I snort at her ridiculousness. “Limelight. It doesn’t feel like that when I’m chasing a stray dog through mud.”
“You’re a superhero, even in mud.” She lifts her coffee cup in thanks and heads inside.
I finish my coffee, throw the cup in the trashcan next to the bench and head back to my truck. I’ve got a call on the other side of the county for a small black cat that’s trapped in a crawlspace.
Seems to me like the cat could figure out how to get out of a crawlspace if it were so inclined, but the homeowner isn’t the cat owner and she wants the cat gone.
I already feel a deep foreboding about confronting a second crawlspace this week. I mean, it’s hardly unusual to find animals in crawl spaces, but it’s never fun or easy.
I play music on the thirty-minute drive and recite HandsyGuy37’s advice. I will be charming and kind and pleasant. And I’m going to win the scholarship.
“I’m going to win that scholarship,” I say. It feels good to say it aloud. After days of discussing it with my parents and my brother and my sister-in-law and Ellery, to the point I’m sure everyone is sick to death of hearing about it, I’ve decided to go for it.
I’m going to go for my dream, and my family and friends have promised to help.
It’ll be really hard, but I can’t miss out on this opportunity. I may never get another one.
And Harper will be fine. I’ll be ridiculously busy for most of her childhood, but she’ll understand. I hope.
Something to worry about if I even get the scholarship.
“I’m going to get the scholarship.”
I pull down a long dirt drive that hasn’t been graded in way too long. I bounce and swerve to avoid the worst potholes for about half a mile before I come upon a small house in the middle of vast fields of farmland.
This has to be a barn cat.
Probably a waste of my time. I force a smile onto my face. It’s not a waste of time, it’s my job, and I will be charming.
No matter what. I will be charming.
A woman emerges from the front door of the house as soon as I jump out of my truck, dust puffing up around my feet.
She looks about my mother’s age, though she moves with an energy and vitality my mother hasn’t had for years. Her dark hair drapes over one shoulder in a long braid. “Are you here about the cat?”
I smile. She seems nice enough. This shouldn’t be too hard. I stick out my hand. “I’m Amelia Burns with animal control.”
She scowls. “You’re late. I called over an hour ago.”
I swallow. Hard. “I was on the other side of the county, Mrs. Hughes. I apolo—”
“Only takes half an hour to get from one end of the county to the other. You’re lucky the cat is still there.”
“I thought you said the cat was stuck.”
Her scowl deepens. Damn it. I’m already screwing up.
“This is a lovely property you have here.”
She doesn’t get less scowlier. “The property’s my son’s. His wife stuck me out here in the middle of nowhere because I tell her the truth and she don’t want to hear it.” She turns on her heel and starts toward the house. “Come on. I’ll show you where the cat is.”
I follow her around to the back of the house, and she points at the entrance to the crawl space. The opening is low to the ground and barely big enough for a human to get through.
That sense of foreboding I had all the way here turns to dread. I am not going to crawl in there. I’ll just insist on leaving a trap.
But I remember the kitten I saved two days ago. If I’d followed procedure and left a trap for him, he’d have died. And I hate to have any animal die on my watch. I literally lose sleep over it.
“Is there another way to access the crawl space?” I ask.
