don’t want him becoming a bother. I’ve noticed since we moved here how curious he is about everything. Even I tune him out at times, and I’m sure my ex-husband did, too.” She shepherded the tall man to the front door.
“Ex-husband?” he said unexpectedly. “Uh, sorry if that sounded rude. Curt didn’t know you were contemplating divorce, did he? I...ah...probably shouldn’t say anything.” Wyatt seemed embarrassed. “He lamented never hearing from his son-in-law. Not even when he was most sick. Manny said it probably wasn’t easy to get calls out from a war zone, but you managed a couple of calls a week. I remember thinking it especially odd since Curt said your husband was stationed in the Philippines.”
Tandy opened the door and clung to it while Wyatt shrugged into his jacket.
“Look, tell me to stop being nosy. But, I thought the world of your father. He treated me like a son. Stuff that worried him worried me. I’m sure you had good reason for not telling him if your marriage was in trouble.” Wyatt crossed the porch. “Thanks again for the terrific meal. Uh, would you rather I conveniently not find a kid’s book on wolves?” He hesitated at the steps and leveled an uneasy gaze on Tandy.
“A kid wolf book would be great. But, just to clarify, my marriage ended abruptly after Dad died. I truly appreciate all you did for him. I hope you don’t think I’m horrible for not coming home for his funeral. I tried to get leave, but the fighting in Afghanistan had heated up and nonessential flights from our base were grounded without exception. I so regret that.” She smudged away an errant tear. “You’d left by the time I finally managed to make it home.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t think you were horrible. Fortunately your dad had prearranged his funeral. The funeral home in town carried out his wishes for a private service. Manny and I attended. We both understood why you couldn’t be here.”
“Thanks. Manny said as much, but it helps to hear you agree. About the book for Scotty, please don’t go out of your way to find one. I know you must be on a schedule.”
“In case you couldn’t tell, I love educating anyone who’ll listen about ensuring wolf habitats remain as nature intended. I’ll keep the book age appropriate. I hope I can find one with photos.” Giving a final wave, Wyatt descended the steps.
Tandy heard him whistling as he crossed the sandy yard to the casita next to Manny’s. It wasn’t until she saw lights spill from his door and windows that she realized she still stood in the cold after she could no longer see and admire the man’s lithe stride.
The first morning after his return to the ranch, Wyatt stood at the front window of his casita, drinking coffee and watching daylight blossom over the mountain rim. Tandy had not only readied his bed and bathroom, she’d left a pound of Kona coffee beside the coffee maker. He’d never drunk Hawaiian coffee, but it was quite good. He’d have to remember to thank her.
All at once his eyes were drawn away from the streaky salmon glow in the east to the boy he’d met the previous night. Scotty Graham chased after his dog, heading toward the barn. On his heels was his mother, all decked out in boots, jeans, a plaid jacket and a ski cap with earflaps. She caught up to her son, grabbed him around the waist and stuffed him into a denim jacket with a hood that from all appearances he didn’t want to wear. The scene made Wyatt smile.
Pausing with his lips on his mug, he realized how much there was to admire about his new landlady. More than her curly brown hair and dark chocolate eyes. Even more than her trim body, although it certainly lit a few fires in his belly. Just now, instead of scolding her recalcitrant son, her pretty face was filled with love and laughter.
Wyatt imagined the trilling sound and the thought marched fingers of unexpected heat up his spine. His imagination was cut short when Manny Vasquez hobbled on bowlegs to join the others, and the trio continued on into the barn.
Wyatt’s first order of business today was to follow a hiking trail beyond a campground, looking for signs that his wolves had traveled lower in bad weather in search of easier prey. He hoped not, because that was when they could trouble ranchers.
Later in the day he’d go to town for supplies. Wyatt actually wished he didn’t have to make either trip. He’d like to saddle a horse and ride with the others through quiet canyons where cattle roamed. He’d had a taste of that when he’d helped Tandy’s father and recalled he’d rather enjoyed the ranch routine.
Turning from the window, he drained his first cup of java and poured another in a travel mug. He spared a moment, feeling glad that Tandy had been aware he’d bonded with her dad in the year spent here establishing his wolf project. His parents, busy, dedicated archaeologists, rarely found time to connect or ask about his work, as they were so focused on their own.
The fact Curtis Marsh had been so ill may’ve been why he’d welcomed Wyatt’s company. Or maybe the man knew his end was near and he profoundly missed his only child. Because he sometimes got lonely, too, Wyatt had enjoyed hearing of the man’s unabashed love for his deceased wife and his pride for his daughter, who had served multiple tours in war-torn Iraq and Afghanistan.
Tandy’s father had worried about her. Curt wished she’d come home and bring his grandson. Due to their chats, Wyatt guessed he might know Tandy better than she knew him. He’d pored over family photos, from the time she was born to her college graduation to when she finally wore an army uniform. Oddly there were no wedding pictures and very few of her and her son, which made Curt cherish every one.
Ah, well, until last evening Wyatt hadn’t known she’d divorced. Capping his travel mug, he told himself that detail didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. Similar to her army deployments, Game and Fish sent him far afield on assignments. Many were remote locations. He used to like that part of his job. Still, it could get old.
Donning his jacket and backpack filled with gear, he set out for the hills where he might find wolf tracks.
By 11:00 a.m. he’d tramped from the highway along two well-traveled trails. Both bordered Spiritridge land. The last one he wanted to check passed nearer to Preston Hicks’s ranch. At a point where the trail curved and dipped for a mile, it ran alongside a popular summer campground.
More than halfway to higher ground by noon, Wyatt thought he heard a tiny bit of static coming through his tracking device. That meant one of his banded adult wolves was in the area. He hiked on, listening carefully, checking all around for tracks or scat.
The static faded. He reached a wide mesa without seeing any evidence of wolves, for which he was thankful. Next time out he’d climb higher to where helicopter spotters had last seen the pack during the winter. Newly released wolves often traveled a great distance from where they were let go. Being smart animals, it was thought they could smell the cage long after it’d been removed. Mostly they steered clear of the smell of man, too.
He circled back toward the ranch. He’d only gone a hundred yards or so when, out of the corner of one eye, he glimpsed the furry backsides of two animals. He lifted his binoculars for a clearer look but saw nothing. Must have been the twitch of a branch, but no wind had come up to rustle across the countryside.
He left the trail to look for tracks in the underbrush. Twice more he saw a brief flash of fur but failed to get close enough to snap a picture with his camera. The animals resembled full-grown wolves. Yet he wasn’t picking up feedback on his scanner. That meant they weren’t his wolves.
A
