Free Below Zero by C. J. Box Page B

him.
    He flipped a U-turn and parked behind Sheridan’s twenty-year-old pickup— her first car! —leaving the driveway open for Marybeth’s van. Tube bounded out as if he knew he was home at last, and Joe unstrapped the eagle from his pickup wall and picked the bird up to take to his shed in the backyard. It squirmed when he lifted it up but relaxed as he carried it, either resigned to its fate or calmly looking for an opportunity to blow up and escape. He carefully avoided the talons, aware that if the eagle gripped his hand or wrist it could take him down to his knees in pain. The eagle turned its sock-covered head from side to side as he carried it toward the house.
    He didn’t hear Ed Nedney come out and stand on his front porch in his robe smoking his morning pipe. And he didn’t see him until Ed cleared his throat loudly to indicate his disapproval of Tube, who’d wandered from Joe’s lawn onto Nedney’s perfect grass to defecate. The pile was huge, steamy.
    “Geez, I’m sorry,” Joe said. “I’ll clean that up.”
    Nedney snorted, as if to say, Of course you will. Then: “So the game warden returns. How is life in Baggs ?”
    He said “Baggs” the way a rich San Franciscan would say “Iowa”—with disdain.
    “Fine,” Joe said, regretting what Tube had done.
    “What do you have there all wrapped up in swaddling clothes?”
    “A bald eagle.”
    “My God. Does it screech?”
    “You should hear it. It can wake the dead.”
    “As long as it doesn’t wake me. ”
    “I didn’t think you slept,” Joe said, “with all the lawn maintenance and all.”
    “Well, I do. What’s wrong with that dog? Why does she look so . . . ridiculous? She looks like a sausage.”
    “He’s a he. His name is Tube.”
    “Going to be home for a while?”
    “Yup,” Joe said, thinking, Probably not.
    “Maybe you’ll get a chance to get the house painted before the snow hits,” Nedney said casually.
    “It’s not that bad,” Joe said, wishing he hadn’t sounded so defensive.
    “Check out the north side under the eaves. The wind is starting to chip away at the paint. Believe me when I tell you this,” Nedney said, sighing, the weight of the unkempt world on his shoulders. “I have to look at it every day.”
    Joe thought, Tube, go over on Nedney’s lawn and take another dump . . .
    When Marybeth opened the front door, saw the eagle in his arms wearing Joe’s sweatshirt and sock and the huge frankfurter-like dog at his feet who instantly fell in love with her, she said, “Joe, come inside.” Then: “So this is Tube. He’s very unusual.”
    Joe nodded, “Did I tell you I caught the Mad Archer of Baggs?”
    “Yes, twice on the phone. Congratulations, Joe. And welcome home.”
     
     
     
    AFTER SETTING UP the eagle in the shed with water and rabbit roadkill he had picked up from the highway outside of town, Joe entered the house from the back to avoid seeing Nedney. It was warm and dark inside and smelled of cooking and his family. He was suddenly tired.
    Marybeth was sitting on the couch in the front room with her laptop and Sheridan’s cell phone. She said, “Do you need to get some sleep? I’ve been dozing the last couple of hours waiting for you.”
    “I do,” he said. But when he looked into her green eyes and saw the way she was curled up on the cushions of the couch, he said, “But first I need you.”
    She smiled cautiously and shot a look toward the darkened hallway that lead to Sheridan’s and Lucy’s bedrooms. “Joe . . .”
    He took her hand, she squeezed back, and he guided her to the bedroom.
    For a few minutes they forgot about the text messages, Nedney, what time it was, and even Tube, who curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed like he owned the place.
     
     
     
    “ I WAS UP a long time after the text-message exchange last night,” Marybeth said at the breakfast table, after Joe had slept hard for three hours but awakened only an hour past his usual time of six