23. Isobel
I stare down at the wounded beast slumped at my feet, and my thoughts fly back to a similar situation in the not-too-distant past. That time, though, it had been a tiger rather than an enormous lion, and I’d had Paw Paw and Pauly and Damien—the two hunters who had shot him—on hand to help. Although it’s too early in the year for legal hunting just yet, hogs are open year-round. But this beast doesn’t look like he’s been shot. Shredded to all heck, for sure, but I can’t make out any bullet wounds. Some of the bigger traps might do this kind of damage, but somehow I don’t think they’d be large enough to ensnare him to this extent. No, this king of a far-flung jungle has to have gotten into it with another large, apex predator to come away with these types of injuries… or several.
I huff in the cool night air, my breath visible momentarily before dissipating into the ether. Getting him patched up is gonna take some doing, but needs must.
I crack the Mossberg and empty the chambers as I quickly walk back to the house, placing the firearm back on its rack along with the shotgun shells before heading to my bedroom to get changed into a pair of old dungarees and a thermal shirt.
I’m likely to be sweaty, stinking, and covered with blood, mud, and pus by the time I’m done, and I’m not ruining my favorite flannel. Not when it’s one of the only things I’ve got left of his.
***
It took some elbow grease and good-old ingenuity, but I eventually managed to maneuver the enormous lion onto one of the larger flatbed carts we use for hauling heavy or bulky items around. Once I get him rolling, I make quick work moving him down to the animal surgery that sits kitty-corner to the rear of the barn. While I’m no veterinarian, I know my way around enough after patching up all manner of critters that I think I can stave off the worst until I can call Paw Paw or one of my cousins in to help in the morning. No way in heck am I calling Daddy or my brothers. They’d have a conniption at me hauling him around while pregnant, what with me being a “delicate female” and all.
Thankfully, the surgery has a large animal lift sling, and with a little more huffing and puffing—and a toilet break because bubba uses my bladder as a trampoline once more—I have the lion up on the steel examination bench. The metal creaks and groans in protest as I settle his full weight on it, but it holds. The first thing I do is jab him with several needles full of antibiotics, a vaccine against rabies, and a boatload of vitamin K. Then I get to work.
I grab a hose and attach it to the connector attached to a large tub and let the water run until it’s warm. I then do my best to clean away the mud, blood, and pus matting the lion’s fur and preventing me from properly examining his wounds. I grimace at the muck that flows onto the concrete floor, but it all makes its way to the grille-covered hole in the floor, gurgling and glugging down the drain. I swab the infections and put those vials to one side for later before dousing the wounds with disinfectant. I then carefully use a surgical debrider to scrape away the dead and rotting flesh, all the while keeping an eye on the unconscious animal in my care. I daren’t use any kind of anesthesia on him because it’s just me here, and I don’t know how badly off he’s doing.
The next step is to suture the jagged flesh closed, which I do with as gentle a hand as I can. Another smear of antiseptic ointment goes over the wound and then a temporary dressing gets slapped on top of each sewing job to keep them as clean, dry, and protected as I can. Then it’s time to flip the giant cat onto his other side to repeat the process all over again.
By the time I’m done, the sun is rising above the cypress, oak, and dogwood trees surrounding our sanctuary, and I’m exhausted. True to form, I’m covered in filth, and I stink to high heaven, but at least the lion is still breathing. There’s a large recovery room off to one side, and I wheel another flatbed cart—this one padded with a heated foam base—over and once more utilize the lift sling to move the lion into a more secure location. Fresh water and a bowl of thawing raw chicken cut into small chunks are set on the floor just inside the reinforced door, and I lock him in so I can clean up the surgery from my impromptu operating session.
I glance over at the security feed in the recovery room as I switch off the lights, glad to see the lion’s ribs rising and falling with steady breaths. The rest of the security cameras that are dotted around the sanctuary, including around the house, show everything is quiet and still. That’s a relief. I let the footage continue, knowing Paw Paw and my brothers will get a kick out of watching me haul the monstrous lion all by myself. Either that, or I’ll get yelled at for not calling for help.
I traipse back to the house, utterly exhausted, and fire off a quick text to Paw Paw about our unexpected guest before I stumble into the shower just long enough to get the stink and sweat off me, before falling back into my bed.
I’m out before my head hits the pillow.
***
“Izzy-bizzy, you awake in there? C’mon girl, it’s time to rise and shine!”
Paw Paw’s cheery bellow jerks me into wakefulness, and as much as I love the old coot, I could just cry and rampage at how tired I am. I blearily search the room for my phone, as it’s not in its usual place on my nightstand. I flail around, trying to untangle myself from my blankets, and a dull thud sounds as my phone lands on the floor from where it was tucked in the folds of my bedding. I lean over and squint at the screen—
“Nine o’clock? You’re poundin’ on my door at nine in the gosh-darned morning after I pulled an all-nighter fixing up that monster in our surgery? Old man, you’re just beggin’ for me to open a can up on your butt!”
Rough chuckles penetrate the wooden door separating me from my grandfather, and he gives it a sharp rap with his knuckles before ordering me to, “Get your heiny up and dressed, Izzy-bizzy. I need to talk to you about our new guest and check on how our little cub-cub is doing. You can have a nap later.”
Heavy footsteps recede back down the hallway to the kitchen, and I grumble and curse beneath my breath as I slowly dress in a pair of stretchy leggings and an old band tee. I deliberately shy away from looking in the mirror. If I have to deal with my hair this morning after blessed little sleep on top of conducting emergency surgery on a beast that could have eaten me whole, I’m gonna lose my temper.
I continue my grumping as I stomp over the hardwood floors to join Paw Paw in my kitchen, but my ire subsides a little when I see he’s made me biscuits and gravy for breakfast, with a pitcher of my favorite sweet tea on the table.
“Come on, poppet. Sit down and tell me how you managed to wrangle that hulking brute into the surgery so you could patch him up without getting a scratch on you. He didn’t land a claw on you, did he?”
“You’d know the answer to that if you had gone and checked the security feeds,” I snark as I unwind even further under Paw Paw’s protective attention, and I relive the events of last night for him in all their startling, gruesome glory.
“You say he nuzzled your belly? Like he maybe recognized you have a little cub in there?”
I shrug, clueless as to the motivations behind the lion’s actions last night.
“I mean, except for when he first appeared, he didn’t threaten me in any way. It was like… I dunno… like he didn’t want to scare me? It was almost as if he recognized me somehow, and felt… safe with me?”
Paw Paw huffs out a gravelly chuckle, raising his own mug of steaming tea to his mouth, gulping down the hot liquid as though there’s nothing to it.
“Izzy, girl, you have quite the touch when it comes to those big pussy cats. It sounds just like when Qu—”
“Don’t!” I slam my palm down onto the top of the table, rattling the dishes sitting on the surface. Paw Paw’s grin falls at the devastation suffused in that single word.
“Don’t… don’t say his name, Paw Paw. Please. It hurts too much right now that he’s not here with me, with us.”
Sympathy wells in Paw Paw’s eyes at my distress, and thankfully he leaves off that topic of conversation.
I’m sure he had good reason to just up and disappear on me like that, even though he’d promised he was going to Memphis to meet with someone regarding his situation. But it still burns that only hours after sharing the news of my pregnancy, my so-called mate vanished into thin air. I can barely even feel our bond anymore. Maybe we were never fated mates to begin with.
But even so, I still love Quin with all my heart.