as if he was about to step in front of Grandpa’s wild horse, he squared his shoulders and walked inside.
THREE
Heather left Bill to find his way and went directly to the back bedroom. Choo Choo rose stiffly, tail arcing like a pendulum, and trotted over. She sank to her knees. “Hey, boy.” She rubbed his face, muzzle gray-white against the black of his fur. “Were you scared from the gunshots? No more escaping. Let’s get you some food, huh?”
The dog gave her a lick and lumbered down the hallway. Bill looked up when they entered.
“Didn’t know you had a dog.”
“He’s new. Got him in Miami.”
Bill arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look new.”
“Okay, so he’s not exactly new.” She sailed past him into the kitchen and warmed some rice and chicken, which Choo Choo lapped eagerly. In truth, Choo Choo was supposedly twelve years old, according to the owner who’d kept him locked in a cement pen with no shade and sometimes no water. Heather would never admit to Bill or anyone else that she’d sold her television and paid the guy five hundred dollars to take possession of Choo Choo.
Choo Choo looked at Heather with filmy eyes as if he read her thoughts.
New or not, you’re worth every penny, sweetness.
Returning to the living room, she found Bill holding his shoulder with one hand and peering at a square of limestone with a delicate imprint of a fern, perched on a shelf.
“You into fossil collecting now?”
“No. That was my mother’s. I found a box of her things in the closet.”
She took a first aid kit off of the shelf and wet a towel. “Sit down and let’s get this over with.”
He looked at her, ink-black eyes expressionless. “It can wait.”
“I don’t want blood on my floor.”
He considered for a moment before he sat at the butcher-block table and peeled up his sleeve.
She hesitated and finally handed him the damp towel. No need to go all Florence Nightingale on a man who would rather be anywhere else. He took it and wiped the blood off his shoulder, then swabbed the wound with the antiseptic she provided.
She handed him a square of gauze, which he held in place while she taped it to his dusky skin. The muscles were hard and unyielding under her fingers.
Bill sat without complaint, his eyes examining the bookshelf next to the table and the picture of a serious woman with the same dark hair as Heather.
“Do you ever hear from her?” he asked softly.
Heather picked up the first aid supplies. “No.”
When she looked at him again, she saw the ghost of a smile on his mouth.
“Is something funny?” she asked. “A guy shoots at us, you get creamed with a shovel and something is funny?”
“Ironic, more like. You don’t like to answer questions, but you make a living prying into other people’s lives.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I make my living asking questions, not answering them. So here’s one for you. What is really going on? It seemed like you were expecting to find something entirely different than a fossil hunter. And I think you know perfectly well who vandalized your house, don’t you? Are you going to answer any of those questions?”
He sat back in the chair and pursed his lips in thought. After a moment he shook his head. “No.”
She groaned. Choo Choo scurried in, confusion in his filmy eyes. She called to him and rubbed his ears until he sank to the floor in a black mound of contentment. Bill had walled her off and she knew that she’d given him plenty of reason to do so. “You’re even more stubborn than you were before—” It was too late to undo the damage. Before Johnny was killed.
An almost imperceptible tightening of Bill’s lips made her realize she’d said exactly the wrong thing.
He didn’t reply and the silence extended into the uncomfortable zone. She squirmed in the chair trying to think of something to say to break the awkward quiet. A knock on the door startled her.
Captain Richmond stood on the step, his khaki uniform sweat stained and wrinkled. The bags under his eyes seemed to accentuate his droopy appearance. His mustache twitched as he spoke. Next to him was a dark-skinned man in a Tribal Ranger uniform. Heather recognized him as Al Crow, a friend of Bill’s.
“You called about a trespasser?” Richmond said.
“Heard the call. Thought I’d come, too,” Crow said.
She showed them in. Crow took in the sight of Bill and his bandaged arm, and his thick brows rose in concern.
“Okay there, man?”
Bill nodded and shook hands with him and Richmond. “Glad to see you.”
Richmond cleared his throat. “Yeah. Heard you were back. Thinking about signing on with Tribal Rangers again?”
Heather saw Bill’s gaze falter for a moment. “No.” Bill stood and rolled down his ruined sleeve. “I’m retired.”
Richmond nodded slowly. “So give us the rundown.”
Bill spoke, with a few interjected comments from Heather, while the officer scribbled in his battered notebook.
“Sounds like some kids,” Crow said. “They’re always looking for things to do. Doesn’t come across like a big deal to me.”
“I’ll take a better look in the morning,” Richmond said.
“I’ll come, too,” Crow put in.
“Not your jurisdiction, Ranger,” Bill said with a smile.
Crow held up his hands and laughed. “No problem to help out a badge brother.”
Richmond nodded. “Good night, Ms. Fernandes.” He turned to Bill and jerked his head toward the porch. Bill followed him and Crow outside.
Heather itched to know what they were talking about. As she casually walked by the window on her way to the kitchen, she could not see the expression on Bill’s face, but Richmond’s brows were drawn together, his face dead serious. Crow’s arms were folded across his barrel of a chest, his gaze fastened on his boots. Heather slid open the tiny window above the sink. No reason not to catch the cool night breeze. She washed her hands and put the kettle on to boil, straining to catch bits of the conversation. Still the two men talked, until Bill held up a hand and took a step away.
She caught Richmond’s parting words to Bill as the men walked into the darkness, the captain’s hand on Bill’s shoulder.
“Watch your back, Bill. We don’t want any more murders.”
Heather
