Chase hammered another nail into the two-by-four Kit had propped across the gap in the kitchen wall. They had scrounged some studs and plywood from a pile in the barn and their makeshift patch was taking shape, hopefully strong enough to keep out unwelcome visitors for as long as they remained in the house. When the nail was driven he lifted his cap and wiped sweat from his brow. “Most of this house is made of solid pine logs except the kitchen. Why’s that?”
“Daddy added a section onto the old kitchen about the time I was born,” said Kit. “Mom wanted more space and something light with lots of windows. Leave it to a tyrannosaur to find the weak spot.”
“Good point.” Chase picked up another two-by-four. “Let’s beef this up with some more cross-braces.”
She nodded. “Enough to hold it until Daddy gets back.”
To Chase, it sounded like Kit was in denial about her father’s fate. By refusing to believe something so tragic, she was staving off the pain of acknowledging her father’s death. That explained why she had brought his hat home and hung it on its peg by the back door. Sooner or later, though, she would have to face reality.
A “hrrumph” from Ogilvey in the living room reminded Chase of another pressing issue—the little matter of a dinosaur in the house. The professor had been seated on the couch throughout the afternoon with his notebooks on the coffee table, jotting notes about the captive pteronychus. As the creature had started coming around, Chase had cinched up the chains to restrain it to an upright pine-log ceiling post in a corner of the room. Groggy from its encounter with the shock weapon, it had squatted quietly at the base of the post in a posture like that of a resting swan.
Although Chase kept an ear to the living room as he worked, the pteronychus had made no effort to escape, not even testing the strength of its shackles. Now Ogilvey mumbled something to the creature—not that it could understand.
“One thing I’d like to know,” Chase said to Kit after pounding another nail, “is what we’re going to do with that beast.”
Kit pursed her lips. “I’ll bet the Army would like to get hold of it. On the other hand, Dr. O is as qualified to interrogate it as anyone. Who else has studied pteronychus for years?”
“Good point,” Chase admitted.
After they covered the patch with plywood they took a few minutes to hammer the kitchen table together with the help of some two-by-fours.
“Now, if it just had some food on it,” Chase remarked.
“It’s just about dinnertime,” Kit replied, “and my stomach’s been growling for hours.”
“We could make a run out for cheeseburgers,” Chase quipped.
“We’ve got a side of beef cut up in the freezer,” Kit said. “I’ll thaw some steaks. There are carrots, peas, and new potatoes in the garden.”
Fifteen minutes later Chase was shelling peas while Kit scrubbed potatoes at the sink. When the microwave oven completed its steak-defrosting cycle and dinged, Ogilvey came into the kitchen and pointed a thumb back in the direction of the pteronychus. “Do you suppose it’s hungry?”
“How would you ever know?” asked Kit, peering at the captive, which had recovered its senses but remained settled in the corner of the living room.
Ogilvey walked to the microwave, opened the door and picked up the platter of thawed porterhouse steaks. “Excellent,” he smiled. “I think it’s feeding time.”
“Now, wait a minute,” said Chase. “One of those is mine.”
Heedless, Ogilvey took the platter of steaks into the living room and Kit and Chase followed him. The creature was still in its resting-swan posture but when Ogilvey stopped a few paces away and cleared his throat, its head came up and its yellow eyes focused on him. He bowed slightly to the pteronychus and addressed it politely. “We thought you might be a little hungry.”
The creature rose to its feet, ignoring Ogilvey but eyeing the steaks rapaciously. It took a step forward until its chains pulled tight around the pillar—and held, to everyone’s relief. Droplets of drool collected on the ends of the creature’s ivory-colored fangs.
Ogilvey grinned. “I wonder how you like your steak cooked?”
“Or,” Kit interjected, “if it likes it cooked at all.”
The creature cocked its head birdishly, inspecting the meat with one eye and then the other.
Ogilvey hesitated. “This is rather awkward,” he murmured. Noticing how the creature worked its toothy jaws while staring at the platter, he turned and winked at Kit. “Judging from his keen interest, I think we’ll try it raw.”
He lifted a steak off the platter, holding it between thumb and forefinger. “Want one, then?”
The beast strained forward against its chains, its eyes fixated on the porterhouse and its fangs dripping saliva.
“Watch out,” Chase cautioned. “It looks like it could bite an arm off along with the steak.”
“Er, yes, good point,” Ogilvey replied. “I don’t know exactly what to do, except…” He tossed the steak into the air in front of the creature. It reacted instantaneously, catching the steak in its jaws and snapping it down whole. A series of head-bobbing swallows pushed the angular bulge of the steak down its gullet.
“You know,” Ogilvey advised the creature, “these things have bones in them.”
The pteronychus eyed the remaining steaks as though unconcerned about what was being said. Ogilvey picked up another from the platter and, noting how the creature’s gaze followed it, commented, “Hungry, aren’t we?”