Listening intently, she held her breath. Higher-pitched yips joined the elongated cries that were so intense, so primal, they infiltrated her most basic senses. Adults and pups. Only not coyotes. What was a wolf pack doing in the Ozarks?
Instinct made Maggie spin back around. For an instant she forgot she’d been watching her son, so when she came practically nose-to-nose with Wolfie on the other side of the glass, she almost screamed.
The dog pawed at the window, panting until it was steamy. “You hear them, too, don’t you?” His ears perked. He cocked his head. “Take it easy. It’s okay, boy.”
The howls seemed to be getting closer. Maggie cast around for a defensive weapon. The only thing handy was a pitchfork. She reached for the handle. Stumbled over a wheel of the yard cart. Felt herself falling.
She missed catching hold of anything to break her fall and went down hard. In the midst of her useless flailing, she finally did scream.
Glass cracked and broke above her. Maggie covered her head with her arms, letting her jacket take most of the punishment from the falling shards.
There had been no shots this time. She was certain of it. So what...?
Something landed beside her with a soft thud and she knew instantly what had happened. This was the second time Wolfie had breached a closed window. The first time had been when Mark was a toddler and there had been a stray dog in the yard.
Maggie levered herself up just in time to see her enormous dog bound over the cart and disappear into the thick forest. “Wolfie! No!
“Wolfie, come.” She started to get to her feet. Looked down at her hands. And saw blood.
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