glanced at the cuckoo clock beside her wall calendar, trying to remember. “Somewhere between nine and nine-thirty, I think. Was a bear shot?” Her throat tightened. “The mother?”
His pen flew across his pad and his eyes, more hazel than green now that he was closer, rose to meet hers. A smattering of light freckles dotted his nose. “It’s possible. There are tracks and blood a couple hundred yards east. Looks like big game. Have you seen any strange vehicles or people around your property lately?”
Her gaze swerved to the pepper spray still on her table, a ribbon of nerves moving through her stomach. She might well and truly have confronted an intruder last night. Someone armed. Again.
She held herself, hiding her shudder.
No. Not here. This remote, sleepy town was largely immune to random violence, a major factor in her decision to settle here rather than sell the house.
“My neighbor Muriel and her husband have some nephews from the Midwest house-sitting while they’re away. The guys are here on a fishing trip.”
His eyes narrowed. “Have you met them?”
“No, just heard about it from Muriel. They’re her sister’s sons.”
“Names?” His voice clipped, he sounded different from the guy who’d joked about a dog named Extra Pickles and high-fived Scooter. Back was the man who’d once ignored her pleas to let her keep feeding the animals last winter.
A breeze rushed through the open window above her sink, carrying the crisp smell of a spring morning—pine sap, fresh earth and growing things. It loosened a strand from her bun and sent it fluttering across her mouth.
She handed him a mug, then lifted her own. “She didn’t say. Just told me they’d visited during hunting season last fall and had come back to fish. Would you like a doughnut?” She cursed her ingrained manners, wishing she could give him the boot instead of baked goods.
“Thanks.” He split one in half and dunked it in his coffee before taking a bite. “These are good.” He chewed another piece, his expression intent as he stared outside.
She grabbed a dish towel and wiped up a bit of pie filling she’d missed last night. “Do you think they killed her?”
He gulped more coffee and lowered his mug, his mouth in a straight line. “I’ll find out.”
“What about the cub?”
His gaze swerved to hers. “I’ll have to put it down if I can’t find the mother.”
Vivie clutched the back of a chair, light-headed and nauseous. “What? No!” How could he say that so casually?
“I’ve called around and our wildlife rehabilitators are overloaded. Since the cub is too young to fend for itself, the humane thing to do is—”
“Kill it?” she stormed, interrupting. “How is that humane?” The cub’s frightened eyes came to mind and she backed up against the pantry door. Officer or not, he wouldn’t take the bear. Stop her from helping. It’d come to her home. Had sought refuge here.
He pulled off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Ma’am, I don’t expect you to understand. But you need to trust me and move aside so that I can do my job.”
“Not a chance,” she ground out, wishing her pepper spray wasn’t across the room.
“Please be reasonable.” He raised his eyebrows, looking harmless. His holstered weapon told a different story.
Maybe she could reason with him, though she’d failed before. There had to be a way to save the cub. “How do you become a wildlife rehabilitator?”
He drew in a long breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “Pass a certification test, then work under the supervision of a rehabilitator for six months.”
Tests. She hated them. Had only ever done well on presentation-style exams in culinary school. Still, for the baby bear...anything. “And when is the next one?”
“In a week.” He made a vague motion in the air with his hand. “Look. I’d be happy to discuss that with you another time, but the cub might be suffering. Please step aside so that I can take it.”
She raised her voice over her drumming heartbeat. “I’ll pass the test. Get certified.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making the curl-tipped ends stand up. “You’d have to study hundreds of pages of online material. It’s not easy. Trust me. I took it and barely finished my apprenticeship before my academy training started.”
“So you’re a certified wildlife rehabilitator? You could care for it.”
His chin jerked. “I already have a job.”
Her mind shifted into overdrive, churning up possibilities. “Not next week. You said you’re on vacation. You could take her while I study for the test.”
He blew out a long breath. “I don’t have an enclosure—something you’ll need along with someone to supervise you.”
She tried to come across as commanding, though at five-foot-three inches that was always a challenge. “You could help with both.”
He shook his head, his earnest expression replaced with a wash of annoyance. “Out of the question. There are too many ifs in that idea.”
She tried keeping the heat out of her voice. The DEC. Always so difficult. Especially Walsh. “Why? I’m sure you could call in a favor. Ask one of the rehabilitators to find temporary space for the cub. Then I’ll pass the test and, with your help, be approved to care for it. Don’t you want to do the right thing?”
Wasn’t that his job?
“I do. Which is why I’m taking the bear. Now.”
“Not a chance. You’ll have to go through me first.” She hated to sound dramatic, use a cheesy line from bad TV, but there was no other way to say it.
A crease appeared between his brows, his eyes scanning hers. Finally, he released a long breath.
“How about this—I’ll take her to the vet where they’ll check her jaw, give her some food and a safe place to stay, temporarily, while I continue investigating.”
She considered, wishing she could trust him. But after her dealings with him before, her faith was on the short side.
“Let’s try this,” she countered. “I’ll go with you and stay with the bear until you come back. Then we’ll talk about what happens next.”
He settled his hat back on, pinching the indented top. “There’s no reason to get more involved, ma’am.”
She pulled out her cell and tapped in Maggie’s number. Someone could come by and pick up the pies. Another worker would be called in for an extra shift. The Homestead would manage without her today. She wasn’t leaving the cub’s side until she knew it’d be safe—from nature and the DEC.
“It’s much too late for that, Officer Walsh.”
She studied him for a long, heavy moment, then moved aside. If the cub’s mother was dead, then she’d take on the role.
And nothing was more ferocious than a mama bear...
LIAM HOPPED INTO his black SUV an hour later and backed out of the vet-office parking lot, his mind focused more on the investigation than the road.
Gut instinct told him someone had shot the cub’s mother last night, and the scared orphan had followed its nose to food and shelter. He cranked the wheel, heading back to Vivie’s neighbors’ house.
Poachers.
Had to be.
The