No Ordinary Hero

“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.