Indivisible. Part 11

She took out her wallet, flipping her license down. The picture wasn't bad. And yes, she could legally drink, barely, though she didn't like to barhop. This wouldn't have been her first choice, but Mike had motioned her in from the sidewalk. "What would you like?"

The chief shook his head. "Nothing, thanks. I don't drink."

"How do you stay hydrated?"

His eyes creased. She liked how they smiled before his mouth.

"I just came to give you a message from Sarge."

She patted the stool. "You may as well sit."

He hesitated, then straddled the stool. Lucas popped the cap on an O'Doul's and set it before him. "Thanks." He took a swig.

"What's my message?"

"Sarge wants you to keep the job."

"He does?" Surprise and confusion mingled with joy and relief.

"He's angry and hurting, but most of all he's scared. He's losing control and doesn't know how to be without it."

"Tia told me about his wife and son."

Jonah frowned. "Best if you don't mention it."

She met the chief's dark blue eyes. "How did it happen?"

He stared a moment into the mouth of his beer bottle. "Marty was just learning to drive. He started to pa.s.s someone on the highway and got clipped. It put the car into a spin, and they went through the guardrail. Sarge thinks if he'd been out there, he might have stopped it, but Ellen wouldn't let him teach the kid, said he was too impatient. Given Marty's timid nature, she was probably right, and that's what really eats him up."

"Poor Sarge." She meant it.

"Yeah." Jonah stared down at the bar.

Mike came back from the bathroom ready to contest the stool until he realized it was the chief in his spot. He wiped his mouth and tried to look half as wasted as he was.

Jonah slid Mike a glance. "Not driving, are you?"

"No sir."

She'd never heard Mike call anyone sir.

"Who's your DD?" Jonah's voice was low yet somehow penetrating.

"Uh, MacDonald." Mike pointed to a kid shooting pool in the back of the room.

"Go make sure of that."

"Okay." Mike walked away.

The chief turned back. "Don't get in a car with him." He stood up, tossed a five on the bar, and went out the way he'd come, alone.

Jonah went home but not inside. He lowered himself onto the Adirondack chair and stared out into the night. He'd been nine when Marty crashed, was riding shotgun in his dad's truck when the call came over the radio. He might not remember it so clearly if the police chief hadn't ordered him down the slope to see what happened to fools that weren't careful.

He'd been retching under a tree when Sarge arrived. Their eyes met only briefly, a look that said Marty had been the sweet-natured son Sarge didn't deserve, and no one deserved a father like Stan Westfall.

Jonah reached into his pocket and pulled out a harmonica. He raised his feet to the rail and crossed his ankles.

Sarge had given him jobs so the bread wouldn't seem like charity; sweeping, counting inventory, stocking shelves. He always pointed out if the work was shoddy. And if it wasn't, he'd said, "Well done, soldier. Carry on." "Well done, soldier. Carry on."

Even now the words brought a hitch to his chest.

He didn't know what Sarge had seen in him, maybe a replacement for the son he'd lost. But he knew what he'd seen in Sarge, and there was no way the man would be stuffed into a care facility. He brought the harmonica to his mouth and started playing, a soft, poignant melody.

He had not insulted Tia, comparing her to Sarge. They were both incredibly strong, incredibly stubborn, incredibly important to him. He wanted both to move past the hurts that held them captive. Didn't help that he'd played a part in Tia's.

At the sound of rustling, Jonah lowered the harmonica and peered into the darkness. At the fringe of the tree line, a shadow moved. He unsnapped his holster, pulled his sidearm onto his lap, and rested his hand atop. Unless it was human, whatever was there could see him a lot better than he could see it. Smell him too.

Bears, cougars, and coyotes wouldn't naturally approach unless crazed with hunger or rabid. He sensed the creature's uncertainty, imagined its eyes roving over him, nose quivering as it took in his scent. Any moment it would slip away, shielded by the trees from a creature far less dangerous, yet threatening by nature of reason alone.

But the shadow crept closer. Jonah watched and waited. The lack of stealth surprised him. Moonlight reflected off a pair of eyes, low to the ground, then higher. He sensed the animal's fear, saw streaks of black across its side and shoulder.

The animal left the trees, pressing through the scrub and pausing where his lawn began, its motion more canine than feline, definitely not a bear. Bigger than a racc.o.o.n. Drawing slow breaths, he waited. If the animal charged he'd shoot, but he hoped he wouldn't have to.

As it stepped onto the gra.s.s, he noticed the limp, the hang of its head. An injured coyote. Why on earth was it coming to him? His mournful harmonica some sort of clarion? Pace after pace, it drew near, then lowered itself and lay panting with soft whines. He could see blood clumping the fur of its shoulder, neck, and side.

He holstered the gun, pocketed the mouth organ, then took out and flicked on his flashlight. He sat forward, letting the animal register his movement. It raised its head, bared its teeth, and growled. The effort took energy the creature didn't have, and it lowered its head. Slowly Jonah stood. The coyote whined.

He moved toward it, taking one step down and then another. The animal tensed when he reached the gra.s.s, and he waited, letting it sense him. It was a female. And she wasn't a pure coyote. She looked part shepherd. A coydog.

He moved, slowly and quietly, expecting her to spring up and run. As he came within a couple of steps, she reached out a paw and dragged herself a few inches toward him. He looked into her eyes, saw the wild fear but also something close to resignation.

He squatted down and examined her wounds. No cutting or st.i.tching. She looked to have been caught with a shotgun blast. By the matting in her coat, she'd lost a lot of blood. She licked weakly at the wounds stretching from shoulder to distended belly.

Jonah swallowed. She was a wild predator, but he took out his phone and dialed the vet. When she answered, he said, "Dr. Rainer? This is Chief Westfall. I know it's past hours, but I have an animal here that I can't transport. Any chance you can come have a look?"

He described the injuries and gave her directions to his place without mentioning that it was a coyote. Half coyote. Panting, the animal rolled farther to her side. Jonah ran the light over her, looking for anything he may have missed. Her eyes had dulled. Her tongue hung slack. Her ribs rose and fell in shallow breaths.

"Hang in there," he whispered. Slowly, he extended his hand, fingers curled to the palm, letting her get his scent. He brought it closer, rested it on her head. She tensed but couldn't sustain it. He moved his fingers softly through the fur. Odds were good she'd be dead by morning, but she'd come to him. "Hold on now. Hold on." He kept her as calm as he could until the grind of gravel announced Liz arriving.

She approached tentatively, her eyes widening when coyote coyote registered. By then the animal's head lay heavily in his cupped palm. She caught the new scent and eyed Liz warily, drawing her lips back and rumbling in her throat. registered. By then the animal's head lay heavily in his cupped palm. She caught the new scent and eyed Liz warily, drawing her lips back and rumbling in her throat.

Jonah felt more than heard it. "I don't think she has much fight, but I don't have to tell you to be careful."

"You want me to put her down?"

That would be the obvious choice, maybe the wise one. More wild than not, when she got strong again, she'd take off and be bolder than before. But he shook his head. She'd come to him for help, conquered her instinct and made herself vulnerable. "I thought we could treat the wounds, stop the bleeding and the pain."

A smile touched Liz Rainer's lips. "Is that what your head's telling you?"

He took the jibe with a glance and shrugged.

Liz ran her eyes over the animal. "She's carrying a litter."

"I thought so."

"Well, let's see what we can do to make her comfortable."

He sat back as the vet worked over her, pinching the fur to insert the needle to sedate her, removing thirteen pellets, then salving the wounds. He went inside and brought out a woolen blanket that he tucked under the animal's head, then laid the remainder loosely over her.

Liz said, "She's not a pure coyote, is she?"

"Coydog, I'd guess. A bolder, cannier predator with less fear of people."

"That's why your scent didn't warn her off." She looked at him in the glow of the flashlights. "Maybe I should take her to the clinic."

"I don't think so. She's still mostly wild."

"What then?"

"Can we get her onto the porch?"

"We can try."

He straightened. "Let me get some more blankets." He piled them in a heap, knowing dogs preferred that to a neatly folded surface. Then he wrapped the other blanket more securely around the coyote so that he and the vet could safely transport her.

The animal's eyelids parted as they lifted, her lip curled. She whined. He noted the awkward position of Liz's hip and took the weight of the animal from her. He carried her up the stairs, then placed her gently into the corner opposite the swing.

Liz looked down at her. "She's easy prey."

"I'll stay out here tonight."

"You're going to sleep on your porch for a wounded coyote?"

"She asked."

Again the smile tugged a corner of Liz's mouth. He didn't explain how that little drag had opened him up.

"Then what?"

He sighed. "She might be dead by morning."

"Would you like me to come check her status?"

"I'll call." He turned toward the door. "Let me get my checkbook."

"This is outside my fees."

"You made a special trip."

"Well, what goes around, comes around."

He eyed her. "At least let me cover the medications."

She nodded. "Okay." She followed him in, told him the charge, and accepted his check. "Ordinarily I'd prescribe a course of antibiotics. If you think you can get them into her, I'll have them at the office."

"We'll play that by ear. Thanks for coming over."

After she left, he settled on the swing with the blanket from his bed. The coydog hadn't moved. He wondered who'd shot her, someone disturbed or frightened by her approach? A sport hunter shooting from a car? Coyotes were fair game, especially if she had seemed off or aggressive.

He closed his eyes and woke at dawn to find her still breathing. His fingers were stiff with cold as he called Jay. "Are you free today?"

"I make my own schedule." Jay's construction and renovation company kept him as busy as he wanted to be, but being his own boss had its advantages.

"Any chance you can come by? There's something here that needs watching."

"Does it wear diapers?"

Jonah laughed. "Come see for yourself."

He brought out two cups of coffee when Jay arrived, striding casually across the yard. "Hold up."

Jay paused. "What?"

"She's here on the porch. I don't want you to startle her."

"She?"

Jonah indicated the coydog. Jay whistled low.

"Showed up last night. Hurt pretty bad."

"You want me to watch her?"

"Until she can watch herself. I have to work."

"A coyote comes to you, and you have to work?"

"She's a half-breed."

Jay pulled a slow smile.

"I'm guessing you can fix her some kind of mash or something."

"What do you have?"

"Steak?"

Jay snorted. He chopped raw meat and corn, added milk, and warmed and softened and mashed it on the stove, then ladled it onto a saucer.