Carolyn McSparren - Tennessee Vet

She leaned out her open window. “Here’s my card. Numbers for me, the clinic, my cell and my email. I’ll let you know if something changes. Mr. MacDonald—”

“Stephen, please.”

“And I’m Barbara. Try to get some sleep, and don’t worry. He obviously wants to live. Now we have to hope his will is as strong as his bones.” She pulled away and waved through her window as she drove back onto the road and turned toward the clinic.

He stood in the dark and watched her taillights until she turned the bend and disappeared. Heck of an introduction to the country, he thought. And a heck of an introduction to the most interesting woman he’d met since Nina died.

Though she was a bit too sure of herself...

CHAPTER FIVE

“AN EAGLE? REALLY?” Emma Logan swiveled as much as she could to look at Stephen in the passenger seat of her SUV. It was clearly a challenge to get the distance she needed between her stomach and the steering wheel while still being able to keep her feet on the pedals. “Have you talked to Barbara this morning? How is he?”

“I called at six thirty this morning. That was as late as I could wait. She told me she’s calling in one of her colleagues from the raptor center in Memphis to give her a hand in case she has to pin the wing. I’m glad she decided to bring in another vet. She seemed excellent, but it never hurts to have a second opinion.”

“She’s a gem, but she’s going to kill herself unless she can hire another vet to take some of the pressure off her. There is a vet south of Williamston, but he’s only interested in small animals. The closest large animal vet is in Somerville, twenty-five miles away. Seth says she and John picked this location because nobody else was practicing here. And now the locals love her, so everybody calls or just shows up when they have a problem. Some days when I’m working for her I can barely find a place to park.”

“I suspect you need earplugs.”

She laughed. “The big fancy kind. The dogs and cats aren’t the worst. It’s the pigs. Ever hear a pig squeal when it’s being restrained?”

“Probably the way that eagle screamed last night.”

“Oh, I’ll bet Little Oinky can top that eagle’s decibel level. Pigs have no defense mechanisms except flight and noise.”

“Not Olympic sprint speed, right?”

“Right, although under pressure even a full-grown domestic pig can put on a surprising turn of speed for a short distance. When anything or anyone tries to restrain them, their instinct is to squeal and run. Preferably knocking you down and stomping on you in the process.”

“I thought they ate people.”

“I think that’s an old wives’ tale. I do know, however, that hogs keep growing until they die. I rode along with Barbara to see a pig with an abscessed hoof the other day. I swear the hog, Arnold, was the size of a camping tent—and not for one person, either.’’ She looked down at her belly and sighed. “I know how he feels.”

“I didn’t ask last night,” Stephen said, “but if it’s not a rude question...”

“When am I due? First week in December. Perfect time. After Thanksgiving and before Christmas. Assuming good ol’ Kicks here can read schedules.” She patted her tummy. “Actually, I have tons of energy, unlike the first three months, when all I wanted to do was sleep and eat. Barbara says all mammals tend to do that. She’s warned me that when I start rearranging the linen closet and cleaning out the kitchen cabinets I need to watch out for labor. Sometimes I wish I was a sea horse. The daddy has full responsibility for the offspring.

“Here we are at the café. Prepare to be checked out.” She turned into the parking lot of the brick building. A small sign over the door read Café, and a sign on the window said Open. Other than that and the large number of cars in the lot at seven thirty in the morning, nothing shouted that this was the place everyone in town came for meals, if they ate out at all.

The minute Stephen opened the glass front door for Emma the noise poured out. People noise. Not jukebox or even radio. “Ah,” he said with a grin. “Nothing but conversation and cutlery.”

“Oooh,” Emma said. “I’ll have to remember that the next time my sometime boss Nathan wants me to come up with a title for a new restaurant.”

“You’re still working for Nathan? I assumed you quit when you married Seth and moved up here from Memphis.”

“Long distance via computer and cell phone. I’m not leaving the county again until Kicks is a separate entity. Between doing special projects for Nathan and running the appointment scheduling for Barbara three half days a week and supervising the addition to the house and—”

“Having a baby.”

“It’s crazy, but what would I do if I stayed home? Play video games? Listen to the men who are working on the addition to the house? They all speak Spanish, so our conversations consist mostly of smiles and charades. I’ll be glad when they are finished, so I can have my house back. Hey, my word! Here’s Barbara.”

Stephen felt his heart stop for a moment as he swiveled to look at her. He assumed she’d come to tell him the bird had not survived the night. Well, she’d warned him his rescue was unlikely to survive. He grabbed a deep breath and prepared for some new psychic pain.

She waved at them and wound her way through the restaurant to their table, speaking to nearly everyone she passed. She slipped into the seat across from him and said, “Morning, Emma, Stephen. Mind if I join you?”

“You already have,” Emma said, though she nodded and smiled. She raised a hand to catch the eye of Velma, the waitress.

“I had to come tell you personally,” Barbara said to Stephen.

“You don’t have to tell me. He didn’t make it, did he?”

Her eyes opened wide. “No, no. I should have realized you’d think... He made it through the night and swallowed a mouse whole an hour ago. Tried to devour my fingers, too. He hated the mouse, because we had to give him one of the frozen ones we keep for emergencies. I did thaw it. He grumped a bit, but he ate it eventually. At the moment, he’s trying to figure out how to remove his neck collar so he can tear off his bandages.”

“But he’s alive?”

“So far. One of my best vet buds from Land Between the Lakes park is driving over his morning. We may have to pin the wing, although checking the X-rays, I don’t think we’ll need to. If he survives that, we start the healing. Then, if that works, we start rehabilitating him—if we can figure out where to do it.”

“How can you do that without a flight cage?” Emma asked.

“We can’t. We may have to move him up to Reelfoot Lake before he heals. It’s crazy that we can’t have one closer than that. We desperately need it for all the birds we rehabilitate. In the meantime, Stephen, since he’s your responsibility...”

“I should have mentioned that last night. I’ll be totally responsible for your charges. I do have a book to write. I intend, however, to monitor his progress closely. Anything you need, I will attempt to provide for him. I plan to see him fly away without a backward glance.”

“No charges. He’s part of my work with the animal rehabilitators group. If we could clean up the outdoor cage Seth and his team built for Emma at The Hovel when she first moved here and was raising her abandoned skunk babies, we could move the bird down there once he’s out of the woods and ready to rehabilitate... It’s not adequate for a flight cage, but it will do to start off with once we dare to give him that much space. But as to responsibilities, if you want to avoid a big fine for hitting him...”

Stephen started to protest.

“I know, I know. He hit you . Tough to prove it. If you work with me on him, the law will probably cut you some slack. Killing an eagle could mean not only incurring a massive fine, but—if it could be proved it was done on purpose—you could get jail time as well. There are even restrictions about possessing an eagle feather.”