Earthbound

by Melora Johnson

  Ally Reynolds is a veterinarian specializing in raptor rehabilitation in New Hampshire. Other than one horrific incident in her childhood and a little extra “spark” for healing in her hands, both of which she has kept secret from even her best friend, her life has been singularly boring. It has also been extremely lonely. Ally longs for someone to share her life with, but how can she trust someone with her secret?

  Matthew Blake, an ornithologist at Cornell University, calls Ally, asking for her help with an injured raptor. Matthew grew up in New Zealand and has lived around the world. He has read about Ally’s high success rates in raptor rehabilitation and suspects there is more to it than is generally known.

  Matthew has some secrets of his own; he is a demon hunter. He suspects Ally’s healing powers could benefit him. He wants her to join him and thinks they’d make a great team.

  Can Ally trust him or is he just using her? Matthew definitely has more secrets, and some of them are about her.

  EARTHBOUND

  Melora Johnson

  Published by Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright 2020 Melora Johnson

  Cover Art: Cora Graphicss - http://www.coragraphics.ie

  Editor: Lucy Felthouse

  Proofreader: Sharon Pickrel

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Publishers and authors are always happy to exchange their book for an honest review. If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchase or from the publisher or author, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retailer, as reviews help authors market their work more effectively. Thank you.

  DEDICATION

  For everyone feeling their way in the dark.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For their invaluable feedback and guidance, many thanks go to Christy Nicholas, Mattea Orr, Angie Vandegrift, and Samantha Wright. I would also like to especially thank my husband and all the writers of the Corning Area Writer’s Group over the years for their faith in my writing.

  EARTHBOUND

  Melora Johnson

  Chapter 1

  “Is it raining out there again?” Jen asked, narrowing her brown eyes to focus on the wall of glass next to us.

  I turned to look, but night had fallen so it was hard to tell. Mostly I saw my own reflection, the other diners around us, and the white tablecloths. “Is it?” I asked, then caught sight of the droplets appearing on the glass.

  “Yes.” Jen made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and tossed her soft, black curls over her shoulder. “Either that or someone is spitting on the window.”

  That seemed rather unlikely since we were on the second floor of the building. However, Jen had already downed a couple glasses of vino with dinner, so her thoughts were a bit wine soaked. With any luck, I could avoid her drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday to Ally” this year.

  I was only on my first glass of wine, but they never affected me nearly as much as Jen. Kind of strange since she comes from Italian stock while I come from white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant New England stock with teetotalers lurking in the Thanksgiving closet, singing temperance songs.

  Though we’re total opposites, Jen is my only really close friend. I’m far more comfortable with animals than people. I’m a vet and live on the old farmstead my great aunt left me. Other than one extraordinary event as a child, and a little extra spark for healing animals in my hands, my life has been incredibly boring, and lonely.

  I watched the couple two tables down in my direct line of sight, so obviously in love. The man gazed at her with such warmth, devotion, and wonder it made me want to lob a spoonful of chocolate lava cake in their direction. Cooled, of course.

  I’m thirty-two years old, and the longest relationship I’ve had with a man only lasted five months.

  I watched the couple a minute more, going ever greener with envy, sighed, then turned back to Jen. “Why don’t guys ever look at me like that?” I winced at the whine in my own voice and hastily washed it down with a sip of my other wine. I felt pathetic. I sounded it too, but it was my thirty-second birthday. I had to be a tiny bit entitled. I know, I know… life doesn’t owe any of us anything.

  Jen rolled her eyes at me. “Ally, first of all, you pretty much hide up there on that mountain of yours. You only come down to go to work, get groceries, or meet me for a drink. Second, guys do look at you like that, you’re just never looking back. Third, well, I can’t remember what it was, but I’m pretty sure I should take a taxi home.” She picked up her wine glass and drained it.

  She’d been toasting me all through my birthday dinner. She tended to get into the spirit of such things. I think she overcompensated for my lack of family and other friends. My father passed away when I was twenty-six from a massive heart attack, and my mother had never been what you would call affectionate.

  To be fair, I came to my parents rather late in life. My mother had been thirty-five, and they’d long since given up trying. In fact, my mother had once let her guard slip when I was in my late teens, and she’d had several drinks. She told me I must have been conceived when they were three sheets to the wind because she didn’t remember them having sex around that time. I was horrified, both that she had shared something so private with me, and that I could expect my sex life to be over by the time I was thirty-five.

  Wistfully, I studied the couple two tables over. I was thirty-two, and my sex life up to this point had been singularly lackluster. That wasn’t likely to suddenly change. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the self-pitying mood. Why was my birthday getting me so far down this year? Thirty hadn’t bothered me this much.

  Jen set her empty glass down then waved for the waiter. “Come on, Ally, don’t you think it’s time you gave some nice guy a chance? I can think of three right off the top of my head I could set you up with.”

  She’s right. Only, it wasn’t as simple as she made it sound. We had been best friends since we shared an apartment in college, yet even she didn’t know all my secrets. There was a reason I kept to myself up on my “mountain.”

  I sighed. “I know you’re right, but…”

  “But what?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and she started punctuating her words with waves of her hands. “You want a relationship; you say that over and over. You’re pretty, kind, intelligent… any man would be lucky to have you. What’s holding you back?”

  I looked at her, unable to voice my concerns. It was one thing to keep a friend in the dark, but it would be a lot harder to keep a boyfriend out. Wasn’t the point to let them in? Like, all the way in?

  I smiled at her ruefully, then applause drew my attention to the couple once again. The man was down on one knee, holding an open engagement ring box.

  “Perfect, just perfect.” I drained my own wine glass then set it down with a thump, muffled by the thick tablecloth. I drummed my fingers on the white fabric, then sat up straight and looked at Jen. “Okay, set me up.”

  * * *

  I ended up dropping Jen home before heading back up my “mountain.” It’s really more of a hill well outside of town. My parents had always warned me to hide my… differences after the
incident; no one ever questioned my father’s story about what happened.

  I simply couldn’t run the risk of people finding out. It made getting close to people very difficult, if not downright impossible. Luckily, I’d always been predisposed to work with animals. They didn’t care how I was different, were even grateful for it at times.

  But meeting someone new? A guy? Someone I would want to connect with, open up to? Shit. I had to force myself to stick to the speed limit.

  When I walked in the door, the message light blinked on the phone base. “Son of a…” My stomach clenched. I wasn’t ready for this. She couldn’t have already called some guy to set me up, could she? She had practically been passed out when I left her place. A horrifying thought occurred to me - had she drunk dialed someone? I considered leaving the message until morning, but I had to know what it said. I dialed into my voicemail with sincere misgivings.

  The male voice which came across the line did not speak with a North American accent; however, I couldn’t place where it was from. The tone reminded me of good coffee, rich and just as warm. “Hello, my name is Matthew Scott Blake.”

  I blinked. Who introduced themselves with three names? Didn’t they reserve that for serial killers or assassins?

  “I’m from Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. I’m trying to contact Doctor Allyson Reynolds. We have a pair of nesting eagles here; the male has been badly hurt. We were hoping Doctor Reynolds could help us out. Please, could she give me a call at her earliest convenience?”

  The phone number followed. I replayed it a couple times to make sure I got it written down correctly. Thank God. Cornell was a premier veterinarian school. Dad had brought me there to visit when I was considering colleges. They also had a wonderful ornithology lab we had visited. I would go to Ithaca to help with the eagle. At least that would get me away from anyone Jen wanted to throw at me for a bit. Maybe she’d forget about it in the meantime.

  Chapter 2

  I was good at what I did. Rationally, I knew it. That was why I’d been asked to come help with the eagle. I had jumped at the chance, yet now, cooling my heels in the open reception area of the Janet L. Swanson Wildlife Health Center on the Cornell University Campus, I started second guessing myself. They had lots of experts here already, and there were certain… skills that were difficult for me to bring to bear on the situation without privacy. As a visiting vet I would probably be working with the regulars, in their space, most of the time.

  I had been eleven when I realized I might have something good in my hands, despite what had happened. The school bus had dropped me at the end of my street along with a couple other kids. We weren’t friends, but they weren’t mean to me either. They simply took little notice of me. Sometimes I got invited to birthday parties, sometimes not. It wasn’t malicious. They just never invited me over to play. My mother considered birthday parties for family only. I honestly wondered if she would have remembered mine at all if it weren’t for my grandmother.

  The other kids trotted down the street toward their own homes. I dragged my feet, enjoying the warmth of the Indian summer and the sunshine on the autumn leaves after several days of rain. Greens had given way to rich scarlet red, golden yellow and a cheerfully brilliant orange.

  When I got to my front yard, a mourning dove sat on the ground under a tree, but it didn’t fly away as I approached. It just flapped around then stilled, its little feathered chest heaving for a minute.

  I set my book bag down then moved toward the bird one careful step at a time. It hopped away from me.

  “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” I hope. It turned its head to focus one black bead of an eye on me and stilled. “I just want to help you.” I didn’t know what I could possibly do, yet I had this overwhelming need to try to do something. Maybe I could take it home, nurse it back to health. I couldn’t take it in the house. Mom didn’t allow animals in the house; she said they carried dirt, fleas, and dander. Nobody ever went in the tool shed out back, though, because we had gardeners who came to take care of the lawn. They brought their own tools.

  I knelt down, slid my hands around the bird, then gently lifted it. An intense longing to heal it seized me, and a jolt flew through my fingers, like walking across a carpet then shaking hands with someone but ten times stronger. I involuntarily squeezed the bird, then dropped it. I held my breath, scared I might have hurt it more, but then it cooed, stretched out its wings, and shook itself before taking off as if it never had been injured.

  It was hurt, wasn’t it? Maybe I had been wrong or… a thought began to take shape in my head. Maybe, just maybe, my wish had actually healed the bird? Like in a fairy tale.

  My mother called from the porch. “Allyson, don’t dawdle.”

  Great. I never knew if she would be home or not when I got there. You’d think I’d have been bubbly with what happened, anxious to tell my mother, but it was pretty much the opposite. I retrieved my book bag and went inside.

  “What were you doing out there?” she asked with a scowl.

  I was a truthful child, so I said, “There was a bird. I thought it was hurt.”

  My mother’s brow lowered. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”

  I froze at her tone. I knew what that meant. “Yes,” I replied in a small voice.

  “Come on, to the bathroom with you. Scrub your hands. Don’t you know birds carry lice and germs?” she scolded. She gripped my shoulders, turned me toward the bathroom, and gave me a little push.

  She couldn’t stifle my curiosity after that first bird though. The urge to help just became stronger as I got older. Animals sought me out when they were hurt. Did they tell each other where to go? That I would help? I imagined their conversations, perhaps a mole talking to a cottontail rabbit. A thorn in your paw? You should go see Allyson.

  By the time I was twelve, I had converted our little tool shed into an animal hospital. My mother didn’t like it and voiced her displeasure at every opportunity. However, my father supported me, both verbally and financially, when it came to supplies. He also ran interference with my mother.

  Any animal that hopped or wandered through our backyard became a friend—squirrels, bunnies, neighbor cats and dogs, mice, moles, a snake or two—however, birds were my specialty. They knew exactly where to come for help. Mom eventually gave up. She just insisted I scrub and change clothes after being out with the animals.

  “Doctor Reynolds,” a male voice called out from across the room, pulling me back to the present. It sounded somewhat familiar.

  I looked up, shielding my eyes from the afternoon sun shining in the front window as a male figure strode toward me, blond hair haloed by the light. He stopped in front of me.

  Startled, I rose to my feet and looked into a chiseled face, his eyes the indeterminate blue green of sea glass like I’d collected along the shoreline once as a teenager. His dark golden blond hair was short and spiky, his lopsided grin pure perfection. He was gorgeous.

  In my experience, gorgeous men were not to be trusted. Well, no men really were. Oh, all right, no one was, period.

  “Doctor Allyson Reynolds? I’m Doctor Matthew Scott Blake. I’m honored to have you join us. I’ve read your articles in the Raptor Rehab Newsletter.”

  He held out a hand, but when I put out mine to shake it, he simply captured mine in his and placed his other hand over it. His eyes flashed green with golden flecks in the sunlight.

  “I’m glad to be here,” I said, not at all sure I was anymore, as my pulse sped up. “Please, call me Ally.”

  “All right, Ally it is.”

  I want to climb him like a tree. I swallowed, aghast at my own thoughts. I’d only known him a few minutes.

  His hands were so warm. My mother’s voice played in my head, Gorgeous men are dangerous, arrogant, and being involved with them will lead to no good. I frowned.

  “It’s so good to see you…” he said. At my expression, he faltered and cleared his throat. The wattage of his smile dimmed significantly.
“I mean, to meet you. I’ve been following your work since I arrived in the States, in the newsletter.”

  He turned, drawing my hand through his arm. “Please, let me show you around the facilities here.”

  “Uh, thank you,” I murmured, wondering how to tactfully withdraw my arm. My attraction to him was overwhelming. At the same time, his overly familiar attitude seemed a little odd.

  A tall woman, her long, brown hair in a ponytail, appeared at the doorway through which Matt had arrived. She positively glowered at my arm through Matthew’s. She wore work boots, khaki shorts, and a sand colored polo shirt with the university logo, so I assumed she worked there as well. She approached us and stopped several feet away, then turned a bright smile on Matthew. “Hi, Matt. What brings you down from the Ornithology Lab?”

  “This is Doctor Allyson Reynolds, the veterinarian and raptor rehabilitation specialist I suggested to Rick we bring in to help with the injured eagle from Sapsucker Woods.”

  Shelly took one more look at my arm entwined with Matthew’s then smiled again at him. “Would you like me to show her around?”

  He paused a moment before replying. “That’s okay, Shelly. I can handle it, I know my way. No need to take time out of your busy schedule. I’ll just show Doctor Reynolds around, then bring her to meet Rick. He’s the one overseeing the care of the eagle. Oh…” He turned to me. “This is Doctor Shelly Madison, she’s a clinical associate professor in zoo medicine.”

  I saw my chance and pulled my arm out of his, ostensibly to shake Shelly’s hand. I murmured hello. She responded stiffly. Her behavior made more sense to me than his. Why treat me like an honored guest? I was just a vet who specialized in raptor rehab. I had been so anxious to get out of town I’d jumped at the chance, but now there was one question paramount in my mind—why had he called me? They were the experts here.