She bounced on the balls of her feet as we reached the doe’s stall. “We gotta give her the nighttime meds.”
Aspen rounded us and lifted the lid on the tack box, pulling out a treat and a pill bottle. She expertly shoved the medicine into the center of the snack and then looked at her daughter. “Remember, be real quiet and still.”
Cady nodded solemnly. “I will.”
Her words were an adorable whisper, and she still didn’t let go of my hand.
I didn’t remember the last time someone had held my hand. Grae, maybe. When she was in the hospital, recovering from her ordeal last month. I shoved the memory and the fear that had accompanied it down.
Aspen slipped into the stall. The deer was edgy, pawing at the ground. Aspen didn’t encroach on her territory; she simply crouched and held out her hand.
I wasn’t sure if the vet had taught her this tactic or if it was intrinsic. But it worked. Aspen didn’t rush the doe. She just waited as if it weren’t freezing, and she had all the time in the world.
The deer approached slowly. She waited to see if Aspen would make a move, but the woman remained still. The wounds on the doe’s sides looked a bit less red, even with just twenty-four hours of antibiotics. She nabbed the treat from Aspen and gobbled it down.
Aspen rose, keeping her movements steady and unhurried. Then she slipped from the stall. “She seems a little better.”
“Her gashes aren’t as red,” I added.
Cady tugged on my hand. “They’ll heal, right?”
“Won’t be long now,” I assured her.
She beamed and started dragging me down the aisle again. “You gotta meet Chauncey. And Pirate, if she’ll come around.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Aspen. “Chauncey? Pirate?”
Aspen just laughed. The sound was light and airy, something so pure it almost hurt to hear.
Cady dragged me toward the house as Aspen closed the barn door behind us. The little girl was stronger than she looked, and we were at the front porch before I had time to ask another question.
Aspen rounded us, pulling keys out of her pocket. She reached up and plucked a small wooden chip from the doorframe. My eyes narrowed on her as she set it on the windowsill. Then she opened the screen and began unlocking two deadbolts and the lock on the doorknob.
My scalp prickled. People around here didn’t have three locks. Until recently, they rarely used one.
Aspen opened the door, and a deep bark sounded. A large dog with an awkward gait lumbered toward us. It took me a moment to realize the pup only had three legs.
He went straight to Cady, licked her cheek, and then ran out into the snow to do his business. After emptying his bladder, he returned and shoved his nose into my crotch.
“Chauncey,” Cady called with a giggle. “That’s not polite.”
“Chauncey, huh?” I asked.
Cady nodded, leading us inside. “He’s the best.”
I took in the space. It had a lived-in feel. There were colorful throw pillows on a couch that looked as if it had seen better days. Family photos in frames that Cady had clearly decorated with paint and glitter littered the fireplace mantel. And I could just make out a kitchen with a battered table set for two.
“What happened to his leg?” I asked Aspen, turning back to them.
“The shelter said he was hit by a car. His owners didn’t want to pay for the surgery.” Anger flashed in her eyes.
“We saved him,” Cady piped in. “They were gonna put him to sleep, but we got there just in time.”
Total bleeding hearts.
Chauncey pressed against my side, and I rubbed between his ears. “Who’s Pirate?”
Cady started making kissing noises, calling for Pirate.
Aspen smiled, and the action lit up her entire face. “That’s our indoor cat. She’s missing an eye, so she can’t be in the barn with the others. Her peripheral vision isn’t good enough to look out for predators.”
“Three-legged dog, one-eyed cat. Do any of your animals have all their body parts?”
She shrugged. “These are the ones that have a hard time finding homes. And those that have been unwanted for so long just love you that much more.”
There was that off-kilter feeling in my chest again. “I need to go,” I clipped.
Aspen’s eyes flared. “Of course.”
“You haven’t met Pirate yet,” Cady argued.
My chest felt tight. I needed air.
Aspen placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and squeezed. “Roan needs to get home to his own house.”
It was the first time I’d heard her say my name. Something about the shape of it in her mouth sounded different than how I heard it every other day.
Cady pouted.
Aspen simply tweaked her nose. “How about a bubble bath before bed?”
The little girl instantly brightened. “Can I wear my goggles?”
Aspen laughed. “Go get them.”
“Bye, Mr. Grizz,” she yelled as she ran off.
I was already on my way to the door. My lungs felt like fire. “Lock up after me.”
There was a bite to my words that I didn’t intend but couldn’t help.
Instead of annoyance or anger in Aspen’s eyes, there was concern.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The last thing I needed was for her to see me. There was too much darkness there. I slipped out the door, shutting it hard behind me. But then I stopped, sucking in ice-cold air.
I waited until I heard the telltale sound of one, two, three locks. The snick of each one twisted my gut and ratcheted my unease higher. She had three locks for a reason. The need to know what that was ate at me.
But I forced my legs to move and carry me away from the farmhouse that needed serious work. I beeped the locks on my truck and climbed inside. Starting the engine, I rolled down the window. I needed air. I didn’t care how frigid it was.
Carefully, I executed a three-point turn, my gaze pulled toward the house. The glow of light in the windows was just as sunny and warm as the two people inside.
They needed to be more careful. Not everyone would wander into your house with good intentions.
I gripped the wheel tighter as I placed my foot on the accelerator. I’d go for a run if there wasn’t still so much snow on the ground. I needed to burn off the bizarre energy thrumming through me.
Glancing both ways, I turned right out of Aspen’s drive and headed away from town. My truck took the familiar bumps in the road easily. In a matter of minutes, I was turning off Huckleberry Lane and onto a private drive.
I slowed at an imposing gate. Tiny red lights flashed, recording in night vision. Usually, each security measure eased a bit of the feral energy running through me at any given time. But it didn’t touch it tonight.
Sticking my hand out the window, I typed in a gate code. Changing it every three weeks was a memory exercise of sorts. I waited a beat for the gate to swing open, then drove through. I stopped just on the other side of the fence while it closed. I needed to see the locking mechanism click before I could drive on.