Chapter One
No way. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. Couldn’t be. No one could be that stupid. Could they?
I pulled over to the side of the road, flipped on the hazard lights, and got out.
“Hey! Hey there!” I yelled, waving my arms frantically. “Get back!”
The man glanced my way, a look of confusion on his face. He was standing ten feet from a full-grown, 1200-pound adult bison, with a squirming toddler in his arms.
“We just want a picture,” he said to me, matter-of-fact, and continued another step, lifting his towheaded daughter as if he were going to set her on the bison’s back.
“Step away right now! That’s a wild animal. And a dangerous one.” I took another cautious step toward them, careful not to startle the bison who was chewing a mouthful of prairie grass. Several yards away from the bison was a young calf.
Father-of-the-year looked at the bison, then back at me. “Seems friendly enough to me.”
The bison paused her munching and fixed her eye on the man.
“Trust me, she’s not. Now step back.”
His wife lowered her phone and shrugged. “Come on, Al, bring Evie back on over here.” At least she had some sense.
The bison stomped her foot, kicking up dust, and dropped her head.
“Get back now!” I said, hurrying the man along.
With a snort, the bison stomped again, pawing at the ground. A warning.
A look of disappointment crossed the man’s face as he reluctantly moved away from the animal. “Fine,” he muttered.
“She feels threatened. Can’t you see? She’s about to charge.”
The man turned away from the animal and slowly walked back toward his wife.
The bison stomped again, and rushed him.
“Run!” his wife screamed.
The man’s expression changed to surprise as he spun to see the bison charging at him. He sprinted toward my car and managed to get behind it. The bison backed off.
The man started laughing. Laughing!
I was fuming. I stomped toward him. “Haven’t you seen the signs? The park rules? Do not approach the wildlife.”
He gave me a half shrug. “Yeah, but it ain’t a bear.”
Why is it that people are terrified of predators, but they see a herd of grazing bison and think it’s a petting zoo? Apparently, this had become a problem in recent years, people getting too close for selfies. I didn’t want to believe it.
I drew in a breath to check my temper before responding, “Believe me, an angry bison can be just as dangerous as a bear. Or even more so. Bison have injured more people here in Yellowstone than any other animal.”
He gave me a look full of contempt and skepticism. “And just who are you?”
“I used to be a park ranger here.” It was mostly true. I’d been a summer intern.
“Oh,” he said, disappointed he may have to actually listen to me.
I shook my head. This guy needed a reality check. “Approaching wildlife like that could get you kicked out of the park and possibly fined. Or worse, that bison could have gored you.”
His eyes darted from me to the bison and back, then his expression turned back to disbelief. “No way.”
“Do you know what an animal that size could do to your baby girl?”
He looked at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time as his child and not a prop for a picture. “Oh, maybe, I guess. I think we woulda been just fine though.”
Exasperated, I rolled my eyes. “Please, just get back in your car and stay at least one hundred yards from any animal. Any animal.”
He frowned, but set his daughter down on the ground, took her by the hand and led her to their car with his head held high and his chest puffed out. He had listened to me but he wasn’t particularly happy about it.
His wife gave him a shrug of disappointment and followed him with her head down.
“Have a nice day,” I said with a falsely cheerful wave, the old training kicking in.
I looked back at the bison. She raised her head and stuck out her tongue to wipe grass from her lip as she eyed me for a moment, as if to say, thanks for getting rid of that pest.
I grinned back at her. “You’re welcome.”
I’d stopped here at Ice Box Canyon, one of my favorite pullout spots on the northeast side of Yellowstone. Once the family sped away, I had the place to myself. I sat down on the edge of the wooden walkway along Soda Butte Creek. It flowed faster with the added runoff of spring. I listened to it gush and gurgle for a minute, drawing in several breaths of the fresh, clean air. I’d missed it here.
The high-pitched chitter of prairie dogs caught my attention. Two adults popped up onto the boardwalk and sat up on their haunches, singing away. They watched me with their big, round, black eyes, twitching at every movement that caught their attention. They were so cute.
If only I could spend a couple weeks here, watch the park bloom with changing of the season, with all the new offspring, out testing their legs and wings. But I had to get to work.
I got back into my car and continued on, further into the park.
A few days earlier, I’d received a call from my boss to head to Idaho to investigate a wolf-related issue. Since I was in Montana at the time, I thought I’d make a side trip through Yellowstone. I wanted to talk to an old friend about the wolves and maybe dig up some memories of my summer here during my college days.
I followed the familiar road. Even though it had been—what?— six years, the place hadn’t changed a bit, a testament to tireless conservation efforts and solid public policy.
The bright greens of spring made the valley seem to come alive. The rolling hills, dotted with occasional evergreens, spread before the backdrop of rocky peaks, the tips white with snow. This was a pristine landscape, a wilderness still in its prime.
I slowed for a small herd of pronghorn antelope to cross the road. They ran down a dip toward the river’s edge and kicked up a gaggle of Canada geese. I rolled the window down to hear the geese honk as they lifted off.
A few more miles down the road, my phone rang. I pulled over to the side to take the call.
It was Greg, an analyst and tech support staff for my team. We worked well together, kinda like a brother-sister team where he was the annoying little brother.
“Yo,” I answered.
“Yo to you. Where are you?”
“Yellowstone National Park. But you knew that. It’s like you’ve got me chipped.”
“That’s not exactly—”
“What you don’t know, is that I just had to save some idiot from winning a Darwin Award. I’m telling you, he was moments from a grisly death.”
“Grizzly? You saw a bear?”
“No. Grisly, not grizzly. I saw a moron trying to set his little girl on the back of a bison to get a selfie. They both could have been trampled to death.”
“No way.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Seriously?”
“I just don’t get it, Greg. People aren’t afraid of bison and moose, but wolves and bears are— ”
“Wolves are scary. They have big teeth.”
“Bison have big hooves. And horns.”
“Yeah, but they don’t hide in your grandma’s clothing and pretend to like you.”
“Um. Okay.” I had to think about that for a moment. Nope. I got nothing. “You got details about my case for me?”
“Yep.” I heard the click-click-click of his keyboard. “Hyland wants you to investigate a guy named Jack Wade. He’s a USDA-APHIS Wildlife Services agent and—”
“Wait. I’m investigating a federal agent? Isn’t that the purview of—”
“Yes, but Hyland wants her own info on what’s going on out there. You’re to quietly poke around, undercover. There’s been a rash of claims of livestock depredation by wolves in a concentrated area. I’m guessing maybe someone somewhere is thinking we might have a crooked agent who’s taking bribes or something.”
“I don’t understand. What does one have to do with the other?”
“Idaho compensates ranchers for missing livestock, but recently, they changed the rules. They no longer cut checks unless they’re government-confirmed losses, government being a USDA-APHIS Wildlife Services agent. Enter Jack Wade. When a claim is filed, he performs an inspection and determines if the loss was due to wolf depredation. And since there have been so many lately, well, they think something may be fishy.”
“Gotcha.”
“She says you’re to run point, and—”
“Me? Run point? As in it’s my op?” She’d told me, but I still couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah, that’s what run point means.”
“Right.” My own op. Wow. Sure, I was a good agent and had an exceptional arrest record, one I was proud of, but of my list of credentials, managing a team wasn’t exactly my forte. I was more of a loner.
“You’re to decide how best to integrate Tom and Mike. And Dalton when he gets back.”
Dalton. Where had he gone? Dalton was my partner and just as we were working out the details about what to do about our attraction to each other, he’d disappeared. “Yeah, right. Dalton. Have you heard from him?” I said, trying not to sound too desperate to know.
“Nope. He’s on vacation, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Right. So, Hyland said for me to run point, huh?”
“Yep. I’ve got her scheduled to check for a head injury.”
“Very funny.” Maybe I was the only choice, with Dalton being gone, and Mike under discipline from that stunt he’d pulled in Chicago. But there was still Tom.
Hyland always had a reason, regardless of whether it was apparent to the rest of us.
My first goal would be to assess the situation. I needed a cover, one where I would be able to ask questions without suspicion. “I’m thinking I’ll go in as a journalist. Can you set me up with a profile? Freelance, online something.”
“Journalist? Are you—”
“Make sure it’s neutral.”
A long pause. “Roger that.”
“I already know wolves will be painted as the villains. But I can pretend like I want their opinions.”
“Why do you like wolves so much?”
“I love all animals. It’s just that wolves get a bad rap. Much more than other predators. They’ve become the center of a political hornet’s nest. People just don’t understand.”
“Parents just don’t understand…” he said with a cadence like it was a rap lyric.
“What?”
“Will Smith and Jazzy Jeff.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“You’re not into nineties rap?”
“Um, no. Seventies and eighties sitcoms are my thing.”
“Seriously?”
Eye rolls were abundant today. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, be careful out there. I’ve been reading up on it. The wolf haters honestly believe that eradicating all predators is, like, their God-given right or something. They think their way of life is under assault by environmentalists and the government. I don’t think they’re going to like any questions.”
“People love when you ask their opinion. That’s why I’m going in as a journalist. Neutral.”
“About that—”
“Bye, Greg.”
I pulled back onto the road and headed deeper into the heart of Lamar Valley, the spot in Yellowstone where wolves had first been reintroduced. Here would be the most likely place for me to catch a glimpse of one, or hopefully a pack. And find my old friend.
Once in the valley, I checked the usual, well-known wolf lookout spots. Several cars were parked in Long Pullout. The friend I was looking for stood a few yards off the lot, looking through a spotting scope he had mounted on a tripod. He was in his sixties, hair peppered with gray, and wore an green jacket with a fuzzy collar. Nothing had changed. He’d spent every morning he could in the park, watching for wolves, and today was no different.
I parked my car, got out, and approached him. “Wolves?” I asked.
Without turning to look at me, he pointed south, to the tree line. “On the ridge, about ten minutes ago. Haven’t seen ‘em since.”
“Figures,” I said. “My luck.” I had just missed them because of Darwin Award honoree and the bison trample photo op. “How’s the pack?”
“Good. Good,” he said, nodding as he took another peek through the scope.
“John, it’s me, Poppy,” I said. “Maybe you don’t remember, I did an internship here—”
He spun around, his eyes wide, and scooped me up in a big bear hug. “Poppy! I can’t believe it’s you.” He let me go and stepped back to get a look at me. “Just look at you. All grown up.”
“It’s only been a few years. And I was in college then, technically already grown up.”
“We all thought you’d be back the next year, full time.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “Didn’t want to come back to the park?”
“I’d love to, but now it depends on where I’m assigned. I got hired with Fish & Wildlife.”
“Ah,” he said, as though that delighted him. “Did you ever meet my wife Betsy?” He half-heartedly gestured toward a woman sitting in a lawn chair with a home-made, crocheted afghan wrapped around her legs and a paperback novel in her hands. She didn’t look up. He looked back at me, and almost apologizing for her, explained, “We’re here a lot now, since I retired.”
“Congratulations.” He had been a school teacher and spent summers here, watching every movement of the wolves and helping the biologists in their research. It was common for hobbyist naturalists to hang out in the park, help document sightings, and volunteer as docents. “I was hoping you could give me an update,” I said. “On the wolves.”
“You mean these wolves, or the fate of all wolves in general?”
I smiled. He’d always loved to talk about wolves most. “Sure, fill me in on everything you know. I’m working on a case, so go ahead and start from the beginning.”
“Ah, the beginning.” He gestured toward the expanse of land in front of us. “Wolves used to roam these lands, for tens of thousands of years. But, during the westward expansion of the nineteenth century, a campaign was mounted to eliminate them, by trapping, poisoning, any way they could. Not only were their pelts valuable, but ranchers wanted their livestock to be able to roam free.
“By the 1920s, wolves were all but gone from the landscape. Believe it or not, it was park policy back then to eradicate all predators. It was park rangers who killed the last of the wolves here. Their view at the time was to protect big game animals—the elk, moose, and antelope. They thought that if the wolves were allowed to remain, they’d kill off every last elk.” He looked a little sad at the thought of the last wolf being killed.
My emotions were closer to mad. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “They had evolved together. And nature has a way of keeping balance.”
“Of course it does. We know that now. But the science of wildlife management was just beginning to be recognized. They also didn’t realize how much of an impact removing wolves would have on the ecosystem. It’s all part of the story, and a great lesson in conservation.
“You see, once the wolves were gone, the ungulates multiplied unchecked. They quickly overgrazed the range, and most noticeably, decimated the vegetation along the rivers, allowing erosion. They literally changed their own habitat, which caused starvation and disease to spread. So guess what? The park rangers once again brought out their rifles and had to cull the herds, shooting thousands of animals every year.
“They knew then that the answer was to bring back the wolves, but there were too many opponents. The hunters wanted the elk numbers high, knowing some would wander outside the park. They didn’t want what they perceived as competition from the wolves for those elk. The ranchers had spent generations ridding the area of wolves. They were unmovable on the subject.
“So, to reintroduce wolves, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service had to make a deal. As soon as wolves reached a sustainable population, they’d be removed from the Endangered Species list.”
I didn’t realize that was the case, that the agency I worked for had made such a compromise. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Taking them off the list would put them at high risk.
“They won and, in 1995, wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone. We were fortunate enough to get a few from Canada relocated here. It was quite the process, mostly to make sure they didn’t hightail it north once their paws hit the ground. Wolves have been known to do that. Like dogs that travel miles to find their way home.”
“How’d they keep ‘em from doing that?”
“Conditioning with food from this area. It mostly worked. Pretty soon they thrived and multiplied. Then guess what happened?”
“The ecosystem started to change again.”
He nodded, happy to have a good student who was paying attention. I didn’t want to burst his bubble by telling him I already knew a lot of the story. I was hoping to glean some information I didn’t know. Like the U.S. Fish & Wildlife’s deal. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot. I needed to find out more about it.
John continued. “They call it a trophic cascade—the trickle down effect of apex predators. The wolves have reestablished a natural balance. The river banks have foliage again, keeping erosion at bay, and more, smaller animals have returned. The elk population is at sustainable numbers.”
Now he was telling me the version explained in a video by Sir David Attenborough that has gotten over forty million views. I watched it before I’d left Montana, just a little extra research. Opponents say Attenborough’s video is an exaggeration. Biologists say the truth is somewhere in the middle. Other predator populations—grizzly bears, cougars—have increased, as well as more hunting of elk just outside the border of the park. All factors. But wolves certainly have led the change.
“Today,” John went on, enjoying having an audience, “there are about 108 wolves in the park among eleven packs and, as far as we can tell, they’re doing quite well. As long as they stay within the boundaries of the park, that is. As soon as they set foot outside the lines, the locals shoot to kill. We’ve lost quite a few wolves that way in recent years, including two of our most beloved. They were famous.” He shook his head in frustration. “They hate wolves. They’re convinced that they kill for the pleasure of killing and live solely to terrorize ranchers and livestock.”
I shook my head in frustration. That was the attitude I was most likely going to encounter in Idaho. “So much for science. Some people just want to believe what they want to believe. Too many werewolf movies.”
“Too much history. And politics.”
“That too.”
Chapter Two
Winding my way through the Northwestern corner of the park, I was reminded of the incredible dominance of the Rockies. Every turn offered a view more awe-inspiring than the last. Purple mountains majesty indeed. I’d forgotten how breathtaking they are.
During my internship in Yellowstone, the mountains had been overshadowed by a summer fling with an emotionally unavailable park ranger named Ben. Driving with my windows down now, mountain air tangling my crazy red curls, it was hard to imagine how that could have been possible. Hormones… But I do have fond memories of a picnic by a mountain lake and several overnight hikes. And not so fond memories of Ben feeling me up before telling me he didn’t plan on keeping in touch after the summer.
As interns, we’d never left the park. Now, as I crossed the state line out of Yellowstone and into Idaho, I wondered what Ben was up to these days. He’d been the withdrawn, silent type. Kinda like Dalton. Only Dalton was so much more…Dalton. Dalton wasn’t an unfeeling jerk. In this case, maybe I was the cold-hearted jerk. I’d really hurt his feelings. Then he’d just gone. Without a word. Where was he? I know I’d been wishy washy about our relationship. Not because I didn’t love him. But my job, our job, put us in danger and the agency forbids relationships for a reason.
Oh, to hell with it. I’d been round and round this so much my brain felt like it was stuck on the rinse cycle. As soon as he got back from god-knows-where, I was going to tell him how much I loved him and then…I don’t know. Was that what he wanted? Something told me he wasn’t taking time off to lie on the beach and contemplate our love affair. No. Reconnecting with his old SEAL buddies in Bimini had lit some kind of flame. He’d gone off to do something dangerous, something he didn’t want me to know about. Without me.
Dammit, Dalton, where are you?
The sign read 288 miles to Payette National Forest. That’s where I was headed. Just north of there to the little village of Elk Valley.
I pulled into a McDonalds to pee and get a super-sized ice tea. Seemed kinda counter productive, because I’d have to stop at the next one I saw to pee again, but a gal has to hydrate.
Back on the road, I cranked up the radio and tried to forget about Dalton.
The singer belted out a line, blah, blah, blah.
Where would he have gone? Why’d he leave without a goodbye? The thing that worried me most was his reaction. It was so unlike Dalton. At least the Dalton I thought I knew. Something had set him off.
Clearly the radio was not going to keep my mind off Dalton right now. I needed to talk.
I grabbed my phone and punched in Chris’s number.
Chris was my best friend and always knew what to say. He’d distract me from this nonsense.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey girl. Can’t stop thinking about Dalton, huh?”
“What? I—” I sighed. “Yeah well.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Actually, I have news. Hyland has made me point on this op. I’m the lead investigator.”
“That’s awesome!”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“But that’s not why you called. Not really.”
“What? Of course it is.”
“You know you can’t lie to me. I see right through you. You can’t get Dalton off your mind. We need to find that handsome hunk of SEAL meat.”
“Find him? No. Um, you’re supposed to distract me. Help me to stop thinking about where he’s gone.”
“Why?”
“Obviously, he doesn’t want me to know. Or he would have told me.”
He huffed. Typical. “Or”—he drew out the word for emphasis—“he wants you to go after him, like some kind of romantic, Officer and a Gentleman, finale scene, you know, march right in and sweep him off his feet, prove you really love him kinda thing.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I’ve been thinking about it. Omigod, if my man did that, strode through the factory and carried me away, I’d swoon like nobody’s business.”
“Yeah, but you’re gay. I don’t think it works the other way around.”
“What? Of course it does. Everyone wants to feel loved, not have to guess. And you’ve been putting this man through the everlasting game show rounds of guessing. You need to step off that wheel and make a declaration.”
“Are you taking something? Are you all jacked up on Red Bull right now?”
“What? No.” He huffed. “Listen to me. Don’t screw this up. We need to find him.”
“Wherever he went, I’m sure he probably flew.” I drew in a sharp breath. “Hah!”
“What? No. I can’t.”
Chris was a flight attendant with Delta Airlines. “You’re the one who just said we have to find him.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Can’t you check flight manifests? Or something like that?”
“No. Technically, no. But maybe. If I pull a few strings. But only if he flew Delta. But I can’t—”
“I don’t want you to do anything that would risk your job.”
“Well, that’s refreshing to hear, my dear. Considering our history.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“I’ll call you back.” The line went dead.
I cranked the radio volume higher. He was definitely jacked up on Red Bull.
* * *
As I drove into the town of Elk Valley, I felt as though I’d gone back in time about fifty years. Quiet. Peaceful. Green meadows stretched all the way to the mountains. I passed a shiny new Dollar General before getting to downtown, one block that consisted of a small grocery store, a drug store, gas station, a diner and two bars. A little church sat at the end of the street, alone, like the bothersome little brother. Priorities—praise Jesus but double up on Bud Light.
I took a slow pass, then, around the bend, I did a three-point turn in the road and headed back through. No motel. I’d have to find a lodge or something. The next town over was too far to drive back and forth everyday. I pulled to the side of the road and went into the diner. It was three o’ clock. The waitress, a plump woman in her late fifties with hair pulled back into a bun stood over a tray of salt shakers, filling them one at a time.
She looked up from her work and an expression of mild surprise crossed her face, then was gone. “How can I help you?”
“I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a place to stay for a few days. Maybe a week or so.”
She shifted her weight to one foot, rested her hand on her hip. “Which is it? A few days? Or weeks?”
“Well, I guess I’m not sure yet.”
She looked at me as if I’d asked for a ride in a DeLorean.
“I’m a writer…writing an article. I just got the assignment so I didn’t have a lot of time to plan ahead.” I frowned. “Do you know of a place?”
She shrugged. “Maybe Gladys. She rents to hunters. And since it ain’t huntin’ season, she might.”
“Okay, great. Sounds good,” I said. “How do I get there?”
She scrunched her eyebrows at me. “Hang on.” She went into a back room, leaving me standing in the middle of the diner.
Moments later, she was back, an old phone held to her ear, the tightly-curled cord stretched from the kitchen. People still had those?
“She’s standing right here. Shall I send her down?” she said, her eyes on me.
She nodded, then disappeared again, apparently hanging up the phone.
Back she came. “Yep, you can go down the road there”—she held up a hand and pointed—“about one mile, till you come to a crossroads. Take a right, then a left, and go another couple’a miles till you see a bright red mailbox. Turn in there. She’s expectin’ yah.”
“Thanks,” I said. That was easy. “And what’s your name?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Oh, I’m Diane.”
“Thanks for your help, Diane.”
She was taken aback, as though no one had ever thanked her before. “You sure you got them directions?”
“Yep. One mile, crossroads, right, left, red mailbox. How’s the food here?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s good. It’s good,” she said nodding straightforward approval but her eyes revealed she was still pondering how I’d been able to memorize the directions.
“Great. I’ll be back then. Thanks again.”
She waved me off and turned back to continue filling the salt shakers.
I found the place without any wrong turns. They were great directions, actually. Gladys was a pleasant surprise. As spry as a spring chicken, her wispy gray hair pulled tight into a tiny bun at the back of her neck, she tsk tsked as I carried in my suitcase, trying to take it from me. I declined and hefted it myself, following as she took the stairs two at a time leading the way to my room.
“What’d you say your name was?” she asked over her shoulder.
Apparently, this is the type of place that didn’t require introductions right at the front door. Or maybe she was so happy to have a guest, she’d rushed me in.
“I’m Poppy,” I said as I stepped into my room. Simple. Cozy. The furniture was no-nonsense. Only what you’d need, a basic bed and six-drawer dresser made of well-worn wood. The top had three, nope, four doilies. One was hiding under the lamp.
“I don’t get many guests this time of year,” Gladys said, fluffing my pillow and straightening the bedspread. “And never young women. What brings you to Elk Valley?”
“Oh, I’m a journalist, working on a story about the wolves.”
She froze. Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow, clearly not impressed. “You one of them treehugger types?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m interested in all sides of the story.”
“Mmm, hmm.” Her frown deepened, not quite convinced. “Well, there’s the bathroom anyway,” she said as she turned away, gesturing in the direction down the hall, and left.
Well. I guess that’s that.
After I closed the door, I placed my suitcase on the stand, unzipped it, and took out the few things to hang in the closet. The room was small but comfortable. In addition to the oak dresser, there was a little bedside table, also covered in doilies. Decorative or functional? Not my style but they seemed to suit the otherwise unadorned room.
I sat down on the bed and examined the map of Elk Valley. Not much as far as commerce. A lot of large ranches. Where to start?
If that diner served good food, I bet I could get a feel for the locals there.
After a quick shower, I grabbed my coat, locked the door behind me, and headed downstairs.
Gladys sat in a rocking chair in the living room, her nose in a book.
“I think I’ll head back into town to that diner for dinner,” I said.
She nodded without looking up from the book.
* * *
The main street had come alive. It was now lined with pickup trucks, all makes, from brand new Ford F-450s to old Chevys with rusted beds barely hanging on to the frame, all covered in too much dust to tell the paint color. My little rental car sat in the parking lot looking like a pony in a Clydesdale corral.
One mini motorhome was parked on an angle at the corner. Maybe I wasn’t the only tourist in town.
As I entered the diner, amid the clank of dishes and silverware and bustle of the dinner rush, I felt the eyes on me. Nope. I’m not from around here. Since I’d left, the place had taken on the scent of home-cooked biscuits.
The booths along both walls were stuffed with men clad in flannel shirts and blue jeans. Families were seated at the three tables in the center of the room. One had a high chair pulled up at a corner, blocking the walkway and causing the waitress to walk all the way around to get to two of the three tables. Even the stools at the counter were all taken. Food must be decent.
Or the only the only food in town.
Hm. I spotted one booth with only three guys. Here goes.
I approached, giving them my best smile. “May I join you? It seems the place is full.”
My gaze fell on the guy who sat alone on the one side of the booth. His eyes lit up and he tried to rise to stand, but ended up awkwardly bent at the waist, stuck inside the booth.
I smiled and stifled a small giggle. I thought I might get more out of them if I acted a little cute. I hate that word to describe a woman, but right now, I needed the act.
He grinned and sat back down, yanking his John Deere hat from his head as I slid into the booth beside him.
“I’m Poppy.”
He nodded, blushed a little. “Cody.”
“Nice to meet you.” I swung around to face the other two, blinking at them expectedly.
“Bobby,” the one said. He was missing a front tooth.
“Bart,” said the other. “Glad to meet yah.”
“They’re brothers,” Cody told me. He eyed me up and down, not even trying to hide the linger on my chest. “You ain’t from around here.”
“Nope,” I said. “So, what’s good here?”
“Everything,” Cody replied. He tapped his finger on the paper placemat in front of me. “That there’s the menu.” So, he was going to be the talker.
“Ah.” I quickly glanced at the offerings. Nothing vegetarian. Not that I expected there would be. I scanned the breakfast lineup. Only available until eleven a.m. I scanned until I found something sure to not be dripping in meat grease. Saved by the kids’ menu.
The waitress came up to our table delivering three plates of what looked like meatloaf slathered in gravy.
“Hi Diane,” I said. That made the guys look at each other, wondering how I knew her name. She didn’t wear a name tag. Why would she? Everyone from this small town knew her.
“Welcome back,” she said. “What can I gitcha?”
“Grilled cheese sandwich, please.”
“That all?”
“Iced tea?”
“Coming right up.” She scribbled on her pad as she walked away.
“Where you from?” Cody asked, then shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Michigan,” I said.
“I always wanted to go there,” Bobby piped up. “I ain’t never been on a boat. I’ve seen pictures of that Mackin-nack Island.”
“Actually, it’s interesting, it’s pronounced Mack-i-naw,” I said. “Native Americans in northern Michigan thought the island looked like a turtle, so they named it ‘Mitchimakinak,’ meaning ‘Big Turtle.’ Then the French voyageurs who travelled the Great Lakes trading for furs gave it the spelling, then the British came along and added their two cents. Hence the confusion.”
Bart and Bobby stared, open-mouthed.
Then Bart turned to Bobby, letting my information pass without comment. “Why would you wanna go on a boat?” he said, as though that’s the first he’d heard of it.
“Cause I ain’t never been on one, that’s why.” Bobby’s attention came right back to me. “You been on a boat?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My dad and I spent a whole summer on a sailboat when I was a kid.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wider. “No kidding. You get sick?”
“No. Not everybody does.”
He frowned. He didn’t seem sure that was right.
“Are you guys cowboys?” I asked, diverting attention away from me and back to them.
Nods all around. Cody responded. “We work out at the Split Fork.”
“Is that a cattle ranch?”
He grinned and puffed up his chest a little. “Largest one in the county.”
That must have been an impressive point.
Cody shoveled in another mouthful of food before he said, “What brings you to Idaho?”
“Oh, I came out here to learn about the wolves.”
Bobby looked at Bart and Bart looked at Cody. “Why?” Bobby said. “You one of them wolf lovers?”
“No,” I said, unsurprised by the question. “I just want to know what all the controversy is about.”
“Controversy? Ain’t no controversy.” He shoved food into his mouth.
“Well, I know some people wanted the wolves reestablished in their natural range and some—”
“What the hell for? Why would anyone in their right mind wanna bring back somthin’ we already took care of?” Bobby looked annoyed by the notion.
When interviewing, you have to be careful not to lead the interviewee. “Why do you think?” I asked.
“I got no idea.” He responded shortly. “Only good wolf’s a dead wolf.”
“I understand. But why do you think they want them back?”
He shrugged. “Stupidity?”
Bart added. “Because they can’t mind their own damn business.”
I turned to Cody. “What do you think?”
Diane plopped my grilled cheese sandwich in front of me. “That going to be enough?”
“Yes, thank you.” I picked it up and took a bite, my eyes on Cody.
He fidgeted in his seat. Either he didn’t want to disagree with his buddies or he wanted to say whatever he thought I’d like to hear.
“Well?” I said with a mouthful.
“Well…” He poked at his meal with his fork. “I don’t know. I ain’t never had a run-in with a wolf, so I can’t say.”
I nodded. It was a fair enough answer.
I took another bite of my sandwich and thought about what I could ask that would get me some information but not rile them up to the point of clamming up. I glanced around. People were starting to congregate at the door, waiting for a table. A woman, sitting at the counter, was looking at me. When I made eye contact, she turned away. That was odd.
She was probably in her fifties, slim and fit, gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t seem to be with the people who sat on either side of her. Loners stood out in this small town.
I turned my attention back to Cody. “Do you think they should be allowed to live here in the Idaho wilderness?”
He shrugged. “I say, live and let live.”
Bobby and Bart rolled their eyes. Bobby said, “God, Cody. A pretty girl sits down next to you and you turn into a damn jellyfish. What is wrong with you?”
That made Cody blush. Then he seemed to gather some courage. “Animals are all connected. Maybe they’re supposed to be here for a reason.” He paused and seemed to be searching for the right word, lighting up when he found it. “They’re part of the ecosystem.”
I had to admit, that took me by surprise.
“This is cattle country,” Bobby said. “It ain’t no e-co-sys-tem.” He accentuated every syllable in the word, trying a little too hard to sound smart.
Cody shrugged.
To Bobby, I said, “How do you feel about bears and mountain lions?”
He gave me a half shrug. “Wouldn’t wanna run into ‘em up in the hills. But, whatever.”
“What’s the difference between—”
“They ain’t wolves. That’s the difference.”
I nodded, tried to keep a neutral expression.
That was the bottom line. There was a special loathing reserved for wolves. Bobby was looking at me like I may join that list. He shook his head and turned back to his greasy meatloaf.
The boys gobbled up the rest of their meals, excused themselves, and paid their bills at the counter. Their abrupt departure made it clear to everyone in the vicinity that they hadn’t appreciated the conversation.
I finished my tea and dug some money out of my purse. Diane came by and as she tallied up my bill by hand, she leaned in close and said, “Up the road about ten miles, on the right-hand side, is New Hope Farm. Nice sign. You can’t miss it. Owner’s name is Julie. You should go talk to her.” She gave me a smile as she dropped the bill face-down on the table.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll do that.”
When I left the diner, I dialed Greg and asked him to run a background check on those cowboys and any possible incidents at the Split Fork Ranch. Always good to know whatever you can about the players.
credible dominance of the Rockies. Every turn offered a view more awe-inspiring than the last. Purple mountains majesty indeed. I’d forgotten how breathtaking they are. During my internship in Yellowstone, the mountains had been overshadowed by a summer fling with an emotionally unavailable park ranger named Ben. Driving with my windows down now, mountain air tangling my crazy red curls, it was hard to imagine how that could have been possible. Hormones… But I do have fond memories of a picnic by a mountain lake and several overnight hikes. And not so fond memories of Ben feeling me up before telling me he didn’t plan on keeping in touch after the summer.
As interns, we’d never left the park. Now, as I crossed the state line out of Yellowstone and into Idaho, I wondered what Ben was up to these days. He was always the withdrawn, silent type. Kinda like Dalton. Only Dalton was so much more…Dalton. Dalton wasn’t an unfeeling jerk. In this case maybe I was the cold-hearted jerk. Where WAS he? I’d really hurt his feelings. Then he’d just gone. Without a word. I know I’d been wishy washy about our relationship. Not because I didn’t love him. But my job, our job, put us in danger and the agency forbids relationships for a reason.
Oh, to hell with it. I’d been round and round this so much my brain felt like it was stuck on the rinse cycle. As soon as he got back from god-knows-where, I was going to tell him how much I loved him and then…I don’t know. Was that what he wanted? Something told me he wasn’t taking time off to lie on the beach and contemplate our love affair. No. Reconnecting with his old SEAL buddies in Bimini had lit some kind of flame. He’d gone off to do something dangerous, something he didn’t want me to know about. Without me.
Dammit, Dalton, where are you?
The sign read 288 miles to Payette National Forest. That’s where I was headed. Just north of there to the little village of Elk Valley.
I pulled into a McDonalds to pee and get a super-sized ice tea. Seemed kinda counter productive, because I’d have to stop at the next one I saw to pee again, but a gal has to hydrate.
Back on the road, I cranked up the radio and tried to forget about Dalton.
The singer belted out a line, blah, blah, blah.
Where would he have gone? Why’d he leave without a goodbye? Clearly the radio was not going to keep my mind off Dalton right now. I needed to talk.
I punched in Chris’s number.
Chris was my best friend. He’d distract me from this nonsense.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey girl. Can’t stop thinking about Dalton, huh?”
“What? I—” I sighed. “You know me too well.”
“Uh, huh, you’re always thinking about him these days. Where is that hunk of SEAL meat?”
“Um, you’re supposed to distract me. Help me to stop thinking about where he’s gone.”
“Why? We need to find him.”
“Obviously, he doesn’t want me to know. Or he would have told me.”
He huffed. Typical. “Or”—he drew out the word for emphasis—“he wants you to go after him, like some kind of romantic, Officer and a Gentleman, finale scene, you know, prove you really love him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I’ve been thinking about it. Omigod, if my man did that, strode through the factory and swept me off my feet, I’d swoon like nobody’s business.”
“Yeah, but you’re gay. I don’t think it works the other way around.”
“What? Of course it does. Everyone wants to feel loved, not have to guess. And you’ve been putting this man through the everlasting game show rounds of guessing. You need to step off that wheel and make a declaration.”
“Are you taking something? Are you all jacked up on Red Bull right now?”
“What? No. Listen to me. Don’t screw this up. We need to find him. I’m going to find him. Hah!” He drew in a sharp breath.
“What?”
“I’ve got an idea. Wherever it was that he went, he probably flew.”
“Yeah, so. Oh, yeah, can you?” Chris was a flight attendant with Delta Airlines. “Can you check?”
“I can. If I pull a few strings. But only if he flew Delta.”
“Okay.”
“Done. I’ll call you back.”
And the line went dead.
I cranked the radio back up. He was definitely jacked up on Red Bull.
As I drove into the town of Elk Valley, I felt as though I’d gone back in time about eighty years. Quiet. Peaceful. Green, untouched mountains as the backdrop. One strip with a small grocery store, a drug store, gas station, a diner and two bars. A little church sat at the end of the street, alone, like the bothersome little brother. Priorities – praise Jesus but double up on Bud Light.
I took a slow pass, then, around the bend, I did a three-point turn in the road and headed back through. No motel. I’d have to find a lodge or something. The next town over was too far to drive back and forth everyday. I pulled to the side of the road and went into the diner. It was three o’ clock and the waitress, a plump woman in her late fifties. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a bun tight bun and she stood over a tray of salt shakers, filling them one at a time.
She looked up from her work and an expression of mild surprise crossed her face, then was gone. “How can I help you?”
“I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a place to stay for a few days. Maybe a week or so.”
“Which is it? A few days? Or weeks?”
“Well, I guess I’m not sure yet.”
She looked at me as if I’d asked for a ride in a DeLorean.
“I’m a writer…writing an article. I just got the assignment so I didn’t have a lot of time to plan ahead.” I frowned. “Do you know of a place?”
She shrugged. “Maybe Gladys. She rents to hunters. And since it ain’t huntin’ season, she might.”
“Okay,” I said. “How do I get there?”
She scrunched her eyebrows at me. “Hang on.” And she left me standing there.
Moments later, she was back, an old phone held to her ear, tightly curled cord stretched from the kitchen. People still had those?
“She’s standing right here. Shall I send her down?”
She nodded, then disappeared again, apparently hanging up the phone.
Back she came. “Yep, you can go down the road there”—she held up a hand and pointed—“about one mile, till you come to a crossroads. Take a right, then a left, and go another couple’a miles till you see a bright red mailbox. Turn in there. She’s expectin’ ya.”
“Thanks,” I said. That was easy. “And what’s your name?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Oh, I’m Diane.”
“Thanks for your help, Diane.”
She was taken aback, as though no one had ever thanked her before.
“How’s the food here?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s good. It’s good,” she said nodding straightforward approval.
“Great. I’ll be back then. Thanks again.”
She waved me off and turned back to continue filling the salt shakers.
Gladys was just as I’d pictured—older than any grandma I’ve ever met and as spry as a spring chicken. She tsk tsked as I carried in my suitcase, trying to take it from me. I declined and hefted it myself, following as she took the stairs two at a time leading the way to my room.
“What’d you say your name was?” she asked over her shoulder.
Apparently, this is the type of place that didn’t require introductions right at the front door.
“I’m Poppy,” I said as I stepped into my room. Simple. Cozy. The furniture was no-nonsense. Only what’s you’d need, a basic bed and six-drawer dresser made of well-worn wood. The top had three, nope, four doilies. One was hiding under the lamp.
“I don’t get many guests this time of year,” Gladys said, fluffing my pillow and straightening the bedspread. “And never young women. What brings you to Elk Valley?”
“Oh, I’m a journalist, working on a story, about the wolves.”
Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow, clearly not impressed. “You one of them tree hugger types?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m interested in all sides of the story.”
“Mmm, hmm.” Her frown deepened, not quite convinced. “Well, there’s the bathroom anyway,” she said as she turned away, gesturing in the direction down the hall, and left.
Well. I guess that’s that.
After I closed the door, I placed my suitcase on the stand, unzipped it, and took out the few things to hang in the closet. The room was small but comfortable. In addition to the oak dresser, there was a little bedside table, also covered in doilies. Decorative or functional? Not my style but they seemed to suit the otherwise unadorned room.
I sat down on the bed and examined the map of Elk Valley. Not much as far as commerce. A lot of large ranches. Where to start?
If that diner served good food, I bet I could get a feel for the locals there.
I grabbed my coat, locked the door behind me, and headed downstairs.
Gladys sat in a rocking chair in the living room, her nose in a book.
“I think I’ll head back into town to that diner for dinner,” I said.
She nodded without looking up from the book.
The main street was lined with pickup trucks, all makes, from shining new Ford F-450s to old Chevys with rusted beds barely hanging on to the frame, all covered in too much dust to tell the paint color. My little rental car sat in that parking lot looking like a pony in a Clydesdale corral.
One mini motorhome was parked on an angle at the corner. Maybe I wasn’t the only tourist in town.
As I entered the diner, amid the clank of dishes and silverware and bustle of the dinner rush, I felt the eyes on me. Nope. I’m not from around here. The booths along both walls were stuffed with men clad in flannel shirts and blue jeans. Families were seated at the three tables in the center of the room. One had a high chair pulled up at a corner, blocking the walkway and causing the waitress to walk all the way around two out of three tables. Even the stools at the counter were all taken. Food must be decent.
Hm. I spotted one booth with only three guys. Here goes.
I approached, giving them my best smile. “May I join you? It seems the place is full.”
My gaze fell on the guy who sat alone on the one side of the booth. His eyes lit up and he tried to rise to stand, but ended up awkwardly bent at the waist, stuck inside the booth.
I smiled and stifled a small giggle. I thought I might get more out of them if I acted a little “cute.” I hate that word to describe a woman but right now I needed the act.
He grinned and sat back down but yanked his John Deere hat from his head as I slid into the booth beside him.
“I’m Poppy.”
He nodded, blushed a little. “Cody.”
“Nice to meet you.” I swung around to face the other two, blinking at them expectedly.
“Bobby,” the one said. He was missing a front tooth.
“Bart,” said the other. “Glad to meet yah.”
“They’re brothers,” Cody told me. He eyed me up and down, not even trying to hide the linger on my chest. “You ain’t from around here.”
“Nope,” I said. “So, what’s good here?”
“Everything,” Cody replied. He tapped his finger on the paper placemat in front of me. “That there’s the menu.” So, he was going to be the talker.
“Ah.” I quickly glanced at the offerings. Nothing vegetarian. Not that I expected there would be. I scanned the breakfast line up. Only available until eleven a.m. I scanned until I found something sure to not be dripping in meat grease. Saved by the kids’ menu.
The waitress came up to our table delivering three plates of what looked like meatloaf slathered in gravy.
“Hi Diane,” I said. That made the guys look at each other, wondering how I knew her name. She didn’t wear a name tag.
“Welcome back,” she said. “What can I gitcha?”
“Grilled cheese sandwich, please.”
“That all?”
“Iced tea?”
“Coming right up.” She scribbled on her pad as she walked away.
“Where you from?” Cody asked, then shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Michigan,” I said.
“I always wanted to go there,” Bobby piped up. “I ain’t never been on a boat. I’ve seen pictures of that Mackin-nack Island.”
It had a French spelling, Mackinac, but was pronounced Mack-i-naw. I stopped myself from correcting him.
Bart looked at Bobby as though that’s the first he’d heard of it. “Why would you wanna go on a boat?”
“Cause I ain’t never been on one, that’s why.” Bobby’s attention came right back to me. “You been on a boat?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My dad and I spent a whole summer on a sailboat when I was a kid.”
Bobby’s eye grew wider. “No kidding. You get sick?”
“No. Not everybody does.”
He frowned. He didn’t seem sure that was right.
“Are you guys cowboys?” I asked, diverting attention away from me and back to them.
Nods all around. Cody responded. “We work out at the Split Fork.”
“Is that a cattle ranch?”
He grinned and puffed up his chest a little. “Largest one in the county.”
That must have been an impressive point.
Cody shoveled in another mouthful of food before he said, “What brings you to Idaho?”
“Oh, I came out here to learn about the wolves.”
Bobby looked at Bart and Bart looked at Cody. “Why?” Bobby said. “You one of them wolf lovers?”
“No,” I said, not sure what he meant exactly. “I just want to know what all the controversy is about.”
“Controversy? Ain’t no controversy.”
“Well, I know some people wanted the wolves brought back and some—”
“What the hell for? Why would anyone in their right mind wanna bring back somthin’ we already took care of?” Bobby looked annoyed by the notion.
When interviewing, you have to be careful not to lead the interviewee. “Why do you think?” I asked.
“I got no idea.” He responded shortly. “Only good wolf’s a dead wolf.”
“I understand. But why do you think they want them back?”
He shrugged. “Stupidity?”
Bart added. “Because they can’t mind their own damn business.”
I turned to Cody. “What do you think?”
Diane plopped my grilled cheese sandwich in front of me. “That going to be enough?”
“Yes, thank you.” I picked it up and took a bite, my eyes on Cody.
He fidgeted in his seat. Either he didn’t want to disagree with his buddies or he wanted to say whatever he thought I’d like to hear.
“Well?” I said with a mouthful.
“Well…” He poked at his meal with his fork. “I don’t know. I ain’t never had a run-in with a wolf, so I can’t say.”
I nodded. It was a fair enough answer.
I took another bite of my sandwich and thought about what I could ask that would get me some information but not rile them up to the point of closing up. I glanced around. People were starting to congregate at the door, waiting for a table. A woman, sitting at the counter, was looking at me. When I made eye contact, she turned away.
She was probably in her fifties, slim and fit, gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t seem to be with the people who sat on either side of her. Loners stood out in this small town.
I turned my attention back to Cody. “Do you think they should be allowed to live here in the Idaho wilderness?”
He shrugged. “I say, live and let live.”
Bobby and Bart rolled their eyes. Bobby said, “God, Cody. A pretty girl sits down next to you and you turn into a damn jellyfish. What is wrong with you?”
That made Cody blush. Then he seemed to gather some courage. “Animals are all connected. Maybe they’re supposed to be here for a reason.” He paused and seemed to be searching for the right word, lighting up when he found it. “They’re part of the ecosystem.”
I had to admit, that took me by surprise.
“This is cattle country,” Bobby said. “It ain’t no ecosystem.” He accentuated every syllable in the word ecosystem like it was a right out of a fantasy novel.
Cody shrugged.
To Bobby, I said, “How do you feel about bears and mountain lions?”
He gave me a half shrug. “Wouldn’t wanna run into ‘em up in the hills. But, whatever.”
“What’s the difference between—”
“They ain’t wolves. That’s the difference.”
I nodded, tried to keep a neutral expression.
That was the bottom line. There was a special loathing reserved for wolves. Bobby was looking at me like I may join the top of the loath list. He shook his head and turned back to his greasy meatloaf.
The boys gobbled up the rest of their meals, excused themselves, and paid their bills at the counter. Their abrupt departure made it clear to everyone in the vicinity that they hadn’t appreciated the conversation.
I finished my tea and dug some money out of my purse. Diane came by and as she tallied up my bill by hand, she said, “Up the road about ten miles, on the right-hand side, is New Hope Farm. Nice sign. You can’t miss it. Owner’s name is Julie. You should go talk to her.” She gave me a smile as she dropped the bill face-down on the table.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll do that.”
When I left the diner, I dialed Greg and asked him to run a background check on those cowboys. Always good to know whatever you can about the players.