The grocery store isn’t busy, and in less than ten minutes I’m cruising home with readymade grilled chicken and potatoes. A few raindrops land on my cheek, followed by several more. Our house is in sight, so I hurry up the street and jog up our walkway before it starts pouring.
The front door’s unlocked as usual. “Hi Mom! I brought dinner,” I shout, setting the damp deli bag on the hall table. Then I rush outside to grab the newspaper, still on the stone path from this morning before it gets wet. Some idiot sets off a firecracker that scares me half to death, but I’m not the only one frightened. To my horror I see a flash of black and white in the corner of my eye and turn to see the Count tear out of the house.
Mom yells from inside, “No! Kitty, come back!”
Damnit, this is what I get for leaving the front door wide open for that crazy cat. I try to block the little bugger from his escape, and have him directly in my sightline. He’s right in front of me pretending to lounge near the old hydrangea bush. Carefully, I inch closer.
“Gotcha!” I lunge for him and wind up on my butt as he slips through my hands and darts to the next-door neighbor’s yard.
Mom begs from the doorway. “Grab him! Please! Find him!”
“I will, Mom. Don’t worry, I’ll get him,” I yell over my shoulder, running into the neighbor’s yard. Good thing none of us have fences in this neighborhood or I’d never catch him. I scan the premises.There he is.He’s chilling beside a gnome tucked in the corner of the yard.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I call out sweetly, cautiously approaching him.
Chapter four
Bo
After paying Lizbeth for the day, I dump my keys on the counter with a soft clink and check the fridge. Not a lot going on there. Was I expecting food to magically appear? I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, and toss a frozen pizza in the oven. I tug on a pair of scuffed leather gloves, and amble into the living room.
“Did you miss me?” I ask, kneeling beside the crate of the juvenile great horned owl I’m rehabilitating. A local brought him to my clinic seven weeks ago, a tiny thing that had tumbled from his nest. West Palomino Elementary's second-grade class held a contest to name him, and Hoot was the winner. He’s become a celebrity, even though I’ve let as many people as possible know that Hoot isn’t ours to keep. He isn’t a pet.
“How’d you and Lizbeth get along today?” My voice stays low and soothing as the owl perches calmly, his amber eyes blinking lazily. Soft, downy tufts frame his face, making him look like a grumpy old scholar caught in the middle of a nap.
With careful precision, I unlatch the crate, the metal clasp giving a quiet click. “Time to check those wings, buddy.” I easethe door open, my movements slow to keep him calm, and gently scoop him up, one gloved hand cradling his chest, the other supporting his spine.
Hoot emits a faint, scratchy chirp but stays relaxed, trusting me after weeks of care. I place him on the towel on the coffee table. He stands tall, talons lightly clutching the fabric, his head swiveling to track my every move. “That’s it, champ,” I whisper, brushing a finger along his back to calm him as I begin my checkup, assessing if he’s ready to return to the wild.
Using my penlight, I examine Hoot’s eyes and find them bright and alert, with no trace of haze or discharge. He blinks rapidly, feathers puffing slightly, but holds still. I extend one wing with care, my fingers tracing the sleek feathers to test their strength and alignment, ensuring they’re fit for flight.
Then I glide my fingers over his primary feathers, checking for weak spots or uneven growth, and nod as the wing tucks neatly back. “You’re doing great, buddy,” I murmur. A sudden thump from the backyard snaps my attention to the sliding glass doors. I freeze with my hand hovering over Hoot as bushes rustle outside, making a sharp sound against the gentle drizzle. Odd, there’s no wind tonight.Was that a yelp?
“Don’t get spooked now, ”I say, lifting Hoot carefully. “We’ll pick this up after I figure out what’s going on out there.” I tuck him inside the crate, secure the latch, and grab a flashlight from the counter. My hand brushes over the cold metal of my gun in the drawer and I decide to take it with me. It’s better to have it and not need it, than need it, and not have it. Who knows what I’ll run into? I quietly slip out the back door into the rain.
“Ouch! Shit!” A woman’s voice comes from the northern perimeter of my property. “Come here, you little bugger!”
“Everything alright?” I call out softly, keeping my tone calm as I sweep the flashlight’s beam across the yard. It catches a tumble of fiery red hair, shimmering in the wet glow, and a spectacularcurvy behind that looks vaguely familiar. The mysterious intruder is on her knees, her sleeveless top damp and clinging to her frame, jeans smudged with mud. Her arm disappears into a sprawling shrub as she coaxes, “Now, come out of there, you stinker!” Whatever she’s after stays hidden.
“Need some help?” I step closer.
“Huh?” She twists, peering at me over her shoulder, her green eyes wide with surprise. A flush creeps across her cheeks, and she scrambles upright, brushing damp curls from her face with a dirt-streaked hand. “Oh, my God, it’s you.”
Do I know her?
“I’m so sorry,” she softens her voice, rubbing her palms on her jeans, leaving smears. “My mom’s cat bolted from our house and won’t come near me. If he gets hurt, she’ll never get over it.” She winces, her gaze flicking to the shrub before settling back on me. “I shouldn’t have left the front door open. If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault,” she adds under her breath.
“Maybe I can help,” I offer, approaching her, half expecting her to disappear like a mirage.
“I guess the kitty couldn’t have picked a better yard to hide out in. I’m Riley, by the way. I live a few houses down the street.”
“Bo Jordain.” I extend a hand, and when her fingers brush mine, a jolt surges through me.
“I think the whole town knows who you are.” She sends me the kind of expression that could knock the clouds from the sky.
“Have we met before?” I ask, leaning in just a touch, my voice dropping lower as I study her face, memorizing the curve of her jaw.
She shakes her head, her damp hair swaying, and her eyes dart to the grass, a shy edge to her smile. “But you probably know my mom. Mrs. O’Donnell? And her kitty The Count? She brings him to your clinic for his checkups.”
