Page 30 of The Cowboy and the Baby

“There’s probably a hole in the outer wall that admits cold air, which freezes the water pipes when it gets real cold. If I pry out the tiles on this tub wall, I could find the hole, seal it, and we should be fine. For now,” I added.

The words should be fine hung in the air.

I added again, “We’re going to demo this room later anyway, right?”

“Yes, but you said you wanted to deal with the furnace first.”

“I think we don’t have much of a choice. A functioning bathroom is the new priority with the cold setting in.”

She shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“Might as well find the hole, close it up if we can, and pump heat into the empty space to keep the pipes from freezing overnight. It’s a bandaid, but it should keep water flowing.”

My justifications, though fair, offered little comfort. I tried to explain the dread pooling in my gut. Should was a far cry from will, and the gap between the two could mean anything.

Noelle folded her arms over her chest. “Do you need help? I’m not afraid to get dirty.”

I pictured tapping away at the tiles and a raccoon or skunk peering out at me—which would be the worst case scenario. Likely, I’d find a mouse den, or a squirrel nest. Still, I wouldn’t take the risk of her being bit.

“I’m 99% certain there’s an animal in there, so it might be best if I do this one on my own with the door closed.”

She sensibly backed away.

My nose wrinkled as I mentally braced myself, thinking through the tools and patching material I’d need from the barn.

This wouldn’t be pretty.

The tile chipped away easily. I could have smashed it in with a maul, but I wanted the critter to run from the noise first. Rabies shots were no fun, and if it was a hibernating skunk? Well, I didn’t want to deal with that fallout, either.

When I had a foot-wide section peeled apart from the floor and halfway up the wall, I reached for a flashlight.

Then I cursed.

As expected, a pair of beady eyes stared at me, shining from beneath the tub. A hissing sound, and then scrambling, followed. The critter skittered along the interior wall, vanishing through a hole in the outside wall near the drain pipes. I could just make out a few trickles of dirt. The critters probably dug under the porch, found a hole, and curled up beneath the tub, snug and warm.

I cursed again.

Carefully, I peered a second time inside the hollow space beneath the tub, and saw another duplicity of horrors.

Poop.

Piles of it. Mountains of it. Along with shredded paper, degraded squirrel spines, and pine cones. The poop flowed in dunes. Cold and unpleasantly scented air brushed over my cheeks, as frigid as walking onto the deck. The strong current moved from inside the wall, which made me immediately suspect there was more than one hole.

Head hung, I muttered, “Well shoot dang hot blossoms on a firecracker’s?—”

A knock on the door interrupted me.

“Cade?”

I silenced my string of frustration.

“Just a sec.”

I stood, gathered up the chipped porcelain off the floor, chucked it in a cardboard box. Then I balled up a towel, and shoved it in the tile hole to keep the beast from wandering in. When I swung the door open, Noelle stood there. Her hair hung in a messy bun off to one side, and comfortable old sweats and a baggy sweatshirt kept her warm. She wore fuzzy, outlandish socks. Lily cooed from her arms, slowly working on a bottle. A hint of anxiety appeared in Noelle’s eyes.

“Everything okay? It sounded . . . ah . . . intense?”

She’d heard my swearing.