or night,
where any time actually meant between eight and four Monday to Thursday, and eight to noon Fridays because of government cutbacks.
“Okay, now I’m depressed.” Folding the section neatly, he piled it with the rest. Claire’d told him that they’d be inside for a couple of days; maybe it was time he went . . .
Paws drumming on glass.
Paws?
Leaping to his feet, he ran for the doors.
Up on his hind legs, his stomach fur a brilliant streak of white, Austin pounded to be let out. As Dean yanked the door open, he fell forward, hit the concrete running, and disappeared into the parking lot before Dean could get a question out.
The trio of teenage boys in hot pursuit made at least one of the questions moot. They rocked to a halt at the edge of the asphalt, stopped as much by the heat as the sudden disappearance of their prey.
“Lose something?” He had four or five years on them and a couple of inches as well as a lot of muscle on the biggest. If it came down to it, Austin was in no real danger.
“You let the cat out, man. We were trying to catch it!”
“Why?”
“Why?” The speaker exchanged a clear but silent “Dude’s an idiot” with the other two. “ ‘Cause there’s not supposed to be cats in the mall.” Dean glanced pointedly out at the parking lot.
“It’s not in the mall now ‘cause we chased it out of the mall.” Eyes narrowed.
“It’s not your cat.”
“I know.” Austin considered Dean one of his ambulatory can openers, but that was beside the point.
“If it’s anyone’s cat, it’s our cat. We saw it first.”
“I don’t want the damned cat, man.” One of the other boys hauled up the shorts falling off skinny hips and looked longingly back toward the air-conditioning.
“Come on, it’s hot out here.”
Under the shadow of a scruffy teenage mustache, the first boy’s lip curled.
“So we just let the cat win?”
The third boy sighed and scratched at the growing damp spot under his arm.
“Cats always win. One way or another.”
“Oh, yeah, hiding under a parked . . .” Narrowed eyes widened. “. . .
minivan.” He shifted his gaze across the nearly uniform rows of family vehicles until it returned, eyes wide, to Dean. “You find the cat, man, you can have it. We don’t want it.” Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he turned on one heel. “Come on.” Does everybody know about the minivans? Dean wondered as the three boys slouched back inside the mall. He waited until he heard the doors close, then he waited a few minutes more, just in case. Picking the folded newspaper up off the bench, he walked out to his truck.
As he stepped off the concrete pad and out of the building’s shadow, the heat hit him like a warm, wet sponge. By the time he had the driver’s door open, his Tshirt was clinging damply to his back.
“Took you long enough,” Austin panted, crawling out from under the truck bed.
“Sorry.” Scooping the cat up in one hand, Dean dropped him gently on the seat and slid in after him. “What happened, then?”
“The possibilities wouldn’t let me through, but the others are fine, so don’t sweat it.” An emerald eye turned briefly toward Dean. “That was sort of a joke. Is there any water in here?”
After their last visit to the vet, Claire’d begun keeping a bottle of water and a small bowl in the glove compartment. It was tepid, but Austin drank almost all Dean poured.
“Are you okay?”
“Give me a minute.” The cat sat up, rubbed a paw over wet whiskers, and sighed. “Ever notice how much a group of teenage boys resembles a dog pack?”
“Uh, no.”
“So that was some other guy doing all that alpha male posturing?” Dean thought back over the encounter and frowned. “I didn’t . . .”
“You didn’t sniff their butts, but other than that, it was all big dog, little
The Children’s Aid Society requested that anyone with news contact them at any time, day or night,
where any time actually meant between eight and four Monday to Thursday, and eight to noon Fridays because of government cutbacks.
“Okay, now I’m depressed.” Folding the section neatly, he piled it with the rest. Claire’d told him that they’d be inside for a couple of days; maybe it was time he went . . .
Paws drumming on glass.
Paws?
Leaping to his feet, he ran for the doors.
Up on his hind legs, his stomach fur a brilliant streak of white, Austin pounded to be let out. As Dean yanked the door open, he fell forward, hit the concrete running, and disappeared into the parking lot before Dean could get a question out.
The trio of teenage boys in hot pursuit made at least one of the questions moot. They rocked to a halt at the edge of the asphalt, stopped as much by the heat as the sudden disappearance of their prey.
“Lose something?” He had four or five years on them and a couple of inches as well as a lot of muscle on the biggest. If it came down to it, Austin was in no real danger.
“You let the cat out, man. We were trying to catch it!”
“Why?”
“Why?” The speaker exchanged a clear but silent “Dude’s an idiot” with the other two. “ ‘Cause there’s not supposed to be cats in the mall.” Dean glanced pointedly out at the parking lot.
“It’s not in the mall now ‘cause we chased it out of the mall.” Eyes narrowed.
“It’s not your cat.”
“I know.” Austin considered Dean one of his ambulatory can openers, but that was beside the point.
“If it’s anyone’s cat, it’s our cat. We saw it first.”
“I don’t want the damned cat, man.” One of the other boys hauled up the shorts falling off skinny hips and looked longingly back toward the air-conditioning.
“Come on, it’s hot out here.”
Under the shadow of a scruffy teenage mustache, the first boy’s lip curled.
“So we just let the cat win?”
The third boy sighed and scratched at the growing damp spot under his arm.
“Cats always win. One way or another.”
“Oh, yeah, hiding under a parked . . .” Narrowed eyes widened. “. . .
minivan.” He shifted his gaze across the nearly uniform rows of family vehicles until it returned, eyes wide, to Dean. “You find the cat, man, you can have it. We don’t want it.” Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he turned on one heel. “Come on.” Does everybody know about the minivans? Dean wondered as the three boys slouched back inside the mall. He waited until he heard the doors close, then he waited a few minutes more, just in case. Picking the folded newspaper up off the bench, he walked out to his truck.
As he stepped off the concrete pad and out of the building’s shadow, the heat hit him like a warm, wet sponge. By the time he had the driver’s door open, his Tshirt was clinging damply to his back.
“Took you long enough,” Austin panted, crawling out from under the truck bed.
“Sorry.” Scooping the cat up in one hand, Dean dropped him gently on the seat and slid in after him. “What happened, then?”
“The possibilities wouldn’t let me through, but the others are fine, so don’t sweat it.” An emerald eye turned briefly toward Dean. “That was sort of a joke. Is there any water in here?”
After their last visit to the vet, Claire’d begun keeping a bottle of water and a small bowl in the glove compartment. It was tepid, but Austin drank almost all Dean poured.
“Are you okay?”
“Give me a minute.” The cat sat up, rubbed a paw over wet whiskers, and sighed. “Ever notice how much a group of teenage boys resembles a dog pack?”
“Uh, no.”
“So that was some other guy doing all that alpha male posturing?” Dean thought back over the encounter and frowned. “I didn’t . . .”
“You didn’t sniff their butts, but other than that, it was all big dog, little
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