Page 92 of Not Mine to Rescue

His face fell. “Nothing. He’s being an idiot.”

Ah. I’d take that victory quietly. “And, the account?”

“Still good. Although, you might want to shore up your position with them.”

Without inconveniencing the client, I didn’t have any ideas how to do that. Walter Tipton was notoriously unavailable. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Stephen thought about it for a minute. “You got to work their timeline. So, if you ever get an invitation, don’t turn it down.”

He had more to say, so I waited.

“But please be careful.”

Duly noted.

On Friday I picked Molly up slightly earlier than usual. I had time to follow Lemon through the maze of cages, walled-off kitten enclosures, and the higher than usual amount of laundry that had piled up with each new crisis. “You look like you need help.”

She sighed and pointed to one of the enclosures. “I’ve got Fly.”

The way she said it wasn’t convincing. “You need more help. Our firm has company match for volunteer hours. I could put you in on their list.”

“Oh, that would be helpful if you could make that happen yesterday. We’re swamped. Hang on, I need to set up the squirrel feeder.”

She filled a multi-outlet rubber feeding bladder and set it into a cage of tiny squirrels. They were barely bigger than her hand. But they were healthy, highly active, and quite enthusiastic about eating.

Without thinking, I put a hand on my stomach. It was only for a moment before I shook off whatever insanity that lurked in my brain.

Lemon looked down where my hand had been.

She knew.

My skin prickled cold. “That was nothing.”

Her gaze met mine. “Your color shifts to a really ugly green when you lie.”

“Does it?”

She nodded slowly.

It took me a moment to piece together how she knew. “I suppose you’ve talked to your brother.”

“Only once. He’s been running himself ragged since. Why?”

That accusation in her voice hurt. “I don’t know.” Maybe I did know, but I couldn’t expect or assume anything. Could I?

Her gaze dropped again. “You’re all rainbows down there.”

I took a step back, off balance and covering myself and my shame. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you that my niece or nephew is beautiful?” Her jaw quivered.

Mine did, too. But I refused to think along those lines.

When I finally got my emotions under control, I spoke without thinking. “What happens when that light goes out?” I squinted because she needed to face some brutal reality. There would be no niece or nephew.

She searched the air around me. Her gaze scanned me from head to toe. It was uncomfortable and unwelcome. And frustrating.

“Well? Have you ever watched someone die?”