fury,
nails raking deeply across her skin.
I’ll claw out his other eye!
Lucy and Zach pulled Pierre into the corner of the kitchen
by his collar. Leo threw himself down across the dog’s belly.
“Walker,” Lucy said, panting, to the stranger, who was
standing behind Fenella. “Talk about being the right person
at the right time.”
“Nah, you were handling it,” said the stranger called
Walker, in a humorous, unrushed voice. There was something about that voice. It seemed to draw a lingering, easy
line down along the bare skin above Fenella’s spine. She
suddenly wanted to see what the speaker looked like.
No. She did not. She bent over the trembling cat.
The dog was still growling, low in the throat. “Let’s get
Pierre out of here, Leo,” said Zach. They dragged Pierre out
of the room. The dog kept his single eye fixed on the cat the
whole time.
The newcomer was close to Fenella now. He said, “Your
arms are scratched and bleeding.”
As large warm hands fastened on top of Fenella’s, Ryland
went limp, a bundle of fur and bones. The hands gently,
competently, lifted Ryland away. The cat did not struggle.
The kitchen went quiet. Fenella looked around, but not at
the stranger called Walker.
Soledad stood with Dawn in her arms, looking as if she
might laugh hysterically. The child’s gaze was on the cat.
She leaned forward yearningly, her face alight. She babbled
something.
“It’s a kitty, Dawn,” said Lucy. “Nice kitty.” She reached
for and took the child from Soledad.
Soledad said to Lucy, “Don’t you laugh. If you start, I’ll
go off.”
“Nice kitty.” Lucy’s shoulders were suddenly shaking.
“Stop it, Lucy.”
Then the two of them were, inexplicably, roaring with
laughter. Soledad wiped her eyes. “Walker? Would you like
a square of lasagna?”
“I would, but first I’d like someplace safe to put this cat,”
said Walker.
“I’ll get the cat carrier,” said Fenella, and escaped from
the kitchen. A minute later, she was back with the carrier.
She held its gate open while the stranger bundled Ryland
inside.
She still had not seen his face. All she had had was a
quick impression of height and strong arms. Fenella’s heart
beat faster with what was surely anxiety about the cat.
“Now,” said Walker. “Those scratched arms of yours. Can
I see?”
Oh, no, wailed the cat. Tell him he imagined it.
Fenella tilted her chin and forced herself, finally, to look
at the stranger. She looked slowly and thoroughly.
Walker was indeed tall. He wore pants that had been
hacked short to reveal bare, knobby knees and long shanks.
He’d paired the pants with a grubby shirt and its shoulders
were slightly tight—or maybe it was that his shoulders were
themselves a fraction too wide. Above the shoulders, he
had a sturdy neck and dark brown hair the exact shade of a
dead oak leaf that clings stubbornly to its branch. The hair
needed cutting.
Walker’s face was deep brown too. It featured a wide
mouth and a misshapen nose that had plainly been broken
some time ago. You wanted to smile at the nose, except that
you forgot to do that once you looked into Walker’s eyes.
They were beautiful eyes; brown with amber lights, darklashed, crinkled at the corners.
Silently, Fenella held out her smooth, unmarked arms.
Walker’s gaze moved from Fenella’s arms, to her face, and
then back down again.
“I guess I was seeing things. You’re not hurt.” His fingers
brushed along the soft inside of her forearm, as if seeking
tactile proof.
Fenella’s pulse jumped in her wrists and at the base of her
throat.
He smiled into her face. “I’m Walker Dobrez.”
Fenella knew what to say. Fenella, she thought. My name
is Fenella Scarborough. She moved her lips to say the words,
to introduce herself as anybody would.
Nothing came out of her mouth.
Then Soledad was there beside her. “Walker, I forgot you
were coming over. How lucky.”
“Glad to help,” said Walker.
nails raking deeply across her skin.
I’ll claw out his other eye!
Lucy and Zach pulled Pierre into the corner of the kitchen
by his collar. Leo threw himself down across the dog’s belly.
“Walker,” Lucy said, panting, to the stranger, who was
standing behind Fenella. “Talk about being the right person
at the right time.”
“Nah, you were handling it,” said the stranger called
Walker, in a humorous, unrushed voice. There was something about that voice. It seemed to draw a lingering, easy
line down along the bare skin above Fenella’s spine. She
suddenly wanted to see what the speaker looked like.
No. She did not. She bent over the trembling cat.
The dog was still growling, low in the throat. “Let’s get
Pierre out of here, Leo,” said Zach. They dragged Pierre out
of the room. The dog kept his single eye fixed on the cat the
whole time.
The newcomer was close to Fenella now. He said, “Your
arms are scratched and bleeding.”
As large warm hands fastened on top of Fenella’s, Ryland
went limp, a bundle of fur and bones. The hands gently,
competently, lifted Ryland away. The cat did not struggle.
The kitchen went quiet. Fenella looked around, but not at
the stranger called Walker.
Soledad stood with Dawn in her arms, looking as if she
might laugh hysterically. The child’s gaze was on the cat.
She leaned forward yearningly, her face alight. She babbled
something.
“It’s a kitty, Dawn,” said Lucy. “Nice kitty.” She reached
for and took the child from Soledad.
Soledad said to Lucy, “Don’t you laugh. If you start, I’ll
go off.”
“Nice kitty.” Lucy’s shoulders were suddenly shaking.
“Stop it, Lucy.”
Then the two of them were, inexplicably, roaring with
laughter. Soledad wiped her eyes. “Walker? Would you like
a square of lasagna?”
“I would, but first I’d like someplace safe to put this cat,”
said Walker.
“I’ll get the cat carrier,” said Fenella, and escaped from
the kitchen. A minute later, she was back with the carrier.
She held its gate open while the stranger bundled Ryland
inside.
She still had not seen his face. All she had had was a
quick impression of height and strong arms. Fenella’s heart
beat faster with what was surely anxiety about the cat.
“Now,” said Walker. “Those scratched arms of yours. Can
I see?”
Oh, no, wailed the cat. Tell him he imagined it.
Fenella tilted her chin and forced herself, finally, to look
at the stranger. She looked slowly and thoroughly.
Walker was indeed tall. He wore pants that had been
hacked short to reveal bare, knobby knees and long shanks.
He’d paired the pants with a grubby shirt and its shoulders
were slightly tight—or maybe it was that his shoulders were
themselves a fraction too wide. Above the shoulders, he
had a sturdy neck and dark brown hair the exact shade of a
dead oak leaf that clings stubbornly to its branch. The hair
needed cutting.
Walker’s face was deep brown too. It featured a wide
mouth and a misshapen nose that had plainly been broken
some time ago. You wanted to smile at the nose, except that
you forgot to do that once you looked into Walker’s eyes.
They were beautiful eyes; brown with amber lights, darklashed, crinkled at the corners.
Silently, Fenella held out her smooth, unmarked arms.
Walker’s gaze moved from Fenella’s arms, to her face, and
then back down again.
“I guess I was seeing things. You’re not hurt.” His fingers
brushed along the soft inside of her forearm, as if seeking
tactile proof.
Fenella’s pulse jumped in her wrists and at the base of her
throat.
He smiled into her face. “I’m Walker Dobrez.”
Fenella knew what to say. Fenella, she thought. My name
is Fenella Scarborough. She moved her lips to say the words,
to introduce herself as anybody would.
Nothing came out of her mouth.
Then Soledad was there beside her. “Walker, I forgot you
were coming over. How lucky.”
“Glad to help,” said Walker.
Similar Books
