Hunter's Choice (2 page)

Jessamine

My alarm went off before sunrise and I pretty much beat it
into submission, or at the very least silence. I flopped onto my back under my
plush and warm microfiber comforter and huffed out an irritated breath. Damn it,
I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. I got up and cursed, silently of course, and
went about dressing both warmly and as waterproof as possible for the day. I
could hear the rain sloshing in the gutters and down the drain pipe outside. I
was used to it. It came with the territory living in a temperate rainforest. I
wasn’t lucky enough to live inside the rain shadow.

I picked up my boots and padded downstairs in my stocking
feet. I went into the kitchen and dropped them on the slate entry way before
the hardwood took over. The rich smell of coffee permeated the space and I
gravitated in the direction of the pot. My favorite mug was standing by to do
its duty. I poured myself a generous cup and praised the man who invented
coffee pots that ran on a timer. I added some flavored creamer from my fridge
and enjoyed my sugary caffeinated jolt while I set about my kitchen making
myself some peanut butter toast.

The light of false dawn was just beginning by the time I
finished my toast and coffee and I went and got my jacket off the bannister at
the foot of my stairs. I had dressed warmly in long underwear and jeans with
thick wool socks. I had one of those white waffle pattern thermal shirts on
under my flannel button down. It was a green and gray plaid pattern that brought
out the blue in my eyes. I had rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt up to my
elbows but left the sleeves of the thermal hugging my wrists. I shrugged into
my Carhartt and went back into the kitchen to pull on my boots, lacing them up
tight and double knotting them to keep them from getting untied.

I was as ready as I was going to get so I went out the back
door and bolted through the rain and into the barn, slipping inside. It was
warmer by a little, and much drier. I went up the steps to the old hayloft
which we had painstakingly remodeled into an examination area and kitchen of
sorts.

I went about getting our guests breakfast ready which
consisted of beef liver supplemented with liquid calcium to aid in healing any
broken bones. I looked up at the white board and brought out enough for those
that needed it. I alternated the beef liver with live or dead mice, but
typically left them in the enclosures at night. Most of our residents would
only eat the mice when no one was looking and to tell you the truth, I was fine
with that.

One of our newest residents, a Northern Pygmy Owl I’d named
Rosie, was so ill I needed to feed her with a tube. It was awful and stressful
for her so I tried to make quick work of it. She was my top priority of late so
I set everything up and went back down the stairs tugging on some flexible
leather gloves that went halfway up my wrists. She just wasn’t that big to need
any more protection. Only about the size of a sparrow.

I stopped at the bottom step. One of the yellow legal pads
we kept notes on was resting up against the big unnamed Barred Owl’s cage.

I frowned, I could have sworn I was the last one out of the
barn last night. I approached the pad with some trepidation, looking around to
make sure there wasn’t anyone hiding, though they would have to be fools to
hide in an enclosure with one of the birds.

There was no one that I could see. I stooped down in front
of the cage and tugged off the gloves. Thick black writing done in Sharpie pen
swirled across the pad in a calligraphic font. It was hand written and said “My
name is Hunter.” I blinked and looked up into the soulful dark eyes of the
Barred Owl. He stretched his wings, which was all the enclosure would allow for
and folded them against his back. He adjusted his feet on the perch, first one,
and then the other and blinked at me as if to say,
well say something!

I wondered if Charlie was messing with me. I stood and put
the pad on top of the cage and resumed what I had been doing. I pulled my
gloves back on and went to the stacked kennel like cages, small and restrictive,
where we housed the new patients.

I opened Rosie’s cage and smiled, letting out a breath I
hadn’t realized I’d been holding when she blinked her big yellow-orange eyes at
me. Her eyes reminded me of the color of rose gold, set in her dark brown feathers
spotted with tan and white, which is where I picked her name from. I reached in
carefully and captured her between my gloved hands. She didn’t even try to put
up a fight and I felt a pang of panic mixed with concern. The only time an owl
behaved even remotely tame is when they were on death’s door or imprinted on a
human, meaning too used to humans to be released into captivity.

I took Rosie upstairs and fed her some wet cat food pureed a
little smoother with water through a syringe. I didn’t have to force the
cannula down her gullet which was a good sign, rather I just carefully
introduced enough into her beak and let her swallow on her own which she did.
It was encouraging. She didn’t fight too much which was both good and bad. I
gave her the medicines she needed and stroked her feathered head with my
finger. We weren’t out of the woods yet so to speak. I was still afraid we
might lose her.

I’d lost some throughout the years and it was never fun. We
had a small pet cemetery complete with headstones on the far end of the
property. The leaves burned with the names of our little lost ones were piled
in a drift at the base of the tree on the barn’s back wall. Thankfully there
were a lot fewer than what graced the branches. I would just have to wait and
see when it came to where little Rosie’s leaf would end up.

I put her back in her cage just as a light rap came at the
barn door. I went over to it and opened it up, expecting Charlie but wondering
why on earth he would knock.

“Jessamine! I thought you might be back here.” I stepped
back to allow the officer’s entry into the barn. One of them I knew, he was an
officer with the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. I smiled up
at Officer Baker and gave a little wave. He was familiar with my speech
problems.

The man behind him was also an officer but he didn’t wear
the familiar dark green uniform of the Fish and Wildlife department, no, his
uniform was the deep tan of the Clallam County Sheriff’s Department. I stepped
back and let them both in.

I pulled the handheld white board off its Velcro mounting
against one of the cages and wiped out the name and information of the bird
that had been on it. I hastily scrawled along its surface with the blue dry
erase pen tied to it.

What’s wrong?
I flashed at them. The big Barred Owl
clacked his beak in warning at the two men as they drew closer.

“Nothing! Nothing!” John Baker exclaimed.

“Hi Ms. Connors… I’m Deputy Ron Caruthers. John here brought
me out to see you, there’s been a rash of thefts, appears to be drug related
and the thieves are getting bolder as time goes on. There’s been several home
invasion robberies over the last few weeks. We wanted to come out and just
touch base with you, see if you’d seen or heard anything?” the man smiled.

He was older, probably late fifties, early sixties. He had
twinkling blue eyes the color of winter skies over a thick salt and pepper
mustache. He looked more like a friendly park ranger rather than a Sheriff’s
deputy with his Smokey the Bear hat. I wiped out the message on the board with
the side of my hand.

I haven’t seen or heard anything. Have they been near
here?
I watched as they read over the message, John’s expression darkened a
little while Ron’s remained smiling.

“Well Ms. Connors, yes, your neighbors about a mile up the
road were robbed two nights ago. Mr. Jenkins is still in the hospital with a
head injury.” I scribbled furiously at the white board. The Jenkins were an
older couple, Mrs. Jenkins baked me lavender Madeline cookies from scratch from
some of the lavender from the nearby farms. She was always a bit frail on
account of her heart.

What about Mrs. Jenkins, is she okay? She has a bad
heart.
I watched the two men apprehensively.

“Well now Mrs. Jenkins is just fine. The two young men gave
her quite a fright but when Mr. Jenkins got between them and what they were
after, well they hit him in the head with a bat. He’ll be all right in a day or
so. The hospital is just keeping him for observation.” John answered.

“Still, it seems these two have been camping in the park and
you’re out here all alone, we thought we’d come check on you.” John winced. The
Barred Owl, was putting up his warning call and clacking his beak menacingly. I
put up a finger and motioned for the two men to follow. I wrote as I climbed
the stairs into the converted loft.

Camping close to here?
I asked, handing John the
board. He was an okay guy. We’d gone to high school together. He was stocky,
with a wide berth of shoulders tapering down to an almost too narrow waist. He
had sandy blonde hair and brown eyes and I suppose was good looking by the
general standard, I’d just never been attracted to him myself.

I picked up the metal mixing bowl of beef liver soaking in
liquid calcium and picked up a pair of forceps. I waved my hand at the two men,
a clear indication to keep talking. John smiled. He knew to keep things to a
simple yes and no when my hands were busy.

“So you haven’t seen anything then?” he asked. I shook my
head no. I handed the bowl to the Sheriff Deputy who took it with surprise. I
propped the forceps along the edge and pulled on my leather gloves. I huffed a
sigh at the big Barred Owl and opened up his enclosure, firmly but gently
gripping him by his ankles and cradling his back I extracted him from the cage
and held him. I jutted my chin at the bowl and then at John.

“Putting us to work eh?” he asked and laughed. I nodded. He
plucked a bit of liver by the forceps and brought it to the bird’s beak. The bird
snatched it warily and I smiled down at him. We continued to feed him as we
talked.

“You have someone that can stay with you for the time
being?” the Sheriff asked. I raised a shoulder in a half shrug.

“Can Charlie stay with you?” John asked. Again I half
shrugged, I would have to ask him.

“Will you ask him?” John was searching my face. I nodded.

“H-h-h-ow-w-w-w f-f-f-f-far?” I forced out and the Sheriff
raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“How far were they camped?” John asked. I nodded.

“About a half mile from here.” He grunted.

“If you see anything you really should call 9-1-1
immediately. We’re pretty sure these guys are on something. They’ve already
proven themselves dangerous.” Ron was scowling.

“Hey Jess! Everything alright in here? Looks like a damn
doughnut convention in the driveway.” Charlie came into the barn. I nodded. He
took in the Sheriff Deputy and John’s presence.

“Nothin’ wrong with our permits.” He grunted.

“No nothing like that Charlie,” John placated, “We were just
stopping by to check on Jessamine here. Bad element in the area…” I was
watching the Barred Owl in my hands. He was eating from the forceps that John
was holding but he was watching me. I smiled down at him and let the men talk.
It was of some concern that there were a couple of drug addled idiots causing
problems in the area. Especially for the Jenkins’ who were such a nice couple!

The owl finished his meal and I carefully bounced him to get
him to spread his wings. He did so without so much as a sound and flapped them
pretty well. He would be ready for the aviary in a day or two. I put him back
in his enclosure and he stretched his wings, folding them back down against his
back with a few disgruntled clicks of his beak. I pulled off the gloves and
hung them on their hook. I think that was the last time he’d be getting the
liver. It was mice from now on.

The men were talking about the Jenkins, filling Charlie in.
I took the bowl from the Deputy and set it on a side table and plucked down the
yellow pad of paper from the top of the big barred’s cage. I held it out to
Charlie and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked and I held it out so he could
read it.

“Who’s Hunter?” he asked me, and all three men looked at me.
I pointed to the Barred Owl.

“So you named him eh?” he asked. I shook my head and took
back my white board.

I found that propped on his cage. I thought you did it.
I
held it up so they could see.

“Wasn’t me.” Charlie looked as confused as I felt.

“Was anyone else out here last night?” John asked. Charlie
and I both shook our heads. I wiped the board clean and hastily scrawled out:

I was the last one out. Charlie and I had been talking
about Hunter’s name, and this morning I found that.

“Wasn’t me Jess!” Charlie said. Ron got on his radio and
walked out of the barn. John was looking at me with some concern.

“Somebody left it.” He said.

I doubt it was the boys your Sheriff friend is after.
Doesn’t seem like something two violent druggies robbing people would do.

Charlie barked a laugh. John frowned, and Ron stepped back
into the barn.

Somebody’s just having a bit of fun at my expense.
Nothing is missing and nothing else is out of place.

“I’ve ordered a step up in patrols just to be safe.” Ron said,
catching sight of my sign. John came over and took me by the elbow guiding me
to the back of the barn, out of earshot of Charlie and Ron.

“Jess you know, I’d be happy to come by, spend a little
extra time out here with you.” He said gently.

That won’t be needed. I’m perfectly fine, honest.
A
flicker of something crossed his face, I winced inwardly and hastily added:

Thank you very much. The thought is appreciated.