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Arms wrapped around her, stroking the hair back from her face. For a bare instant she thought it was her mom—but then she felt the strength in those arms, the solid wall of her dad’s chest.
“Calm down,” he said, his voice a gentle rasp. “I’ll take you home.”
His voice sparked another memory, of an eight-year-old Becca who’d found a half-dead bird in the backyard. She’d been near hysterical, sure her father was going to have to kill it—so she hid with it in her bedroom, trying to feed it sliced Velveeta and bits of hot dog.
Her mom had been furious when she found out. A bird! In her house!
But her dad had talked Becca out of her closet, then taught her how to set the bird’s wing and nurse it back to health.
“Becca?”
His breath touched her hair. Becca realized she’d been leaning on him for what felt like a while.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
Becca couldn’t make herself look out the windshield. Rain freckled the glass, stealing any visibility. Cars seemed to be moving too quickly, every oncoming pair of headlights a collision waiting to happen.
She stared down at her dad’s hand, resting on the center console.
“What happened to your wrist?” she asked, just to make her brain focus on something other than the sound of tires on wet roadway.
He cleared his throat. “Tree came down in the storm. Trapped a buck up against one of those electric fences. I was the closest one, so I took the call. Poor thing was fighting like hell.”
Now she regretted asking. “So you killed it.”
He hesitated. “No.”
Now she swung her eyes up. “Are you lying?”
“No. I’m not. We hit him with a tranquilizer, patched him up, and let him go.” He glanced away from the road. “Just what do you think I do, Becca?”
She had no idea—all she had were old memories and the patch on his sleeve. She hunched her shoulders and looked at the glove compartment.
“Wild animals can be dangerous,” he said. “Sometimes they’re too dangerous to treat and rehabilitate.” He paused. “And sometimes they’re not a threat at all.”
“I bet you kill more than you save.”
He stared out the windshield. “What do you want me to say, Becca?”
“Nothing.”
Silence filled up the car until there wasn’t room for anything else. He’d gone to vet school, she knew.
“I don’t always like what I have to do,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary.”
“For the greater good?” she mocked.
“Exactly.”
Becca leaned back against the door and gripped her elbows against her chest. This felt like being chastised. Not quite, but almost. Whatever, she didn’t like it.
“Are you worried about your car situation?” he asked.
She was. Becca didn’t want to consider how many hours she was going to have to work to save up enough money to buy a new car. She had no idea how insurance worked. Didn’t a deductible come into play somewhere? That old Honda had barely cost more than a thousand dollars.
“I’ll talk to your mom,” he said when she didn’t answer. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I don’t need your money.”
