No Perfect Hero(42)

“Yeah,” he says, dragging a hand over his face. “He’ll be fine. Doc’s putting stitches in now. Worst hit he’ll take is to his dignity when he’s gotta wear a cone for a week or so. He’s gonna have to be an indoor cat for a while just to make sure he recovers.”

“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “We’ll take care of him, right?”

Tara nods emphatically. “I’ll make him a bed and give him his pills and everything!”

Tara’s voice seems to pull Warren out of himself. He gives her a tired smile. “He’ll love it. The boy already acts like a king.”

I frown. “Then...why are you so angry, if Mozart’s okay?”

“I'm not–” He starts to bite off a curse, but stops himself, glancing at Tara. “It's nothing. Looks like he got caught in a trap. There’s supposed to be no goddamn hunting in Heart’s Edge city limits. All the forest around here is protected land. People out here messing around aren’t just breaking the law. They could hurt people, kids, pets. Frankly, it pisses me off. And if they’re putting traps on Grandma’s property...”

I wince. “Maybe a camera could catch them?”

He gives me a wearily, amused look. “We’re not that modern, darlin'.”

We all look up as one then as Doc emerges with Mozart cradled in his arms. The tomcat’s clearly drugged, sluggish and slow with glazed eyes.

His mouth hangs partly open, but his bloodied paw is clean and neatly bandaged, and a small cone now hugs his neck. Tara goes rocketing toward him, only to stop and pull back, watching fearfully as Doc draws closer.

“Can I...may I hold him, doctor?” she whispers. “Or will it hurt him?”

Doc looks down at her, his eyes softening, sinking down to one knee. “Here,” he says, carefully guiding the cat into Tara’s arms. “Just like this. Like a baby. Don’t let him slip, but don’t hold him too tight. Let him breathe.”

Tara’s eyes well, and she nods shakily, biting her lip. She shifts Mozart to the crook of her arm.

“Better,” Doc whispers, his quiet warmth breaking into a thin smile.

“He’ll really be okay?” Tara pleads again.

“Really and truly. I assure you he’ll be right as rain in two weeks or so,” he vows, still holding his faint smile.

The news only makes Tara burst into a wail, cuddling Mozart closer, the cat stirring with a muffled purr.

“I’m going home next week...and I don't wanna!” Tara sobs, and suddenly both me and Warren are there, kneeling to either side of her, both of us reaching to comfort her.

We almost bump into each other. I blink, locking eyes over my niece’s head before another sniffle and sob from Tara pulls us back to her.

“Hey now, munchkin,” Warren says. “I’ve been taking care of Mozart a long time. Don't you worry. He’s my little buddy, and even when I go away, he’s always fine. Promise you he’ll be okay. Me and your Aunt Hay are gonna take real good care of him.”

“And I’ll send you photos,” I add, pulling her into a hug until it’s just a bundle of me, little girl, and dazed, confused cat. “He’ll be in the best hands.”

“Mmph.” With a sulky sound, Tara buries her face into the cat and leans hard into me. “I don’t want to go home.”

It’s a little unnerving to realize it, all of a sudden. This crazy urge to stay.

I don't want to leave either, even if it's not like I've got much choice in it right now. I'm stuck here, but now I have a reason to stay a little longer.

Maybe it's something I needed.

There’s really nothing else for me here. Heart’s Edge has been nothing but trouble.

But my eyes drift to Warren, who's staring down at the three of us, smiling in his faint, secret way. A lot like the same way Doc smiles, and while the vet really is a handsome man, he's nothing like this burly, loud mountain badass.

Nothing here, I said. Or is there?





*



The drive back to Charming Inn is quiet. Sort of.

It's as quiet as anything ever is with Tara around, when she’s alternating between singing Mozart to sleep in little melodies and looking at Warren with shining, adoring eyes.

I think she has a new hero.

She thanks him again and again for saving the cat.

I might as well not have been there, honestly, except for moral support. But I’m just glad the rusty little furball’s going to be all right.

If Warren hadn’t been there, I’d probably have started crying along with Tara.

I’m soft on small things, okay? My niece. Cute, fluffy animals. The usual.

What I can’t do, though, is go soft on the very large thing behind the wheel of the truck.

The thing that's ripped, loud, mysterious, and inked.

The thing, the man, the storm that's Warren Ford.

Tara's eyes aren't the only ones wandering, but mine do for very different reasons.

I'm watching him on the drive back.

He seems preoccupied, pensive, completely exhausted. I wonder if maybe he wasn’t avoiding me at all. Maybe he was just busy?

Busy with whatever strange yet oh-so-important stuff he does.

He’s still so confusing. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on him, he goes and does something like comforting Tara, reacting as instinctively as I did when she’s not even related to him.