Heather drove on, Chaska handing the binoculars first to Old Man, who chuckled, and then to Naomi, who looked like she might cry, too. Shota had saved her life, after all, and brought her and Chaska together.
They stopped fifty yards from the fence that marked the boundary of the enclosure.
Heather gestured toward the fence. “Go say hello, but be careful where Aput is concerned. I can’t say how she’ll react if you stick your hand inside.”
Winona walked forward, Chaska following with Naomi and Old Man.
Shota saw her immediately. He trotted to the fence, gave a welcoming yap.
Winona reached inside to pet Shota, speaking to him softly in Lakota.
Aput didn’t look like she liked this and moved closer, head down, teeth bared.
Shota snapped at Aput, stopping her in her tracks.
Winona scratched Shota behind his ears. “You look happy here, Shota. You have a new friend. That’s good. A wolf needs a pack. I love you, and I will miss you so much. But this is your home now. I want you to be happy. I’ll come to visit you sometimes. I promise.”
Shit.
Chaska’s throat grew tight.
“You have been a good friend. I’m so happy to have known you. Walk well, Shota. I will see you again.”
There was no word in Lakota for goodbye.
At that, Winona took a step backward, anguish on her face as Shota bounded off with the other wolf. As they drove away in the UTV, Shota turned to face them once more—and howled.
Winona smiled through her tears. “He’s saying thank you.”
Heather nodded. “He sure is.”
Five weeks later
Eric satin the passenger seat while Vicki drove into Scarlet Springs. Tonight was the big fundraiser at Knockers. Joe and Jack West had put it together, and they’d wanted to wait until Eric was out of the hospital and able to attend.
They’d left Caden with Eric’s mom. This was Eric’s first evening out since before the fire, and Vicki wanted the two of them to be able to relax.
Eric wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to be there, but he couldn’t say that. He didn’t like being called a hero. He hadn’t done anything special.
“I know a secret,” Vicki said. “Joe seeds the pot.”
“What do you mean ‘Joe seeds the pot’?”
“He throws money into the donation jar when people aren’t looking. He knows he has more to give than anyone else in town, but he wants people to invest in their own community and have a sense of ownership in the outcome of these events.”
“So, he makes it look like donations are coming thick and fast from everywhere.” Eric was impressed. “I always wondered how a community as small as Scarlet could raise a hundred grand. Who told you?”
“Rain.”
Of course.
“She figured it out a long time ago but never said anything to him about it.”
Eric chuckled. “Yeah, Old Caribou Joe—he’s a clever one.”
The parking lot at Knockers was packed, but someone had reserved a spot for them near the front door, a hand-painted wooden sign that read “Eric & Vicki Hawke” sitting at the curb.
“They don’t want you to have to walk far.”