Page 48 of Not Mine to Rescue

At least that wasn’t right away, but Lemon had to be feeling vulnerable. “I’ll put in a good word with my coworkers and some of the other firms.”

“Thank you. There’s days I wish...”

“What?”

Her shoulder shift was defeated. “I wish people cared more. Or less. I don’t know. If they didn’t care, then the animals would stay in place rather than be ‘rescued’ when there is no need for it, and if they cared more, shelters and wildlife centers would get full funding, and I wouldn’t have to take on the overflow. Which would mean I’d have more time to market the business. Why did I think animal rescue was a good career?”

Because she simply loved it. That was evident in every breath she took. “You love it.”

Her eyebrows went up as she glanced at me. “I’m insane. But yeah. I do.”

“Where’s Wombat?”

Her face soured. “Off running another BS errand for Walt.” She blew out a breath and looked to the sky. “I didn’t mean that if you are watching, Nickel.”

A sliver of unease went up my spine. I knew who Nickel was. With the deep dive into Jim’s files, I knew the names and nicknames of every Destroyer in Washington County. Nickel was their tech guru. He owned a computer service store, installed security systems, and ran a private server system out of his home.

The insurance claim for a nasty home break-in with damage to his garage door and the frame paid out last week. The shop window repair claim cleared long before that.

Still unresolved was the accidental death that occurred on the second floor of his home. All three incidents happened on the same day.

And if Nickel was listening, he was the firm’s client, not the opposition. So I stayed on topic. “You have a security system?”

“A small one. It watches the road and some of the building exteriors. The barn where we keep the dry goods storage, and my house.” Her eyes glittered wickedly, and she wiggled her eyebrows at me. “And Wombat’s garage.”

Great. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t had the chance to celebrate his freedom the way we had planned.

“For a fairy-tale princess who talks to animals, you sure are evil.”

She grinned. “And loving every minute of it. Speaking of evil, what are your intentions toward my brother?”

“All bad, I’ve got wicked plans for him.” If we ever had time, that was.

Her laughter turned into a cackle. “Cool. I’m going to torture him with that. He’s being a grump lately.”

“You do that.”

Sure, I was teasing, but it felt good to let go of the worry and the propriety and all the stress. I could use three orgasms more than a highball of vodka.

A flutter of feathers flashed past my head. Hoot landed on Lemon’s shoulder.

“There you are.” She caught his beak and gave his little face a wiggle. Hoot chewed on her hair in retaliation.

“I’m surprised he’s out of the barn.”

“His wing is getting better. Wombat saw this video online that mentioned attaching flight feathers to the broken ones and tried it on a couple of them. Hoot’s still getting used to them, but we’re going to try to replace as many as we can soon. Maybe then, he’ll finally leave.”

“I think he’s adopted you.”

Lemon snorted. “That’s Wombat. Not me. I know better than to imprint on them. My brother is one big foster fail after another. Didn’t you know that?”

I didn’t. But it also didn’t surprise me.

He’d adopted me, and I was worse of a mess than Hoot.

Chapter Thirteen

Wombat