After they’d finished eating they cleared away the dishes and returned to the patio with their wine. Larkin released a sigh, half contentment, half apprehension. “Okay. Story time,” she announced. “Explain to me again how this is supposed to work.”
“Winner of the coin toss asks the first question. Loser answers first.”
“Ouch. That could be dangerous.”
“Interesting, at the very least.” He tossed the coin. “Call it.”
“Heads.”
He showed her the coin, tails side up. He didn’t hesitate. “First question. Tell me about Kiko—and I mean the truth about Kiko. Since she’s going to be around my family for the next month or two, I think I deserve the truth.”
It was a reasonable question, if one she’d rather have avoided. “Fair enough. To be honest, I don’t know what she is. She’s definitely not pure wolf, despite her appearance. I’d guess she’s probably a hybrid wolf dog.” Rafe’s eyebrows shot upward and Larkin hastened to add, “But I don’t think she’s very high-content wolf. She has too many of the traits of a dog, as well as the personality.”
“Explain.”
Larkin winced at the gunshot sharpness of his response and chose her words with care. “Some people breed dogs with wolves, creating hybrids. It’s highly controversial. Gran was violently opposed to the practice. She considered it ‘an accident waiting to happen’ and unfair to both wolves and dogs, since people expect the hybrids to act like dogs.” At his nod of understanding, she continued. “But how can they? They’re an animal trapped between two worlds, living in a genetic jumble between domestication and wild creature. So both wolf and dog get a bad rep based on the actions of these hybrids whenever they respond to the ‘wild’ in their makeup.”
“Got it,” he said, though she could tell he wasn’t thrilled with her explanation. “What about in Kiko’s case? How likely is she to respond to her inner wolf?”
“She’s never harmed anyone. Ever.” Larkin leaned on the word. “Can she? Potentially. So can a dog, for that matter. But she’s more likely to run than confront, especially now that she’s so old.”
“How did you end up with her?”
Larkin switched her attention to the animal in question and smiled with genuine affection. Kiko lay on the patio, her aging muzzle resting on her forepaws, watching. Always watching. Alert even at this stage of her life. “We think Kiko must have been adopted by someone who either couldn’t take care of her or were living someplace where they couldn’t keep her because of her mixed blood. They dumped her in the woods when she was about a year old. Gran found Kiko caught in an illegal trap, half-starved.”
He shot a pitying look in the dog’s direction. “Poor thing. I’m amazed she let your grandmother anywhere near her.”
“Gran always had a way with animals.” She spared him a flashing smile. “And Kiko didn’t have much fight in her by the time Gran arrived on the scene. The trap had broken Kiko’s leg. She was lucky not to lose it.”
“Did your grandmother set the leg herself?”
Larkin shook her head. “That would have been well beyond her expertise. She took Kiko to a vet who happened to be a close personal friend. He set the leg and advised Gran on the best way to care for Kiko. It was either that or have her put down. Since neither Gran nor I could handle that particular alternative, we kept her.”
“And my family? How safe will they be with her?”
Larkin leaned forward and spoke with urgent intensity. “I promise, she won’t hurt you or your family. She’s very old now. The longest I’ve heard of these animals living is sixteen years. Most live fewer than that. Kiko’s twelve or thirteen and very gentle. Except for the occasional urge to howl, she’s quiet. Just be careful not to corner her so she feels trapped. Then she might turn destructive, if only in an attempt to escape what she perceives as a trap.” Pleased when he nodded his acceptance, she asked a question of her own. “What about you? No dogs or cats or exotic pets?”