No Ordinary Hero

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“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?”