Chapter Four
Jewell Hyatt considered herself fearless. But as she emerged from the airplane at Reagan National, for the first time ever setting foot east of the Missouri River, she was overwhelmed by the crush of people. She reminded herself she’d come to Washington, DC, to convince members of the Natural Resources Committee to authorize a refuge for snowy owls. Focusing, she merged with a stream of travelers rushing to the baggage area.
Her good friend Tawana Whitefeather was supposed to come, too, but she had ended up needing emergency gallbladder surgery. Because it’d taken months to secure the meeting, Jewell had to come alone. She was the owls’ biggest advocate—starting at age ten when she’d found a chick with a broken leg who’d blown off course and she’d nursed it back to health.
Oh, boy! If she thought traffic inside the airport was chaotic, driving her rental car in a virtual rabbit warren of whizzing vehicles gave her heartburn.
It was with profound relief that she arrived in one piece at the hotel’s parking garage—thanks to her GPS.
After collecting her bag, Jewell checked in.
In her room at last, she toed off her shoes and flopped down on the bed, grateful she had a whole night to unwind before the meeting. While it was the most important part of her trip, the meeting wasn’t her only mission. A client had asked her to make a side trip to Maryland to check a stallion and possibly ship sperm home. And fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on her wavering point of view, her closest neighbor had also begged her to hand-deliver a letter to his nephew, who was headlining a nearby country-western concert.
Leland Conrad’s request had come as a shock. Given how long he and his nephew had been estranged, Jewell wouldn’t have thought he had any idea of Saxon’s performance schedule. Saxon had lost both of his parents in a car accident at age twelve. He’d been sent to live with his bachelor uncle, for whom he’d always seemed a burden. And he’d been Jewell’s first love.
As memories crowded in, she surged to her feet to go hang a few items in the closet. If only Leland had let her women’s group buy his forest to use as an owl refuge, this entire trip would’ve been unnecessary.
She sank down again, rubbing her temples. Knowing she was a scant few miles from where Saxon Conrad was due to perform made her head ache. But those counting on her to secure a refuge would expect her to be at the top of her game tomorrow instead of mooning over a lost love.
Not lost. She had broken up with Saxon. It shouldn’t still affect her. But it did. Maybe seeing him onstage in all his trappings would let her purge him from her soul.
* * *
IN THE MORNING Jewell collected her notes and checked to be sure she had the credentials the committee had sent her to gain entry into the government building. Her contact recommended taking a cab, so she did.
Once she gave the driver the address, Jewell brought up the weather. “It’s awfully cloudy. Is it supposed to rain?”
The cabbie glanced at her. “Are you not tracking Althea’s progress?”
“Who?”
He laughed. “Our first named Atlantic storm of the season. It’s anybody’s guess where she’ll come ashore, or if she’ll be a hurricane. June’s early, but lately our weather’s been screwy.”
“A hurricane?” Feeling like a parrot, Jewell ducked down for a better look at the murky sky. “I was planning to drive to Maryland this afternoon. Should I worry?”
“Listen to advisories.” He pulled up to a guarded gate, indicating this was where she should get out.
Rattled by the storm news, Jewell was almost too discombobulated to dig out her phone to take a photo of the Capitol to show her friends in Montana.
A guard checked her pass and handed her off to an intern, who set Jewell at ease as they traversed corridors. Once inside the meeting room, she was surprised that instead of everyone being seated around one table, she sat alone facing three men and three women. They were elevated, making her feel a bit on trial. But one woman smiled and, following introductions, invited Jewell to state her case.
“As I explained in emails, our ranch community was renamed for the snowy owls that migrated to our area. Everyone loves them. Local Native Americans adopted them as a talisman. The man who owns the timber I told you about has his property listed to sell. We worry a buyer may log off the trees, leaving our snowies homeless.”
“We expected a tribal representative,” said a bespectacled man.
Jewell quickly explained Tawana’s absence.
“Sorry,” one of the men said. “But you seem to be the owl caretaker.”
“Yes, I band chicks and keep a tally. Our owl numbers aren’t huge, and of course, the tundra is their normal habitat. I worry about decline.”
Members discussed possible reasons, such as mining, logging, changing weather and food depletion, all of which Jewell knew. Then a representative who kept glancing at his watch said, “There’s a waterfowl preserve near you. Just relocate the owls.”
“They settled of their own accord in abandoned eagles’ nests or atop boulders. The lake isn’t close. Like I said, the owner of the land where they live wants to sell. If you’d purchase that portion as a refuge, my friends and I will gladly maintain it.”
The members glanced awkwardly at one another. The chairwoman closed her notebook. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hyatt. We thought your group had land. We post privately owned parcels or work with
