“Ah. Right. Beaks and claws.” She hadn’t thought about that part. It wasn’t like rescuing a person who would be so thankful for the save they’d simply go along with the extraction plan. The poor little guy they were after was probably hurting and scared. Not a great combination for the rescuer. “Won’t the gloves scare him—or her—further, though?”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. It’s not like the puffling can go anywhere.”
“What do I need to do? I mean, free the foot—claw—first. But then what?”
“They’re a pretty docile breed, as birds go. And you’re right, it will be scared and is also probably hurting, but it’s also exhausted, so I don’t think there will be much of a fight, or a flight, for that matter.”
He went over the best way to hold the bird, once she’d freed it, both to calm it, and protect her hands. “Keep it away from your face. You’ll be on your belly, so you won’t be able to tuck it to you, you’ll have to hold it extended in front of your head, pretty much the whole time. So make sure you have a good hold on it before I pull you out.”
“Oh, God,” she said nervously. She slipped the harness belt on, then stepped into the beltlike getup he’d made from the nylon rope and linked that to her waist, then around each upper thigh as he directed, before running it back through the hooks. She looked down at her bunched-up pants and the way the rope sank into the soft parts between butt cheek and thigh and sighed. “Seriously, the fashion don’ts here are epic.”
She got on her hands and knees and started toward the edge, only to feel a tug on her waist. She looked back and realized her ass and rope-creased thighs were more or less aimed right at his face. Yeah, and so not in a provocative way. Any latent fantasies she might have had about her getting to play Jane to his Tarzan as he carried her up to his treetop lair to have his way with her died a quick death.
“You don’t have to do this, Dee,” he said, his gaze mercifully on her face and only her face. He looked very serious.
“I want to do it. I’m only nervous that I’ll do something wrong. I don’t know anything about how to handle birds. What if I hurt the chick? Or worse?” The very idea that she’d be face-to-face with this poor creature and not be able to do the right thing for it agonized her. “What if I can’t free it? I mean, there’s no way I can just back out and leave it there.” She felt a little tremble in her limbs, and not because the ropes were cutting off her circulation. “I’m scared, Ford.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “We have to make choices out here all the time that don’t have great odds, but all we can do is try our best. If I could fit—”
“No, I know. And I agree, it’s just . . .” She looked down into the crevasse. She didn’t know what she’d thought her role would be when she’d offered to come and help. Okay, insisted on coming and helping. But never in her wildest dreams would it have been this. “Let’s just—” She broke off and finished the thought by turning back to face the crevasse. It wasn’t all that deep, just narrow, with no direct view of her end goal. Much less the poor thing inside it. “Do this,” she whispered to herself as she got on her belly and braced her gloved hands on either side of the boulder.
“Just start edging down. Once your weight is more over the edge than on it, I’ll anchor you. You don’t have to worry about falling. Just ease down, angle yourself as needed so you have as much upper body freedom as possible. Then when you get to the burrow, stop and call up before you reach in.”
“Okay,” she said. Then repeated that word about a dozen times under her breath as she started inching downward.
“Thank you, Dee,” she heard him say, just as her fanny was bent over the edge, an inch away from where she would lose control of balancing her own weight. “For doing this. I’m glad you came along.”
“All in a day’s work,” she grunted, as she eased past the point of no return.
She felt him pull on the ropes, and though it made things more uncomfortable—a lot more uncomfortable—she relaxed a little, feeling more securely anchored now. “And stop staring at my ass,” she called back, in hopes of relieving her nerves with a little humor.
She could have sworn she heard him chuckle, but it was hard to tell over the rapid tattoo of her heartbeat thumping in her ear.
“What,” he called back, “and let you have all the fun?”
She grinned at that, and calmed another notch. She made her way to the bottom more easily than she’d expected. It wasn’t that far down, or it didn’t feel like it now that she was wedged into the crevasse. It helped that she had total trust in the rope handler back up top.
She rolled to her side so she could slip the camera prong thingie out of its pouch on her forehead and poke it into the burrow opening ahead of her. “I’m only going to be able to get my hands inside. I can’t get an angle where I can look in,” she called back, trying not to shout any louder than she had to so as not to completely freak the baby chick out. “I’m sticking the camera thingie in there so you can guide me.” Which meant Ford was going to have to guide her on where to reach and how to free the bird’s leg. She’d be doing it all by feel.
“Got it,” he called down. “Ready?”
“Ready!” She edged back so she could slide her hands into the burrow. “Okay, little puffling,” she said softly. “Super Delia is coming to the rescue. Just don’t beak the hand that frees you. Deal?”
Chapter 13
“She’s to the left,” Ford called down, watching the scene unfold inside the burrow on the screen on his mini-sized tablet. “Push the camera in that direction so I can see better.”
He had no idea if the chick was a she or not, but figured that would make the baby seem less threatening to Delia. “Okay, that’s good. You’re going to need to reach under her belly and get to her right foot. I think if you turn it a little to the side, it will come out. You may have to work to nudge the front claw under as you do. I think that’s what’s got her stuck, but she’s got webbed feet, so it’s not going to be comfortable for her. Just go slow, be gentle, but do what you need to do. We can repair the damage after if we need to.”
He saw Delia’s hand go still at his instructions; then after a brief moment, she began to move her hand forward. She kept her gloved palm to the floor of the burrow, moving it slowly over the rocks. The camera had a small mic, which was mostly picking up the rustling sounds of her gloved hand rubbing across the floor of the burrow, but over that he thought he could hear her calmly whispering into the burrow, talking to the puffling.
Ford didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she reached the chick, who was on her side now, and breathing rapidly, but shallowly. Scared, but exhausted. The latter would be a good thing for them.
Delia’s soft murmurs continued as she gently moved her hand under the chick’s belly. There was a sudden squawk and flurry of feathers, but to Delia’s credit, she didn’t yank her hand back out. She stiffened, and the camera bobbled as she pulled her head back, which tugged on the camera cord, but she kept her hand where it was.
He could hear her saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” softly, over and over again, and smiled briefly, thinking the soothing words were as much for her as for the injured chick. He didn’t call out any further instructions, wanting the chick to calm down as much as possible. Another tense minute passed, and she began to move her gloved hand a bit farther under the chick’s body. There was another round of squawking, more flapping, then a sharp cry of pain, followed quickly by “Ooh, ooh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” from Delia. “Good girl,” she cooed. “Look how brave you were.”
Then, to his shock and delight, Delia moved her hand out from under the bird, wrapped both palms around the body, holding the wings in, and slowly began to extricate the puffling from the nest.
He didn’t say anything; she seemed to have things well in hand, literally. Once she’d moved her hands past the camera, he began to pull her body back up to the cliff. She couldn’t use her hands to propel her body upwa
rd, so he worked slowly.
Once her lower body was completely back topside, he scooted forward and put his palms over her calves. “I’ve got you now,” he said, keeping his voice low as her head was just over the edge now. “Keep her snug. I’ll get you back over the edge. As soon as we’re past your hips, roll to your left and pull her in to your chest.”
It all went as smoothly as he could have hoped. He reached down and pulled the cord to retrieve the camera that still dangled from Delia’s headband down into the burrow crevasse, unhooked it, and scooted back, staying in a crouch as she rolled to her side; then he helped her to an upright seated position, while she held the baby to her body like a very coddled football.
“Great job,” he said, so incredibly proud of her. He frowned when he glanced up to see tears sliding down her cheeks. Instantly alarmed, he said, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did she get you?”
“No, though she definitely gave me a moment. I’m fine, good,” she sniffled. “Happy tears. I’ve never been so scared. I think I was more scared than she was.”
“Do you want to give her to me?”
Delia shook her head, sniffled inelegantly, her helmet sliding over to one side as she snuggled the baby chick a little more. “Just . . . another minute.”
Ford smiled and rolled back until he sat on the ground, knees bent. “Another minute would do both of you good.”
Delia peered down at her little bundle, who was still breathing rapidly, but appeared content to stay where it was, securely bundled. “Her beak isn’t bright and colorful.” She glanced at Ford. “Are you sure it’s a puffin?”
“That comes later. She looks to have shed all her fuzz though, so that’s good. She’ll be ready to fledge as soon as we see to her foot.”
“I haven’t looked at it,” Delia said. “She tucked it up under her when I took her out. Do you have stuff to take care of that kind of thing?”
“One of the tree huts is for rehab. A few of them actually, but one is set up to do observation, minor first aid. Generally, I think we do more first aid on us than them,” he added with a smile. “But, if she tucked it in, that’s a good sign. Means the movable parts are working. She didn’t injure anything too severely.”
Delia drew in a shaky breath, and let it out slowly, then finally seemed to pull herself together. Rescue was an emotional thing, he knew, so he let her take whatever time she needed.
She looked out over the rocks, toward the promontory. “How will we get her back there?”
Ford reached in his gear back and drew out what looked like a colorful fabric sling. “Papoose,” he said.
Her face crumpled again and he looked alarmed, but she just sniffled and said, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. A little baby birdie sling.”
“Well, actually it’s a baby human sling, but it does the trick when we need to transport fragile things over the rocks.”
“I’d do it, but I’m apparently the worst klutz on those rocks—”
“No, that’s okay,” he said, already slipping the pouch over his shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
Once situated, he moved over to Delia and undid as much of her harness gear as he could in her current position. “When you stand up, it should slide off into a pile. Just step out of it, and then pack it into the gear bag. You can put gloves, hat, whatever in there, too.”
“I could carry the gear bag if you want me to,” she said, with a last sniffle, even as she gave the size of the bag a dubious look.
He grinned. She was a mess, and he’d never thought her more beautiful. “That’s okay. I’ve got it. Ready?”
She looked up at him, then down at her little black-and-white feathered bundle. The chick was so small, its body barely the size of soda can, with its wings and feet all tucked up. She sighed. “I suppose.”
They made the chick transfer without disturbing it too greatly. That it didn’t flutter much told Ford just how exhausted the little thing truly was.
“Will you be able to feed it when we get back? Won’t that help her recover faster?” She lifted a shoulder when he just smiled. “I can’t help it. Feeding things is what I do.”
“They don’t eat much before they fledge, but we’ll definitely hydrate her, offer her some herring if she wants it, see what needs to be done with the foot. Her body weight is good, so her parents must have left her in good stead with fish within reach before they left.” Privately he thought how lucky the chick was that no predators had found it, but he kept that to himself.
Once he had the chick situated at the front of his body, he reached to help Delia up. She made short work of stowing all the gear, and then zipped up the bag, but he reached for the handles before she could try to pick it up.
“It’s okay. I have it. I’m going to take a slightly longer way around, keep the footing more level.” He looked out to the water. “We’ve got time.”
“Okay,” Delia said. “I’m going to follow you then, if that’s okay.”
“More than.”
She sighed, and it sounded a little shaky. Probably the aftereffects of the adrenaline punch leaving her system. He knew what that felt like. He touched her arm, turned her to face him. “You did an amazing job. Like a pro.” He smiled down into her tear-streaked face. “If you ever want a summer job, I could use a good intern like you.”
Her response was another inelegant sniffle, which made them both chuckle, though hers was a bit more watery than his. “Yes,” she said, “just what you need. A blubbering intern who can’t scale a simple pile of rocks.”
He tipped up her chin, and then brushed away the curls that were blowing into her face. “You did what needed to be done, and that’s all that matters.”
“She’ll be okay?” Delia asked.
“Pretty sure. She’s a fighter to have made it this long.”
“So . . . Disney ending?” Her smile was quavery, and he’d never wanted to kiss her as badly as he did right then.
“Good chance.”
“All right then,” she said, and squared shaky shoulders before pointing toward shore. “Lead on, Professor Rambo.”
“Professor Ra—? You know what, never mind,” he said with a disconcerted chuckle. “Follow me, careful of the sea kelp. There’s more of it the way we’re going, but less climbing.”
“I’m all about less climbing,” she said, and fell into step behind him.
It took longer than he’d thought it would to make it back to flat shoreline. Not because of the baby chick. It was dozing soundly, as far as Ford could tell, which wasn’t surprising. He’d slowed his pace so that Delia wouldn’t fall behind. It was slippery, and the clouds had begun to bank, which didn’t bode well, and the tide was almost on their heels now.
He reached down to help her up and over the last rock, so she was standing next to him on the grass spit promontory.
“Thanks,” she breathed, letting go of his hand once she was up and next to him. “And thanks for slowing down for me.” She looked up at him, wry smile in place. “Don’t even bother pretending you didn’t,” she added. “Me and my forty-three-year-old legs are too appreciative to be insulted.”
Before he could think better of it, he glanced down, then back up. “I see absolutely nothing wrong with your forty-three-year-old legs.”
She laughed and blushed at the same time. “Well, let’s just say I’m a lot more sympathetic to the need for those indefatigable interns you spoke of than I might have been a few hours ago.”
He chuckled. “Come on, we’d better get back to base camp before—” He looked up at the slowly darkening sky.
She didn’t. “Yes, I noticed. Looks like we’re in for a little storm.”
Or a not-so-little one, he thought warily. “You might want to put a call in to Peg when we get back, or send an e-mail, just in case.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but—” She palmed her cell from her pocket and wiggled it. “No service for me out here. What do you use?”
“Satellite
phone,” he said. “I just forward the cell calls to it while I’m out here.”
“Smart.” She nudged. “I guess they don’t just hand out those doctorates, after all.”
He smiled, but felt a bit of heat climb his neck at the reminder of his less-than-stellar commentary that first night back in her kitchen. “It’s just a different kind of learning,” he said, realizing that in addition to coming off like some self-important ass, he’d probably insulted her as well. “If they handed out degrees in running diners—”
“Stop while you’re ahead,” she said on a burst of laughter. “My ego isn’t the problem.”
His neck got a little warmer, and he took her advice. Then he spent the rest of the hike back wondering what her problem really was. She’d told Grace she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do about the diner. Build a new one, do something else entirely. But while she might be at some kind of crossroads, self-imposed or Brooks Winstock–imposed, or a little of both, he’d noticed that when she talked about the diner, it was always with sincere love and affection. He didn’t get even a subconscious hint of burnout or dissatisfaction. So . . . where did the floundering she seemed to be experiencing stem from?
They finally reached the base camp clearing and he motioned to the ramp to his left. “We’ll go up that way, then back in to where the rehab huts are. I initially thought to put them up front for easiest access, but the difference in time to reach them is minimal, and the activity level is substantially reduced. And if we’re keeping birds for observation, or tagging, or in fewer cases, rehabbing, quieter and calmer is better.”
“Makes sense.” She paused, looked around again, still clearly awed. “It all seems pretty peaceful, though.”
“For most of the year, yes. But if we’ve got patients in residence, then that means we also have interns and volunteers in residence. Summertime is active, noisy, and pretty much nonstop.”
They started up the first ramp, which angled off to the side and below his central building, then angled up with the next section, then switched back, and up again, until it met the series of swing bridges and walkways that were level with his main floor and headed back into the forest, with no clearing beneath them. Definitely more secluded and tucked in.
Sandpiper Island (The Bachelors Page 19
