Book of Mercy by Sherry Roberts Page A

the deer’s water bowls and slept with them. It ignored the cat food Antigone provided. It chased chipmunks and mice, and, when it caught them, dropped the dead rodent souvenirs at the feet of one of its adopted friends. No one even considered trying to name it.
    As the skies darkened, the deer grew increasingly restless. They broke into full runs without warning—and stopped just as suddenly and mysteriously. The cat slid between their frisky hooves like a shadow. The deer played tag and boxed. Ryder stared as two of the adults, each probably tipping the scales at more than a hundred pounds, reared up on hind legs and punched at each other with their front hooves. They pawed the air. Antigone walked up and laid an arm across his shoulder. Startled, Ryder tried to edge away.
    “They’re gonna kill each other,” he whispered.
    “They’re just having fun.” Antigone smiled. “But don’t
you
get near them when they’re like this.”
    Star nodded. “This is deer play, not people play.”
    Antigone said, “Those hooves are sharp and strong; they can break your arm or your nose and you won’t know what hit you . . .”
    The sound of a slamming gate cracked like a rifle shot in the air. Ryder, Antigone, and Star spun around. The loud clang startled them—and the deer. Sam stomped toward them, head down, obviously in a hurry. “Antigone! I’ve got to run out to Arthur Crump’s site. Transmission problems. Need anything while I’m . . .?”
    Antigone took a step toward him, hand held out. “Sam!” she cried, but before she could voice a warning, the herd scattered. All of them except one. One of the boxing deer, still pumped with adrenaline, charged, instead of fleeing—right at the cause of the disturbance. Sam’s head jerked up. He froze. The boxer skidded to a halt before Sam, rose on its hind legs, and attacked. With its front hooves, it beat a tattoo on Sam’s chest, a brief rat-a-tat-tat, a soft drumming by deer standards that left Sam stunned. As suddenly as the attack occurred, it ended. The deer wheeled and fled into the woods.
    At first, Sam didn’t move. Then he swallowed and slowly looked down at his chest. Ryder stared at Sam’s chest as well. He didn’t know what he expected to see—perhaps Sam’s heart dangling by an artery from an opened cavity or broken ribs protruding like spears. Instead he saw hoof prints climbing up Sam’s white T-shirt. That’s gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, he thought.
    “As I was saying,” Antigone said to Ryder and Star as they approached a dazed Sam, “don’t make any sudden movements or loud noises around the deer. They’re gentle creatures by nature, but they still have that fight or flight instinct. And,” she motioned toward Sam, “you never know which they’ll choose. Always remember that as friendly and loving as they seem, they’re still wild things.”
    As Antigone led Sam off in the direction of an ice bag and salve, Ryder cast a wary glance at the herd, which had settled and was grazing as if nothing had happened.
    Star’s mother called her in to practice the piano. “You be okay?” the girl asked.
    He gave her an exasperated look. Star nodded then walked to the gate. After she was through and the latch secured, she sprinted for home.
    The sky rumbled. He turned back to the deer. “I ain’t afraid of you,” he told them.

Chapter 7
Fast and Furious
    W HILE S AM ICED HIS chest and Star practiced her piano, Antigone decided to give Ryder another driving lesson in the Mustang on the back roads around Mercy.
    “You sure you can leave him?” Ryder asked, trying to get out of the lesson.
    “Sam’s a fast healer. He’s already feeling better,” she said, tossing him the keys.
    Snatching the keys from the air, he reluctantly settled into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. Ryder liked to be in control, which was a word that didn’t even enter his mind when he thought of cars and driving. He listened and tried to react as