Could Heathcliff have gotten away from the motorcyclist and headed for home? Was he barking all the way there? Was that what she had heard? He was known for grumbling under his breath when he wanted a walk, a snack or a belly scratch. For a guy who didn’t speak the language, he sure got his point across.
Again, Lindsey felt her chest get tight, while her throat constricted and tears stung her eyes. She just didn’t think she could stand it if something bad happened to him.
She decided to go farther down the road just to rule it out. She had only gone about one hundred yards when she saw it. Parked on the edge of the road was a big black motorcycle.
Lindsey began to run. She yelled, “Heathcliff!” Her voice came out desperate and hysterical, not inaccurate, but not very intimidating either, so she cried out again, this time lowering her voice, “Come here, boy!”
If the person who had taken him was about to cause her baby harm, she wanted them to know she was coming. Not only that but she wanted them to know she was not afraid to kick some biker ass either.
When she reached the motorcycle, she put her hand on the body of the vehicle. The engine was still warm. It felt good against her chilled fingers, but she didn’t linger. It was clear that whoever rode the motorcycle had arrived recently, so they were probably nearby.
She glanced around, trying to determine where to go. The dried reeds to the right were flattened in one section, as if someone had recently stepped on them. She forged ahead, stepping carefully into the phragmites, feeling a bit like she was stepping into a cornfield maze as the reeds closed in over her head.
“Heathcliff!” she called.
This time there was no mistaking the sound of a dog’s bark, and it was coming from the direction of the marsh up ahead.
“Heathcliff!” she cried again.
This time he answered with a frenzied bark, as if her little guy was in trouble. Lindsey broke into a run, slamming through the reeds, not caring that they yanked off her hood and snagged her hair and lashed her face. She had to get to her boy.
She broke through the tall grass and stepped into a clearing. A short dock led to a dilapidated fishing shack made of weathered wood; well, what was left of it anyway. She assumed the past few days of rain and wind had shoved it off of its perch and dropped it into the soggy marsh. Only a few feet of the top and the roof were visible where they stuck up out of the mud. It looked like the mucky marsh was slowly sucking the shack into its mouth like a snake swallowing a rat.
“Heathcliff!” she cried.
A sharp bark answered from inside the shack. Lindsey hurried forward. She climbed onto the broken weathered boards that made up the haphazard dock. She slipped once, pinwheeled her arms to get her balance and then moved a little bit more carefully. Heathcliff was inside. He was safe. If she didn’t crash into the side of the structure like a rampaging elephant, he would likely remain so. She inhaled slowly through her nose and let it out.
None of this made any sense. Why had the motorcyclist kidnapped Heathcliff? To hold him for ransom in the shack? If so, why was their bike parked back on the road? Where were they? Lindsey had no answers. She just knew her dog was in there and she would full-on brawl to get him out if she had to.
She inched her way along the rain- and mud-slicked boards until she got to the front. The shack was small, maybe seven by seven. She hunkered down beside the opening that had probably once held a door. She peered around the edge, hoping to get a glimpse inside.
She blinked into the gloom. It was too dark to see, but she could hear someone breathing. It was a raspy panting sound, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Help me!”
Lindsey started. She heard Heathcliff whine, and she leaned into the opening. “Why did you take Heathcliff? If you’ve harmed him . . .”
“Heathcliff, huh? Is that because you’re a Wuthering Heights fan or because this fine young dog fits the description ‘half covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deep-set and singular. I remembered the eyes.’” It was a woman’s voice, low and earthy, and full of humor.
“I am a Brontë fan, which I gather you are, too,” Lindsey said. She studied the woman. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’d say he was the one who took me. I was on my way to an appointment when he lay down in front of my motorcycle,” she said. “Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen. I had to pick him up to get him to move. I figured I’d take him with me and hope someone recognized him, as I’m not from around here. I went to turn onto the street I needed and he bolted, barking at me over his shoulder like he was demanding that I follow. I hesitated for a second, but he was clearly in distress, so I followed him and he led me here.
“I don’t understand,” Lindsey said. She blinked into the gloom. “Why would he want to come here?”
A pitiful mewling sound was the only answer Lindsey got before a bedraggled Heathcliff slopped his way toward her, clearly being pushed by the person inside the dark shack. Lindsey reached out to grab him, and it was then that she saw he carried a tiny gray kitten by the scruff of its neck in his mouth.
“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. She took the kitten, and Heathcliff turned and darted back inside.
“Yeah, we’ve got a whole litter in here, and your boy was determined to get them out,” the woman said. “Judging by the weather, I’d say we were just in time. I think we can get them out one at a time, but mama cat is pretty unhappy. Can you hold the kittens for me?”
There was a yowl as if the mother in question was protesting the woman’s choice of caregiver.
“Yeah, sure, I can do that,” Lindsey said.
She plopped the kitten into one of her large coat pockets. Her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and now she could just make out the woman inside. She was up to her thighs in mud and water. Her teeth were chattering despite the heavy leather jacket that she wore.
Mother cat and kittens were on a ledge just above the waterline. Lindsey had no doubt that if the storm kept up overnight as it was predicted to do, they all would have drowned. Several boards had been used to build a makeshift ramp, and Lindsey realized the woman must have done this in order to help Heathcliff get the cats out.
“Sort of wish I had an ‘Eat Me’ cake right about now,” the woman said. “I could rip the roof off this place and just scoop the cats out of here.”
“Alice in Wonderland?” Lindsey asked with a laugh. “That would help you grow big enough for the moment, but you’d also need the ‘Drink Me’ potion to shrink back to your original size.”
Heathcliff slipped and scrambled across the boards and plopped another kitten, a black-and-white one this time, into Lindsey’s hands.
“Aw, aren’t you just the saddest-looking thing?” Lindsey asked. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Careful,” the woman said. “‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’”
“The Little Prince,” Lindsey identified the book quote. “Nice.”
The woman leaned closer to the door, and Lindsey caught a glint of light on the woman’s hair, which appeared to be a big fat braid of deep purple that hung halfway down her back. Interesting. She seemed very well read for a biker.
“Who’s your favorite author?” Lindsey asked.
“Now that’s like asking mama cat here who her favorite kitten is,” the woman said. “I could never choose a favorite book. There are far too many that have meant too much to me over the years.”
“I feel the same way,” Lindsey said.
Two more kittens were dropped into her hands. She had to double up the two smallest kittens in her oversized pocket and hope they weren’t too squeezed in there.
“Okay, now I need to try and get mama out,” the woman said.
Lindsey heard the mother give a plaintive yowl. Clearly, she was unhappy that her babies had been taken, and the rising water was only adding to her stress. Lindsey leaned i
nto the shack to get a look at the situation. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light, and when she saw the mama cat, it all started to make sense.
“That’s your friend, isn’t it, boy?” she asked Heathcliff. She glanced at the woman and said, “Heathcliff might be able to help. He’s been chasing this mama cat around the marsh for months. I think he considers her his friend.”
“That makes sense,” the woman said. “Let’s see if he can coax her out.”
Heathcliff seemed to understand, as he jumped onto the ledge where the cat had curled up into a defensive ball. She hissed and spat and tried to swat him with her claws, but there was no heat behind the attack.
Heathcliff patiently put his nose forward until she rubbed her face against his. Then he licked her head as if to assure her that it was going to be okay. Lindsey felt as if she were a proud mom watching her firefighter son come out of a burning building having just saved a family.
The woman inside kept talking to the two animals in a low, soft voice that soothed. Lindsey watched as she slid off her jacket and held it open like a makeshift bag. After some adjusting of his position, Heathcliff picked up the mama by the scruff of her neck and dropped her into the jacket. Before the cat could maul her, the woman bundled her into the coat.
“Lead on, hero,” the woman said to Heathcliff, and he climbed up the ramp and outside to stand with Lindsey. The woman handed her coat through the opening to Lindsey.
Mama cat blinked against the bright outdoor light as her pupils contracted. The pretty gray cat had fur as soft as crushed velvet and green eyes that seemed above average in intelligence.
“You may want to pick better places to have your litter next time,” Lindsey said. The cat blinked and began to lick her shoulder.
The woman tried to haul herself out of the shed, but the muck held her fast with its suction-like grip. Lindsey put the cat down and reached into the doorway to give the woman a hand. Lindsey leaned back as she pulled, bracing herself with her feet. It was harder than she’d anticipated to fight the muck, which seemed intent on keeping its prize.
The woman’s white blouse was soaked and adhered to her skin, making it almost transparent. Lindsey could see a colorful sleeve of tattoos decorating her arm; they were renderings of books in flight against a starry background.
“Tell me if I’m crazy,” Lindsey said as the woman burst through the door with one big heave, “but your name wouldn’t be Paula Turner by any chance, would it?”
The woman rose to her feet. She was covered in mud from her armpits to her boots. She turned her head and gave Lindsey a sidelong look and raised one eyebrow.
“Who wants to know?” she asked.
“Lindsey Norris, library director,” Lindsey said and held out her hand.
Paula nodded as she shook her hand. “I think I missed my interview.”
“Yes, you did,” Lindsey said. She led the way off the dock, carrying mama cat. Once on shore, she pulled the kittens out of her pockets and returned them to their mother. She and Paula watched as the family nestled deeper into Paula’s coat.
Lindsey glanced at Paula and noted that she looked defeated but not surprised.
“That’s too bad,” Paula said. She hunkered down to inspect the cats. “Library clerk sounded like the perfect job for me.”
“Oh, you got the job,” Lindsey said as she crouched beside her.
“What?” Paula gasped. She looked genuinely stunned. “But you don’t know anything about me or my past, which is—”
“I know what’s important,” Lindsey interrupted. She met the woman’s gaze. She liked what she saw there. She was operating on instinct now, but then this whole day had been a lesson in following her gut. “I know enough. Welcome to Briar Creek, Paula Turner.”
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