“Really, you’re not thinking of setting up a poor single mother with your kennel master?”

“You caught me. So what if I am. I’d be giving them both what they want.”

“And what does the boy get out of it?”

“A puppy.”

5

No amount of pleading with Miguel could stop his rage, a thing of violence that had probably been brewing all day. Poor baby. All that emotion stuck inside. He needed an outlet.

The moment Merry opened the bin of Christmas stuff and pulled out the plastic Santa, he exploded.

Santa died. As did the rest of the things in the box.

“You work it out, baby. Kill that stuff.” She encouraged him to express himself, something the doctor said could prove cathartic. At least it was something other than the apathy she hated so much.

Miguel shouldn’t move around so silently and without expression. A child should be talking and laughing, having fun. Was he enjoying smashing the stuff in the bin?

He certainly went about it methodically.

“Look, baby, you missed a ball.” A plastic one that squished flat when stomped.

In the midst of Miguel’s emotional expression, a knock arrived at her door. Terrible timing. Her son needed her right now.

She ignored it and so did he to kick at some tinsel.

“That’s it, baby. You work out all those nasty emotions.” She should have known he might react badly given he’d been getting tense ever since the Christmas-themed items emerged in stores. His dad had died a year ago, killed by a fake Santa with a gun.

A thing like that apparently stuck with a child.

Bang. Bang. Bang. The solid pounding rattled the door loud enough that Miguel paused. They both stared.

The locks, three of them in total, clicked and slid as if opened by a key.

No one but her had the keys. She rose from the floor and gasped as the door opened.

The frame filled with a big man—truly imposing—with dark hair and eyes that glowed green for a second like an animal’s caught in a headlight. He wore a calf-length dark gray duster and big boots streaked with dirt and had a stubbled jaw and a scowl.

It might have been a while since she’d been to church, but she made the sign of the cross. Behind her, Miguel gagged.

The big man also grimaced. “Seriously?” He glanced past her and frowned even deeper. “What is going on?”

“Uh.” She found herself at a rare loss for words.

The guy snapped his fingers. “Hello. Are you high? Because if you’re high, this will have to wait.”

“What will have to wait?” Did he speak of her death? She wondered given the size of his hands.

Rather than reply, he dug around inside his coat and retrieved something.

Not a gun.

Something even more surprising, which he cradled in the nook of his arm.