style="font-size:15px;"> She glanced at him and flushed prettily. She laughed and eased the plug out of the wall.
He loved that blush. He loved calling her pet names. She was the sweetest woman he’d ever known.
“You think he’ll be okay?” she asked, gently touching the head of the injured squirrel.
“Careful, he may bite,” he said.
“Oh, they never bite me. I’ve picked up all sorts of injured things, even a snake, once. I had to put a bandage on his back. Weed eater got him,” she said ruefully.
“You aren’t afraid of snakes?” he asked, curious.
“I’m terrified of them,” she said. “But he was bleeding and obviously in pain. So I picked him up. He didn’t seem to mind, even when I started putting antibiotic ointment and a big Band-Aid on him. I had to take him to a wildlife rehabilitator, too. I wonder if it’s the one you know?”
He chuckled. “Probably. There aren’t too many of them around Catelow.” He paused. “What sort of snake was he?”
She blinked. “I don’t really know. He was quite large.”
“Color?”
She described it.
He burst out laughing. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. That’s a rattlesnake, you crazy woman! They’re deadly poisonous!”
“Are they? He was very tolerant. He didn’t even rattle when I put him in the box and took him to the rehabilitator. I guess that explains why he was upset when I wanted him to let the snake go. He didn’t tell me.”
He was amazed, and it showed. “Truly gifted,” he murmured.
“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
