Page 25 of Not Mine to Rescue

The corners of her mouth went up. “You hate snakes?”

I knelt in front of her. Tired of seeing her hands tremble, I took them into mine and rubbed against her skin to get some friction going. They were like ice cubes. “Snakes, wasps, ticks. Pretty much anything without fur or feathers.”

“I heard you had an owl.”

She must mean Hoot-in-nanny. Hoot for short. “I still have him. He lives in the barn.”

“You kept him?”

Considering he couldn’t fly farther than four hundred feet, yes. I had to. I kept him fed with meal worms and grubs from the garden. “Let’s just say, he got too attached to the place.”

“If I were an owl, I’d love it here.”

For the first time in minutes, she showed signs of clarity as she looked around the tiny-ass space I’d transformed into a bachelor nest. “Is this where you live?”

The converted garage started as a hobby, but became a necessity. While I loved my sister, I needed a place of my own where I could do whatever I wanted and not corrupt my baby sister with my… well, guests. “Yes.”

It wasn’t much more than a twenty-two foot by forty-six foot box. Half of it held my bikes and tools in the two unheated bays, and the other half was my two-room plus bath hovel. The living space was about as small as it looked from the outside. The bathroom was a cramped little rectangle with a shower, shitter, and sink, and very little room to move between the spaces.

She glanced around. Everything in the place was second-hand. Even the kitchen appliances were reclaimed from various places. Lemon tried to give it a cheery feel by painting the main living space bright yellow and filling one corner with plants. I sent them back if they wilted or turned ugly colors.

I had three thread-bare Persian rugs on the floor. They were layered haphazardly to keep the chill of the cement floor from seeping through the threadbare sections. The couch Honoria sat upon had its share of holes, too. Mostly chewed or clawed through by Dumb Ass or whatever critter of the month I nursed back to health. Mom kept sending me crocheted blankets to cover it. I layered them deep on the couch, the recliner, and the footstool Lemon forced me to keep. The result was an overstuffed puke-fest of bright colors.

Her hands were warm now, but I couldn’t let them go. Her soft skin and fine bones were fascinating. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Your house?”

No. What had made the toughest woman I’d ever met nearly faint? “Sure. Here’s the grand tour. Plants. Seating. More plants. Kitchen. Beer. That door’s the bathroom, and around the corner is the bedroom.”

Her eyes shot to mine.

I looked away, feeling awful for propositioning her before. I had shitty timing. To cover my ass, I apologized. “It probably smells like socks in there.” The stacked washer and dryer were ripped out of one of Snake’s rentals. They barely worked. That meant I didn’t keep up on laundry as much as I should to be worthy of a woman of Honoria’s caliber. I tugged my hands free. “Poor Molly was worried about you.” I was too.

“It’s her anxiety.” Honoria frowned.

Her anxiety was likely tied to her owner’s. I sat on my heels and studied her.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

She grimaced. “Like you don’t believe me.”

Nailed it. “How about I make some soup and toasted cheese sandwiches? We eat, watch TV, you’re going to drink some soda or fruit juice and we’ll just avoid the whole… um… thing.” I wasn’t scoring points on being articulate, that was certain.

“That sounds like heaven. I think I’d even like to meet your owl if it’s okay?”

I could make that happen. “Wait here.” For some reason, I winked at her before slipping out to coax Hoot down from his nest.

I fed him a worm or two before bringing him into the house. He was used to the place. And Dumb Ass even let him ride him like a horse on occasion. But poor Molly took one look and fixated on him as either a threat or prey. It was hard to tell with her. I introduced them first. “Molly, this is Hoot. He’s not food, got it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think that Molly would—” She grabbed Molly’s collar, which wasn’t the right thing to do. Now, instead of having a nice, calm, casual atmosphere, the tension ratcheted up. Hoot fluttered to the top of the refrigerator and let out a warning screech.

I set the worms down and distracted Molly and her owner for a minute while I explained protocol. In the meantime, Hoot settled a bit, and Molly took her cues from Honoria. When it was finally time, I brought Hoot down and fed him while showing off the bent wing which hampered his flight. Then I showed Honoria his super sharp claws that were great for hunting, but not great if you weren’t wearing leather gloves or clothing thick enough.

“His beak is pretty sharp, too. Ask me how I know,” I finished. “Hold your finger out and move slow. He likes the back of his head tickled.” I showed her how.

Hoot let out a little chitter.