Wyoming Bold

She started to say something. Her eyes grew opaque. She lost color. Her green eyes were terrified when they met his. “We have to go home. Right now! Please!”

He didn’t bother to ask what was wrong. It was enough that she knew something was urgent. He got up and paid the check and then led her out to the truck.

“At my house or yours?” he asked as he started it.

“Mine. And please, hurry!” she said. “It may be too late already!”

He didn’t spare the engine.

They pulled up in front of Merissa’s cabin and ran onto the porch. Merissa worked her key in the lock, fumbled and finally opened it.

“Mom!” she called frantically. “Mom!”

There were sounds of movement. A door opened. Clara came out into the hall, a little foggy, laughing.

“Here I am. What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw their worried faces.

“I...had a feeling,” Merissa said, hating to put it even into words, for fear it might come true.

“A feeling?” Clara asked gently, and now she was frowning, too.

Merissa relaxed. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She turned to Tank. “I rushed you home for nothing!”

“It’s always good to check,” Tank replied gently. “I’m beginning to put a lot of confidence in your ‘feelings.’”

She smiled at him warmly. “Thanks.”

“What sort of feeling?” Clara asked, because she knew that Merissa didn’t give way to panic.

“I don’t know. Something dangerous. Something planned.” She closed her eyes. “Soon. Very soon.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t know what!” she groaned.

Clara hugged her. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be okay.”

“Just in case,” Tank said slowly, “I’m going to put a man over here, to keep an eye on the place.”

“That would be so kind of you,” Clara began.

Merissa frowned. “Do I smell smoke?”

They split up, going from room to room. All of a sudden, the fire detector in the back bedroom went off like an explosion.

Tank ran ahead of the women, rushed into the room and stopped dead. There was smoke coming from an extension cord. Beside it, a squirrel was squirming in agony.

“Oh, dear,” Clara murmured. “I forgot to close the flue in here... Squirrels love to come in the cabin and build nests in the ceiling.” She grimaced. “Is he dead?”

Tank picked him up. The squirrel was shivering. “He’s not dead, but he’s going to need some attention. I have a friend who’s a wildlife rehabilitator. I’ll call him as soon as I get home. Have you got a shoebox and an old towel?”

Clara rushed to get them for him so that he could transport the injured squirrel.

“I’ll unplug it.”

“Be careful, honey,” he told her.

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.