The Wild Child by Mary Jo Putney

started to turn away, then hesitated as if a thought had struck her. Taking hold of the handle, she began to pump. He realized that she was returning the favor so he could wash his own hands. Oddly touched, he held them under the water and rinsed away juice and yew stains. “Thank you, Meriel.”
    When he pulled his clean hands from the stream of water, she walked away with her customary lack of ceremony. Like a cat, she never looked back.
    Her first stop was in the shed that her hedgehog called home. As she knelt beside the pile of burlap sacks, Snowball woke up and rolled onto his back so she could stroke his tender stomach. Dominic watched with amusement from the doorway. He hadn’t known that hedgehogs could smile. Well, he would himself if those strong, well-shaped hands were stroking his belly. The thought was a disturbing one, made more so when a lock of her glossy blond hair fell forward across the little animal. The pale strands were almost the same shade as Snowball’s albino spines. Would Kyle enjoy watching her play with a pet? Probably not. His twin was too restless, too impatient, for such small pleasures.
    Meriel gave the hedgehog a last caress and rose gracefully from her kneeling position. Brushing by Dominic in the doorway as if he were invisible, she left the shed and headed toward the house. Falling into step beside her, he observed, “You have a gift for dealing with animals. Rather like Saint Francis of Assisi. I don’t suppose anyone ever told you about him, Francis being a Catholic saint, but I’ve always thought he’d be an interesting fellow to meet. They say wild creatures came to his hand, as tame as Roxana. He called them his brothers and sisters.”
    Dominic had a sudden memory of a painting he’d once seen that showed Saint Francis sitting in a clearing, birds on his shoulder, foxes and deer and other beasts gathered around him. On the saint’s face was an expression as unworldly as Meriel’s. Maybe saints and madmen were close kin?
    He continued his idle talk, telling his companion everything he knew about St. Francis. Though she never turned her head, he sensed that she was listening, though perhaps only to the rhythm of his voice rather than his words.
    As they neared the stable block, he realized that he ought to exercise Kyle’s horse. “Would you like to meet Pegasus, Meriel?”
    He touched her elbow to guide her into the open stable doors. She balked and almost pulled away. Guessing that she was afraid of horses, he said coaxingly, “He’s a splendid beast, named for a winged horse of Greek legend.”
    With dragging feet, she accompanied him into the dim stable. Keeping a close eye on her, he asked, “Do you ride?” He scanned the unimpressive Warfield horses. “No, I don’t suppose so. There isn’t a decent riding hack here. Watch your step, now. Stables can be hazardous for bare feet.”
    Pegasus stuck his head out of a box stall and whinnied for attention. As Meriel stopped beyond biting distance, Dominic greeted the horse, stroking the silky nose and promising a ride. He glanced at his companion. “He won’t harm you.”
    The low light made it hard to read her expression, but her posture indicated that she was on the verge of bolting. “You love animals, and they love you,” he said softly. “Pegasus is a fine fellow, and he’d like to meet you.”
    Step by hesitant step, she moved forward. Her face showed not exactly fear, but deep reluctance. He moved back, allowing her to approach her own way. Luckily, the horse was extremely good-tempered. Pegasus whuffled curiously, stretching out his neck toward Meriel. She tensed, then slowly raised her left hand and touched the white diamond on the horse’s dark forehead. Against Pegasus’s massive bulk, she looked pale and terribly fragile.
    The horse nudged her shoulder enthusiastically. Even though the force of the movement almost knocked Meriel over, the tension eased from her body. Her other hand lifted to stroke