cowboy shirt and Levi’s. His dark brown hair was short and had been recently washed. She found herself liking his quiet demeanor and he certainly knew what he was doing with the raptors. Moon peered drowsily out of her nest box. Then she looked up at Joe, studying him. This was the first time Moon had seen him. He kept his glove on the lip of the box so she would climb onto it when she was ready.
“Have you handled many owls?” Katie called.
“No,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Katie was standing in the aisle, a bag of food in her hand. It upset him to see how wan she looked. “Anything I should know about Moon?”
“Owls are the opposite of hawks, falcons and eagles. They’re slower. Owls think a lot about something before they do it, unlike other raptors. Moon is memorizing your face right now. All birds memorize. Keep talking softly to her, gain her trust and eventually she’ll climb onto your glove.”
Nodding, Joe kept up his quiet banter with the sleepy barn owl. Moon’s white breast feathers were dotted with caramel and black spots. “Listen, Moon, we got a bunch of hungry hawks, falcons and eagles in here. Are you going to hold up the breakfast line for all of them?” He grinned as Moon tilted her head, peering intently up at him. Then, unexpectedly, she hopped firmly on his glove. Her claws dug in, she fluffed her feathers and seemed content. Joe slowly eased her away from the nest box. Once out of the mew, he shut the door and walked Moon to the weighing station.
Moon hopped on the perch to be weighed. Her attention was on Katie, who stood next to Joe. Moon’s focus was on her opening the bag that contained some delicious dead white mice; the barn owl keenly eyed her breakfast.
Joe read off the numbers and Katie wrote them down on Moon’s file. The barn owl opened her beak and began a begging cry to Katie.
“How old is Moon?” Joe asked, watching Katie pull out a dead mouse by its tail.
“She’s three years old.” Katie lifted the mouse up and Moon gobbled it down in three gulps.
“How did you acquire her?”
“Moon was discovered in a rancher’s barn. She’d fallen out of her nest as a baby. The fall broke her right leg. The rancher discovered her on the floor, picked her up and called me. I drove over and got her.” Katie smiled softly as she fed Moon a second mouse. “She was nothing but a ball of fuzz and fluff. So ugly but so cute...”
Smiling, Joe enjoyed the huskiness of Katie’s voice. It calmed him, yet excited him at the same time. She worked quietly and without any swift movements around Moon. “And she became an educational bird because of her broken leg?”
“Yes, the break was an open fracture.” She glanced over at him. “Moon’s fracture was so bad the vet said she could never be released into the wild. If Moon pounced on prey, it would break her leg again.” Katie closed the bag and gently ran her index finger down the soft feathers of Moon’s breast. The barn owl gave her a begging look for another mouse. “No more, Moon. Your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Go ahead, Joe. Take her back to her nest box.”
Joe placed his glove next to the perch for Moon to step upon. The owl continued to gaze adoringly over at Katie.
With a slight chuckle, Katie said, “No, Moon, I’m not taking you back to your box. Joe is.” She tapped the thumb area of Joe’s proffered gauntlet. “Come on, you have to get used to having him take you back to your home.”
The owl hopped on Joe’s glove.
“Does Moon understand English?” he asked teasingly as he slowly lifted the gauntlet with Moon on board.
Shaking her head, Katie managed a half smile. “No, but these birds are so psychic they pick up on what we want. As soon as you put Moon in her nest box, she’ll go back to sleep.”
“Right.” Joe saw that Katie looked a bit more perky than before. He knew raptors had a phenomenal ability to change a person’s mood. It was bird magic, he decided. Once in the mew, the barn owl leaped from his glove back into her nest box, trundled around, sat down and promptly closed her eyes.
Joe moved to the next mew, which contained two Harris’s hawks from Arizona. “Who’s first?” he called.
Katie looked around the corner. “Take Maggie first. She always wears the red jesses on her legs. Her mate, Mac, wears blue ones.”
“Got it,” Joe said, opening the mew. He knew the black-and-reddish-colored hawks from the southwestern desert of Arizona were among the few social hawks in the world. Many generations in the same family lived together. Maggie flew to a cottonwood branch, which acted as her perch. She was more than ready to hop on Joe’s glove. The hawk’s eyes were twinkling and he liked the ebullient energy around the Harris hawk. In the meantime, Mac sat on the back perch, shrieking and flapping his wings because he was going to be left behind.
After shutting the mew, Joe brought up Maggie to the weight table. The hawk, unlike the owl, was fast. Before he even got his glove to the scale, Maggie flew to the perch. If hawks could smile, Joe thought she was smiling. “She’s hungry?”
Katie laughed softly. “Not really. Maggie, you’ll find, has a mind of her own.”
“I guess,” Joe said with a smile as he leaned down to read the hawk’s weight. “I like women with minds of their own.”
Katie jotted down the numbers. Joe made her want to talk, to be closer. She liked the warmth that exuded from him like sunlight. While she felt great around him, there was also this black hole. She got the feeling she would never escape the depression hounding her. And yet, with Joe nearby, she felt a niggle of hope. How could he lift her spirits when she felt so despondent? After Katie fed the hawk, Joe took Maggie back to the mew and brought up Mac.
As they worked seamlessly, Joe felt driven to try to establish a more personal connection with Katie. He knew he had to do it for professional reasons. Last night, after talking to his boss in Washington, D.C., Joe had hung up the phone not feeling good about it. The FBI was convinced Katie was a criminal. His gut told him she wasn’t, but he couldn’t convince Roger. At least, not yet. And every time Joe looked at Katie, his heart lurched in his chest. The reaction continued to surprise him. Joe had no idea what it was all about.
Next came Sam the eagle. Katie asked, “Do you have an eagle gauntlet?”
“No, I don’t.” Joe grimaced. “Do you have an extra glove? Maybe a little bigger one?”
Katie walked over to the first green metal locker and opened it. The locker was seven feet high and she stretched up on tiptoes to grab a dark-colored leather gauntlet sitting on the top shelf. “Yes, here’s a man’s-size eagle gauntlet.”
“Good,” Joe said with relief. Their fingers touched. Instantly, he felt a mild electric shock travel through his hand. Joe hid his reaction and took the glove. He pulled his off and placed it on the desk next to the file. “Thanks. I’m going to have to order my own eagle glove.”
“Yes, you will,” Katie said. “Now, Sam will be eager to get out, so expect his testosterone, okay?”
Joe tugged on the glove. It fitted right up to his elbow, longer than the regular gauntlet. “I wonder if he’ll be as aggressive as that harpy eagle Eddie has?”
Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never handled a harpy. They have a fierce reputation and Sam, although he’s
