Storm Watcher (2 page)

“Then you’ll just have to convince him,” Mom had said as if that was the easiest thing in the world to do.

It wasn’t. Luke’s stomach twisted. Dad wouldn’t talk about it even though Luke’s thirteenth birthday was only a week away.

Luke scanned the crowd, searching for his dad. Shaking hands, chatting, and smiling, Dad weaved his way through the press of people like a bloodhound on a fresh trail. As the only electrician in town, he knew everyone.

Eventually Dad joined them. “Boys, pay attention to the Tracking Dog Test. You’ll learn a lot about how to handle a dog.” Dad said to Luke, “After the event’s over, go and talk to Mr. Johnson. Any of his pups would make a nice addition to our little kennel.” Dad’s gaze slid back to the crowd, and he hurried off without waiting for a response.

Scott chewed his lip. Jacob knotted Moondoggie’s leash in his hands. Luke’d been right. They were scared about running their dogs.

Jacob noticed Luke staring at him. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Weather Weenie? Go watch the clouds. I think I saw a little baby thunderstorm heading this way.”

“Better go hide, Lukie,” Scott said.

Anger boiled inside, but Luke clamped his mouth shut before he said something that would start a fight. Bigger, stronger, and smellier, his older brothers always ganged up on him and wrestled him to the ground until he gave in.
Not fair.

A gust of wind touched his sweaty brow. Luke glanced up. A few dark clouds stained the sky. Fear churned in his guts.

Calm down. Deep breath
, Luke repeated.

Memories from another storm flashed in his mind. His body numbed, and icy steel jaws bit deep into his soul as the image of his mother floated in front of him. Pain, bitter and unrelenting, pulsed in his chest as he thought for the thousandth time:
I shouldn’t have called. It’s all my fault.

With a hard lump in his throat, Luke struggled to keep from curling into a ball. A sympathetic nose pressed against his knee. He glanced down into Moondoggie’s warm brown eyes. Bending to give Jacob’s hound a hug, Luke didn’t care what his brothers thought. Just the feel of a soft chin on his shoulder, and the musky smell of dog helped ease the tightness in his chest.

Scott said, “Look at that mangy lot. Ranger’ll be the only dog to get a Tracking Dog title today.”

“No kidding. Dad and Ranger are a
professional
Search and Rescue team.” Jacob said loudly. He scanned the crowd as if hoping people around them were close enough to hear his boast.

Luke stood.
Here we go again.

Scott joined in. “Yeah, Dad was
specifically
requested to go to Colorado to find those lost climbers. SAR is one of his jobs, these others are just...”

“Hobbyists,” Jacob said, snorting with disdain.

That’s it.
Sick of their obnoxiousness, Luke walked over to find a good spot to watch the TD event. A dog had to show an impressive amount of skill to earn a TD title. The tracks had been made at least thirty minutes ago. And some were two hours old. Despite the strong odor of fresh cut grass, the dogs smelled human scent on the ground and followed it.

A few dogs lost the scent, and the cheers from the crowd distracted others. When Ranger approached the starting line, Luke scrunched the bottom of his shirt as his heart raced. He might be tired of bloodhounds, but Luke had grown up with Ranger.

Nose to the ground and ears dragging, Ranger found the first turn. It was to the left, so the next one would be a right. Luke held his breath as Dad encouraged Ranger. And just when he thought Ranger had missed it, the bloodhound made a sharp right.

The half turn would be the hardest. Luke rose onto his tiptoes to see better. Ranger paused.

Come on.

The dog lifted his head and glanced at the crowd.

Oh no.

Then Ranger resumed snuffling. Breaking into a trot, he jigged to the right and scooped up the glove in his mouth.

Show off.
Luke cheered with the rest of the onlookers. Dad beamed.

But it didn’t take long for the well wishers to disperse. A growing murmur of excitement and surprise drew them to another scent trail. In a blur of white, the “mutant fur ball” dog zipped along the track and found the glove without hesitation. Applause exploded.

Even Dad appeared impressed. Luke’s hopes rose. If Dad knew that dog was a papillon, maybe he wouldn’t be so dead set against Luke getting one for his birthday.

Excitement built when Luke spotted Dad talking to the handler of the white dog after the AKC event. She was as tall as Dad, with gray-streaked black hair braided down her back.

Luke sidled over to his father. They didn’t notice him, but the petite dog danced over, tail wagging. Luke knelt on the ground, letting her sniff his hand.

“Hey, girl,” he said as he scratched her head.

Her black ears perked up at the sound of his voice. She had the most unusually shaped ears he’d ever seen. Each side looked like half of a butterfly.

She was the perfect size. Small enough to take anywhere. And she wouldn’t hog the bed. After all, Dad had broken his own rule about no dogs in the house, letting Ranger sleep in the empty space next to him on the bed. And the twins had each other. They never needed their dogs for companionship. So Luke was sure he could convince Dad once his new puppy was housebroken.

This dog had the perfect temperament. Happy and curious. She snuffled at his pockets, then put her front paws on his legs, reaching to lick his chin. And she stared at him as if he were the only person in the world.

She was smart, too. Luke pretended to throw a rock, but she didn’t fall for that trick. She watched for the rock to leave his hand before racing after it.

Luke grinned at the thought of having a puppy like her waiting for him at home, being excited to see him, and sharing a room with him. Would Dad agree? Luke’s enthusiasm died. Probably not.

“She likes you,” the woman said.

Luke glanced up into the iron gray eyes of the handler. Dad had disappeared.
Figures.
Flustered, Luke sat there with his mouth open.

“Are you one of Jim Riley’s boys?” she asked.

He nodded, and cleared his throat. “Luke Riley, ma’am.”

“Willajean. I hear you’re looking for a pup. I have some bloodhounds that’ll be ready by the end of July. Interested?”

“No.” Surprised by his boldness, Luke couldn’t stop the flow of words from his mouth. “I’m actually interested in a papillon.”

Willajean cocked her head, sizing Luke up. “I see.”

Luke stood and brushed the dirt off his knees. “Are papillons hard to train?”

“Nope. Hardy little dogs, not princesses like some of those other toy breeds. I’m waiting for Sweetie’s sister to whelp any day now. That litter’ll be ready by the end of August.”

Upon hearing her name, the white dog yipped. Willajean picked her up. They looked like opposites. Soft and billowy next to hard and lean.

Dad reappeared. “Luke, great news. Mr. Johnson said you could have your pick of the litter.”

Luke stammered and cringed. The broad smile on Dad’s face wavered. Willajean, expressionless, turned away. But Luke needed her. If he were to tell Dad what he really wanted, she had to be there so his dad wouldn’t ignore him. Plus if she left, he would lose his nerve and wind up with a bloodhound pup.

“Wait, please?” he asked Willajean.

She stopped.

“Dad, you know I love bloodhounds, but I’ve been thinking we should branch out and try another breed.”

“Which breed?” Dad asked in a monotone.

Luke recognized that tone. It meant Dad was mad. Luke gathered his courage.
Now or never.
“A papillon.”

Confusion and surprise warred on Dad’s face. “I’m all for considering a different breed, but a papillon is – ah, no offense, Willajean – useless for search and rescue. It’s one thing to find a glove in an open field, but she’d never be able to keep up in the thick underbrush of the woods.”

“But I’m not doing search and rescue. I thought the puppy would be mine.” Luke’s voice cracked, and he flushed with embarrassment.

“No, Luke. No papillon. You pick a bloodhound pup. Or no pup.”

CHAPTER 2

Pooper Scooper

Luke gaped at Dad as a tight band of pressure ringed his chest. Disappointment turned into anger, but Dad’s hard stare dared him to talk back. A gust of wind rustled Dad’s shirt.

Luke swallowed an outraged protest. “Fine.” The word slipped out between tight lips. “I’ll get a blood-hound, but I want one of Ms...”

“Willajean,” she said curtly.

“I want one of Willajean’s pups.” Luke held his breath, waiting for Dad’s reply. If he had to resign himself to a bloodhound, he wasn’t about to give in all the way and get the one Dad wanted.

Dad ran a hand through thick black hair beginning to gray. His tanned and well-muscled forearms stood out against his white polo shirt. In a flat tone, he said, “Ben Johnson owes me a dog in lieu of stud fees. Even though Willajean is new to this area, her excellent reputation has preceded her, and with such exceptional bloodlines, I’m sure I won’t be able to afford one of her pups.”

Luke’s shoulders sagged. He’d forgotten how expensive a well-bred pup was. Dad had made them painfully aware of their financial situation after Mom died. He had sat down with them and explained how much they’d relied on Mom’s salary and health benefits. Then on Jacob and Scott’s sixteenth birthday last month, instead of having a big party, they’d started working at Hersheypark.

“That’s no problem.” Willajean’s authoritative voice pierced Luke’s gloom. “Luke can work in my kennel this summer, and as payment he can have his pick of the litter.” When Dad protested, Willajean interrupted. “You live on Longshore Avenue, right? I see your electrician’s truck at night when I go to the grocery store.”

Dad nodded.

“Your house is within biking distance of my farm. I only need help a few days a week, and Luke’ll learn how to handle a dog for tracking and for show.”

Who could argue with that?
Hope surged in Luke’s heart. As his father mulled over the offer, Willajean winked at Luke. She seemed determined to help him, but he wasn’t sure why. Good breeders usually had a long waiting list of buyers.

“A generous proposal,” Dad finally admitted. He searched Luke’s face. “This is a serious commitment. Make
sure
this is what you want before accepting Willajean’s offer.”

For Dad’s benefit, Luke paused. But as soon as Willajean had offered to employ him, he wanted it more than anything else. Their house was too quiet, too empty, and contained too many reminders of Mom. He’d rather work than be home alone all day watching the Weather Channel.

“Sounds great. When do I start?” Luke asked.

“Monday morning. Seven o’clock.”

Ugh.
Dad smirked. Luke and mornings didn’t get along.

Despite the early time, Luke’s excitement didn’t die. He had something to do this summer. He shook Willajean’s hand. “See you at seven.”

“Come on, Pooper Scooper. Time to get up,” Scott cried with vicious delight as he yanked the sheet off Luke the next morning. Scott’s laughter echoed in the hallway as he thumped down the steps.

Luke groaned and rolled over. He blinked, focusing on the clock. Six fifteen.

Like a fly caught in a sticky cobweb, he struggled to get out of his comfortable bed. Finally winning the battle, he schlepped to the bathroom. Bleary eyed, Luke dressed in old clothes and joined his brothers and father in the kitchen.

Jacob and Scott had been loud and obnoxious ever since their dogs had earned a Tracking Instinct certificate. As he ate his cold cereal, Luke had to listen for the millionth time about how Hounddog and Moondoggie ruled while Dad read the newspaper and ignored them.

Unlike Luke, his brothers had energy in the morning. They woke early every day for swim team practice before reporting to work. Luke shivered just thinking about jumping into a pool of water before noon.