No Ordinary Hero
Rachel Lee
No Ordinary
Hero
Rachel Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u5352ad53-3f7c-5c75-b3f1-b05acec7eee8)
Title Page (#u89624dc7-10de-523a-86ec-3c098f8b3d11)
About the Author (#u9ba45722-22f9-5532-88e4-be2641b0e893)
Dedication (#u899579fb-90c4-5803-b8a2-777ad66d088d)
Chapter One (#u17bd6536-165d-5917-b9a0-cc90822a20fc)
Chapter Two (#ua1e81031-6159-573b-953d-4d80eb45827d)
Chapter Three (#u95e7f67e-0fa0-5b01-b3f8-91f82c5d65a4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader,
No Ordinary Hero was an adventure for me, a twist on the usual suspense. I left a question dangling at the end, hoping you would choose whichever answer best pleases you.
When two people fall in love, they often encounter differences in the way they view things, and the process by which they come to agree, or at least agree to disagree, has always fascinated me.
None of us would want to fall in love with a mirror image. How boring that would make life, to live in an echo chamber, and never experience the magic of someone else’s way of seeing even mundane things.
Mike and Del face a few major hurdles because they come from such different cultural backgrounds. Love, however, is not about to leave them alone in their private worlds.
Nor is the house.
Best,
Rachel Lee
About the Author
RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Her bestselling CONARD COUNTY series (see www.conardcounty.com) has won the hearts of readers worldwide, and it’s no wonder, given her own approach to life and love. As she says, “Life is the biggest romantic adventure of all—and if you’re open and aware, the most marvellous things are just waiting to be discovered.” Readers can e-mail Rachel at Rachellee@ConardCounty.com.
For my oldest daughter, for whom every day is a battle and every night another triumph
Chapter 1
Mike Windwalker, D.V.M., came home early from work, pulling into his driveway in his battered brown van, practically a veterinary clinic on wheels. It had been a busy but short day, allowing him to leave his assistants in charge of the kennels and point himself toward a relaxing late afternoon and evening.
A well-earned bit of relaxation, considering he rarely enjoyed a day off. Not that he minded his workload. In fact he loved it because it gave him scant time to think about all the things missing in his life. And the animals he spent his time with, if not all of their owners, didn’t give a damn that he was a “redskin,” a full-blooded Cheyenne, an escapee from the rez.
He climbed out of the van, feeling a little stiff from an unusual encounter that morning with a bovine. The animal had been half insane but worth enough money that the rancher wanted to be sure there wasn’t some treatment for the steer. In the process, he’d been kicked, although not too badly, nearly bitten—thank God he’d dodged that one—and had wrestled with twelve hundred pounds of maddened muscle while trying to get a blood sample.
He’d guessed it was rabies to begin with, but the rancher had been insistent. In the end, however, he’d simply had to put the animal down, over strenuous objections, with the flat statement that he wasn’t going to risk his own life or anyone else’s when the diagnosis was damn near written all over the steer.
He’d left with the body of the steer and dropped it off in his cooler so that tomorrow he could remove the brain and spinal cord to send to the state lab.
Fun day, stubborn client, and now he ached all over. Yet he still felt a lot of sympathy for the rancher, who, like most in his business, was running on a margin so small that losing one steer, just one, could be a terrifying prospect.
The only thing that had made the guy stand back and let Mike put the animal down was the possibility that if he kept that steer around, he might wind up with a sick herd—the only catastrophe worse than losing a single animal.
Mike tossed his head, causing his inky hair to fall back from his face. Despite local opinions about Native Americans, he defiantly wore his hair long. Let ‘em stare. His heritage was stamped on his face, and his hair was the crowning glory. Usually he tied it back with a beaded band, but today when he left work, he’d discarded the band. His scalp was grateful.
“Hi, Dr. Windwalker!”
The light, youthful voice called to him from the house next door, and he turned to see Colleen Carmody sitting in her wheelchair on the large front porch. The Carmodys had moved in a little over a month ago, and he’d shared a few brief conversations with thirteen-year-old Colleen, who was incurably cheerful and friendly. He’d even spoken to her mother Delia, or Del, a few times, but he tried to keep the contact to a minimum. He didn’t want any trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to cause any to the Carmodys. He knew his place; it had been beaten into him.
“You’re home early,” Colleen said with a wide, welcoming smile.
He couldn’t be rude to that girl, not for anybody’s sake. From inside the house he heard a banging, indicating that Colleen’s mother was busy at the restoration work she did to support herself and her daughter. “Yeah,” he replied, without approaching. “And I need it. I had a hard morning.”
“What happened?” Colleen asked.
“A very sick steer would have liked to kill me. I didn’t let him, but he almost won the fight.”
The girl giggled, a delightful sound, and rolled her chair across the porch so she was a little closer. Her red hair caught some of the spring sunlight that filtered through the leaves before it crept under the porch roof, and flamed. “You don’t look like you did so bad.”
“That’s because my bruises are under my pants. I figure I’ll look like a piece of modern art in a day or two.”
Another giggle answered him.
“How’s your day been?” he asked. Nope, no way could he be rude to that child.
He watched, feeling a twinge of concern as he saw the girl’s smile vanish. “Colleen?” Something must be wrong.
“It’s nothing,” the girl said. “I just don’t like this house.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, then said in a rush, “I feel like there’s something else in there. I hear things. It’s creepy!”
He looked from her to the two-story, clapboard house, and the blank eyes of the windows. Old house. Plenty of rot, no doubt, and maybe raccoons or mice. But something else … Some feeling he tried to shove away, because at least around here he had to be one hundred percent a man of science and bury instincts honed throughout his youth by people who believed in spirits and the sentience of even the very rocks.
“Rats?” he suggested. “Raccoons?”
“Mom checked. That’s what she thinks it is.”
He nodded, his gaze returning to the child. “She’s probably right. But you don’t think so?”
Colleen shrugged. “She didn’t find anything.”
“Ah.” He tried a small smile. “Then maybe some mice got into the walls. They can be so hard to find once they do that.”
“Yeah. That’s what Mom said, too.” Colleen gave another small shrug, seeming a bit embarrassed now. “I know she’s probably right, but it’s creepy anyway. Especially late at night.”
“That would creep me out, too,” he said sympathetically, letting his barriers down just a shade. “Scratching and banging from something you can’t see … Nah, I wouldn’t like that either.”
That elicited a smile from Colleen. “You’re kinda okay, Dr. Windwalker.”
“Just call me Mike.” He was about to say goodbye and head into his own house when the screen door behind Colleen squeaked open and a woman poked her head out.
“Colleen? Did you call me?” Then, as she saw Mike, “Oh! Hi, Dr. Windwalker.”
“Just Mike.” He felt nearly embarrassed that he’d kept such a distance since they moved in that they didn’t even feel free to call him by his first name. Of course, he was only protecting himself and them.
Del Carmody stepped out onto the porch with a smile. And once again he felt the impact of her beauty. Black Irish to the bone, she didn’t have her daughter’s flaming hair but instead hair much like his, the color of a raven’s wing, only shinier and finer. The impact was heightened by intense blue eyes and milky Irish skin. Right now she looked a little dusty, but that didn’t detract one iota from a body that even in jeans and a loose work shirt sans sleeves showed a perfect shape, the kind of shape only a woman could achieve from hard physical labor. The kind of shape that had always drawn him, more muscular than average but still curved in all the right ways. And that smile of hers.
Things he really shouldn’t notice. Couldn’t afford to notice. But he saw them all anyway.
“Mike,” she acknowledged, still smiling. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you guys, but I heard Colleen’s voice and wondered if she needed something.”
“I was just telling Doctor … I mean Mike, about the mice in the house.”
“The noises.” Del nodded, looking at her daughter with a flicker of concern. Clearly she cared that her daughter was frightened, even if the explanation had to be utterly benign. A loving mother.
“Mice in the walls can be a beast to get rid of,” he volunteered.
“Tell me about it,” Del said. She came farther onto the porch and leaned against the railing. “That’s where they must be because I can’t find any sign of them in the attic. I just hope I can get rid of them before one dies inside a wall.”
“That’ll make the place uninhabitable for a while,” he agreed. He felt awkward, standing so far away in his driveway, knowing the neighborly thing would be to approach. But he didn’t approach white folks readily anymore. Hadn’t since he was eighteen. If they came to him in a friendly fashion, fine. But he never made the first overture. And this situation, with a widow and her daughter, could cause exactly the kind of mess he’d been avoiding his entire adult life.
Awkward to stand at a distance, even more awkward to just walk away. Needless rudeness did him no favors, but then neither did unwanted friendliness. He’d given up sighing over reality years ago, though. The West was the West, and people here still harbored old hatreds.
He didn’t feel sorry for himself. Others, he believed, had it far worse. But he was well aware that he was always on a tightrope, at least in this part of the country. It hadn’t been so bad back east where he’d gone to veterinary school, but here … memories were long. On both sides, if he were to be honest about it.
“I hope that all my sawing and banging isn’t driving you nuts,” Del said.
He allowed himself a faint smile. “Not at all. I’m usually at work during the hours you’re banging away. How’s it going?”
“Well, the place was in worse shape than I guessed when I looked it over before I bought it. A lot of hidden problems. But it’s coming along.”
“A lot of rot?”
Her blue eyes met his openly, tired but smiling. “Oh, of course. Worse than I anticipated. When I started pulling out the old plaster, I found some of the studs were in pretty bad shape, and the lath behind the plaster isn’t so great either.”
“It’s a shame you have to replace the plaster at all.”
“I know.” She turned toward him, facing him. An open posture. “They don’t build them like that anymore. It’s killing me to have to put in drywall, but plastering would be a bigger headache than I want to buy, especially since I may have to replace all of it. I guess the roof must have leaked into the walls at some point, for a long time.” She looked back at the house and then smiled at him. “This job is always an adventure.”
“So’s Mike’s,” Colleen offered. “A steer tried to kill him.”
Del’s eyebrows, perfectly arched, lifted. “Why in the world would a steer do that?”
“I’m pretty sure he was rabid. He got in a few kicks, but I dodged well enough that the damage is minor.”
Colleen giggled. “He said he’s going to look like modern art.”
Del’s smile widened and she chuckled. “Ouch. There are days that leave me looking that way, too.”
He turned his mind away from inevitable thoughts about what might lie under her clothing, bruised and unbruised.
“How would a steer become rabid?” Del asked.
“The same way you or I could. A bite from an infected animal. I’ll look for the marks when I start the necropsy tomorrow, but it could have been anything from a raccoon to a wolf.”
Colleen spoke. “I bet the rancher thinks it was a wolf. They hate the wolves.”
“Yes, they do.” And entirely too much so, though Mike could understand their reasoning. For his own part, he prized the return of wolves to the area, both culturally and scientifically. “But it could have been something else. A rabid animal will bite just about anything regardless of size. And it’s my job to find out.”
“I hope it was a bat or something else,” Colleen said. “I like wolves.”
“I do, too.” Really. Because if he found a wolf bite on the animal, there might well be other infected wolves, and the hunt would begin. Considering that as near as anyone could tell there was still only a single pack on Thunder Mountain, that would be a tragedy, both for the wolves and the ecology.
Del straightened a bit. “You must be tired,” she said to him. “Don’t let us keep you in your driveway.”
She smiled, but instead of feeling grateful for her concern, he felt dismissed. “Thanks,” he said, trying to keep a pleasant tone. “Nice chatting.” Then he turned and started toward his door.
And on his back he could feel the eyes of two white women, forbidden territory.
Del watched Mike Windwalker stride away to his door, thinking he was an extremely attractive man, from his face to those narrow hips cased in worn denim. And she liked the coppery color of his skin, such a contrast to her own ghastly paleness. All her life she wished she could tan rather than freckle. Ah, well, she wasn’t in the market for a man, any man.
Then she looked down at her daughter. “You getting hungry?”
“Could be.” Colleen grinned.
“How hungry?”
“Um …” Colleen pretended to think it over. “Just teensy hungry right now. Big hungry comes later.”
“Fair enough.” She reached for the grips on the back of the wheelchair and heard an immediate protest.
“Mom! I can do it myself.”
Del had to smile. Colleen’s independence and upbeat attitude always made her smile … except when it made her cry for what her daughter had lost. “Okay, okay. I’ll just get the door.”
“I want chips!”
“Whole-grain pretzels.”
“Sheesh, Mom, I have a growing brain. I need the fat.”
“Smarty pants.”
“I learned it in biology.”
“You learn too much in biology.”
In the kitchen, which was still awaiting renovations, the dust layered everything. No way to avoid it at this stage of restoration, so Del grabbed a wet rag and wiped down just enough of it to feed her daughter some pretzels without all the plaster dust. In other parts of the house, near open windows, big fans tried to suck dust out of the house. They helped but not entirely. Just as the plastic she hung over the door to the kitchen didn’t completely prevent the dust from getting in.
As she was wiping around the sink, she noticed the window beside it was unlocked. She paused, wondering how that had happened. She never opened the windows in here because she didn’t want to create a draft that would suck the dust in around the edges of the plastic.
Damn, she couldn’t remember. For all she knew it had been unlocked for weeks or more. She might have done it in the way she did so many things, while thinking of something else. Except, she wouldn’t have closed it without locking it again, would she?
Hell. As forgetful as she seemed to be getting lately, it was silly even to wonder about it. Maybe one of the workmen or deliverymen had opened it briefly.
Sighing, she reached out to flip the lock closed.
“What do you want to drink?” she asked after she’d put a couple of large pretzels on a plate.
“Soda.”
Del faced her daughter. “You do this to drive me crazy, right?”
Colleen giggled. “No.” But the way she giggled had given lie to her denial.
Del laughed herself. “You know what’s in the fridge.”
“Yeah. Darn it. Wouldn’t you know I’d have a health freak for a mom?”
“Such a curse.” But Del couldn’t help feeling a pang. Her daughter wanted the same simple things every other kid her age wanted. Having to take extra care about her weight because her activities were limited only made it harder for both of them. “Okay,” she said. “Tell you what. I’ll get some diet soda at the store next time. Will that do?”
“I’ll love you forever.” An impish smile. “Can I have cranberry juice?”
“Always.” Del pulled a bottle of low-calorie juice from the fridge, rinsed a glass to remove any dust, filled it and handed it to Colleen. “Dr. Windwalker seems really nice.”
Before Colleen could answer, there was a buzz that sounded almost like laughter, and the girl pulled out her cell phone. “Yeah,” she answered absently as she scanned the screen then started rapidly texting a reply. The tap-tap of the keys was a counterpoint to every waking moment of the day. “Can I go over to Mary Jo’s for a sleepover tomorrow?”
“Sure, once I clear it with her mom.” Colleen had adapted amazingly well to her disability—so well that Del wondered if some of it weren’t just show to protect her mother—and the parents of her friends were more than ready to do the extra care Colleen required. Mary Jo’s mom had even installed handicap bars in her bathroom. But Del always felt she had to clear it.
“Mary Jo says her mom says to stop worrying about it.”
That sounded like Beth Andrews, for certain. “Okay, but tell Mary Jo to tell her mom to call me anyway.”
“Sheesh.” The word was accompanied by a small frown as the tapping resumed. “Okay, she’ll call.” Colleen looked up. “I guess I need to go back outside?”
“Just for a bit, sweetie. I’m done making dust for the day, but I want to get rid of some more of it and let the rest settle safely.”
Colleen had a little flip tray on her wheelchair and she had set the pretzels on it. The drink created a problem, however.
Del didn’t wait for the question. “Why don’t I carry your food out while you resume the neighborhood watch?”
That at least earned another laugh. Unfortunately, with all the dust, and later with the chemicals she would need to use for stripping and varnishing, it was best if Colleen remained outside as much as possible. Colleen didn’t seem to mind—texting seemed to be her major absorption, and sometimes friends came over to gather on the front porch with popcorn and beverages. Three days a week she went to physical therapy. School also occupied a good deal of her time except over the summers, and Del hoped to have the messiest of the work done on this house before school let out.
After she settled Colleen on the porch, she went back inside to get out her shop vacuum and start cleaning up as much as she could. Because it was still late spring, the afternoon would start getting chilly soon, and she wanted Colleen to come inside before it did.
Back inside with the inexplicable scratchings and bangings. Those concerned her. At first when Colleen had mentioned them, Del had assumed there were vermin in the attic and hadn’t been too troubled. But now, having checked everywhere she could and never having heard the sounds herself, she worried about more than vermin.
She worried about why Colleen might imagine such sounds. Worried about whether she needed to mention them to Colleen’s doctor or wait a little longer to see what developed.
At the back of her mind, she never quite escaped the feeling that another shoe was about to drop. Maybe it was just because once the worst happened to you, you never felt entirely safe again. And losing her husband and having her daughter paralyzed by an auto accident had been pretty much the worst she ever wanted to imagine.
But there was also the sense that Colleen had adapted too well and too quickly to losing the use of her legs. Oh, at first there had been plenty of tears and despair, many cries of “I wish I could have died, too.” But in a matter of just a month or so, those feelings seemed to have evaporated, leaving an unexpectedly cheerful and uncomplaining daughter.
Del kept thinking that at least once in a while Colleen ought to complain about something. But the child never did. At least not around her. Another concern. She didn’t want Colleen to feel as if she had to hide negative feelings from her, that she had to be strong for her mom. That would be an unfair and heavy burden for any child that age, including Colleen.
And then, sometimes she even worried about herself. Because while Colleen might be hearing sounds, Del herself seemed to be becoming a bit too forgetful, and maybe even imaginative. A couple of times in the past few weeks she’d come home after leaving the house empty to find things out of place. At least she thought they were out of place. And each time she had the distinct impression someone had been in the house.
Which was utterly insane, because she locked the place up tight every single time she and Colleen went out. There were simply too many valuable tools and construction supplies lying around to take any chance.
So she had to be forgetting where she left stuff. Not a good sign, but probably not all that abnormal either.
Del sighed heavily, pulled on her dust mask and picked up the hose to vacuum the living room she’d been working on. One room at a time to try to keep the mess under control. Damn dust still managed to seep everywhere.
Flipping houses had been a good idea overall after the accident that took Don and disabled Colleen. With the life insurance money, she’d been able to buy a fixer-upper, and with the skills learned growing up on a farm, studying architectural engineering in college, and some heavy-duty studying to fill the gaps, she’d learned most of the trades necessary to turn a mess into a desirable property. Things had gone well, mostly, although at the moment she still had one property she hadn’t been able to sell in this belt-tightening time, or even to rent to someone.
But her bank account was still healthy enough, and living in the houses she worked on made the expense easier to bear. This week, however, she’d need the electrician, as well as a plumber to help with the downstairs bath she intended to add. Those would be big bills, but necessary to ensure the house was up to code. At the moment it most certainly was not.
Living in the house she was working on also made it possible to keep an eye on Colleen. She couldn’t have the girl in one house while she worked on another, and her aunt Sally wasn’t up to taking full responsibility. Yes, Aunt Sally helped out when needed, especially at times when Del needed to be away to purchase materials, but Sally was getting up in years and at best could only keep an eye on Colleen and make sure she got decent meals.
Although even the need for Sally’s help was beginning to pass. Colleen had learned tricks for getting herself in and out of bed, getting up off the floor if she fell for some reason, and she could even manage to cook a little, though that was difficult in a kitchen that wasn’t designed for someone in a chair. And in a worst-case scenario, Colleen always had her phone within a couple of inches.
Still, Del worried. How could she not? She didn’t want Colleen to have another bad experience of some kind, and total independence still lay in the future.
As she vacuumed the dust that coated the living room after a day spent pulling out damaged plaster, she chewed her lip behind her mask and tried to tell herself that everything would work out for Colleen in time.
She had to believe that.
Then her thoughts drifted back to Mike Windwalker. He was a reserved guy. She’d already noted that he didn’t seem inclined to chat for long with neighbors. Shy? Maybe.
But, Lord, he was good-looking. Male eye candy, and she didn’t usually respond to that. Or maybe it had just been so long since she’d been with a man that her libido was acting up.
The thought made her chuckle quietly. Well, if it had to act up, it had chosen a great object for attention. She could watch that man walk up his driveway any day.
And maybe, with a tiny bit of effort, she could break through that reserve and get to know him a bit. She liked to know her neighbors, especially now. It made her feel safer, and certainly safer for Colleen.
A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she switched off the vacuum for a minute. Maybe it was the confluence of her thoughts, but Colleen had recently asked for a kitten. Who better to ask about getting one than the local vet who lived next door?
And maybe a kitten would make Colleen feel safer from those scratchings she heard. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to find out if a cat could help with mice in the walls … if indeed there were mice.
Finally she switched the vacuum on again and resumed her task. A cat might be the answer to a number of things.
Or not.
She made up her mind to talk to Mike Windwalker about it soon. A cat, or maybe a small dog, depending on what he thought might handle small vermin better. But nothing too big, given Colleen’s paralysis. Something small and cuddly that would chase away the mice.
Because either there were mice in these walls or something worrisome was happening to Colleen.
And the latter was an idea she refused to entertain.
Chapter 2
Del loved Saturday mornings because she put aside her work and devoted her full attention to Colleen. Yes, they usually had errands to run, things like grocery shopping, but it was still time spent together without the intervention of work or school. Sometimes, like today, they even took in a matinee at the movies.
Today they had gone to see a silly animated film that had made them laugh heartily, and then afterward she had dropped Colleen at Mary Jo’s for the night.
Sunday was always a day off, too, for her at least, but there was church in the morning, and the inevitable socializing that went with it after the service, and then Colleen usually spent the afternoon on schoolwork. Often, by then, Del felt tired enough to need a nap.
So Saturdays were a special time for them both: no school, no work, no therapists.
This Saturday, however, as she drove home from dropping Colleen at Mary Jo’s, Del realized she felt reluctant to go home. She tried to tell herself not to be ridiculous, that these brief times to herself without work should be prized, and that she deserved the break as much as Colleen deserved to have fun with her friends at a sleepover.
But a weird kind of edginess troubled her anyway in the waning afternoon light. She couldn’t put her finger on the source, and she finally decided that she must have forgotten to do something and would remember it later.
As she turned into her driveway and stopped the car, she looked up at the house and felt a totally inexplicable impulse to just drive away.
Now that was crazy! Had Colleen’s talk of noises gotten to her?
She made herself climb out of the car, but still she hesitated. Not very long, thank goodness, because she heard another vehicle and turned to see Mike Windwalker pulling up next door. She waved, trying to smile in a friendly fashion, and he nodded to her as he braked then switched off his truck.
The usual thing would be for her to continue into her house. She’d greeted him, so she didn’t have to remain outside. But something pushed her across the ragged, patchy lawn toward him.
He climbed out of his vehicle, wearing a dark blue chambray shirt and jeans, not very different from what she wore, and she thought that an instant of surprise passed over his strong features. If so, it vanished quickly.
“Hi,” he said as she approached.
She heard an odd note of caution in his tone, couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t matter anyway because she was already committed. She’d started closing the distance between them and now couldn’t simply turn away.
“Hi,” she said. Now what? She couldn’t exactly tell him that for some reason she didn’t want to go into her house. Then she remembered the kitten question. “Can I ask you something? If you’d rather I make an appointment, I’ll understand.” She gave an uneasy laugh. “Asking for a neighbor’s professional opinion for free is something I usually avoid.”
A slow smile dawned on his face. God, he was good-looking. “I don’t mind. You never know when I might have a professional question for you.”
She gave another laugh. “Fair enough. Colleen’s been asking for a kitten. And I got to thinking yesterday, what with the possibility of mice in the walls, that might not be a bad thing. Then I wondered if a small dog would be better.”
He leaned back against his van, folding his arms, and in the process thrust his hips forward. Oh, she didn’t want to notice those narrow hips again. She dragged her gaze back to his face.
“That depends,” he said easily. Apparently on familiar ground, he felt comfortable. She could identify with that, since she was definitely off comfortable ground herself right now. “What would be easiest for you? There are some good small dogs that would take care of mice and rats, but dogs need more attention than cats. Walks and so on. On the other hand, not every cat is a good mouser.”
“Really?” That surprised her.
“Really. It depends a lot on how the kitten is raised. Most learn to hunt from their mothers, whereas with some dogs, you’ve got a strong inbred instinct and territoriality.”
“I didn’t know that!”
“Most people don’t. If you really want a good mouser, I can check around the local ranches for a barn cat, but that’s more likely to be less a pet than a hunter.”
Del sighed. “I had no idea this could be so complicated.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “You’re not alone. Just ask yourself what you want more from a pet. If it’s something cute and cuddly that would like to spend time on Colleen’s lap, I’ll find you something good.”
“Well, she can’t walk a dog very far yet, unless it’s really well behaved. On the other hand, would a kitten hang around or take off?”
“Despite what some folks think, if you get a young kitten it can be trained to tolerate a collar, and even a leash. Not as easily with a dog, but cats are smart. When they realize they can’t win, they give up.”
Again she laughed, this time more comfortably. “So how long would that take?”
“I can probably do it for you in about a week.”
She felt surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. No charge. If Colleen really wants a kitten then I’d be glad to give her one that won’t run off.”
Del bit her lip. “It’s just that I try to keep Colleen outside as much as possible when I’m making a lot of dust or using chemicals. I don’t want her to suffer any harm. And I sure wouldn’t want to bring an animal into an environment where it would have to be inside all the time with that stuff either.”
“We’re agreed then. Kitten or puppy?”
“Maybe I’m nuts, but if you think it’s okay, I’d rather give her what she wants.”
“I agree. Kitten it is. And I’ve got plenty over at the clinic. People drop them on my doorstep all the time. If you want, bring her over on Monday afternoon to pick one. Or let me work with a few for a week and find the one most amenable to a collar and leash.”
Del thought about that. “I already know she wants a calico, so maybe surprising her would be more fun than making her wait for a week or so. Do you have any calicos?”
“Just one. They’re relatively rare. But she’s certainly a friendly little one. Loves to be hugged and petted.”
“That sounds ideal then.”
“Consider it done. But since it’ll be me and one kitten mano a mano, rather than just picking the most cooperative animal, it might take a little longer to leash train it.”
Again he had made her laugh, with the mental image of him in hand-to-hand combat with a stubborn kitten. “All right, I won’t tell her.”
“Probably best, unless you like to be nagged.”
Her smile widened and she decided she liked Mike Windwalker. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No thanks necessary. I’m always happy to find a good home for an animal.”
“Well, I’ve kept you long enough.” She started to turn away then saw her empty house waiting for her. And she stopped, unable to say why. Just that for some reason that house no longer looked as welcoming to her as it had when she bought it.
“This is ridiculous.” Unaware she had spoken out loud, she was surprised when she heard a response.
“What is?” Mike asked.
She blew a long breath, impatient with herself, and now embarrassed. She should have made up some excuse, but she’d never been much of liar. “It’s ridiculous that for some reason I don’t want to go into that house tonight.”
She was still staring at the building, but when she heard him move she looked at him. He stood straight up now, and he moved to her side, glancing at the house, too.
“I can’t say,” he said slowly, “that I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Her heart slammed. What was he saying? Was he just trying to scare her? No, he didn’t seem like the type. On the other hand, how well did she know him? “What do you mean?”
He gave a slight shake of his head, then shrugged. “Damned if I know.” Slowly his dark-as-ebony eyes came to meet hers. “Want me to come in with you? Just to look around?”
She wanted to laugh the whole thing off, as if they were just joking, but somehow she couldn’t. And as independent as she’d become since Don’s death, she was surprised that his offer didn’t put her hackles up.
Maybe because her hackles were already up over something she couldn’t even define. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me,” she said, trying to find a rational explanation for that lingering feeling of reluctance.
He didn’t answer, just waited for her decision.
Finally, forcing briskness into her tone, she made it. “Sure, come on in and I’ll show you around. Maybe you’ll enjoy laughing at me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I was crazy enough to take on a project this size?”
At that he chuckled but shook his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re a hard worker who isn’t intimidated by huge jobs.”
“Maybe I should have been intimidated with this one. Come on, I’ll show you what I meant about the rot in the walls.”
She thought he hesitated, but he was only a half step behind her as she led the way.
With each step she wondered what the heck was wrong with her. And why he could be so contrarily reluctant and friendly.
Walking into Del’s house in plain sight of any nosy neighbor who might be watching through sheers or around the edges of curtains might not be the smartest act on the planet, Mike thought. On the other hand, he could sense how troubled Del felt, and he couldn’t ignore that.
Just because some held on to old prejudices, it didn’t mean everyone did. Hell, didn’t this county have a couple of Native American lawmen?
But his people had been involved at Little Big Horn, something he’d had rubbed in his face for years when he was younger. Now that he was big enough to defend himself, most just plain didn’t say anything, so he might well be attributing those animosities to more folks than deserved it.
But he knew damn well the prejudices were still there, whether in most or just a handful, and he hoped Del wouldn’t suffer for what he was about to do. From what he could tell, she had quite enough problems on her plate.
Then he told himself to stop worrying about it. He was a grown-up and so was she. All that mattered was that she was nervous about entering her own house, and he’d learned early in life not to ignore those feelings. You might not be able to identify what triggered them, but ignoring them could get you into trouble.
As soon as he stepped through the front door, he looked around and remarked, “I can see why you bought this house.”
She cocked an eye his way, smiling faintly. “Why?”
He waved one arm. “Most houses from this era are shotguns, one room behind another. But this one … Look at this wide hallway. And the stairway. In most places it would be right in the living room. It seems extravagant considering the era when it was built.”
“It is.” Her eyes brightened as she smiled. “I couldn’t resist it because it’s so different, and because it’s more amenable to a modern lifestyle. When you have the shotgun floor plan, where rooms were just added straight back, it’s hard to change things enough so that you’re not walking through bedrooms. A real challenge. But this place is just perfect.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Except for all the hard work you have to do.” That much was impossible to miss. Even the railing on the staircase had been painted, as had doors and moldings. He suspected there was plenty of fine wood to be uncovered in this house. “Somebody with money built this place.”
“That’s my guess, but I really haven’t looked into the history of the house.”
“You should. There’s probably a fascinating story somewhere.”
Yet, despite the architectural grace of the place, there they stood just inside the door. Mike hesitated, looking inward, trying to sense the cause for that. He’d gone through the house with her because she felt uneasy. Because something had made him feel a bit uneasy, too, yesterday, and again today. But instead of taking that walkthrough, they both stood here as if an invisible wall held them back.
His uneasiness had grown, he realized. But just a shade. Not enough to worry him. Finally, feeling the tension in the woman beside him, he asked, “Would you just like me to walk through on my own?”
He was willing, and a bit of a street fighter out of necessity. He could handle just about anyone who didn’t have a gun. Although why the hell he should be worried about that he didn’t know.
He paused a few seconds, searching places in himself that he usually kept hidden. There was something about this house …
Del gazed at him, her blue eyes reflecting perplexity and even some embarrassment. “What’s going on?”
He got the feeling she was asking herself, not him. But he hesitated only a moment before saying, “This house feels sad.”
She nodded, surprising him. “I never noticed anything before but …” She sighed. “Okay, I’m feeling really weird. I’m not an overly imaginative person. Maybe Colleen’s complaint about noises is getting to me.”
“Could be,” he agreed smoothly, although for an instant he wanted to disagree strongly. But he’d turned himself into a man of science on purpose, and if he were to consider the empirical evidence, it was nuts to say the house felt sad. He managed a crooked smile. “I guess it must have gotten to me, too. Your daughter just doesn’t seem like the kind of kid to think she has bears in her closet.”
“She’s not. We got past that stage before she turned four. So if she says she’s hearing something, it’s got to be mice in the walls.”
“Or a water pipe ticking. I don’t have to tell you how many sounds an old house can make.”
“Plenty,” she agreed. “And now I not only feel ridiculous, I feel stupid. You don’t have to walk through with me. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do.”
He almost took it as a dismissal, which he was used to getting often enough in life. But her expression gave him pause. No, she hadn’t lost her uneasiness, but she was feeling silly for it. He tried to think of a way to continue to accompany her while taking her concerns seriously. She was obviously a quite independent woman, and there was a good chance she didn’t like leaning on a man, especially over an inexplicable feeling. And there was still something about this damn house.
“I’d actually like to see where Colleen’s hearing the noises.” He shrugged. “You never know. I might hear them and be able to identify them.”
“I wish you could,” she admitted. “I haven’t heard them myself, at least not yet.”
“So let’s go hunting.”
At that she chuckled and led the way.
The downstairs was quite spacious and nicely laid out. Kitchen and dining room on one side of the unusually large hallway, living room and an extra room on the other side. They skipped the extra room initially, though Mike could see color through the door that was slightly ajar.
Upstairs there were another three spacious bedrooms with walk-in closets and an unusually large bathroom that boasted an iron tub with clawed feet. A real antique, and a tub that a full-grown man could actually fit into.
“I wish this house had been available when I bought mine,” he remarked. “I’d have snapped it up.”
She flashed a smile. “You can always buy it once I get it fixed up.”
“I may take you up on that.”
The bedrooms, as yet, had clearly not been worked on, but even so their condition wasn’t bad. Her room held an ordinary double bed and a dresser, and not one personal item was in view. He found that a little odd. The two others were empty.
When they returned downstairs, she led him to the room at the back end of the hall, the one they had skipped the first time through.
It proved to be Colleen’s room and was a riot of color, with posters and a shiny mobile, and a bed nearly filled with pillows and stuffed animals. A lovely old table was obviously being used for a desk, high enough that the child’s wheelchair could slide up to it comfortably, and it sported a good laptop computer along with books, papers and doodads. Over the bed was a bar hanging from a chain, probably to help Colleen maneuver into and out of her chair. He squashed a natural sympathetic reaction, because he sensed it would not be welcome either by Colleen or her mother. That child showed every sign of becoming just as independent as her mom.
“Does Colleen only hear the sounds in here?”
“So far. I’ve checked the attic and upstairs, but I haven’t found any spoor, or anything else for that matter. I put in some traps but they haven’t been sprung.”
“Can we just stay here for a little bit?”
Del shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaving him to sit on a wooden chair in the corner, which meant moving an oversize stuffed rabbit.
“Does she only hear the sounds at night?”
“Mostly, but sometimes in the evening when she’s in here doing homework. They’ve always stopped by the time I get in here when she calls me.”
“That’s … strange.” Something warned him to be very careful here. There might be some emotional land mines he didn’t want to trip by blundering around. “I like your daughter. She’s so friendly for someone her age. I’m used to kids kind of glancing my way and dismissing me unless I’m caring for one of their pets.”
“Kids that age are so awkward about things. Some of them anyway. Colleen has had so many adults in her life, in one capacity or another, since her accident that I think she’s more comfortable with older people.”
“That could be part of it. And she’s certainly outgoing.”
They sat a few minutes in silence and Mike realized that Del seemed to be growing uneasier, rather than less so. He wanted to ask what troubled her, but he didn’t feel he knew her well enough.
“You know,” Del said finally, “maybe I should sleep in here tonight. Colleen is spending the night with a friend, and it might be the perfect time to do a little more detective work.”
He nodded. “Might be a good idea.”
Suddenly her blue eyes, as sharp as lasers, met his. “Why did you say this house makes you feel sad?”
Crap. He’d kind of hoped she would let that go, because he never should have said it, even out of natural sympathy. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It was just a feeling.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m Irish enough to be superstitious. Or maybe I should say my mother raised me to be superstitious. Don’t open an umbrella in the house, knock on wood, don’t tempt fate, all those things. I rebelled against all of that, of course. Sometimes I even open an umbrella in the house just to prove I don’t buy it.”
Her lips curved almost impishly, and he had to smile back. “I hear you.”
Her small smile faded. “But there’s a definite atmosphere in this house I didn’t notice before. I thought maybe I was imagining it because I couldn’t find a source for the noises Colleen complains about. But then you said the house felt sad.”
He wished he could take those words back. But he couldn’t, and by saying them he’d not only revealed something about himself that he ordinarily kept private, but he’d apparently also increased Del’s concern.
He ought to kick his own butt. “Sorry,” he said. But he couldn’t deny that he felt something in this house, because that would mean lying.
“It’s okay. At least I know I’m not riding the crazy train alone.” She sighed, then smiled. “Let me make us some coffee or something. We could probably sit here for hours and never hear the sound.”
Long experience warned him to leave, that he’d been in her house long enough to stir talk if people had noticed. But another part of him, the real person who’d been tucked away inside out of necessity, told him to stick around. If she wanted him gone, she wouldn’t have made the offer, and her suggestion that he stay intimated that she didn’t want to be alone here. Nor could he blame her.
But she caught his hesitation, and he saw her fair cheeks color faintly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You just got home and I’ve already taken too much of your time.”
This time he didn’t hear a dismissal. Far from it: this was genuine courtesy. And it warmed him.
“I’d love that coffee if it’s not too much trouble.”
She hopped up from the bed, clearly pleased. “No trouble at all. In fact, I need to make dinner for myself, so why don’t I just make it for both of us.”
She hurried from the room, apparently intent on doing just that. He remained a moment longer, wondering if he’d just put his foot in it for both of them.
But the sadness in the house called to him, and he couldn’t help thinking that, in her own way, Del was probably as lonely a soul as he was.
And that called to him, too.
In the big scheme of things, impulsively inviting a neighbor to stay for a cobbled-together dinner probably didn’t amount to much. But for Del it was a big step. She liked to know her neighbors, yes, but rarely socialized beyond the most casual conversations. Not since the accident.
Once she’d been quite engaged with friends and a social life, but since Don’s death she had begun to note how she had narrowed her world and limited the people she allowed to become close. In fact, she had even let close friends go, slowly, simply by not keeping up with them.
Afraid to make new connections because she was afraid of more pain? Yeah, and she knew it. But it didn’t bother her. She had more than enough to occupy herself, and she could justify narrowing the scope of her life by the need to take care of Colleen.
So in the big scheme of things, asking Mike Windwalker to join her for dinner was nothing. In her scheme of things it seemed like a huge step. But, she assured herself as she began to pull things from the fridge and cupboards, it really was a minor thing. He’d offered to help her get an appropriate kitten for Colleen. Asking him to stay for a run-of-the-mill dinner hardly seemed out of line.
And maybe it was time for her to pull at least one foot out of her self-imposed rut. She wasn’t opposed to healing—she just didn’t seem to have time for it. Maybe she needed to make time, for the sakes of both her daughter and herself.
“What can I do to help?” Mike asked as he entered the kitchen.
“Have a seat and keep me company.” She looked over her shoulder at him and said frankly, “I’ve turned myself into a hermit. It would be good for me to start practicing my social skills again.”
He smiled as he pulled out a chair at the small table and sat. “I probably could use some of the same myself.”
“I doubt it. You deal with people all day long. I deal with wood, plaster, paint and noxious chemicals. They don’t talk back.”
A chuckle escaped him. “You picked quite a profession.”
“I enjoy it. I like working with my hands and solving the problems that go along with restoring a house.”
He was silent a moment, then asked carefully, “Why’d you turn into a hermit?”
She faced him then, folding her arms and leaning back against the counter. “Truth or social quip?”
“I vastly prefer the truth to social ice skating.”
At that she felt a smile tip up the corners of her mouth. A smile she hadn’t expected. “Truth it is, then. My husband was killed in the accident that paralyzed Colleen. You know what they say about once burned, twice shy? I seem to have applied that lesson to everything except Colleen.”
“I can definitely see how that might happen. I have a similar story, but I’ll leave that for another time.”
She could see his barriers snap into place, and her curiosity itched. But okay, she was willing to observe his boundaries. She expected the same courtesy for herself.
“Fair enough,” she agreed and turned back to the counter. But she couldn’t help wondering what his story was. “I hope you like salad.”
“Any way it’s made.”
“Good.” Because that was all she had planned tonight, a green salad with some leftover grilled chicken breast and a choice of bottled dressings. Her time was so limited these days that she stuck with basics, the quicker and easier the better, her only nod being to the healthfulness of what she prepared.
As she was standing at the counter slicing tomatoes, a bang sounded through the house.
She whirled around, her heart accelerating, and found Mike looking upward. “Door slamming,” he said. “Do you have windows open or a fan on?”
“Not right now. I didn’t open anything when I came home.”
He rose. “Stay here. I’ll go look.”
“Like hell,” she answered. She’d been using her chef’s knife to slice, and she seated it more firmly in her grip. A weapon.
He didn’t argue with her as she followed him. For that she gave him points.
“Sounded like it was from upstairs,” he remarked quietly.
“It did,” she agreed. In the hallway it was easy to see at a glance that all the doors stood wide open, the way they’d been left. Mike glanced at her, acknowledging that he’d noticed, too.
And then he started up the stairs, stepping to the outside of the risers so as not to make noise. She followed his example.
But at the top of the stairs, they could see all the doors were open, just as they’d been left.
He spoke. “Could something in the attic have made that sound?”
“There’s nothing up there. Not so much as a box.”
They both stood for a minute, listening, but no other sound disturbed the utter silence of the house.
“It must have come from outside.” But even as Del spoke the dismissal, she knew she was lying to herself. That noise had come from inside, not from without. And there was no mistaking the sound of one of these solid oak doors slamming.
“Well,” said Mike slowly, apparently agreeing with her thought if not her words, “if one of those doors slammed open it would have been hard enough to leave some evidence.”
Del watched as he checked in every room. She didn’t need to look for herself because she knew exactly what the sound was, and it wasn’t a door opening. As often as she had the windows open and fans going, she absolutely knew how these doors sounded when they slammed shut, and it wasn’t the same as when they got caught on a gust and were pushed open. Not the same at all.
Mike returned in only a few moments. “Let me check the attic,” he said.
She looked at him, realizing he wasn’t criticizing her, understanding that he was genuinely concerned someone other than the two of them might be inside the house. Heck, the back of her own neck was prickling with that suspicion.
But surely if someone were in the house, they would have discovered it on their walk-through. Unless, as Mike apparently feared, someone was in the attic.
God, the idea made her skin crawl. She waited with forced patience as Mike pulled down the overhead ladder to the attic and climbed up. She heard him flip the switch which turned on three bulbs that hung from the rafters from one end of the attic to another. He reappeared only a minute later.
“Nobody could hide up there unless they’re six inches tall.”
“I know.” And somehow that only made this worse.
Noises for no reason? She’d lived in this house for over two months now, and she knew its sounds as intimately as she knew her own heartbeat. That had been the sound of an oak door slamming. Hard. And in the usual way, they wouldn’t do that even with the windows open and the fans blowing, even with a relatively strong breeze in the house.
Inevitably, she thought about the sounds Colleen had been hearing and tried to put it together. But it made no sense.
Mike closed the attic trapdoor and looked at her, his gaze trailing down to the knife she held. “Loaded for bear?” he asked lightly.
A faint flush stung her cheeks. “Stupid, huh?”
He shook his head. “I was just thinking that you look like you could take on the whole damn world. That’s a compliment.”
“Thanks.” But now she felt foolish. She’d investigated odd sounds many times in her life, but never before had she felt compelled to carry a knife on the hunt. “Major overreaction.”
“Not really. Not when you consider that Colleen has been complaining of noises. That’d raise my action-alert level, too.”
He really was a very nice man. Her embarrassment seeped away and she turned for the stairs. “Let’s go get that salad.”
He also turned out to be a comfortable companion. She felt no pressure to talk as she finished the salad and served them at the table. She often spent large chunks of her time inside her own head, busy with her hands, and most of the time she preferred it that way. There was a soothing rhythm in her work, and it left her feeling content at day’s end.
Someone who could share that silence while seeming to remain comfortable was unusual indeed.
“I don’t spend much time on cooking,” she said apologetically as she put the last bottle of dressing on the table. “Healthy foods are the best I can do, as quickly as possible. Oh! I have some frozen garlic bread, if you’d like some.”
“This is fine.” He smiled and gestured her to sit with him. “I don’t cook much at all myself. A fresh salad is a treat.”
She returned his smile and motioned him to serve himself first. “With Colleen I probably keep a better eye on things than I would otherwise.”
“Understandable. I think the animals in my kennel have a far better diet than I do. When I get sick of bottles, cans and frozen foods, I go to Maude’s.”
“Maude’s is one of my guilty pleasures, too. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there.”
“I don’t go often.” Something in his tone suggested there was a reason for that, and she wondered but didn’t say anything. She didn’t know him well enough to ask any personal questions.
She paused just as she poked her fork into a bit of tomato, as the sound of the slamming door sounded once again, this time in her head. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think I can hold a normal conversation right now.”
He put his own fork down and looked attentively at her. “The noise we heard?”
“That and the noises Colleen is hearing. Yesterday I was wondering if she was imagining them, and not knowing what was worse—her imagining them or the sounds being real when I couldn’t find the source.” She tightened her lips. “I didn’t imagine that slam.”
“Hardly. I heard it, too, remember?”
She hesitated, then said, “Colleen has been through hell. So much so that I keep waiting for her to shatter in some way. I mean, to lose your dad and be paralyzed all at once, at her age …” She trailed off as her throat tightened. Finally she found her voice gain. “Except for the first month or so, she’s been an amazing trouper.”
“I get that impression. So you were wondering if her hearing things was the shattering you feared?”
“It crossed my mind. Awful of me even to think that.”
“No, I think it was reasonable to wonder. Look, I doctor animals, but I’ve seen them with post-traumatic stress reactions, too. With some of them, they seem fine at first, and then one day they start acting out somehow. Your fear was entirely reasonable. But apparently that’s not what’s going on.”
“Apparently not. And now I’ve got to wonder what caused that sound. Maybe we misinterpreted something else.”
“That’s possible.” He pushed back from the table. “Tell you what. I’m going to go through the house and slam doors. You holler out when you hear the one that sounds like what we heard.”
She nearly gaped at him, then felt almost embarrassed, though she wasn’t sure why. “I think I invited you to join me for dinner. You should finish eating first.”
A soft chuckle escaped him. “Salad will keep for five minutes, and I’m as curious as you are. Let me go slam some doors. You sing out if one of them sounds the same.”
In the doorway, he paused to look back. “Stand where you were before, if you don’t mind. That way we can be sure it was the same sound.”
“Okay.” She was actually glad to hop up and go stand by the counter, facing the same direction. She needed to solve this problem, the sooner the better. Then maybe she could put Colleen’s fears to rest and silence her own concerns.
Maybe.
She stood leaning against the counter, eyes closed, listening to slam after slam, first from downstairs, then from upstairs. The bangs moved through the house, but by the time Mike returned she was certain of one thing.
“None of them, huh?” he asked as he returned to the kitchen.
She pivoted to face him. “The sound was similar on the upstairs doors. But I noticed something else.”
“What?”
“The vibration passed through the whole house when you slammed them.”
His eyes widened a hair. “So we heard the sound, but there was no vibration. You’re right. I didn’t feel the door slam.”
“Nope.” And what had been a small worry blossomed into a big fear.
“This is not good,” he said.
She couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter 3
“I don’t believe in hauntings,” she said as they washed up after the meal. Hunger had pretty much deserted them, and there was a lot of salad left. And haunting was the only other explanation her mind kept turning up for the sound of a door slamming when none had.
“No?” His question was neutral.
She looked at him as she handed him the last plate to dry and realized he wasn’t looking at her. “Do you?”
“I was raised in a different culture.”
She reached for a spare towel and dried her hands. “I’d like to hear about that if you don’t mind telling me.”
He shrugged one shoulder and put the dried plate in the cupboard with the rest. “I’m a man of science. I’m supposed to believe in the mechanistic view of life.”
“But you don’t?”
“Only insofar as it’s useful.”
Curious, she grabbed a couple of fresh coffee cups and filled them, putting them on the table before he could refuse and thus insist it was time to leave. She was well aware that she was taking a lot of his time, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. Couldn’t, if she were to be honest about it. Sitting in this house alone wondering about that noise was apt to keep her up all night.
He hesitated but didn’t argue. She made up her mind right then that one of these days she was going to get to the root of the way he hesitated about so many things. But not now. She had just asked enough of him for one night.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a more comfortable place to sit.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m a table-and-chair kind of person. My family held every gathering around a table.”
“Mine, too.” At least a point of connection.
As soon as she returned to her seat at the table, he joined her. “So what did you mean?” she prodded gently.
“I’m Cheyenne. I know, dirty word around here.”
“Not in this house,” she informed him firmly.
Again that half smile of his. “How’d you avoid it?”
“I was always weird.”
This time a real laugh escaped him. “Weird how?”
“Well, I got into a bit of trouble when I was six. I was in religious education class and when the teacher said Judas went to hell for betraying Christ, I asked how that could be possible, since God had planned it all and somebody had to do it.”
“Wow. How much trouble did you get into?”
“Only a little, actually. But that was my first starring role as the girl who asks off-the-wall questions.” She shook her head a bit. “My dad took me to the memorial of the Battle of Little Big Horn when I was about fourteen, and all I could think was that Custer was an idiot.”
That, too, surprised a laugh out of him. “How did your dad react to that?”
“He surprised me by saying it did look that way. When I got older I learned a word for Custer’s idiocy—hubris. The man was full of it. I mean, even ignoring that we were busy taking all the land away from you folks, and hunting you down like animals, Custer was an idiot. When I stood where the cavalry stood, and looked down that hill at where all the Cheyenne—I seem to remember it was mostly Cheyenne along with some other Sioux tribes—all I could think is what idiot with two hundred and forty-five soldiers attacks five thousand people?”
“The battle began long before that day.”
“I know.” She sighed. “It’s a sad and ugly story. And all the folks in these parts who talk as if you guys are still the enemy would be feeling a whole lot different if they’d been invaded. So no, we don’t share those feelings in this house. Memories are too damned long anyway.”
“Even among my people.”
“With more reason.”
“That’s debatable, too.”
She noticed he seemed to have relaxed, really relaxed for the first time since crossing her threshold. Well, considering the ill-considered bigotry a lot of people spouted, she could understand that. “So about how you were raised?”
“Many Native American people believe that all things are sentient, even the rocks. And many of us believe the spirit world exists right alongside us. And sometimes we get glimpses of that world.”
She bit her lip. “So you believe in hauntings?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m just not ready to dismiss anything out of hand. But I’m definitely willing to help you keep looking for the source of that sound. Because however I was raised, I’d still like to find a concrete explanation.”
She guessed she could deal with that. When she thought about it, what he was saying was really no different from what her religion taught: there was a spirit world, and afterlife. She just didn’t believe the two intersected. “So you’re not trying to tell me the house is haunted.”
“I’d hardly jump to that conclusion from a single sound.”
She sipped her coffee and regarded him thoughtfully. “You must feel sometimes as if you walk in two worlds.”
“Sometimes.”
She tried to read something in his expression, but this man gave away little he didn’t choose to. Still, she could imagine that straddling two different cultures probably carried difficulties she couldn’t begin to understand. And then there was bigotry. She’d heard enough talk in these parts to know that was still alive and well among some when it came to Native Americans.
“You probably could have chosen any place in the country to practice,” she said after a few moments. “Why did you come here?”
“Because it was near enough that I could get home to see my mother. At the time, she wasn’t in the best of health.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s life, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She sighed and lifted her coffee mug in both hands. “I grew up here, but I almost didn’t come back.”
“No?”
“I met Don, my husband, in college, and he got a job in Denver. I followed after I graduated.” She smiled faintly. “I’d studied architectural engineering and was lucky enough to land a job with a firm in Denver. So we married, and Colleen came along, and the world was my oyster. Our oyster. After the accident, after Colleen recovered enough to need physical therapy only a few times a week, I realized I couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. It felt as if there was a reminder around every corner. So I ran back home.”
His nod was encouraging, his expression sympathetic. “Has it turned out well?”
“I’ve been able to move on, if that’s what you mean. I’m busy, I feel good most days about most things. Unfortunately, I studied architectural engineering and these days I wished I’d stayed longer and taking mechanical engineering, too. You know, wiring and plumbing. I have to hire people to do that work.”
“Expensive?”
“Of course.” She gave a rueful shrug. “The minute I start tearing out walls and putting in bathrooms, I have to bring everything up to code. And while I approve of building codes, it would be nice if I could do that work myself.”
“I suppose going back for training would be difficult now.”
“Now, yes. Maybe later on.” She sipped more coffee and looked at him over the mug. “What made you decide to become a veterinarian?”
“Animals.” His smile was beautiful. “From the time I was little I loved animals. They didn’t always get treated very well on the rez because we were poor. Lots of strays. You know, that was an odd contrast. Spiritually we think of animals as our brothers. But in reality …” He shrugged a shoulder. “When you’re having trouble feeding a kid, it’s hard to find food for a dog. So there were a lot of strays. Mostly dogs, some cats, but cats actually do better for themselves on their own. I started collecting them, much to my mother’s chagrin. And I found a low-paying job when I was eight, watching a neighbor’s sheep, and used the money to buy dog food. I put my first splint on a dog’s leg when I was ten because nobody could afford to take a stray to a vet and the only other alternative was to shoot it.”
“Did the splint work?”
“You bet. Mainly because I was lucky and it was a simple fracture.” He chuckled quietly. “But there was no stopping me after that. I learned a lot about caring for livestock from my elders. I read books. I scoured libraries and finally got really lucky.”
“How so?”
“A vet who came to the rez sometimes to look after cattle and sheep picked up on my interest and took me on as an assistant.”
“That’s great!” But she saw his face shadow and realized the unhappiness inherent in that story, as well as the pleasure of having an opportunity. A complex man, one who kept a lot close to the vest.
“Yes, it was. He gave me a load of books to read, he taught me, and he made sure I studied hard enough and well enough to get into college. A good man.”
“He sounds like it.”
“I was lucky to have a mentor, a great mentor. People like that can make more of a difference than they may ever realize. Unfortunately, he died before I graduated from veterinary school, but at least he knew I made it.”
“I’m sure he was proud.”
“Despite everything.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but she realized his face had closed as suddenly as someone slamming a door. She bit back the words and sat there, feeling at sea, wondering if there was any direction with this man that didn’t lead to a closed door, or a hesitation, or the sense there was a lot he would never say.
Of course, that just made her even more curious, but she knew how to bide her time. She’d learned patience the hard way, with a daughter whose slow recovery demanded it.
A rumble of thunder drew her attention and she glanced toward the kitchen window, surprised to see the light had begun to turn a gray-green.
“That’ll upset the dogs in the kennel,” Mike remarked.
“Really?”
“About thirty percent of dogs are scared of storms. In a kennel, that thirty percent set off the rest.”
“Is it the noise?”
“There’s some debate about that. Some dogs seem to start responding way too early, as if they sense a change in the air pressure.”
“Amazing. Do you need to go to them?”
“No, that only reinforces the behavior. We all, me included, wish there was some way to comfort them, but there isn’t. They interpret the comfort as positive reinforcement, and it makes it worse. And right now we don’t have any dogs who freak out enough to require sedation. So the best thing to do is let it burn itself out.”
“That must be hard to do.”
“It is, I admit. I have to remind myself often enough that trying to soothe them will make it harder on them in the long run.” He gave a faint smile. “When it comes to animals, I’m a natural-born hugger.”
She returned his smile. “That’s a good thing. I like people who want to hug kids and animals. It’s the ones who don’t that concern me. So you can really leash-train a cat? I’m still trying to imagine that.”
“Oh, Colleen won’t be able to walk her, or anything like that. But she can be trained to accept leash limitations. By that I mean if she’s sitting on Colleen’s lap and decides she wants to run after a bird, she won’t throw a clawing, hissy cat fit because she can’t get any farther than six feet. She may glare her disapproval, but before long she’ll climb back on Colleen’s lap, and eventually she’ll stop trying to run after things outside.”
“I was raised with the notion that you can’t teach cats anything.”
He laughed quietly. “Cats do a good job of keeping it a secret. I had my last cat perfectly trained. I fed him when he wanted, played when he wanted, and … he never ever tried to get out the door after just a few attempts when I caught him and dragged him back in. He learned his limits. The same way he learned to stay out of the fridge when the door accidentally shut on him, catching him in the side.”
“Oh, my!”
“That only took one lesson.” His dark eyes danced. “One of the main differences between cats and dogs is that dogs are eager to please. More of a pack mentality. Cats … well, less so.”
Thunder rumbled again, this time louder. This time Mike glanced at the window, and Del noticed that the kitchen was definitely darker now.
He looked at her. “Are you going to be okay by yourself tonight?”
“Because of the noise, you mean? Of course I will. It’s just a noise. With my luck I’ll probably find out another wall stud just collapsed or something. I’ll be honest. I knew there was some rot in the place, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so extensive. And then down in the basement there’s this ridiculous brick wall that’s starting to crumble a bit.”
“A brick wall?”
“I know. Weird. I guess someone thought it would be attractive, like they started refinishing the basement and never got around to completing the job. But it’s just dark. The thing is, I keep wondering if, when I tear it out, I’m just going to find that there’s a big gaping hole in the concrete. That’s the way everything else in this house is going.” She gave a little shake of her head and a rueful smile. “At least the roof is solid.”
“Maybe you just need to bulldoze underneath.”
She laughed, imagining propping up the roof while destroying the house beneath it. “Don’t tempt me. But actually, there’s a positive side to all this.”
“Tell me.”
“I get to remake most of the place. The load-bearing walls so far seem to be fine, but since so much else is a mess, I can reconfigure the floor plan in lots of ways I wouldn’t have attempted otherwise. A work-through rather than a work-around.” She stared past him for a few seconds, envisioning it. “This may become the house I stay in. If I’m going to do all this work, I may as well enjoy the fruits.”
“What would you do differently if you decide to stay, as opposed to just selling it?”
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