Vigil for the Mountain Man Bonus Scene

“VIR-GULL!”

I wince. But it’s too late.

The front door flies open so hard it rattles the hinges. Luke launches himself into the cold December air. “THERE’S A DOG.”

“No kidding.”

“A DOG.”

“Still a dog.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not excited enough.”

I glance down at the squirming bundle of black-and-tan fur inside the crate. The puppy bares approximately three teeth and barks at me.

“Nope.”

The puppy barks again.

Luke gasps.

For one terrible second, they appear to recognize something of themselves in one another. A streak of mischief, a streak of trouble, and the kind of boundless energy that I know is going to make me regret this buying decision later. And then love it all over again.

God help us all.

Helen appears next. Unlike her brother, she stops short and just stares, blue eyes wide as saucers.

The puppy sits down, tilts its oversized ears, and wags its tail once.

Helen’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh.”

That single word tells me everything I need to know. The kid’s already in love.

Behind them, Clara steps onto the porch. Her eyes immediately find mine before darting to the crate and then the puppy.

She freezes.

The little dog barks again.

Silence.

Then another tiny ruff.

Finally, Luke whispers the question I knew was coming. “Is it Thorn?”

Silence settles across the porch. The puppy noses the side of the crate.

I crouch down so I’m eye level with him. “No, buddy.”

Luke’s face falls. I hate that. More than I should.

“Thorn was one of a kind.” The words come rougher than I intended. Because it’s true. Not just about the dog. About Bryson too.

Luke looks down. The puppy immediately licks his fingers through the crate slats. His eyes widen. “He likes me!” he gasps like it’s an earth-shattering revelation.

That tugs at something behind my ribs. “Of course, he does, buddy. He’s family now.”

Luke’s toothy grin makes it all worth it. The chewed furniture to come. The unaccounted-for wet spots. The early morning wake-up calls fueled by high-pitched barking. No doubt, when the kids’ll roll back over lazily, forgetting they have a puppy at all.

That’s when I’ll step in.

Gladly. Always.

Because this is my family now.

I fight a smile. “Besides,” I say, “every dog deserves a family.”

Luke looks up. “So does this one.”

The puppy barks as if agreeing. That earns a laugh from Clara. A real one.

God, I love that sound.

“Does he have a name?” Helen demands.

“Not yet.”

“Oh,” she says, frowning with concentration. Like her mind’s already churning out ideas.

The puppy starts chewing on the corner of the crate.

“He’s kind of dumb.”

“Luke,” Clara scolds.

“What?”

“He’s a baby.”

The puppy falls over trying to turn around.

Luke immediately points. “See?”

The dog remains upside down for several seconds. Honestly? The kid might have a point.

“Can we keep him?” Luke blurts. Been waiting for this question, too.

Clara darts back inside, returning with coats and passing them to each kid in turn.
“Dress warm, you two,” she scolds. Like she’s evading the question.

Finally, my eye catches hers. I arch an eyebrow. “Well?”

Her mouth forms two thin lines, but I can see it happening—the surrender, the inevitable acceptance. The same look she gets every time the kids convince her to bring home another box of baby chicks from the local feed store.

The weather’s beautiful. Sunny after the snow. Crisp, clean, and sparkling with the kind of magic only a white Christmas can deliver.

“Fine,” she says. The cheering probably echoes all the way down the mountain.

The puppy startles. Then joins in, barking furiously at absolutely nothing.

I open the crate.

Luke scoops him up. The puppy immediately begins licking his face. “He’s perfect.”

“He has no survival instincts,” I warn.

“So, he’s like Luke.” Helen laughs so hard she nearly drops to her knees.

“Hardly,” Clara’s voice cracks. Memories of the bear and Luke’s disappearance still too fresh. I slide my fingers between hers, squeezing.

The puppy decides Helen seems trustworthy too. Within minutes he’s being passed from person to person. Loved. Spoiled. Exactly as it should be.

Eventually, Clara settles beside me on the porch swing while the children race through the yard. The puppy tumbles after them. Mostly unsuccessfully.

“What are we going to call him?” she asks.

I watch Luke carrying the dog beneath one arm. The puppy doesn’t seem particularly concerned.

“Something ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

A comfortable silence settles between us. The mountains glow gold beneath the winter sun. The cabin stands warm behind us. The children laugh. The puppy barks.

Life goes on. Not the life any of us planned. But a good one all the same.

Clara leans her head against my shoulder. “You know,” she says softly, “he kind of reminds me of you.”

I choke.

The woman laughs. “Stubborn.”

“Rude,” I grunt.

“Protective.”

I sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.”

We watch the puppy race after Helen and Luke. The tiny dog trips over his own feet then gets back up and keeps going. He’s got moxie. I’ll give him that.

“Watchman.” Clara’s voice is quiet.

I look over. “What?”

She nods toward the puppy. “Watchman.”

My chest tightens. Because I know exactly what she means.

Luke hears it too. His head snaps up. “Watch!”

Helen groans. “That’s not what she said.”

“Watch!”

The puppy barks. Apparently approving.

Luke grins. “It’s settled.”

The decision spreads through the yard with all the permanence of childhood certainty. Watch. The puppy tumbles through the snow after the children. The late-afternoon sun catches on brown and black fur and laughing faces.

Beside me, Clara slips her hand into mine. I squeeze gently.

The mountain stands watch. The cabin stands watch. And now, maybe, so does one very determined little dog.

Not a bad life. Not bad at all.

---