Songbird's Call

by Herron, Rachael

  Even with his head down, looking at something he held in his hands, she could tell it was Colin McMurtry. The guy she’d hit with her car, so long ago. He had a wider jaw now. Last night she’d noticed his chest had broadened, too, and in the dimness of the street light, she’d been able to see he had a few crow’s feet around his eyes.

  Something fast and grey streaked in front of the car.

  Molly screamed.

  She jerked the wheel to the right, and swerved hard. The car fishtailed a little, and she held the wheel tight. Too small to be a dog, maybe it had been a cat? Surely it was too small to be a cat. Could it have been a rat, like the one she’d imagined she’d heard early that morning in the darkened café? Was the whole town full of rats? It was a wharf town, after all.

  But she’d heard no thump and felt no jolt. Maybe she’d missed it, then, whatever it was. She looked in the rear-view mirror to see if she could spot something dead in the road. All she saw were flashing lights.

  Yep. He was pulling her over.

  Fantastic.

  She bumped the side of the curb with the front tire. Dang it. He was going to think she was drunk at nine in the morning.

  The clouds picked that moment to burst. Well, if Molly was going to get a ticket, maybe the buckets of water being dumped from the sky would speed up the process. She tried not to think about the fact that she barely had enough in the bank to cover a parking ticket, let alone a moving violation.

  “Hi,” she said, as the sheriff came to her window. Rain drenched him, and as he glanced upwards, she noticed again how firm and wide his jaw was. “Going to arrest me again?”

  She could tell he was trying to swallow a smile. “Depends. Are you drunk?”

  “No, sir.” His hair was thick and black, and a wet lock fell over his eye. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and his lashes were long and already misted. He looked as if he should be striding a highland in a kilt, not wearing a cop’s uniform.

  “Sir? Come on, now. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

  “Because I swerved back there like a maniac?”

  He nodded. Rivulets of rain ran down his face and into the neckline of his shirt. There was a slight bruise over his brow, but he didn’t have a black eye. Thank God.

  “That would be why. Is everything okay?”

  “I didn’t hit one single person.”

  “Good for you!”

  “Hey.” Her stomach tightened. “You’re getting soaked.” A gust of wind pushed rain into the car’s open window. “And so am I.”

  “Why did you swerve?”

  “I think a baby mongoose ran in front of my car.”

  “A mongoose, huh? I wasn’t aware we had a problem with those in town.”

  Something about the grey skies above and the water coursing down his head and shoulders made him look like a block of granite, carved by wind and weather.

  “Baby possum?”

  He shook his head and water fell from his cheekbones. “Not at this time of day.”

  Was he going to cite her? Or were they just going to keep talking in the middle of a downpour? “So what do you think it was, then?”

  “Probably one of those kittens I saw last week.”

  “Kittens?”

  He nodded. “There were a couple of them just up the block, but when I went to search the bushes for them I couldn’t find them or their mother.”

  “Poor things.” She looked out the window at the rain that lashed down. “In this weather.”

  “I’ll go look for it.”

  Molly had the car door open before she even knew what she was doing. “I’ll help.”

  “It’s pouring.”

  “All right, master of the obvious. Let’s do this.”

  And something sparked in his eye that made Molly feel so warm that for a moment, she didn’t feel the freezing rain even in the slightest.

  CHAPTER SIX

  For fifteen minutes, they searched for the cat that might not even be a cat. Colin went farther into the bushes than she did. He climbed easily over logs, while Molly searched under them. She lifted low branches, and called softly, in case the kitten heard and came out.

  They found nothing.

  Colin said, “You’re freezing.”

  Molly’s teeth chattered. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Get in the car.”

  Molly wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t know what he was talking about. The only problem was that she was starting to shake all over. “Fine. But you get in, too.”

  And then she saw it. A little grey bedraggled kitten, huddled under the edge of the curb, next to a storm drain. One more surge of rain water might drag the wee thing underground. “There!” She pointed.

  As Colin approached, the kitten shrank low. “We need something to lure her out.”

  “Cream cheese! For the bagels. Hang on.” She grabbed the container from the car and opened it for him. “Here.”

  Colin moved slowly, looking for all the world like he didn’t care that he was soaked, kneeling in the gutter, extending a fistful of cheese. The kitten, distressed, opened its mouth, but Molly was too far away to hear it. If Colin moved too quickly, it might go into the drain, or run out into the traffic lanes.

  Then the kitten walked towards him, and licked his fingers, tentatively at first, then with some conviction. Molly would have swooped up the cat then, but Colin gave the little thing an extra few seconds before moving in slowly. Rain ran across his back and his hatless head. It dripped from the gun that hung at his hip.

  He stood, a smile breaking across his wide jaw. “Look what I got here,” he said.

  Inside the car, Molly started the engine. She turned on both of the seat heaters as Colin moved the passenger seat back to accommodate his long legs. She turned the blowers on hot. “Let me see her.”

  “It’s a her?”

  “Sure.” Molly didn’t know how to tell the difference, but she gave the cat’s behind a quick peek. “Maybe.” She held her up to the blower and rubbed her with the pile of napkins that had come with the bagels. “What are you going to name her?”

  “Me?”

  “I live in a hotel room, remember. And only temporarily.”

  “I don’t need a cat.”

  “No one does. They just happen to you.”

  “To you, maybe.”

  “Congratulations. You now have a kitten.”

  He shook his head. Water drops flew. “I have a critter I need to take to the pound.”

  And then the kitten leaped from her hands into Colin’s lap. She velcroed herself to his shirt and opened her mouth in what looked like it would be a wide meow but delivered only a squeak.

  Molly repeated herself, sure this time. “You now have a kitten.”

  “Well, hell.”

  Molly laughed, and the feeling was warmer than the seat heater under her thighs.

  Colin craned his head. “Those bagels smell amazing.”

  “Are you trying to change the subject?”

  “Nah. Just thinking of a name.” He reached back to open the lid of the box, keeping his other hand firmly around the kitten. “Blueberry? Onion? I don’t think so.”

  “Will you really keep her?” He was probably pulling Molly’s leg. He was a police officer – he couldn’t keep every stray that crossed his path.

  “Asiago. That’s it.” He held up the kitten and looked into her face. “Hello, Asiago.”

  The warm place inside Molly melted even more. Drenched cop, tiny drenched kitten. She felt her face flame. “What a brute you are.”

  He looked startled. “What?”

  “Brute.” She pointed. “That kitten has her claws in you, you big softie.”

  Colin McMurtry didn’t look soft. His jaw was square and hard. His hands were wide and his profile was as rugged as the coastline south of town.

  And he held the kitten like she was made of something precious and breakable.

  “Yeah.” He touched the kitten�
�s nose to his. “Who likes a little nuzzle? Does Asiago like a nuzzle?”

  “Brute, like I said.” Good grief, it felt like flirting. Flustered, she said, “Want a bagel?”

  “Sure. This day keeps getting better and better. You have enough to spare one?”

  “They’re for my sister and Nate, but there are at least a couple extra in there.”

  “What, are you one of those who won’t eat gluten unless it has all the carbohydrates sucked out somehow?”

  Molly didn’t answer him. Yeah, she was one of those people. She cared about what went into her body. She’d finally gained some semblance of control over her carb intake, and she didn’t want to lose that.

  “They’re for Adele and Nate.”

  The kitten was gnawing on the tip of his thumb. “But you would eat one, right?”

  “I’m a nutritionist. Those things are empty carbs, all white flour.” Why was he pressing this? Did he want her to say it? Did he want her to admit that she knew she was a bigger girl, and should be watching every calorie that went into her mouth? It was a sudden jolt of surprise, a twist in the pit of her belly, that Colin might be just another guy who thought all women should be the perfect size.

  She pulled out a blueberry bagel. Water dripped from her hair down her neck. She put the bagel in his hands. “Take it. Please. And I’m so sorry, but I just realized I have to go.”

  “Wait, what –”

  “Are you going to write me a ticket?”

  “Of course not.” Colin looked astonished, as if he’d forgotten what kind of uniform he was wearing.

  “Adele and Nate are waiting. Go dry yourself and that little thing off. You don’t have to keep her. I was just being silly.” Ridiculous, really. “She’ll be fine at the pound. Someone will adopt her.”

  “I’ll see you later, maybe?”

  “Sure,” she said. Whatever.

  Colin placed the bagel in his pocket and then got out of the car. He held the kitten under his jacket, and his expression had gone stony. He walked back to his patrol car briskly, and it was raining so hard she couldn’t see him in the rear-view mirror. He pulled out, giving her a crisp whoop of the siren as he passed her.

  Yeah, she’d blown that.

  They’d been having a surprisingly…delightful time.

  Molly almost regretted the tone she’d had in her voice. But her sharpness had equaled the level of disappointment that coursed through her, a sudden, unpleasant shock. She was done with men telling her what to eat.

  Or really, ordering her to do anything at all.

  God, she wanted a bagel.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Her heated seats had been nice, Colin thought. He pulled the patrol car up to the front of the police station, shut off the vents that were only blowing cold air anyway, and turned off the engine. He looked up at the two-story building for the millionth time, as the kitten wrestled her way closer to his ribs under his jacket.

  The building was so depressing-looking. Someday he’d paint it under cover of night. Blue, maybe. Or a bright, cheery yellow. That would shake up the town, wouldn’t it?

  His old man would roll over in his grave if he knew the police station had gone canary yellow.

  Inside, Marsha gave him a stack of Post-its. She knew she was supposed to use the computer to send him information, but Marsha was old-school. Sometimes he thought the office supplies were the only reason she did the job.

  “Dirk Whitey called again. He says that if Barbara Dow doesn’t stop parking her school bus in front of his house, he’s going to, and I quote, “light it up”.”

  “I don’t even know what that means, do you?” Would he shoot the school bus? Set it on fire? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  “No clue.” Marsha was on the far side of sixty, with bright silver hair she kept in a short bob. She’s been an administrative assistant at the sheriff’s office for a lot of those sixty-plus years, and it was no secret she’d always wanted to be a police officer. She would’ve made a good one, too. She was detail oriented, liked order in all things, and brooked no nonsense. Back in the day, though, female police officers just hadn’t been an accepted thing. Every day she wore a dark-blue button-down shirt tucked crisply into dark-navy pants – her version of a uniform. “But he said he’ll only talk to you. Is that a kitten?”

  “It is. And I’ll give Dirk a call.” Not like he didn’t have deputies who could handle this kind of thing. He had six of them. Two were off on medical, though, two were mostly worthless and taking up space until retirement, and that left him with two good ones, which wasn’t near enough, even in a town as small as Darling Bay. As the sheriff, Colin should have been tied to his desk. He shouldn’t have to sit in a patrol car and clock speeders. Last week he’d had to pull crossing-guard duty when Brad was in court. That had made the mothers laugh, all right. The sheriff, wearing a bright-yellow vest, holding the stop sign and directing seven-year-olds across streets that were never busy. “Anything else?”

  “Kitten.”

  He just gave her a cheery nod of agreement and then shut his office door. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, and used the spare towel he kept in his desk to dry off with. The kitten, now mostly dry, scampered across the papers on his desk.

  Molly.

  He touched his brow bone gingerly. The swelling was down, he knew, but it still looked bad. Probably good for another week. He hadn’t been able to sleep in the wee hours, and every time he’d rolled onto that side of his face, he’d thought of Molly again.

  She did something to him.

  That whole bagel thing, though…He’d had a girlfriend once who’d worked at a gym. Every single thing Jamie did all day was geared around what she could do to earn the food she put in her mouth. An hour on the treadmill meant a piece of pizza. Half an hour of running earned her another frozen yoghurt. Luckily for him, two hours of sex earned a bowl of ice cream, both things he had been very much in favor of. But it had been exhausting, watching her worry over every piece of food she put in her mouth.

  He wouldn’t have thought Molly would be like that. She was a curvy girl, after all. Always had been. He vaguely remember tabloids that had printed unflattering pictures of her, back when the Darling Songbirds were on top of the charts. Then again, they’d printed a lot of crap about Molly, since she’d been the mouthpiece of the band. The voice. They’d been political, hadn’t they? Something about vegetarianism and pissing off the country station’s advertising sponsors? Had that criticism gone along with the unflattering snapshots in the tabloids? He hadn’t spent any time thinking about it back then, but he guessed it could do a number on a woman’s self-confidence.

  Not that Molly should ever worry about anything like that. She looked amazing, if a little on the thin side for her. He remembered her a touch heavier, slightly thicker in the waist. He liked that memory.

  Her eyes. The memory of them had kept him awake last night, too. Her, sitting next to him in the dark on the sidewalk, after having beaned him with a cell phone. Something had moved between them, like static electricity. He’d had a dream about her, nothing special, just that she was looking in his eyes and laughing at something he’d said. He’d woken up smiling.

  His desk phone rang, and the kitten jumped almost straight up in the air. Litter box. He’d have to get one of those. And cat food.

  He reached for the phone, already dreading whatever was waiting for him on the other end. It was never a friend calling to see how he was. It was never someone wondering if he could meet them for a drink, or stop by for dinner. The work phone was the work phone for a reason. Being the sheriff came with a bunch of bullshit, and a lot of it came right down the phone line.

  “Hi, big brother,” Nikki said. “You’re so handsome and wonderful.”

  “What now?”

  “I’m behind on my rent.”

  “You called my work phone for that?”

  “I know you hate answering it. I figured I’d give you a good reason.”


  Colin tried to keep the sigh inaudible. He knew he probably failed. “How much?”

  “Six hundred?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Well, I only owe four hundred as my portion, but I’m pretty close to losing my cell phone, too.”

  She didn’t even sound apologetic about it. Not that Colin wanted her to grovel. That wasn’t the point. God knew if he’d ever had to ask for money, he would’ve had a hard time doing it. Nikki didn’t seem to. Then again, she was used to it.

  “What happened to your job?”

  “You hated me working at the laundromat.”

  It was true. He had. But at least it was a job. “Did you get fired?”

  She ignored him. “You said that only lowlifes hung out at the laundromat. You said that I’d get in trouble if I worked there.”

  Oh, God. “Did you?”

  “And by lowlifes, you meant poor people. Did you ever think of that?”

  That was a typical Nikki move. Shifting the blame on to him. “I have no problem with poor people.”

  “Of course you do. You’re a cop. That’s practically your job. Poverty breeds crime, isn’t that what Dad always said?”

  “I don’t give a damn what Dad said.”

  “Big words.”

  Colin used the damp towel to scrub at his still wet hair. The kitten leaped for the leg he’d leaned against the desk and just made it, clinging to him with tiny claws. “Did you call just to argue with me?”

  Her laugh came over the line. “Well, to argue and ask you for money.”

  “How are you?” Colin meant it. He wanted to know.

  And Nikki knew just how to dodge the question. “Someone told me you had a bruise on your forehead.”

  “This town, man.”

  “Did you get into a fight?”

  He almost made a joke about walking into a door, and then stopped himself. “Molly Darling is back in town. I thought she was a burglar at the old Golden Spike Café, and when I startled her, she threw her cell phone at my face.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome!”

  “I knew you would say something like that.”