CHAPTER 6
November 4
Travis looked forward to coming home at noon. He was bored to death at work. He missed Jesse’s quiet presence. She was rock steady in a crisis, but he expected that given her combat background. Never would she panic or lose her head in the middle of any kind of chaos. But afterward was when she’d shake and crash, just like they all did. Taking off his Stetson as he entered the cabin, he saw her in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he called, “whatever you’re making smells good.” Her hair was tousled and he tried to imagine what she would look like if she allowed it to grow longer.
“Egg salad. You had a lot of cartons of eggs in the fridge. I decided to do something with them.”
Freya bounded out of the bedroom, racing across the living room and into the kitchen, wagging her tail at the people who cared for her and her pups.
Leaning down, Travis petted her head. “How’s the brood doing?” he teased.
“Oh, fine,” Jesse laughed. “I put a water bowl out here near the pantry.” She pointed in that general direction down at the other end of the long counter. “I checked on her pups and they’re roly-poly and full of milk.”
“Anything I can do? Set the table?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“You look more settled.”
“I think it’s the house, the dogs.”
He pulled plates from the cabinet near where she was working. “I think Freya and her pups are going to be good for you.”
“They calm me. I remember Tag, my yellow lab, growing up. He was always with me. He slept in my bedroom. We did everything together.”
He set the flatware on both sides of each plate, adding a couple of paper napkins. “Animals have a magical effect on us,” he agreed. Hell, Jesse had a magical effect on him! Travis was past denial at this point regarding how she affected him. This morning seeing that cougar stalking around the caboose ended him trying to insist he wasn’t drawn to her. At the office, with little to do, he had done a lot of thinking over the past few days. There was nothing wrong with Jesse that he could fathom. Wounded? Yes. But so, what? So was he. So was Nick Conway, who had been an Army Ranger before getting discharged for PTSD. Life didn’t work out like he thought it might, like he’d seen for other people. Those military people coming back from combat had their life path destroyed. Now, like Jesse, himself, Nick and so many others, they had to cobble together a new life journey. One with a lot of hidden WMDs thrown here and there. Despite all of it, Travis came away with the fact he genuinely liked Jesse. There was nothing to dislike. Despite her emotional and psychological wounds, she had a good heart, she was self-aware, and she had compassion for others. That, in Travis’s book, was as good as it was ever going to get.
Having Jesse under his roof, plus the dogs, settled him in a new and surprising way. He found himself opening up around her. The dogs were trustworthy and Travis enjoyed having them around. Even more, he was desiring a serious relationship with Jesse, but he wasn’t sure she was at a place in her healing where she could even think in that direction. A long time ago, he’d learned patience. It often brought good things to him if he reined in his impulsiveness. This was one of those times. He had no wish to lean on Jesse, flirt or let her know of his growing feelings for her. They had enough time and he was grateful knowing that.
The phone rang.
Travis picked it up. “Hello.”
“Travis? It’s me, Joe. I just got back the results from the lab on the swab I wiped in that Petri dish here at the office. It’s confirmed rabies.”
“Good to know. Well, we have a plan in place.”
“Jesse had given me the phone number of the executor to Stella Caldwell. I called her and asked if she had the vet information on Freya. She did and is emailing me a copy of it tomorrow. Freya has her rabies shot in order, so she’s protected. I called Emily to ask about the pups and she said that they would have to wait, that they’re too young to have that shot.”
“That means we have to do a really good job of cleaning up where that cat was at around the caboose so the pups don’t get infected.”
“Right. There have been very few scientific tests to find out how long the rabies can exist outside the body. One test showed the virus living six days at 41F. At 68F, the virus lived twenty-four hours on glass and leaves, and forty-eight hours on metal. A third test showed rabies at 86F under sunlight, lasted an hour and a half. And twenty hours under the same temperature without sunlight. My advice is to wait seven days. It freezes at night, so based upon these studies, the virus will probably be dead by the time you let Jesse go back to the caboose. That and scrubbing all surfaces down with bleach and water. Make sure she has no open skin, wear long plastic gloves and put a mask on her face so she can’t inhale anything nearby.”
“I’ll make sure. Good that rabies has a short life span outside the body of human or animal.”
“Yeah, for sure. And with winter coming on, I think the freezing will take care of it, but we want to be conservative about it and protect Jesse and the dogs.”
“What about that yellow grass out in the meadow where the cougar was at when I drove up?”
“I wouldn’t let Freya go snooping around out there yet. The cat’s saliva holds the virus and it probably fell into that dead grass. Just to be on the safe side, I’d suggest keeping them at your place for fourteen days. By that time, we usually get some snowfall in here and that will kill any virus that might still be left hanging around.”
“I can do that. Over here, Freya has a huge yard to run around in and she’ll be safe.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Okay, I gotta run. See you later.”
“Yep, thanks.”
Travis hung up the phone and saw that Jesse was listening as she put the finishing touches on their lunch. He told her what the conversation was about. “Are you okay staying here two weeks instead of one? We can go out to the caboose and clean it up at the seven-day mark with water and bleach.”
She handed him his plate and walked to the table. “That’s a good idea if you’re okay with us underfoot that long.” Sitting down, she saw him grin as he pulled out his chair and sat.
“I was thinking this morning at the office how good it felt to have you and Freya here under my roof,” he admitted, picking up one part of the sandwich. “I’m fine with you here, but it’s up to you, Jesse. You’re more than welcome to stay.”
She munched on the sandwich, thinking through the situation. “In my case I need some rut routine to keep me calm and focused. I have my dish washer duties at the Koffee Bean and the job at your office. It’s nice to know that Freya and her babies are safe. That means more to me than anything.”
“Putting them at risk is a stress,” he agreed, trying to keep the joy out of his voice. He could see her thinking and he appreciated her doing it out loud so he didn’t have to guess where she was at. In fact, if Travis wasn’t seeing things, there was relief in her eyes over his offer of a two-week stay. “And the best thing for our type is the rut routine. It helps us so much.”
“Yes.” She smiled tentatively. “You’re okay then with all of us being here? It’s not going to stress you, Travis? I know a lot of vets who want to live alone. They can’t handle situations like this.”
Trying to sound serious, keeping the bubbling happiness in his chest at bay, he said, “I’m okay with all of you here. I honestly think it will be good for all of us.”
“We just have to keep communicating, Travis. I worry about that. Men aren’t good at it.”
“I’ll get very good at it. I’ll try to stay open and I’ll always be honest with you.”
“Same here,” she said between bites, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a sip.
Travis felt something around her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. There was lightness in her eyes and he’d known her long enough to translate that to the fact she was happy and calm. “Well,” he teased, “maybe this old log cabin will work its magic on you like it did me. The first year after coming home, this place was like a protective haven for me. I hope it will be that for you and Freya, too.”
*
Travis bought a dog brush and comb from Libby Johnson, whose family owned Cooper’s Hardware Store, the only one in town. She had a small pet section and had guided him on the purchases. He felt good about this. He liked being able to make Freya feel loved and cared for. He’d also stopped at the Las Palomas Bakery and bought some dessert from Alex Delgado: a pumpkin pie. When he’d handed Jesse the sack and she saw it was a comb and brush, she smiled. Her smile grew even larger when he produced the pumpkin pie, which they would have for dessert after the meal.
Freya came out of the bedroom when she smelled dinner on the table. Because she was so thin and underweight and feeding five pups, Jesse had relented. She’d made the dog her own kind of egg salad, without the spices in it. After dinner, Jesse had made her up a handful of dry kibble, spooned on the special egg salad into the aluminum bowl and put it on the rubber mat near the pantry door for Freya. The dog gobbled it up, giving Jesse an appreciative look as she licked her muzzle afterward.
The evening temperature was dropping and Travis went to work starting a wood fire in the fireplace. He saw Freya checking it out as he put the protective grate in place so the sparks couldn’t fly into the living room.
“I wonder why she’s studying the fire so intently,” Jesse said, sitting down on the couch.
“Probably because it reminds her of escaping the fire in that car when it crashed?”
She nodded. “You’re right. She doesn’t seem to be afraid of it exactly. Wary, maybe?” Freya turned away, trotting down the hall, going back to her pups.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Want that pumpkin pie with some whipped cream?”
“That would be great. Want me to help?”
“No, just relax. I’ll bring it to you.”
“You’re really spoiling me.”
He gave her a warm glance. “You’ve more than earned it, Jesse.” In a few minutes, he brought over two plates and a fork with each of them. Handing one to her, he said, “This is my favorite time of the day,” and sat down at the other corner of the couch.
“Why is that?”
“Something about the fire, the sound of it, I guess.” He spooned the pie into his mouth, making a low sound of appreciation. “Alex’s parents came here from Mexico in the 1930s and built Las Palomas Bakery.”
“I passed by it a week ago. Everything looked so good, but I didn’t have two pennies to rub together to buy anything.”
“Well, you will now,” he said. “Like the pie?”
“Delicious.”
She was also delicious looking in his eyes but he was careful not to stare at her too long for fear she’d pick up on his true intent and need for her. Not fooling himself, he knew those who had experienced combat sometimes had nearly scary psychic abilities to sense others or a situation gathering around them. Under no circumstance did Travis want Jesse to feel stalked, threatened or stared at.
His cell phone vibrated in the leather case attached to his belt. That didn’t bode well. He set the plate on the coffee table and stood up, pulling it out. Excusing himself, he went into the kitchen seeing the number of the caller. It was his father.
What now?
*
Jesse saw the relaxation in Travis’s face disappear as he talked in low tones in the kitchen on his phone. Frowning, she continued to eat, eavesdropping. Just the tenor of his voice, lower and grimmer sounding than usual, made her worry arc. Whoever was at the other end wasn’t a happy camper.
He hung up and shoved the phone back into the leather carrying case. Turning, he said, “That was my father. He needs me over at his cabin. I’ll go over and see what’s going on and come back later.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, just stay here, feed the fire and enjoy the dogs. I’ll see you in a bit.” He pulled his jacket off one peg and his Stetson from another.
Jesse felt a lot of stress suddenly surround Travis, but she stopped herself from being nosey. She remembered him telling her that Sam wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around because of his painful joints and that he was in constant, unrelenting pain. She saw Freya pop out of the room, standing at the end of the hall, her ears up, her gaze falling on Travis. She felt and heard it, too.
The front door closed.
Freya came over and sat down next to her leg. Patting her, Jesse said, “I hope you like being combed and brushed. As soon as I’m done we’re going to start getting some of that fur of yours unknotted.”
Licking her hand, Freya thumped her brushy tail, her blue eyes dancing with life.
Laughing softly, Jesse loved sliding her hand down her wiry coat. “You know, in about a month from now after taking all those good vitamins Emily left you, your coat is going to be soft, shiny and silky again, Freya. Plus, maybe in a few days, Travis and I will give you a bath.”
The tail thumped even harder.
Tag had been her buddy but Jesse liked that Freya was so much more affectionate. Was it because females were nurturing and maternal? Jesse thought it might be so. Estrogen versus testosterone. Right now, she needed this extra love from Freya, amazed that she had it to give, considering the terrible life-threatening circumstances she’d just come through.
Her mind and heart turned to Travis as she put her empty plate on the coffee table. She wished he didn’t have an angry father, but she understood what pain did to a human being. Their own pain was emotional and mental. But it was pain just the same, and she was learning how to handle and deal with it. Never did she want to drug herself up to her eyeballs and feel like an automaton, empty with no feelings at all. Jesse didn’t judge those who wanted to take them, but the drugs on her sensitized body left her feeling like a robot and all her life, she’d relied on her sensing and feelings like a GPS unit within her. Drugs took that ability away and she felt lifeless and rudderless in that state. No, she’d rather feel the pain, mostly the anxiety, and still be able to feel other more positive emotions that were slowly coming back to life within her, instead. Travis brought out those good feelings in her, and so did Freya. The last week of her life made her feel as if she had been whiplashed. But at least it was mostly in a good way this time.
Sitting there and loving Freya with long strokes across her fur, her mind moved to Travis going over to see his father. Did Sam call every night like this? Was there something wrong? She hoped not. Her senses told her that this was something that happened fairly often. She felt sorry for Travis, without knowing why.
*
Travis girded himself as he entered his father’s log cabin. He quietly closed the door behind him, seeing his father in his electric wheelchair, wearing loose gray workout pants and a gray sweatshirt. At one time, he’d been a tall, lean hombre, always wearing a straw cowboy hat, a pair of leather patched cowboy boots, jeans and a yoked plaid, long-sleeved shirt. Now, his face was leaner since the joints in his knees had rendered him to a chair, and he’d stopped eating like he used to. He’d lost nearly fifty pounds in the last two years, half the man he’d remembered as a kid growing up. He saw Cyrus, the fifteen-year-old hunting dog laying down on a brown and white braided rug near the fireplace. If it wasn’t for this calm, affectionate mutt, Travis was sure his father would be in a lot fouler mood far more often as a result. The old dog had gray on its long muzzle and Travis had always thought he might be a mix of black lab, a bloodhound and God knew what else. He wasn’t a pretty dog except for his curly black-haired coat. Maybe there was some curly dog breeding in him, but he couldn’t guess which breed.
His father hadn’t always been the angry old man he saw before him now. As a young boy, his dad was a man with a good sense of humor and always thoughtful of others. Not anymore. He noticed food out on the table that hadn’t been put away and the smell of something rotting—it was some blackened bananas sitting on the counter. Where was his latest in-home help? Word had gotten around Hamilton in a hurry to the women living here that working as a caretaker for Sam Ramsey was a losing proposition.
“How are you doing?” he asked his father, coming up to him in the living room.
“Elena quit, dammit!” Sam jabbed a finger at the kitchen. “I need some help. I haven’t eaten dinner, yet, and I can’t make it for myself tonight. My damn knees are too painful to stand up on today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Elena was an undocumented worker, her family coming north to Montana from Guatemala, to make a life for themselves. Her husband, Ernesto, worked at the local grocery store. He had a good reputation, was a hard worker and together they had three young children. Knowing they needed money, despite the gossip around Hamilton, Elena had applied for the job. Travis had hired her a month ago, hoping it would work out. It hadn’t obviously. He saw the anger rising in his father’s narrowed eyes and tried to protect himself from the coming explosion.
“She was thin skinned.”
He wasn’t going to ask why because he already knew. Sam bullied and berated everyone, it didn’t matter if it was a man or woman. “What do you need, Sam?” Calling on his patience, Travis wasn’t about to go there with him. He would hear the same spiel he heard every time.
“I’m hungry! Those bananas are rotten! I can’t reach ’em to throw ’em into the garbage.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Travis went to work. Mentally, he made a point to call Elena tomorrow at a decent time, find out what happened and cut her a check for the hours she put in, and apologize for Sam’s behavior toward her. Feeling badly for the woman, he opened up the refrigerator to see what was there. Privately, he wished he were still home with Jesse and Freya. Only good feelings there. Calm. Peace. Nothing like here.
“I’ll make you a roast beef sandwich,” he told his father.
“Sounds good,” he muttered, driving his wheelchair up to the table. Cyrus followed at a leisurely pace, laying down on Sam’s right side where he could get his tidbits from anything his master ate.
Travis didn’t expect any thanks. “I’ll put an ad in the paper for a caretaker tomorrow morning. Until then, I’ll come over and see you have what you need three times a day.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, glaring around the silent house. Reining in his frustration, he put the sandwich on a plate, cut it in half and grabbed a bag of potato chips, taking them to the table. Sam wasn’t a total invalid. He could get up and walk when there wasn’t so much stiffness in his knees, take a shower and do all kinds of things. Sometimes, Travis felt used and manipulated by him. He was glad that their homes were on opposite ends of town, at least he got some of the breathing space he needed from his father. It grieved him to this day that the loving relationship he had with his dad as a child had turned into this.
He knew potato chips were Cyrus’s favorite food. At least the dog, which he regarded as a saint to live with his father, would be happy for tonight’s hand-outs.
“What’s this I hear from the gossip goin’ around town that you’re fixing up Hiram’s boxcar? You shoulda let it rot! And what’s this about a girl renting that boxcar?” he snapped, glaring up at Travis as he pulled the plate toward him.
Barely glancing over his shoulder, Travis told him the story in as few words as possible. He braced himself for a coming explosion.
Sam merely curled his lip, but hunger got to him and he eagerly began to consume the sandwich.
“It’s rent money coming in,” Travis added, knowing that Sam was always concerned with the bottom line.
“I said, you shoulda let that boxcar rot!”
Travis stood there, torn. When he was small, he and his younger brother by two years, Kyle, would go visit Hiram and Inez at their home. Their cabin was located near the office. As close as he was to his warm, affectionate grandfather, Kyle had been Inez’s favorite. There was just something special those two shared and he was okay with it. Kyle was very much like their mother, Sheila. She was tall, thin, somewhat pale and weak looking compared to his father, Sam. Kyle took after her. He took after Sam. Kyle was diagnosed with autism, had trouble in school and it was Inez who patiently taught him how to read and write as a youngster. Severely shy, Travis didn’t know how to relate to his brother who would never look anyone in the eyes. He would hide in his room, read books, play computer games, and be happy. Sports never appealed to him. Or girls. Or being a member of one of the clubs in high school.
Over time, Travis learned Kyle’s code for what made him feel safe and somewhat happy. He knew, looking back on those childhood days, that Sam couldn’t understand his second son, which caused a lot of tension between the two of them. As soon as Travis understood what was going on at the tender age of nine, he would take his shy brother on long hikes along the banks of the Bitterroot River. And often, especially on weekends, they would stay in their grandparents’ home. Even if Hiram was out on railroad work, the door was always open and Travis and his brother could wander into their cabin. Inez would pinch-hit and make sure Kyle was well fed, his knapsack packed with lots of books because that is the world he dove into and was happiest within.
Pulling himself back to the present, Travis felt old grief stir in his heart. Kyle died in a car crash at twenty-four, on his way to Missoula. His father went berserk with grief. They’d already lost their mother, Sheila. Now, Kyle was ripped away from them. His younger brother had been a kind, super-sensitive, and caring teen. He cried when he would see a dead butterfly on the side of the road, struck by a car windshield. He would care for a baby bird that fell out of its nest, hunting up food for it. Another enigma was why Sam hated his own father so much. Everyone in Hamilton loved the red-bearded Irish Viking and his outgoing wife, Inez. Kyle had adored and loved them, too.
Life was hard, as Travis knew too well. He tucked all those memories and feelings away, cleaning up the kitchen counter and getting his father’s rumpled bed made. When he was done, an hour had passed. “Do you need anything else before I leave, Sam?”
“No. But you gonna come over and make me breakfast tomorrow mornin’?”
Travis shrugged on his coat and threw the Stetson on his head. “I’ll be here at eight a.m.”