When Mark saw his husband's worried face, he immediately asked a question:
"What's wrong, honey? Some trouble at the farm?"
Steve sat on the edge of the sofa and answered calmly, as if setbacks were a common occurrence for him:
"Yeah, just... I've been seeing things lately, and the cows have been acting restless. Today I could've sworn I saw wolves roaming around, though I don't think anyone's seen a wolf in these parts for twenty years. I should probably talk to Miller and have him organize a hunt."
Hearing the name of the local hunter, who wasn't exactly well-respected in their town, Mark threw up his hands.
"Why on earth would you get involved with him? You'll only end up with more trouble. The stories the locals tell about him would make your skin crawl. Please, Steve, drop it. Ask our neighbor, Anthony, instead. He's not a hunter, but he's a biologist; he knows everything about animal behavior."
Looking at his husband, Steve put an arm around his shoulders and said:
"You really think a high school teacher is going to help me? The man jumps at his own shadow when a stray dog barks, and you want him to face wolves? No, Mark, I need a professional. And anyway, why do you always suggest things that clearly won't work? Come on, let's just have dinner. I'm starving."
Setting a bowl of hearty beef stew on the table in front of him, Mark stood his ground.
"Still, talk to Anthony. Maybe he can give you some decent advice. It might not even be wolves—you know how cows are."
***
The next morning, as he was getting ready for the farm, Steve thought it over and decided to stop by the biologist's house. Anthony taught biology at the local high school, which was why Steve always teased him with the title.
"Hey, neighbor, how's it going? Still teaching the kids the secrets of life?"
Frowning, Anthony replied seriously:
"Morning, Steve. Of course. The kids actually love my subject; they're fascinated by the natural world. I'm always telling them that biology is the queen of sciences—you can't get into a decent university without it these days."
Scratching the back of his head as if he'd just been scolded in front of the whole class, Steve said sheepishly:
"Fair enough, you're doing good work. Listen, Anthony, I've got a favor to ask. Mark suggested you might be able to help me. My cows have been acting strange. Not terrified, exactly, but definitely on edge. I can't figure out if they're sick or what."
Anthony looked at Steve intently.
"Interesting... but there has to be a reason. Tell me exactly what's been happening on your land."
Glancing at his watch, the farmer asked:
"Won't you be late for your classes?"
Anthony replied calmly:
"No, I only have elective labs today, and those aren't until the afternoon."
Raising his eyebrows, Steve laughed.
"Then why were you rushing around so early? Did you just miss the school building that much?"
Anthony shook his head and, stepping closer, said quietly:
"You could say that. But if you keep joking around, you're going to lose my help."
Steve had to back off.
"Alright, alright, I didn't mean anything by it. I suspect there might be wolves in the area. I'd like you to take a look and give me your verdict."
Waving him off, the biologist hopped into the truck without being asked.
"Are we going, or are you just going to stand there like a lamp-post?"
Whistling in surprise, Steve flopped into the driver's seat.
"Well, you're a quick one. Even I don't move that fast. Fine, buckle up, or the wind might blow you away."
The farmer slammed on the gas, and the truck roared to life, racing toward the farm. They drove in silence, both lost in thought. Finally, pulling up to the gate, Steve commanded:
"Here we are. We'll go the rest of the way on foot. By the way, start looking around now—maybe you'll find some tracks."
Anthony didn't answer and immediately headed toward the barns where the cattle were kept. For nearly half an hour, he meticulously studied the ground.
"I'll tell you this, Steve: wolves haven't been visiting you. But if they had, God forbid, they certainly wouldn't have left without a kill."
The farmer put his hands on his hips and asked crossly:
"What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm losing my mind? If it's not wolves, who's bothering my cows? A ghost?"
The biologist pointed knowingly at the dirt near the shed.
"Look here. A faint boot print. Do you really think wolves wear shoes? No, this is a human track. But the size is tiny—a child's, or maybe a very small person's. Either way, an adult's foot is much larger. If you don't believe me, compare it to your own boots."
The farmer actually lifted his foot.
"You're right, my boots are way bigger. But I still don't get it—where would a kid come from? The farm is miles from town, and kids don't usually wander out here. Come on, let's go inside. I'll give you some tea and some of those turnovers Mark packed for me. I can't eat them all anyway."
Sitting at the desk in his small office, Anthony brought up the footprint again.
"I think one of the local kids has made a habit of coming to your farm. If I have time, I'll ask around at school. Maybe someone's been talking about the farm or a 'wilderness adventure.' You know how it is—kids get bored after school and go looking for excitement."
Nodding, Steve said:
"I totally agree. I was a handful myself as a kid; my parents were always hunting for me all over the county. But I still don't see how a kid could spook my cows like that. I remember when Mark brought his nephews over—the cows didn't even blink. No, Anthony, it's not just that footprint. Cows don't get that restless for no reason. Someone is definitely bothering them."
Slapping his hand on the table, the biologist suddenly exclaimed:
"I almost forgot! I noticed a makeshift bed in your barn, back where the hay is stored. If you still think it's wolves, they must be staying overnight with your cows."
Hardly believing his ears, Steve went to check the neighboring barn just in case.
"Unbelievable. There really is a bed."
In the far corner of the shed, there was indeed a sort of nest: straw matted down in a circle with a clumped-up pile at the top acting as a pillow. Anthony, standing nearby, said cautiously:
"I don't know who it is, but it's clearly not a wild animal. A predator wouldn't lie calmly on straw; believe me, a wolf would have satisfied its hunger by now."
Steve felt a chill of apprehension.
"True enough. So, what's the plan? What do we do now?"
Anthony raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What do you mean 'we'? You didn't think I was going to move into your barn and stand guard, did you?"
Steve patted him on the shoulder and said:
"No, nobody needs to stand guard. I've got a watchman for that. He's in the shack by the fence. Come on, let me introduce you."
A middle-aged man stepped out of the small wooden building to meet them.
"Evening, Mr. Henderson. Did you finish your rounds?"
Shaking his hand, Steve spoke up.
"Jim, meet Anthony. He's our high school biology teacher and an expert on wildlife. He claims there isn't a whiff of a wolf around here."
Turning to him, the watchman said:
"Glad to meet an educated man. Names Jim. As for the predators, you're right. I haven't seen a single one, and I've been working here a long time."
Shrugging, Steve returned to the conversation.
"Well, if there are no wolves, we can all breathe easier, right, Anthony?"
As they walked back to the truck, Anthony whispered:
"You can drop the formalities; we're the same age. As for the wolves you were seeing—they really aren't here. We saw the tracks, and they belong to a person, likely a child. That's what you need to think about. It's probably just local kids messing around. If that's the case, I need to figure something out so they stop coming here. The last thing we need is for your watchman to mistake them for thieves and pepper them with rock salt."
***
An hour later, they were back in town. To save time, Steve dropped Anthony off at the high school. When he got home, he told Mark everything he had seen.
Filling his cup with tea, Mark said thoughtfully:
"If it's not wolves, it has to be kids. But why would they go there, especially this time of year?"
Outside, a light snow began to fall. Steve watched it, nodding.
"Exactly. It's winter out there, but it doesn't seem to stop them, not even the bitter cold. You know how much those cows mean to me. I'm worried."
Mark hugged his husband and said:
"Stop worrying, honey. At least you know it's not wolves. And if kids are playing, they won't really hurt the cows."
Steve nodded in agreement.
"Maybe so, but I still asked Anthony to give them a talking-to. There's a guard on the farm; what if he panics and does something stupid? I don't need problems, especially with the law."
They dropped the subject and sat down to dinner. Mark had made a delicious batch of jambalaya. Spooning up the rice and meat, Steve was still clearly preoccupied. This worried Mark, and he asked gently:
"What's bothering that smart head of yours now?"
Looking out the window into the gathering darkness, Steve said:
"I still feel like I should head back there. I want to see for myself what's going on. And I'll check on Jim—if he's fast asleep, I'm going to give him an earful."
Mark noted with a sigh:
"Steve, have you looked at the clock? It's almost nine. Are you planning on staying the night?"
The look his husband gave him was so pitiful it made Mark's heart ache.
"Fine. Go check on your cows. Tuck them in and wish them a good night. Just don't stay too long; it's getting freezing out there."
***
Dressing warmly, Steve quickly warmed up the truck and raced back to the farm. The watchman met him in high spirits.
"Whoa, Mr. Henderson! Out here so late? Did you forget something? By the way, I let all the milkers head home early, just like we agreed."
Nodding, Steve headed straight for the barn where he and the biologist had found the bed earlier that day. He flipped on the light and cautiously walked to the back. He could tell immediately that someone was there; the hay wasn't lying the way it had been before.
"Hey! Who's there? Come out now!"
There was a rustle in the distance, but no answer.
"Probably just a stray dog. Fine, let it stay warm," Steve thought.
But as he turned toward the exit, the farmer suddenly heard a child's sob. He rushed to the hay pile and began frantically throwing it aside. There she was—a child. A little girl, poorly dressed, shivering from the cold and crying uncontrollably, her face buried in her tiny hands. Picking the little girl up, Steve wrapped her in his jacket and ran to the warm guardhouse.
"Jim, get the door! Hurry, this kid is half-frozen!"
Wrapping the poor thing in a blanket and pouring a mug of hot tea, the watchman asked the girl:
"Lord, where did you come from? How did you end up out here?"
With a voice trembling from the cold, the little girl replied:
"Please don't kick me out! I don't want to go back to my mommy!"
After warming and feeding the child, Steve and Jim managed to piece together the truth. The girl's mother was a heavy drinker. When she was drunk, she would chase the girl around the house and smash everything in sight. To make matters worse, she constantly brought over strangers to join her in her binges. The house was always freezing and there was never any food, so the little girl had just started walking. She stumbled upon the farm and stayed the night in the hayloft. She kept coming back whenever the drinking started at home, sneaking back in the mornings past the guests sleeping on the floor. If there were any leftovers from the night before, she would eat them, but that was rare—the guests usually cleared everything out.
Steve and Jim listened to the shocking story with chills running down their spines. They couldn't imagine a mother treating a child this way. Leaving the girl with Jim, Steve started the truck and headed for the address the girl had given him. It turned out the poor thing lived in the next town over, about a mile and a half from the farm.
"How did she have the strength to walk that far?" Steve wondered the whole way.
When he pulled up to the house, he nearly fainted. From the outside, the place looked wretched: old clothes and trash littered the yard, and the porch had long since begun to sag with age. Pushing open the door, which was barely closed, he stepped inside. The stale stench of cheap liquor hit him instantly. Glancing into the kitchen, Steve almost tripped over the woman of the house. She was lying on the floor, muttering to herself, while a man was slumped near a bed in the next room. Steve didn't know if he was the father or not. To clear the air, he brought a bucket of ice-cold water from the well and doused them both from head to toe. They sobered up instantly.
"What are you doing, you maniac? How did you get in here?"
Steve had no desire to answer their mindless questions. Instead, he asked one of his own:
"Where is your daughter? What's her name?"
He realized in his rush he hadn't even asked the girl her name. The woman sat up on the floor and, barely able to speak, spat out:
"Playing somewhere, probably. That's our Tonya. When she gets back, she's going straight in the corner. Little brat's out of control."
So, her name was Tonya. Steve clenched his fists in anger.
"I'll be back for you. But first, I have someone else to visit."
Without a moment's delay, he started the truck and sped back to town. He didn't go home; he went straight to Anthony's. The biologist didn't immediately grasp what the farmer wanted.
"Good God! A child? In this weather? She could have frozen to death!"
Nodding, the farmer nearly shouted:
"That's what I'm telling you! Get dressed, fast! Let's go, you'll see for yourself."
***
When they reached the farm, Steve let Anthony out and pointed toward the guardhouse.
"Go on in. Maybe you'll realize why I dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night."
Anthony opened the door and stepped inside. Seeing the girl, he immediately gasped:
"Tonya? It can't be!"
The little girl was fast asleep, bundled in a blanket in front of the warm stove. Realizing now wasn't the time for questions, Anthony stepped back out and headed for the truck. Once he was in the seat, Steve turned to him with visible fury.
"Now we're going back to where she came from. Just try not to pass out."
Ignoring the bumps and potholes, the farmer drove at full speed. Finally, when they stopped, Anthony ran into the house without a word. He could barely stay on his feet because of the heavy stench. The owners were still sprawled on the floor, but the mother was the first to wake up again.
"Get out of here! This is our house!"
Anthony stepped closer, tears streaming down his face.
"How can you live like this? Your daughter almost died out there!"
But his words didn't seem to sink in. That was when the farmer took over the questioning.
"Alright, you pathetic drunks, confess. Who kicked the kid out into the cold?" Dragging them both into one room, Steve sat on an old stool and, prodding them with his boot, continued, "Why are you quiet? You think I'm just going to leave? No, you parasites, I'm going to get the truth out of you."
Anthony tried to intervene, but the farmer looked at him sternly and said through gritted teeth:
"Just call the Sheriff. Get him down here. Then you get back to the farm and get that girl. Take her to my place. I'll call Mark and warn him. The keys are in the truck; you can handle the rest!"
After following the instructions, Anthony waited for the Sheriff, who filed a report, and then took the girl to Steve's house. As the officer stood by the door, he looked at Steve and said:
"Just make sure there are no marks, or the lawyers will have your head."
By the next day, the whole area was buzzing with news of what the farmer had done to those deadbeat parents. No one could have guessed he'd go that far: Steve had put them both on a literal leash and forced them to do chores around the farm. All so they would realize the gravity of their neglect. It didn't last long, though; soon enough, county officials and civil rights advocates swarmed the town. He had to release the loiterers, or he would have been tied up in court for years. However, the girl was removed from the home. They wanted to put her in foster care, but Anthony convinced them to let Tonya stay under his guardianship. The social workers agreed to leave the girl with him while things were being sorted out. As for the parents, their rights were quickly terminated. Without a second thought, Anthony officially filed for adoption.
A month later, his request was fast-tracked and approved. Now Tonya lives with him, where his mother helps look after her. She hasn't forgotten how the farmer saved her that freezing night, and she gave her hero a drawing. In it, she depicted Steve surrounded by his favorite cows. He thanked Tonya for the gift and promised that in the summer, he'd take her to the farm even more often.
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