a little disreputable, like one of those marginal men who do odd jobs and rent their rooms by the week. It didn’t take me long to see behind the local yokel disguise and discover how attractive he really was, lean and high-cheekboned, with steady, clear, light hazel eyes that took in more than they let on.
But now, as Red poured me a cup of coffee, I found myself wishing that he’d make a bit more of an effort. As soon as Red’s silver-flecked auburn hair grew long enough to soften his sharp features, he went to see our local Sweeney Todd to have it all mowed off again. And then there were those burlap-tough Carhartt coveralls, with “Red Mallin, Wildlife Removal Expert” stitched over his right pocket. I was never one of those women who drooled over men in Armani jackets, but still, you didn’t catch me wearing my bloodstained lab coat to the kitchen table.
“Honey,” I said, taking a grateful sip of my coffee, “you’ve got some kind of gunk on your … no, not that side, yes, right there.”
Red flicked at his overalls, and something flaked off into the sink, making me wish I hadn’t said anything. “That better?”
“Actually, there’s another patch of blood or something. Would you mind changing out of that?”
Red hesitated, then turned his back and unzipped the coveralls. At first, I took the stiffness of his movements to be annoyance at my request, but then I caught the way Malachy was watching Red. “Simple puncture wound, or was there some laceration as well?”
Red gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s just a little love bite. Some of the blood’s dried, is all. I was just going to leave this for later.”
Now I really felt like the world’s worst girlfriend. “Oh, God, why didn’t you say something?”
“’Cause it’s not a big deal, Doc.”
“Let me see.”
With obvious reluctance, Red peeled off the coveralls, wincing a little as he extracted his right arm from its sleeve, revealing a series of small, reddened puncture wounds.
I sucked in my breath when I examined his arm, which was swollen and clearly sore. “Jesus, Red. You’re going to need rabies shots.” I realized that wasn’t the most professional tone to take, but I was a little shocked. In all the time I’d known him, Red had never once been bitten by any of the wild animals he removed from their lairs. Something must have gone very wrong.
“The critter that got me didn’t have rabies.” As if on cue, there was a high-pitched squeal of distress and then a flash as something dark plummeted from the ceiling to the floor. For one startled moment, I thought it was a bat, then I remembered that Red had locked her in the bedroom.
“Jesus,” said Malachy, “what the hell is that?”
“It’s Rocky,” I said in surprise, kneeling down beside the adolescent raccoon. Red had rescued Rocky last summer, when he had been cute and small and badly injured by a car. At nearly a year old and almost twenty-five pounds, our raccoon was now hale and hearty and more than old enough to be living on his own, but the call of the wild had been trumped by the call of our kitchen. Rocky was a raccoon who liked his carbohydrates complex.
At the moment, he was lying on the floor, clearly stunned, looking almost comical as he touched his little black paws to his face. I glanced up to see where he’d fallen from and realized that he must have been hanging on to the chain that holds the largest lamp over the center of the living room. I had no idea how he’d gotten there without us spotting him, but I wasn’t entirely surprised. Raccoons may look adorable, but that bandit mask is no costume. They are wild things, and second to none in making a rumpus.
I ran my hands over Rocky’s dense salt and pepper fur, checking for injuries. Luckily, he was well padded with fat, the result of constant thieving. “What were you doing up there, you idiot?”
Rising up on his hind legs, Rocky looked straight at Red and gave a series of low grunts, for all the world as if he were giving his foster father a lecture. This wasn’t unusual; unlike Ladyhawke, Rocky didn’t actively dislike me, but like all the forest creatures Red rescued, the raccoon displayed a marked preference for Red. I suppose the animals tended to associate me with shots and stitches, while Red fed them and soothed them.