Читать книгу Over His Head - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 10

NANCY HAD BARELY dragged Lancelot home and fed him and the cats when her doorbell rang. She froze. It had to be Tim Wainwright. No doubt infuriated. No doubt accusing her of burglary, being a Peeping Tom and assault with a deadly pig.

Might as well face him now. After all, he was supposed to drive her to the car rental agency. If he didn’t, she was stuck, and she needed to check on the mastiff and the Jack Russell at the clinic. Not to mention the usual Saturday grocery shopping. She opened the door prepared for a frontal assault, no pun intended.

The kid—Eddy, was it?—stood on the doorstep. He stared up at her with those blank, unblinking blue eyes. He was cradling something in his arms.

She caught her breath. All puppies looked pretty much alike at this age except in size, but this one had come from small parents and would probably stay small itself. Possibly some mixed variety that included Jack Russell terrier and dachshund.

Eddy held it out to her. “Please?” he said. His voice sounded rusty from disuse, deep and gravelly for a child his age.

She feared the pup was dead from the way it lay in the child’s arms, but when she took it, she felt the flutter of a small heart. And the warmth of blood on her palms. She turned and raced for her kitchen, as she called over her shoulder, “Come in, shut the door behind you tight so the animals don’t get out.”

She heard the sound of the lock clicking into place and then the patter of bare feet on her floorboards.

She grabbed a dry dish towel off the rack beside the sink and laid the pup on it. Poor little thing, it was too traumatized or too hurt to fight. “Hit by a car, probably,” she said as she gently lifted the satiny brown baby hair away from the place she had felt blood.

She gasped. The flesh was raw, the burns so deep she could see blistered muscle tissue. The pup wriggled and mewed more like a small kitten than a dog. Instantly Poddy jumped onto the drain board. “Down, Poddy, go ’way. I’m not hurting it.”

She felt rather than saw Eddy beside her. “Please,” he whispered again.

“Did you do this?” she asked sharply without taking her eyes off the pup. She ran cold water over a dish towel and, folding it, placed it over the wound, then turned to glare down at him.

He shook his head. Those blue eyes stared into hers, and for the first time she saw expression in him. A single tear ran down his cheek, cutting a swatch through the dirt. “I found him.” He reached out and touched the brown pup’s little skull tentatively. “Please don’t let him die.” Without warning, he began to shake his head fiercely and backed away from the sink. “Mustn’t die, mustn’t die!”

She caught his shoulder. He was thin, but wiry. He was as tense as a crossbow. Probably just as ready to snap. “I won’t lie. He’s in shock. Otherwise you’d never have been able to carry him. He’d have bitten you.”

She turned back to the sink. “Somebody’s poured lighter fluid or kerosene on him and lit it, but they did a lousy job. He must have broken loose and put out the fire in the damp grass. He’s brown. He wouldn’t have been easy to spot in the dark once the fire was out.”

“Somebody hurt him? On purpose?”

As she talked, she gently cleaned the debris and grass away, then placed a dry towel over the pup to keep him warm. “It’s nasty and deep, but you did the right thing bringing him to me. Let’s see what I can do.”

Her voice had gentled frightened animals for years. Let’s see if I can gentle this little Eddy beast, she thought as she went to get the first-aid case she kept at home. She was used to opening the door to neighbors with baby squirrels or birds that had fallen from nests, hurt cats and dogs, momma possums hit by cars with their bellies still full of their young—everything including snakes and cows…even the occasional fawn. So her kit was extensive.

By the time she came back, Poddy was sitting on the counter beside the pup. Wonder of wonders, Eddy was stroking him, not a liberty he allowed many people. Lancelot watched them from his basket. She didn’t think Eddy had noticed him yet. “Okay,” she said, “let’s spray a bit of painkiller over that wound, so we can clean it up and see what we’ve got.” She looked down at Eddy. “Won’t your father wonder where you are?”

He shook his head without taking his eyes off the pup or his grubby, small hand off Poddy. “He’s asleep.”

“I don’t think he is.” Probably calling the cops. “You sure you want to watch?” she asked. “Then we’ll call your father so he won’t worry.”

“Not watch. Help.”

She dealt frequently with people who didn’t want to watch or even to help when their animals were in pain, and many parents who felt junior’s tender sensibilities couldn’t take watching the birth of the kittens or the excision of a sarcoid tumor on a horse’s flank. As far as Nancy was concerned, if a child was old enough to ask to watch, he was old enough to know the truth about the event. She didn’t particularly enjoy children, considered herself hopeless with them, so she treated them like adults. It was all she knew to do.

“Okay,” she said. “Hold his jaws together gently. He’s warming up and really starting to hurt. He’s small, but he can still bite.” The pup had begun to whine and scrabble. She was afraid to give him a shot—any amount of sedative could kill him. She pulled on latex gloves and sprayed the wound with a solution that would deaden the tissue at once.

Eddy stood beside her with his fingers around the pup’s jaw. Without asking, he took the pup’s four legs in his other hand to keep the pup still, as Nancy clipped what remained of singed fur and trimmed off the seared skin around the deepest part of the burn.

Give the kid credit. He didn’t back off from the blood or the stench of burned hair and skin. On closer look, the blisters weren’t as deep as she’d thought. The actual muscles hadn’t been attacked, nor had any of the major blood vessels. She finished cleaning and treating the pup with antiburn salve, antibiotics and more painkiller, then bound the wound around the pup’s belly. “Okay, kid, that’s got it for the moment,” she said as she peeled off her gloves and tossed them into the wastebasket.

“Will he be all right?”

“No idea, but I think so. He’s going to need care. He’s probably eating on his own, but his mother may still suckle him as well. Did you find any others like this?”

Eddy shook his head.

Nancy shuddered. Please God let’s hope this was the only victim. The mother and other pups might not have been so lucky. “Where’d you find him? And what are you doing up so early anyway?” She slipped her hands under the pup, towel and all. “Go into my bathroom. Linen closet’s the little door on the left. Bring me a couple of towels. We’ll make him a bed.”

Eddy didn’t ask questions. He stiffened for a moment when he spotted Lancelot, and edged warily around his bed, but he got the towels. Together they settled the pup on top of a folded blue bath towel, and covered him with another to keep him warm.

“Ever nurse a puppy?”

Eddy shook his head.

“Then it’s time you learned.” She fetched one of the small nursing bottles and a box of dry puppy milk formula from her case, mixed up the formula with warm water and put the nipple on. She handed the bottle to the child, who immediately hunkered down beside the pup.

“Snuggle him in your lap, towel and all.”

Eddy did as he was told, and within seconds the puppy was suckling contentedly.

She was certain Lancelot would intrude the moment he smelled the milk. Amazingly he seemed to understand that this was one time he shouldn’t. He didn’t take his eyes off Eddy, but he stayed in his bed and confined his comments to the occasional snuffle.

She sat on the floor beside the boy. “Now, where’d you find him? Do you know who did this?”

He shook his head. “I went out in the yard. You fix animals, so I brought him.”

He must have been outside while she’d been trying to spring Lancelot from Tim’s bed. She wondered how he planned to get back into the house. The back door locked automatically when it was on the latch as she had left it. He probably hadn’t thought that far ahead.

The Halliburtons’ yard—she had to stop thinking of it as the Halliburtons’—was surrounded by thick woods that went down to the lake. Hers, across the lane, had a ten-acre pasture behind it with an old barn. The rest of the fifty acres she owned was covered in equally dense woods.

The nearest house directly behind Eddy’s was probably a couple of miles south of the village on the side road. She’d have to go over to those woods to see if she could find any other wounded animals and the scene of the crime, because it was a crime. She’d call Mike O’Hara, the sheriff, and notify him they had a mutilator in the neighborhood. He could alert the rest of the community.

“Do you know what happened to it?”

Eddy looked up at her. “Why would somebody burn it?”

She had to admit the possibility that he’d done it himself, then become frightened of what he’d done and tried to save the animal.

Nancy didn’t think so though. She’d seen kids and adults who mutilated animals for what they considered fun. They felt nothing except annoyance that they’d been caught. Animal cruelty was one of the first symptoms of a psychopathic personality—a Ted Bundy in the making. She couldn’t remember the other symptoms—that spelled trouble.

That Wainwright guy ought to know. “Eddy, do you know if either Jason or Angie went out of the house last night?”

His head jerked up. “They like animals.”

Smart kid. Knew precisely why she was asking.

“Angie’s horse-crazy. Jason even liked the sheep.”

Nancy had no idea what sheep, but for the moment, at least, she respected Eddy’s take on his siblings.

“He’s finished,” Eddy said. “See?” He held the empty bottle up.

“Okay, rub his tummy until he piddles and poops.” She reached under the sink for a new roll of paper towels, took a couple and handed them to Eddy.

He didn’t hesitate. He simply set to work until the pup had evacuated satisfactorily. Nancy took the neatly folded paper towels from him. They’d go outside in the trash.

“Do you have any idea who he belongs to?” she asked. Stupid question. If she didn’t recognize the pup or its parents after six years in the neighborhood, he couldn’t be expected to know after one night.

Eddy shook his head and laid the sleeping pup and his nest back into the corner.

“That presents a problem. If I take him to the clinic, it costs money, and I suspect he’s a stray.”

“Can’t he stay here? I’ll look after him.”

She knew absolutely, positively that she shouldn’t even consider agreeing. “At his age he needs to be fed every four to six hours, and his bandage changed morning and night. We’ll get him onto puppy food soaked in milk, and after he starts getting better he’ll need to go outside to the bathroom.”

“School doesn’t start for a while,” Eddy said with what passed for enthusiasm with this child. “I can do it.”

“I’m sure your father won’t want you spending all your time looking after the pup.”

“Sure he will.” Then he ducked his head and all enthusiasm vanished. “He said we couldn’t have a dog yet. I could keep him here.” He stroked the pup’s head. “And I can pay you. My Gran’mere will send me some money if I ask her.”

When he looked up at her, she wondered how she could ever have thought he was expressionless. Such longing, such sadness, such hope! What had happened to this child to make him close down? She’d have to find out. And if that Wainwright fellow had anything to do with it, she’d see him rot in hell.

As if in answer to her summons, the doorbell rang again. Eddy jumped. “That’s my daddy,” he whispered.

“Stay here.”

“Do we have to tell him?”

“Don’t worry, Eddy, I’ll handle it.”

When she opened her front door, Wainwright stepped in without asking. “Have you seen my son? I can’t find him.”

“He’s here,” she said, and turned back to the kitchen.

“Eddy,” Tim rushed past her.

Eddy hunched over the puppy’s nest.

Tim squatted beside his son. “Eddy, don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” Then he hugged the boy.

If he was an abuser, he was good at concealing it. Nancy saw tears in his eyes.

He held Eddy at arm’s length. “Son, you’re filthy. And no shoes. Where’ve you been?”

“I went out. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.” Then, as if realizing he’d actually spoken more than a few words at a time, he seemed to shrink into himself. “I’m sorry.”

She saw Tim gulp convulsively.

“It’s okay, son. It’s good that you wanted to go out and explore. Just don’t go out alone again without telling me. Even if I’m still in bed, I’ll get up and go with you. Maybe we’ll all go. We definitely need to explore our land, but this is the country. There’s a whole bunch of new stuff you’re not used to—snakes and fast trucks and woods and streams. You could have gotten lost.” He drew back and glanced over his shoulder. “And what are you doing over here bothering Miss Mayfield?”

No mention of their previous meeting. Thank God he chose to ignore it.

Eddy looked down at the nest. The only visible portion of the pup was an inch of charred brown ear.

“How about I make some coffee,” Nancy said. “I’ve also got OJ and a coffee cake. Sit down and let Eddy tell you about it. He’s a real hero.”

Eddy gave her a grateful look. She winked at him. Whether Tim Wainwright liked it or not, his son had a dog. If she had anything to say about it, he’d keep it.