“Protect what? Your promotion? Christmas bonus? It sure isn’t the animals because I’ve heard what you people do to injured wildlife.”
He leaned close, his eye flush with the open space of her door. “Is the bear injured?” he asked, his voice low but insistent.
She pictured the cub’s swollen jaw and felt a twinge of guilt. It did need medical attention and help finding its mother. But could she trust him to put the animal’s—not “nature’s”—best interests first? What choice did she have?
“Yes,” she muttered at last and slid the chain back. She paused before pulling the door open farther.
“Could you sort of come in sideways while I hold Scooter?”
“Pardon?” He pulled off his hat to reveal thick, dark hair that curled around the tops of his ears. He shooed the morning gnats away before settling the Stetson back on his head.
“The animals are a little—ah—spirited.” She pushed Scooter back. Relentless dog. Meanwhile Jinx leaped on the curved arm of a nearby chair, looking ready to pounce and take out this stranger. All eight pounds of her.
“Your domestic pets or the wild animal?”
She sighed. Was there a difference? Still, she couldn’t love them more. She thought of the terrified cub in her pantry, her affection including it as well. What would happen to it once this horrible man got hold of it? She eyed the officer.
“Pets.” She grabbed Scooter’s collar and body blocked Jinx, whose leap landed her on Vivie’s shoulder. She winced, then grimaced harder as the officer slid through her door.
“Not sure if you remember my name. I’m Liam Walsh and you’re Vivienne. Vivie, right?” He squatted and held out a hand to Scooter. “Come.”
His firm command quieted Scooter who trotted over and held up a paw. Unbelievable. It was a trick the shelter workers had taught him, one he only did to impress. Officer Walsh gave Scooter a high five, ruffled his ears and stood.
“Nice dog.”
She pressed her lips together to stop the forming smile. She would not be charmed. “Occasionally. The rest of the time, he’s a stinker.”
A low chuckle sounded and Officer Walsh’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Got one like that myself. A collie. Extra Pickles.” Jinx flung herself between them, landing neatly on Officer Walsh’s shoulders.
“You named your dog Extra Pickles?” She blinked up at him, surprised. How odd that this official, by-the-books man would name his dog something so unusual. Maybe he wasn’t just a policy-spouting drone in uniform.
He plucked Jinx from his neck and nuzzled her before setting her on the floor. “Her mom was Pickles so—”
“—she’s extra...” Vivie finished for him, staring.
He cleared his throat and pulled out a notebook and pen, suddenly appearing self-conscious. Her grandfather clock chimed seven times while Scooter sprawled at Officer Walsh’s feet, spit shining his boots.
“The dispatcher mentioned a bear cub...?”
Vivie nodded. “Last night. It came in through my open window. Must have smelled my pies.”
Officer Walsh lifted his fine nose and sniffed. “Is that raisin pie?”
She nodded, proud, despite her sour mood. “It didn’t get ruined, at least.”
“Your customers will be relieved.”
“And Maggie, my co-owner. She’s an amazing cook but hates baking. She was on vacation the week you ordered me to stop feeding the wild animals and let them starve.”
His eyes narrowed on her for a long moment. “Teaching them to fend for themselves rather than relying on handouts would be closer to the truth.”
“We had record low temperatures,” she snapped, her anger rising fresh and raw over the year-old incident.
“And the animals best equipped to survive it, did. Natural selection,” he observed with a mildness that infuriated her more. Didn’t the man have feelings?
“You really don’t care, do you?” she exclaimed.
“I care about doing my job.” He pocketed his notepad. “I’d like to see the bear now. Since my vacation starts tomorrow, I need to get this wrapped up.”
She glared, then turned without a word. Of course he’d be more concerned with his free time than the well-being of an animal. Oblivious to his abominable attitude, Scooter and Jinx trailed him into the kitchen as if he were their new best friend.
“It’s in the pantry. I’m not sure, but I think there’s something wrong with its jaw.”
She held Scooter’s collar while Officer Walsh eased into the food closet. Jinx paced while they waited, the officer’s murmuring voice coming through the thick door, indistinct, but reassuring in tone.
At last he emerged, his face grave.
“The cub’s about five months old. Probably not long out of the den. Definitely the first time without her mother. Her jaw looks dislocated, like you said. Probably fell out of the tree her mother chased her into when she sensed danger. Did you happen to see any lights outside last night?”
Vivie had been so focused on baking. “I might have seen a light, but it was far away. Back there.” She pointed out her kitchen window. “I guessed it was fireflies, or heat lightning. Why?”
His mouth thinned and he glanced down at her rambunctious pets. “It’ll help me narrow the search area. Would you keep your animals inside while I scout the property?”
Her hand rose to her jumping heart. A large predator could be near. One who might confront the officer. As much as she disliked the guy, she didn’t want him hurt. Much. Not that he seemed concerned. In fact, his no-nonsense attitude projected confidence. The pistol on his right hip heightened the impression. “Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”
“That’d be kind of you.” He tipped his hat and let himself out the back door. “Thanks.” His reassuring smile lingered in her mind’s eye, flash lightning in a pale blue sky. She shook the unwelcome sentiment away.
She untied her apron and raced upstairs. No telling how long he’d be gone, but she wouldn’t wear this crazy outfit another second. Within minutes she’d whipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, thrown her hair into a messy bun and dashed back downstairs.
In the kitchen, she paused at the pantry door and pressed her ear against it. Silence. Fear pulsed through her. What if the cub wasn’t well? Guilt welled up inside, filling places she hadn’t known existed. She should have called 911 last night instead of waiting for morning. Maybe they would have responded instead of Officer Walsh. Someone reasonable. With a beating heart.
She glimpsed his hat in the thicket behind her house and hurried to put on the coffee. He’d better take care of the cub. Protect it. Or she would. Hopefully it’d be in a good place soon—maybe with its mom—and she could breathe easier.
A burbling sound, punctuated by a hazelnut aroma, permeated the room in minutes. Officer Walsh talked on his cell outside, pacing alongside her back porch.
What had he found and who was he speaking to?
She set out two mugs of coffee and the sugar doughnuts she’d fried up a couple days ago. She eyed the creamer and sugar and left them beside her mixer. He looked like the kind of guy who took his brew black. Her diner-honed instincts were rarely wrong. At last, the back door creaked and she whirled, swallowing a bite of doughnut.
“Any sign of the mother?”
His features sharpened, his expression grave.
“Possibly. Did you hear any gunshots last night?”