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Carlos hangs out with Sam. Carlos hangs out with Danny. Some good deeds happen.

It's been a while since we got to do Christmas in Cannon Shoals (actually, it's been a very long time indeed--the last story featuring policeman Carlos Ortiz and his maybe-girlfriend the punk photographer Samantha Rigney technically took place in a larger town further inland. So it's been since 2014's "Home for the Holidays"). Here we have small-town folks being small-town folks, an ice storm, and some minor adventuring. And some rough sex, because it's Cannon Shoals and it's Christmas and I love you all. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff. Thanks to Spudz, CrimsonRuari and RockyWulf for their help with this one.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

--

Dramatis Personae:

Danny Hayes is an officer in the Cannon Shoals Police Department. Licentious, cynical, and crude, the stoat is mostly known for his acerbic personality and his history of dubiously consensual encounters in the course of his duties. He has also, however, had a long history of being nice to his friends, and for the last few years he has been dating Melissa Dean, unassuming daughter of lumber union boss Robert Dean.

Carlos Ortiz is Danny's partner. The coyote is the black sheep in his family of fairly well-educated, well-heeled professionals. He is aware of Danny's reputation and mostly looks the other way; the two are friends. He is torn between wanting to live up to his family's expectations, and settling down in a relatively stable, comfortable life in the Shoals, where he is generally well-liked.

Samantha Rigney is a punkish mixed-breed photographer, known for her artistic compositions in dangerous or foreboding locations. She and Carlos dated in college, then separated up for ten years; visiting her home in Stayton for his brother's wedding, the two hooked up. She split up with her current boyfriend to get together with Carlos again, and the two have been in a sort-of relationship ever since, although both are wary about committing.

Kiara Jane MacRory is a 30-something homemaker whose primary occupation is keeping her family from being evicted. She became pregnant after encountering another dingo while her husband was in jail and deciding to keep the baby, whom she loves but who has made their financial situation even more precarious. Danny sometimes helps KJ out with odd jobs or with bringing her groceries when her car (as usual) is not working.

Carl MacRory is KJ's husband, owner of the fishing boat Kalitan Fox which he operates with his brother. The mutt is good-natured but suffers from terminally bad luck; he has straightened his life up since the birth of their son (whose parentage he is oblivious to) but the need to provide for his family leads him to make some questionable decisions.

---

"The Road Before Us," by Rob Baird

"I hope you're happy," Danny Hayes said, as the emergency alert system started up in the otherwise-quiet police station. Most of the shift had been uneventful: Cannon Shoals was a small town, after all.

Beyond the weather, which was steadily getting worse, nothing had happened at all. Carlos Ortiz, his partner, raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be happy?"

"You love this shit. Get to pretend like you're at the North Pole and all..."

He stopped talking so they could listen to the actual message. "The National Weather Service has issued a winter storm warning for the coastal areas of the following counties. Lane County. Lincoln County. Tillamook County..."

The report kept going. Danny grunted. "Least it's official now." They'd been listening to scattered reports on the marine scanner for most of the shift, and neither were surprised by the warning. "You ready to go winch some holiday travelers back onto 101, Scout?"

"You know it. With any luck, they'll be taking I-5 instead." Whatever strength the storm still retained when it hit, it wouldn't have the chance to reach the Willamette River valley before mid-morning the next day. "Who's got our truck? Clint?"

Dan leaned over until he could read the notes on their whiteboard. "Gus. So, when we get relieved this evening. And then we ain't on call until afternoon. Fuckin' Christmas miracle, that one."

Christmas was still two days off--Danny was making fun of the coyote, who had a candy cane tucked into the front pocket of his uniform. Carlos rolled his eyes; a staticky hiss from the scanner kept him from having to dignify the jab. "Turn it up?"

The stoat looked at the radio. "Not on the emergency channel."

Carlos shrugged. "Still..."

"Suit yourself." He turned up the volume.

"--over." Silence. "Topaz, Kalitan Fox, over."

"Oh, boy," Danny said. "It's MacRory."

Carl MacRory was a more than passing acquaintance of the Cannon Shoals police department, although for the last few years he'd been reasonably well-behaved. Unplanned fatherhood, Carlos suspected, had done that to him.

The scanner crackled again. "Kalitan Fox calling, uh, callin' Katie Coefeld, over."

"Christ. Is Chuck Horvath even out in this shit?" the coyote asked--rhetorically; it wasn't their job to keep track of the town's fishermen, with their poor decision-making and poorer survival instincts. "I expected better from him."

A drawling reply gave them the answer. "Ah... yeah;Katie Coefeld. Go ahead."

"Hey, uh. You got your weather radar working? Over."

That was not a good question to be hearing. Carlos twitched an ear. Danny, who professed a continued antipathy for the trouble the fishing fleet put them through, nonetheless tensed almost imperceptibly. "Stand by,Kalitan Fox. Where y'at?"

"Uh, roger that. We're, ah... I got us about, uh, 45-5, thirty miles west of the coast."

"North of me, then." That was no longer Chuck Horvath's voice; presumably he'd turned the helm over. "Okay,Fox. Doppler gets real ugly northwest of you. Fifteen, one-five, miles; moving east, twenty knots or so. You caught that warning? Over."

The open mic caught the end of Carl's fatalistic chuckle. "Yeah. We're in maybe six feet up here. Barometer's makin' like a damn bobsled on the way down." They heard him sigh. "Alright, I'm gonna pull in the lines and head home. You,Coefeld?"

"Ah... nah." Chuck was back on the radio, and showing no signs of any particular concern. "Should be okay. Hold ain't but like half full, neither. Sure as hell ain't bad enough to run the bar in this. Over."

"Yeah..." Carl dragged the word out. "Copy that. We'll try Newport. Good luck out there,Coefeld. Kalitan Fox out."

"See ya, Carl. Merry Christmas."

Dan's scowl had deepened. "Idiots," he grumbled.

"You think the_Topaz_ is already back?"

"Probably. Holly's the one of them with half a brain.At most," he corrected his judgment. "She did go out in the first place."

"You want to tell the Coasties?"

USCGC_Daggertooth_ had been docked when Carlos last saw it, and he assumed the Coast Guard monitored the same radio traffic. But they had the scanner because it was a courtesy to know what was going on for when the spouses or kids or loan officers of any given boat captain grew worried about their whereabouts.

And Danny was friends with one of the rescue jumpers who would be called upon if anything went south. The stoat agreed to check in when their shift was over, although they heard nothing for the rest of it. So far, the holiday season had been gentle to Cannon Shoals.

It was still above freezing when he left the station--if just barely, and the harbor lights had turned the grey sky a dull electric purple. Carlos had promised to bring back takeout for his girlfriend, which meant a slow drive through the downtown.

He saw more decorations up than the year before, and in storefronts that had been shuttered when he first moved to the coast. Not that Cannon Shoals was_back_, or prosperous, but it did not feel as bleak as it once had. Not to the coyote, at least, although he was willing to admit that company helped.

His apartment, though, looked dark--at first. A single lamp was on inside, and it was too early for Samantha to have gone to sleep. He opened the door carefully, anyway. "Hey?"

"Hey," she called back, and her footsteps padded over from where she'd been camped in the living room. The mixed-breed snagged dinner from him, carried it the few steps to the kitchen, and then returned to give the coyote a quick kiss. "Work was good?"

"Uneventful. So, sure. Did the power go out?"

She put a finger on his chest to keep him still, and then flipped a switch by the wall. The front window was abruptly rimmed in colored lights; peering through it, he saw that she'd run yet more along the eaves. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad!"

"Uh-huh?" Sam grinned, and pushed herself close to fetch another kiss. "You'll make a... what's the opposite of a grinch? You'll make one of me yet, whatever it is."

"I... I'm not sure," he admitted. "A Who?"

"The Grinch, 'yote. C'mon. From... 'A Christmas Carol' or whatever it is."

"No, I meant..." He gave the dog a squeeze. "Tell you what, I'll explain the full range of deep Christmas lore later. After dinner."

Sam Rigney didn't care about Christmas any more than Dan Hayes did. The mutt had little use for holidays, living as she did one moment and one fleeting interest at a time. She'd put up the lights because she knew that_he_ cared, the way he went hiking into Oregon's various godforsaken nowheres with her when she was chasing a new photo opportunity.

Perhaps also because she knew how cute she looked in a red cap, even if it was missing at the moment. Or because she liked what it did to the coyote when he saw her wearing it. They were simpatico that way.

At least 'simpatico': he suspected, actually, that they loved each other. Neither of them had said it--not since their first attempt at a relationship ended in college. With her coarse-edged, punkish sensibilities Carlos wasn't entirely able to tell the extent of her sincerity. He enjoyed spending time with her. The sex was good.

She didn't argue when their friends described them as a couple. Every time she visited Cannon Shoals, she left something else behind in his apartment. He'd half-jokingly pointed out how the town's cheap real estate would make setting up a studio cheap, and she hadn't_laughed_ at the idea.

But, curled up with him on the sofa after dinner and watching the twinkling lights, they talked about simpler things.Can anything be a Christmas tree? Like, what about a cactus? And you could hang ornaments on the spikes? Does that count?

And in bed, drifting off with his arms around her, tracing where he knew the stripes of her brindling to be even in the darkness, they said nothing at all. At some point, that would change. He would have to change it. He'd wind up taking the first step, if she wouldn't.

At some point.

He awoke to his side being nudged. "C'mon. Up. Up now."

Samantha was already awake, clearly. Worse, she was already_dressed_, in a disconcertingly heavy jacket. "What time is it?"

"Six thirty. Have you looked outside?"

When she turned towards the window, pulling open the curtains, he caught a light, metallic sound. "Are you jingling? What the fuck is...Sam," he grumbled, and rolled to his feet out of bed, padding up behind her.

The mutt had found a leather collar, he saw, several shades darker than her brindled fur. She tapped the sleighbells fixed to it, without looking, and then gestured to the slate-grey morning outside. "See?"

A layer of ice, at least a quarter-inch thick, now covered the eaves, smoothing down the edges and twisting here and there into odd, liquid shapes. In the fitful glow of a streetlamp, the closest tree had been rendered something eerie and crystalline. "You want to go out in this?"

"It's perfect," she pronounced.

"You have...very strange definitions of that. I'm guessing we can't stay in until it warms up, right?"

"No. I made coffee, though. Look, it'll be worth your while."

He sighed, and started pulling his pants on. By the front door, he saw Sam's hiking boots in a melted puddle; she'd already been outside, he realized. She left again while he found his parka and a wool cap that his ears would fit through, and pulled on the thickest socks he had.

The mutt was behind the wheel of her old Land Cruiser, which was idling. And ice free, he saw; so was his car, also surrounded by bits of splintered crystal. Carlos made his way over carefully--his boots were waterproof, but the soles hadn't really been made for sheet ice.

At least it was warm inside. "You're chained up," he noted.

"Mm-hm." Conditions rarely warranted tire chains, in Cannon Shoals, but she spent an inordinate amount of time on marginal roads and Carlos supposed he wasn't that surprised to find Sam so well-prepared. She put the truck into gear and backed out carefully. "520 will probably be okay, but you never know. Look how pretty it all is, though."

Her headlights swept a dazzling, alien landscape. It_was_ pretty, he had to admit, if dangerous. "It is. Where are we going? Up to Oak Valley?"

"Almost; little bit before that. There's that..." She growled, paws tightening on the steering wheel as they briefly lost traction, turning onto the highway that ran inland from the coast. The ride smoothed out, although she kept them to a reassuring crawl. "See? Told you 520 would be fine.Anyway. Map's in the bag in front of you."

He unscrewed the coffee thermos first, and took a drink. Sam glanced over, grinning. "It's good," he confirmed. "Good coffee. You want some?"

"When we park. There's a one-lane bridge over a fork of the river, up onto a Forest Service road. Before the mill, maybe a mile or so?"

Carlos knew of the bridge, although the cops rarely had cause to venture that far east. It dated from the 70s, had been built for logging equipment, and was in fairly good shape. It would also be made of solid ice. "Yeah. Are we going into the National Forest?"

"No. I'm not_that_ crazy. There's that old Southern Pacific trestle, though. Right? I've been talking about it for months. You know the one? In my head, the ice storm did a real number on it. I'm thinking just upstream--that's... Marion Creek?"

"Blackberry."

"Right. From there, towards the hills on the other side of the river. What do you think?"

The trestle, if his memory served, was only a few hundred feet from the road. He did not have a photographer's eye, although Sam had done her best to teach him. "Maybe I can picture it, sure..."

"Well, good. 'Cause you're my assistant." She snickered, casting an upward glance through the windscreen at a slowly lightening eastern sky. "Plenty of time. Thanks for coming with, Carlos."

"Would you have come out here alone?"

"No. Would've spent my morning with you inside, if you_wanted_..."

He took another drink of coffee, feeling--if nothing else--somewhat more awake. "I didn't realize that was an option at the time, you know. We too far gone to turn back?"

"Probably. Tell you what. You can picture the shot I want?" He made a see-sawing gesture with his paw. "Well. Let's start simpler. Can you picture being cold?"

"I can_definitely_ picture that, yes."

"And a short hike through a, uh... through a winter wonderland? That, too?"

"I suspect the two are closely related."

She laughed. "So do I. Which means we're going to need to warm up afterwards,obviously. Can you picture that?"

"In the truck?"

"No." She shot him a look, and then grinned. "You're not tying me in my truck, Carlos. Not when it's below freezing."

"Oh.That kind of warming up." Not that she would buy his feigned ignorance, nor his feigned innocence. "I don't have to tie you."

"But you_would_. And you'll be all pent up, so you're gonna last, like... half an hour. Gotta be somewhere warmer for that. Comfier."

"'Pent up,' mutt?"

"Aren't you? Went to bed early yesterday. And now you're gonna spend the next hour thinking about exposing some willing brindle-furred bitch--that's what you call me, right?Either way, exposing some bitch you've got your paws on, instead of exposing a couple rolls of film..."

"I wasn't necessarily going to be thinking about that."

When she gave him another telling stare, the jingle that accompanied the jerk of her head lent an added bit of_teasing_ to her expression. "Is that so? Not one thought about how I promised to make it worth your while? Like maybe I'd prove it by tearing your pants off as soon as we were inside... see how long it takes to get you hard enough for me to suck you off, y'know? Maybe I should mention I haven't had breakfast yet..."

He shifted in his seat with a commentary growl. "Okay, now I'm thinking about it."

"Told ya." Her eyes were back on the road, although he saw the glint in them, and the hint of her tail wagging against her own seat. "Get all rough, I bet, stuffing my muzzle the way you do. Grab the back of my head and choke me with coyote dick until I almost pass out..."

"You didn't_almost pass out_. And you said I'd made it up to you."

"That's true," she conceded. "Fuck, I didn't think I was going to be able to_walk_ the next day. Lucky I got the studio there in my apartment back in Stayton. Okay, stud, you agree to make it up to me like that--what was it, six times? Seven? God, coyote." She let out a low huff at the recollection. "You can choke me all you want. We'll have time when we get back."

His pants were no longer comfortable. They were at the road bridge, anyway; she slowed down for the turn, taking it carefully. "We're almost parked. I could just bend you over the hood here. Nobody'd notice."

"Probably not..."

"You could be as loud as you want. You like that."

"Mm." Ice-covered gravel crunched under the truck's chains as she pulled them to a stop. "I_do_ like that. Or maybe it's just the way you fuck me. I can't believe I let you go to bed with just some snuggling..."

"Which of us is pent up, again?"

"Me." She killed the ignition, and took a deep breath to brace herself. "It was me all along. But I am an_artiste_, Carlos. I suffer for my art."

She pushed the door open, grimaced, and stepped out into the crisp, chill morning. Her equipment was in the back of the truck, spread between a couple of bags, and he got out to help. The cold, at least, solved the immediate issue of his arousal. "But you'll make it up to me..."

Sam stuck her tongue out. "I'll be making it up to myself, too. Particularly if this isn't worth it.But..." She clicked a flashlight on, and pointed to her goal.

He could just barely make out the abandoned trestle, over the edge of the cleared hill that marked the edges of the Forest Service land at whose locked gate they were now parked.

At one point, the Southern Pacific railroad had run all the way into Cannon Shoals itself. By the 90s, service stopped at the mill in Oak Valley. Now it had been abandoned altogether, and the western track had been pulled up. The wooden structure stood alone.

Only memory told him it was made of wood at all. Icicles clung to the beams, and to one another, and in the stark white of the flashlight LEDs it had the appearance of stalactites in a long-hidden cave the pair of them were the first to have ever explored.

Samantha moved quickly, more sure of her footing now. She had her camera out, holding it up to peer through the viewfinder, then ducking a few feet to one side or the other to gauge the scene. When she finally started shooting he heard the whirring click of the drive motor almost too fast to be believed.

"Carlos. Can you do me a favor?"

"For you? Anything."

She grinned. "Sweetheart."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Sweetheart with bad judgment," she corrected. "Can you get the floodlight out? Battery should be plugged in already."

Sam positioned him partway up the hill, directing the light so that it cast stark shadows the cloud-hidden sun was unable to supply. There was more clicking, and then she pointed to a different spot, on the opposite bank.

He had to pass in front of her; she stole a kiss, whispering a_thanks_ into his ear. So long as all he had to do was hold the lamp, Carlos was fine with his job--the battery-powered floodlight put out a surprising amount of heat.

An hour later, with three rolls of film accounted for, Sam pointed in the direction of her truck. "I'm happy," she told him, simply. And she hung back for a second, so that when he stepped ahead of her she could squeeze the coyote's rear. "And you're a good sport."

"And you're making it up to me, remember?" he teased.

When they had packed her gear away, she got an early start--pulling the coyote into a kiss from the driver's seat. The position was a little awkward, but not so much that they weren't willing to make do. Her arms intertwined behind his back, and his tongue explored the dog's muzzle hungrily.

And then, just about when he was going to less-jokingly propose the hood of her Land Cruiser a second time, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He extricated himself to check the screen. "It's Danny. His personal phone, though, so... probably not official business..."

"You can take it, it's fine."

"Something like that." Carlos steadied his breathing, and thumbed the icon to answer. "Hey."

"You up?"

It was a little past 8:30, by that point. He sighed. "You've reached Carlos Ortiz. I can't come to the phone right now--"

"Maybe you were sleepin' in, Scout. Fuck, I dunno. Anyway. I need your truck, if you're around. Gotta run an errand."

This had happened before, generally when he needed the cargo space or a winch. Not, usually, so early in the morning, nor on a weekend. "You have a car, Danny."

"The Camaro? Have you been outside yet? Look through your window, Scout. I'll wait."

The coyote sighed again. "Alright, alright. Give me a bit. I'll text you."

It was possible, he thought, that he caught the start of a_thanks_ before he hung up the phone. Sam looked at him with a raised brow. "You're needed?"

"My car's needed."

"Everyone just wants you for your assets, 'yote," she teased.

"I could just give him the keys. He should be able to figure out which pedal does what..."

"Do you know what he wants?"

Carlos could only shrug. "He said 'an errand.' This time of year, it's probably something with the charity drive we do at the station. Or maybe Joan went off the road again, or his mom needs the driveway cleared.Probably something more than returning video tapes."

"He's a..." She started her truck, muzzle working a few times for the right word. "He's a weird one."

Among many adjectives, sure. "Yeah."

"Well. Friends are friends, right?" Sam tested the traction with a gentle press on the accelerator, turning them around and back towards the highway. "That's fine. I can keep myself busy at your apartment."

I could keep you busy at my apartment, too, he felt like saying.

Presumably, Danny had his reasons, though. He took the point that his partner's Camaro was not well-suited for the current conditions. It wasn't, for that matter, terribly well-suited to Cannon Shoals on the whole. It had belonged to one of the more wayward lumbermill employees, as he understood it.

Hayes implied that the car had been impounded and auctioned. But then, he'd also heard that Danny had told the guy he was_done driving for a bit_ after pulling him over for the fourth or fifth time. Look, you're bein' dumb as fuck, but I like your wife and you can't really afford another DUI, can you? So...

Weird. He was a weird one.

Perhaps the truth was not that salacious. Carlos promised Samantha he'd be done as quickly as possible, and let the FJ-40 warm up on the drive over to the stoat's apartment on the northeast side of town. The major roads, by that point, were clearing up. Not safe for a sports car, no, but clearing up.

A decent morning, really. The trestle was worth it. Now he could start his Christmas playlist, and get whatever his partner wanted over with, and spend the rest of the day with Samantha. Sam, who definitely had managed to rile him up and_more_ than definitely expected to see consequences for it.

Parked outside the stoat's apartment, he sent Danny a text and waited, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the sound of Andy Williams.And those gay, happy greetings, when friends come to call. Danny could probably not reliably be counted on to be in good cheer.

Indeed the stoat, picking his way carefully along the ice, did not_look_ terribly happy. He was carrying a brown paper bag in both paws. Carlos got out to open the truck's rear door, and then to take the bag, which was unexpectedly heavy. "Morning, Danny."

"I guess." With the back of the truck open, the music spilled into the air with merry abandon. "Someone's all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, huh?"

"Sam got me up early." Danny stopped him when he started to close the door, running a strap around the paper bag. "Don't want it banging around?"

"Nah. Not fragile or anything, but. Y'know." Satisfied, he let Carlos close the door and climbed into the passenger's seat. "Got you up early for good reasons, or you off breakin' into an old building or something?"

"You know her too well. Where are we going?"

"KJ's."

He tried to decide what that meant, given that Danny didn't seem too_concerned_, and there hadn't been any messages from the morning shift at the station. KJ MacRory's paranoia about her husband's safety was well-earned, probably, but she called them every few months when he was late coming home, and it always amounted to nothing. "Is Carl doing alright?"

"He's not_dead_, if that's what you mean."

"He made it into Newport?"

"Yeah. Shel had the radio turned up all night at Annie's. They're fuckin' children, y'know, fishermen? They gotta be corralled for their own fuckin' safety."

They'd driven over to the MacRory's house often enough that Carlos didn't need directions, which let him focus on the drive itself--unlike Sam, he hadn't put chains on his truck, and the FJ-40 wasn't as steady as he would've liked on the ice when they left the main road.

"This music, Scout," the stoat sighed. If he'd been around for Shelley Mills to check in on the fleet--she had a broadcasting license, and Annie's was the fisherman's all-but-official hangout--he was probably hungover. But he shook his head when Carlos reached over to turn it down. "It's fine. I'm just judging you."

"What else is new?"

He laughed, at last. "Well, okay. Guilty as charged there. Whatever--where'd you and your girl get to?"

"Out towards Oak Valley. Old railway trestle there."

"The one we busted the Rex party at? Christ, all that White Claw--fuckin' kids these days. No sense of decency in 'em."

Matthew J. Rex was the high school, and it was certainly true that Cannon Shoals' high schoolers lacked for entertainment. "No, other side of the fork. Over Blackberry Creek. You can kinda see it from the road?" He was trying to stay focused on driving, but a glance at his partner told him the clarification had helped. "I tell you, man, it was something else. Like...Lord of the Rings or something. Alien."

"Good pictures?"

"Sam thought so. She'll have to develop it, of course."

"You ever thought about gettin' her a calendar or something? Help her realize what year it is?"

"We have had... conversations about it," he admitted. "Because she needs a darkroom, right? The thing is, she uses a medium-format camera. She told me it's, like, the equivalent of a thousand megapixels or something. Spy satellite stuff."

"So you're gonna set her up with a darkroom." He hadn't really phrased it as a question, and Carlos didn't answer. "Should talk to Dawn. She's gotta be into that kinda hipster shit. Go halvsies on a studio. She's moving out here, right?"

They were at the MacRory's driveway. Carlos pulled in, and parked the car. "We'll see." Danny got out, and went to ring the doorbell; Carlos had joined him by the time KJ answered it.

The dingo looked, perhaps, slightly more harried than usual; her brow furrowed as she regarded the pair. "Is everything... go back inside," she ordered curtly; a swiftly disappearing shape marked what must've been her young son, and she closed the door behind her. "Is everything alright?"

"I guess. I heard your truck battery's dead." Her ears drooped a few degrees: Danny was right. "Your mom's got a big mouth. My mom's got a big mouth."

KJ's muzzle turned in a knowing, resigned half-smile. "Rebecca's got a big mouth, you mean."

"If Becky Holloway gave blowjobs she'd talk through it like she was narrating for goddamn Audible dot com," the stoat agreed. "But I figured we'd come give you a jump. You'll want to be headed up to Newport, right?"

"I... I could be, yes. Let me, uh. Let me get the keys."

It only took a second; they were hanging just inside the door. "I can take care of it," Carlos offered. "If you want to get the stuff out of the back, Danny."

Her husband drove a Dodge Ram that was, the coyote guessed, about as old as he or the dingo herself were. He was perfectly happy not to spend any more time than necessary in the interior of the cab; beneath the hood, though, it appeared to be in decent mechanical shape.

Carl MacRory wasn't a bad person, so far as he knew, merely a little hard-luck. He took care of his boat, too--it was only that the boat itself, a joint venture with his brother Nate, was a bad idea. Shifting from crabs to long-lining had left the MacRory clan slightly more stable, as he understood it from the gossip at Annie's, but only just. So little things like the truck's battery fell by the wayside.

Having a kid was even more inexplicable. He'd learned from Danny that, at least, neither Carl nor KJ were so reckless as to have done_that_ intentionally. How Danny knew was a mystery, although--as he'd said--it probably came through Rebecca Holloway, who seemed to be friends with most of the Shoals and acted as a reliable conduit for gossip.

Whatever the source of his information, and for whatever reason, he stopped by to help the dingo out every now and then, sometimes with the coyote and sometimes by himself. He could be, as Sam put it,weird; he'd never clearly answered Carlos's questions about why KJ warranted intervention, and by that point the coyote figured no explanation was forthcoming.

Not that it mattered: KJ was trying to do the best she could for her kid, in challenging circumstances, and Carlos was fine with being volunteered for that. Particularly so close to Christmas, with her husband stuck miles up the coast and her only working vehicle just as immobile.

The pickup rumbled to life surprisingly smoothly, and idled like Carl had probably managed to tune it up within living memory. It had half a tank left--enough to get to Newport and back--and while Carlos let it run he knocked the rest of the frame free of ice. The day had finally started to warm up: 101 would be safe to drive already, and in a few hours the side streets would be, too.

Just as well, since the tires were getting towards the point where he might've cited any other driver for the tread depth. KJ and Danny emerged from the house a few minutes later. The dingo was holding a steaming mug, which she held out to him. "Hot chocolate?"

He stepped over the jumper cables, and took the cup from her. "God. Yeah, that'd be great." There were little artificial marshmallows floating in it, he saw; it was still too hot to drink.

"Daniel said you might appreciate it. Not in those exact words, but..."

"I do. It's cold out, right?" He_definitely_ appreciated the way it warmed his paws. "I got the truck started okay. Do you know when the last time the battery was changed?"

KJ gave a rueful chuckle, and then an equally resigned shrug. "Probably just before somebody started outgrowing their clothes every other month. It wasn't a problem until now. Maybe if Carl did okay with this last trip..." She shook her head. "No, I can't have the truck die on me, can I? I'll figure something out... take it to Gowan's on Monday, I suppose."

"I got a charger you plug into the wall in the back of my truck. You can borrow that, just in case." He_knew_ his FJ-40's battery was in good shape, anyhow. "Drop it by the station when you're done."

She thanked him. And she gave him a hug, too, after he'd finished the hot chocolate, and she'd taken the mug and the battery charger into the house. "Merry Christmas, both of you. I..." She struggled for something else to say, and folded her ears. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Merry Christmas," Carlos echoed, in turn.

Back on the road, Danny closed his eyes. And then, when the music started again, opened one back up. "I do appreciate the help, Scout..."

"Like I told KJ, you know? Don't mention it. Any friend of yours..."

"I'm pretty sure she has higher standards than that."

"Carl?"

Danny snorted. "Oh, that's a good point. Christ, I bet it must be a knot thing. All y'all dogs go dumb for that. Take the smartest bitch you know, Scout, and soon as that knot shows up, I guarantee you..."

"Well, fortunately,you can get by with your personality. What was in that bag, anyway?"

"Oh, that? Shit from the station drive Mike wanted to hand over. And some cupcakes Mel baked this morning."

The coyote grinned. "Yeah? You've got ingredients at your apartment for cupcakes, now, Danny? I'm guessing that was also Mel's idea." Melissa Dean came off as soft-spoken and reserved, but he couldn't help suspecting she might have forced the stoat to pitch in.

"Being domesticated, yeah. Speaking of which, when's Sam moving in?"

They hadn't been_speaking of_ it; he wanted to change the topic of conversation. "I don't know. It hasn't exactly come up. We're taking it slow."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Maybe because we already broke up once?"

"So you already know what it's like. Probably, stands to reason, you know what you think about each other. Can't believe I gotta be the relationship counselor here. But I mean, don't give me the 'what if she says no' shit, is what I'm saying." He paused, and tried a different approach. "You know you don't have to invite me to the wedding, right?"

"Would you crash it, if I didn't?"

His grin showed the fangs Carlos had come to appreciate. "Why do you think I said you don't have to_invite_ me?"

The coyote laughed, and pulled the truck to a stop on the street outside Dan's apartment. "Right. Get out, asshole. And let me stay indoors the rest of the day, okay?"

"You think I wanted this? Had a job to do, Scout." They bumped fists, though--he was in a better mood than when Carlos had picked him up--and made his exit before the argument could drag out further.

It was a silly one, after all. Carlos was comfortable with Sam, and neither of them were in any particular rush. She could work from anywhere, and his job had the promise of a decent pension. But then, Stayton wasn't expensive, either, and Carlos had transferrable skills.

Neither of them planned on starting a family. His brother Mateo was willing to shoulder the burden on that front. His niece's birthday had been almost a perfect nine months after Mat and Emma's honeymoon, their mother pointed out gleefully. She was a matchmaker, a romance novelist,and a coyote; it was a worrying combination.

Zoe Ortiz was too busy being a doting grandmother to criticize her two other sons' life choices. Antonio, the oldest Ortiz sibling, kept to himself in New Mexico. His father liked Sam. His friends liked Sam. It was far, far easier to just enjoy Christmas with her and not pay attention to anything more complex.

He let the last song finish, set the parking brake, and locked up his truck.Enjoy Christmas was exactly what he was going to do. Inside, where it was warm, and all he had to do was spend time with his almost-certainly-girlfriend...

Who met him just inside the entrance to his apartment, wearing a heavy jacket. "Hey, coyote. Took you long enough."

He blinked in surprise. "Were you planning on going somewhere?"

Sam gave him a withering stare. Then, rolling her eyes and grinning at his naïveté, she shrugged the coat back and off her shoulders. He kicked the door the rest of the way shut, hurriedly: she was wearing nothing under it. Or--

"You kept the collar?"

The mutt's grin widened. "You like?"

He hooked a finger underneath the leather, pulling her to him with the sound of jingling bells. Sam held herself back, her fingers unbuttoning the coyote's coat and tugging at the shirt beneath. But her muzzle met his, and as he pressed forward and into the kiss he hastily did what he could to help her get his clothes off.

The shirt proved easier than his jeans--he kicked his boots awkwardly, until at last they went tumbling, and by that point she'd torn his belt gleefully open. The jeans, in turn, proved easier than his briefs: half a minute with the dog and he was already achingly stiff, gasping with every errant touch as she guided the fabric around his erection.

And_clothing_ proved easier than moving away from the foyer and towards any place more amenable to what they both needed to come next. "Bed," he managed to growl. Sam cut him off, pushing her lips back to his, her tongue spearing into his parted muzzle. Her paw folded around his cock, squeezing him, stroking playfully.

He caught the mutt's tongue, tasting her, and as she pressed her body closer his paws wandered on instinct. A grope to her rump, at last, had her gasping into the kiss heavily enough to break it, and to lock lust-filled, mischievous eyes with the coyote. "Think we'll make it that far?"

"You're the one who wanted to be tied someplace comfortable."

Her head tilted, as if she didn't_quite_ remember the conversation--as if she might've disagreed. But she shrugged gamely, and twisted, padding off in that direction. She still had her fingers around his shaft--by the time they crossed the threshold of the door her grip had coaxed a rivulet of precum, sliding down towards his sheath.

Before she could turn back around, he put his paw between her shoulder blades and pushed. Sam went forward with the playful sound of bells. Nor did she bother standing back up--just got her knees past the edge of the bed and scooted forward for him to join her.

He wasn't an artist--lacked her eye for the form. But the soft late-morning light treated her brindled stripes_very_ generously, and he did allow himself a second to savor the sight of her: chest down, ears perked, hips up with her wagging tail raised over the cinnamon fur of her thighs and the bare, glistening lips of her sex.

Carlos guided his tip to her, pushing just barely inside before pausing to adjust the angle, and to appreciate Sam's pleased gasp, and her shallow panting. Then, putting both his paws on her hips, he thrust smoothly. Tight, silky, familiar warmth enveloped him, and as he sank further in he watched her ears quiver and lie back with every new inch of that first, full stroke.

She groaned breathlessly when he finally hilted, the sound shot through with delayed gratification, and then a strained murmur directed half into the sheets. "Oh,God, Carlos..." He pulled halfway free, then bucked deep in a rough, surging second thrust that got a sharper yelp of the oath, and a commentary jingle from her collar.

Between the two, and the earlier teasing latching hold of his instincts, he took his cue for the tempo that followed. It was the needy, feral coupling she'd earned: heavy, rocking plunges that buried him all the way in the wet, steamy grip of her cunt every time he took her. She kept gasping, yelping for him as he rutted her powerfully.

Fuck, but it was incredible. There was something about the carnal impulsiveness they'd often indulged that he found irresistible. The way she fell into position so readily, holding herself up to be taken when the coyote was fucking his bitch deep and hard from behind; the way his paws looked, framing her haunches, as he tugged her back to meet him and she squirmed in his grip. The way she felt around his shaft; how much he needed to be back inside her every time he withdrew.

How quickly she succumbed to the steady, swift pounding. He saw the fingers of one paw splay, trembling. Then clench: the other paw was between her legs, just barely brushing his pumping shaft as she worked with a building insistence. Her teeth gritted, and she crushed her muzzle against the mattress to muffle a scream.

The bells on her collar were louder when he shoved as deep as he could, jolting her frame. He could feel her tighten around him. Her paw clutched at the sheets in a desperate fist that would yield in rent fabric if they weren't careful.He wasn't, anyway--pushed into her again and again, firmly, timed to her shuddering gasps.

She squealed; this time a claw made it through. That, they could snicker about_later_. Now, he worked against her until the paw between her legs slipped free to bat at the coyote's hips, and she grunted something unintelligible and hoarse. He bent forward to nip her ear. "What was that?"

"G--fuck. Mrf. Gimme a moment, 'yote."

She shivered when he ran a claw of her own along his side.A moment suited him okay: the short, quick humping had his knot already swelling faster than he really would've wanted, and he wanted to really savor tying the mutt. "Do you know," he growled under his breath. "How fuckin' good you are?"

Sam was beginning to recover, because her eyes opened, and she twisted her head to look at him sideways. "How good? Y'gonna knot me now?" He pulled his hips back carefully, feeling out the resistance. Pushing back in took a little more force, and when it happened she sucked her breath in, grinning lopsidedly. "Guess so. Ready to unload in your bitch?"

His hips swiveled again, sliding smoothly along her slick walls. More strain, this time--Carlos figured he had one more left, maybe. He bit down on her ear. "You want it?" She nodded, adding a whimpered_mm-hm_ for emphasis, and the coyote straightened up, taking firm hold of the mutt's rear.

He pulled back to the tip and then slammed forward firmly, driving a barked moan from her as she hit the edge of his knot. Another lunge. A third, each jostling her collar to a deceptively jolly accompaniment until the last effort sank him definitively in and they groaned together.

Sam's lips squeezed around the base of his cock, sending a wave of pleasure through the tense coyote as he growled and began to hitch into her frantically. Stuck fast, stretching her ever-wider as his knot grew to full size, he let instinct take over.

The rapid, deep prods had her losing control, too, almost as fast as the male behind her. And then, just over the sound of the bells, he heard her yelp an urgent_collar_. He grabbed for it. Tugged. Pulled her onto her unsteady paws. The yelping cut off. She threw her head back, muzzle open with a thickly strangled howl as a whole-body shudder took her.

A clenching, rippling pressure seized his knot, and Carlos gave in with a snarl. Pleasure overcame him, racing through his cock to splash in hot, powerful jets against the very depths of the quivering dog's cunt. Her eyes had rolled up, and her ears had pinned, but he felt Sam jerk under his paws as the coyote seeded her.

He emptied himself in long pulses, the heat of his load squelching as it spread messily out around his throbbing cock until it met the dam of his knot. He couldn't stop himself, anyway, jarring thrusts hammering a blissfully draining peak into his bitch. The jingling sleigh bells, and his hoarse grunts, and Sam's choked yelping all held the same rhythm, slowing as the coyote finished staking his claim.

He managed one last grind, and let Sam go. She tumbled forward, panting hard, and Carlos slumped on her back, fighting for breath with his nose jammed into the crook of her neck. Gentle pulses of his cock now and then announced a few more trickles of coyote cum spilling into her, and gentle twitches of the mutt gripping him announced her awareness of it. Both had nearly stopped a minute later when he had the strength to rise enough to free her legs, so that they collapsed in a slightly more orderly mess on their sides.

"Coyote," she wheezed. "God. Carlos..."

"Hey, Sam." He nuzzled her cheek. "Doin' okay?"

"Me?" She giggled, the sound high and still breathless. "Mm. I'm doin'real good, coyote."

They settled back down, while they waited for his cock to soften. Samantha wasn't_helping_ that, squirming just often enough for the coyote to tense and stiffen instinctively against her back. And for her to giggle again, while his paws stroked her belly before finally coming to rest.

Outside, the day was quiet. He didn't know how much noise they'd made, and he didn't really care. He lapped at her ear, and while one arm stayed wrapped around her the fingers of his free paw toyed idly with one of the bells.Guess it was worth getting up early for. Hopefully the pictures turn out. Hopefully--

"I love you, you know." He said it without meaning to, properly; the words were out of his muzzle before he knew where his wandering thoughts had gone.

Sam's head cocked. She was silent for a moment. She turned, just enough to look at him, and to realize he'd spoken out of turn. "Was it really the collar?"

He could've taken the out. Instead he kissed the side of her neck, where her fur faded from caramel to pale cream. "Nah. I just do. I'm not... I'm not sure I ever stopped, you know?"

"Blanket," she said, softly. He pulled one over the both of them, and she took a deep breath before snuggling back and into his chest. Her tail gave a slow, thumping wag. "I love you, too, 'yote. Thanks for going out with me this morning."

"Thanks for spending Christmas with me."

She laced her fingers with his, resting on the collar. "We really going to be tied that long?"

"Not all at once..."

Sam snickered. "That better be a promise."

He flicked the bell, and found himself chuckling. "Sure."

"Tell you what, then."

"Mm?" She squirmed a bit, tugging her arms free, and twisted until she was facing him. The mutt's eyes were bright, and the hint of something softer had briefly intruded into her toothy grin.

"Kiss me?"