by Diana Palmer
“Animals like me, I suppose,” she said shyly. “I have to shoo the birds away from the feeders. One stood on my wrist while I filled up the tube feeder.”
“I like you, too,” he said softly, searching her pale eyes.
Her lips parted on a quick breath. “You do?”
He smiled.
“I mean, you’re not afraid I might turn you into a frog or something in a temper?” she asked, not quite facetiously.
“You don’t have a cat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everybody knows that witches keep cats,” he pointed out. “Look it up.”
She burst out laughing.
“Should I tell him about the two stray cats we feed every morning?” Clara teased as she came back with a shoebox and a piece of towel.
“Shh!” Merissa said quickly, putting her finger to her lips.
They all laughed.
Tank made holes in the top of the shoebox while Merissa held the squirrel.
“You’re going to be just fine, don’t worry,” she told the little animal. It looked up at her from wide, dilated eyes. It was still shivering.
“I think it’s in shock,” Tank said. He took the squirrel and put it gently in the box with the towel and closed it up. “I’ll call my buddy right away.”
“You’ll let us know?” Merissa asked.
He smiled. “Of course.”
“I hope they don’t eat the wiring in the attic,” Clara said nervously. “I’m going to close the flue right now!”
“At least he’s a boy squirrel. We don’t have to worry about any babies in a nest inside that the mother couldn’t get to,” Merissa said. “They say if it’s a mother squirrel and you close her access, the babies will all die. It’s so sad.”
“True. But so are electrical fires.” Tank glanced at the wall where the cord had been plugged in. “Don’t use that until I can get one of my men over here to check the wiring.”
“Okay,” Merissa said. “Thanks. I’m terrified of fire.”
“Me, too,” Clara seconded.
“Not much danger of that, just from a blown extension cord, especially when you’re standing beside it when it blows. But it’s always best to be cautious. I’ll take our friend home with me. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told Merissa.
She grinned. “Okay.”
He grinned back. “Good night.”
They went out to the porch to see him off. He waved as he went down the driveway, still covered with the remains of the snowstorm.
They went back into the living room. The small Christmas tree they’d put up that day was beautiful with its colored lights. Clara didn’t have them set to flash because it gave Merissa headaches. It was pretty just the same. Clara put an arm around Merissa’s shoulders. “So now I can see which way the wind is blowing, and I don’t even need to be psychic.” She laughed.
Merissa leaned her head against her mother’s. “I’m so happy. I never expected to find anyone who’d like me the way I am.”
“I thought I had, once,” Clara said quietly. “I made a terrible mistake. And you paid more for it even than I did.”
Merissa was very still. “Dalton knows.”
“What?”
“He knows, about what Dad did. He said if he’d known us back then, my father would have gone to prison for it.”
“I lived in terror for so many years, afraid that Bill would return, that he’d find us, that he’d want to get even with me for divorcing him,” Clara confessed.
“Do you know where he is?” Merissa asked worriedly.
Clara shook her head. “The last I heard, from his cousin who’s still in touch with me, he was working on the docks in California. I hope he stays there.”
“So do I,” Merissa replied. “Oh, so do I!”
* * *
TANK DROVE THE squirrel to the rehabilitator. It was necessary, because law prevented any veterinarian from treating a wild animal. That had to be done by a trained rehabilitator, and there were so few that many injured animals died. The rehabilitators were so overworked that many just stopped answering their phones in self-defense, not having realized the incredible number of injured wild animals they were signing up to treat. The law was in place to protect animals and the public, but it seemed to Tank that it was designed to let wounded wildlife die. Like so many other little-known laws, its good intentions sometimes were outweighed by its tragic consequences.
“At least this one will live,” Tank told Greg Barnes, his friend.
“Yeah, he’s just shocked and burned a bit.” Greg chuckled. “A couple of days rest and some good food, and he’ll be back out chewing up electrical cords again.” He put the squirrel in a clean cage with water and food. Nearby were many other cages, containing a raccoon with a bandaged leg, a wolf with a leg missing, even a raven with a broken wing.
“What happened to all of these?” Tank asked.
“Kids with guns” came the irritated reply. “A teenager shot the raven for sport. I had words with him and his father, and court action is pending.”
Tank shook his head. “And the wolf?”
“Ate two of a rancher’s calves. He was trapped. He lost the leg and would have died if I hadn’t found him. People and wild animals just don’t mix.”
“Ranchers have to live.”
The rehabilitator nodded. “So they do. Nobody wins in a situation like this. The rancher is being fined for trapping the wolf. It’s an endangered species. The rancher said his calves were also endangered, but it won’t help him.” He glanced at Tank. “Most of the people who write law concerning wild animals have never seen one.” He had a strange, wicked look on his face. “You know, I have this recurring daydream about putting a couple of these legislators in a room with several hungry wolves...” He sighed. “Well, never mind. But I guarantee it would change attitudes. The survivors would probably legislate for change.” He put his hand to the wolf’s muzzle through the cage and stroked it. The wolf didn’t seem to mind. “Not you, old fellow,” he said gently. “There are sweet wolves and mean wolves. Sort of like people.” He glanced at Tank. “But in the wild, a wolf is going to do what comes naturally, whether it’s kill and eat elk or cattle. The trick is to make sure the numbers aren’t so big that the habitat can support the pack and they don’t resort to raiding cattle ranches.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell Congress.”
“Wouldn’t I love to tell Congress how I feel about what goes on in the real world out here. How do you tell a wolf it can’t cross a property line? Or a raven that if it goes to ground hunting a rabbit it’s likely to be shot in lieu of a target?”
“At least you’re trying to help,” Tank pointed out.
Greg smiled. “Trying to. Yes.” He waved an arm around the room full of cages. “I have two more rooms like this.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Ever wonder why I’m not married?”
Tank chuckled. “Not really. I don’t know a lot of women who’d like to share space with a wolf. Even one in a cage.”
“Got a cougar in the other room. A ferret and a couple of skunks. All victims of trapping.” He shook his head. “The raven was a special case, I mostly do mammals.”
“Who brought him to you?”
He grimaced. “The boy’s mother. His dad thought it was great, how he hit the raven on the fly. His mother was horrified.”
“Good for her. I like to target shoot, but I don’t do it with animals. Well, except deer, in hunting season,” he amended. “I love venison.”
“Me, too,” Greg confessed. “That’s rather a different case. Not enough forage for an overpopulation of deer, so we hunt the excess to keep the herds healthy. Can’t explain that to outsiders, either. We’re killing Bambi.”
“Bambi can kill you with those hooves,” Tank commented. “They’re like razor blades.”
“Indeed they are. Deer are powerful, especially the bucks, with those big racks.”
“Think the squirrel will live?”
&
nbsp; “If he doesn’t it won’t be my fault,” Greg said. He smiled. “I love animals.”
“Maybe someday you’ll find a woman who does, too.”
He shrugged. “Or not.” He eyed Tank. “You got this squirrel from Merissa Baker, didn’t you?” he asked.
“No comments about curdling milk,” Tank said defensively.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg replied. “She’s got this way with animals, is what I meant,” he said. “Brought me a snake one day that she’d bandaged. She was afraid the bandage wouldn’t stay on.” He whistled. “Biggest damned timber rattler I ever saw, and it was lying in her arms like a baby. Minute I touched it, it tried to strike at me. But I bandaged it and nursed it back to health and turned it loose.”
“She told me about that.” Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Some gift.”
“Some gift. There are people among the Cheyenne tribe here who have it. I’ve seen them gentle wild horses with just light touches and tone of voice. You know,” he added, “maybe there’s something to this theory that everything has a soul.”
Tank held up both hands. “I have to go.”
“Just thinking out loud, is all.” Greg chuckled. “Anyway, your squirrel is going to be fine. Might not be a bad idea to truck him up north a few miles to turn him loose. For the sake of the wiring in Merissa’s house, that is.”
“I was thinking the same thing!”
* * *
TANK WENT BACK HOME. He was still laughing about the snake.
“What’s funny?” Mallory asked with a grin.
Tank smiled. “Merissa once took a snake to Greg Barnes for treatment.”
Mallory shook his head. “I’ll bet she hates snakes, too.”
“She does, but that isn’t what makes the story curious. It was a timber rattler.”
Mallory’s eyes grew larger. “It didn’t bite her?”
“Greg said she brought it in, holding it in her arms, and it just laid there. Until he tried to work on it, that is, and it struck at him.” He laughed at his brother’s expression. “She has a way with animals.”
“A timber rattler.” He sighed. “Well, that’s one for the books.”
Tank nodded and smiled.
Mallory was watching him with interest. “Things heating up, are they?”
Tank was surprised. “How would you know that?”
“You’re my brother. It isn’t like you to take an interest in a woman. Well, it’s not an everyday thing, at least.” Mallory was alluding to his own wife, Morie, in whom Tank had been briefly interested before he realized that Mallory’s antagonism to her was concealing a growing passion.
“I love Morie like a sister,” Tank said quickly. “Just in case you wondered.”
Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you better than that.”
“We had a very nice supper,” he recalled with a smile.
“I like the food at that place, too,” Mallory began.
“We went to a Chinese place in Powell,” Tank corrected.
Mallory’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
He shrugged, and jerked his head toward the base phone on Mallory’s desk in a corner of the living room. “Just wanted a change.”
“I see.” And Mallory did see. He was aware of the bugs.
Just as he said that, Rourke strolled in, one brown eye twinkling beside the one with the eye patch. His blond hair was thick and combed. He was wearing khakis, a habit from South Africa, where he lived, and he looked very smug.
“Fourteen bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.
They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”
“You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”
“You’re good,” Tank mused.
Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”
“Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.
Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.
Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his silence.
“Sorry about that,” Tank said gently.
Rourke shrugged again. “No big deal. I can go later. It’s not as if the war will be over in a day or two. Sad case. The president of the country is Harvard-educated, he’s brilliant and he has a feel for politics. His opponent comes from some dusty backwater village and he can’t even sign his own name.” His expression became grim. “He’s ordered women and children butchered for daring to help the government forces, in ways I can’t even tell you about. It’s like tribal warfare back in the 1800s, only worse.” He looked at Tank. “Even having been in a war in the Middle East, you have no idea how warfare is conducted in such places. I’ve been shot at by eight-year-olds with AK-47s.”
“Child soldiers.” Tank’s expression was eloquent. “People who employ them should be tried and shot.”
“They will be, when the president is back in his office. And he’ll prevail. I’m certain of it. He has the backing of most of the Western nations.” His smile was sarcastic. “His country is almost floating on oil, you see. Some of his advisors are spec ops people from a country I won’t name.”
Tank sighed. “At least he has help.”
“A lot of it. But meanwhile, whole villages are being burned out, their populations decimated. Crops are destroyed before harvest, so the refugee population grows daily. Borders are closing around the country, so there are tent camps set up everywhere. It’s the most heart-rending thing I’ve ever seen.”
“War is ugly,” Tank agreed. “Thanks for taking care of the bugs,” he added, changing the subject. “I was starting to twitch every time I looked at the phone.”
Rourke smiled. “I know that feeling.”
He turned. “I’ve got to talk to our electrician. I want him to go over to the Baker house and fix an electrical problem that the squirrel caused.”
“Is the squirrel returning when it’s mended?” Rourke wondered.
“Nah. Greg’s going to release it a few miles north.”
Rourke pursed his lips. “Does a squirrel have built-in GPS?”
Tank burst out laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe I should look that up before he has time to release the varmint.”
“Not a bad idea,” Mallory added. He made a face. “I wish Morie and my son would come back. I’m lonely.”
“I imagine Cane is, too.” Tank chuckled. “He’ll be missing Bodie, especially since she’s pregnant. He paces and paces, worrying about her.”
“Shopping trips.” Mallory shook his head. “I don’t know why they can’t shop in Catelow.”
“Big Paris fashion boutiques and fancy baby boutiques on the go in Catelow, are there?” Rourke asked with a bland expression.
“Well, not so much,” Mallory replied with twinkling eyes.
“Good point,” Tank replied. He was thinking of Paris fashions and how they’d look on Merissa, with her neat, trim figure.
“You need to bring Merissa to dinner when they get home,” Mallory commented as they wandered out of the house toward the bunkhouse.
Tank’s heart jumped. He smiled. “That’s a good idea.”
Mallory just laughed.
&
nbsp; * * *
THE ELECTRICIAN WENT to the Baker home, but midway there, he hit something and had to pull off the road. He got out to see what had stopped him and found, of all things, a spike strip, like policemen used to trap fleeing criminals, lying across the asphalt. He pulled it to the side of the road and left it, then called Darby Hanes.
“Can’t you just change the tire?” Darby asked, surprised.
“I’ve got four flats,” the electrician, Ben, muttered. “I don’t carry four spare tires on this thing.”
“Good Lord, what’d you hit?” Darby exclaimed.
“A spike strip,” Ben said disgustedly. “I can’t imagine why the police left it here for people to run over!”
“What police? You’re out in the country. And I haven’t heard anything about a chase.”
“I know.”
“Call the wrecker. I’ll be right there.”
“No need, Darby. I’ll go with the truck and wait while they get the tires on it. I’ll phone the Bakers and explain.”
“Well, okay. That might be best. While you’re there, get them to check the battery. Replace it if you need to. Truck’s been hard to start lately.”
“I noticed. I’ll do that.”
Ben sighed and called for the truck to be towed. As an afterthought, he tried to phone Merissa and explain the delay, but her phone didn’t seem to be working. No matter, he’d phone from the mechanic’s shop later. Surely it wouldn’t take that long for the mechanic to do the job.
* * *
“THERE,” THE ELECTRICIAN said with a smile. “All done.”
Merissa grinned. The man had been thorough. He’d checked all the phones and the wiring, and replaced the outlet where the squirrel had bitten the extension cord through and caused the short. He’d even checked out Merissa’s computer, just to be safe. Since it was so important to her job, he added, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure it was in good working order. She’d agreed.
“That’s so kind of you,’ she told him. “Thanks a million. I’d be happy to pay you...”
He waved payment away. “It’s just my job. I’m glad to help.”
She walked him out to the porch. He was driving a black sedan, nothing fancy. She wondered why he hadn’t come in a ranch truck, but perhaps he had somewhere personal to go and didn’t want to use the ranch’s gas for it. She wondered why the man gave her an uneasy feeling. Probably, she reasoned, she was getting paranoid. He was personable and seemed very kind. Still...