of the latest wolf sightings. I work for US Fish and Wildlife.”
“Really?” The bartender’s whole, round face lit up. “Were you at the talk at the park before? I was here working, but I heard about it.”
“I sure was.” Why not go for broke—maybe lay into some of Maya’s contentious ground? “There were some arguments. Not everyone is glad there are wolf sightings around here. How about you?”
“I’m definitely for them,” the guy said with no hesitation. He held out his hand to Ryan to shake. “I’m Buck Lesterman. My family recently bought Berry’s Bar, and I’m happy with everything to do with wildlife.”
Which was what Ryan had been looking for. Was this guy a shifter? Were any members of his family?
Or was Ryan just hoping too hard to find some evidence of shifters in this area?
Could be that all the recent wolf sightings were just that—sightings of actual wolves. Well, he would know more tonight.
“Glad to meet you, Buck. I’m Ryan, and this is my friend Piers.” They shook hands, too, then Ryan continued, “Not sure how long I’ll be in town, but I’m glad I’ve found this place.”
“Hey, bartender!” called a guy nearby.
“’Scuse me,” Buck said. “Got to get back to work.”
That was when Ryan heard voices raised behind him, and he turned.
Maya sat at a table, hands on her hips. Across from her were the three people who’d come onstage to give her a hard time, and they didn’t appear any friendlier.
Time for Piers and him—and Rocky, too—to join her.
As they moved in her direction, so did a few other people Ryan believed he recognized as having been at her talk.
Were they for, or against, her position?
* * *
This discussion was getting out of control. Too bad Maya couldn’t have just invited the people from her talk that she wanted to come here.
Fortunately, some of the people who’d been on her side were in the crowd, too. In fact, the tall, skinny fellow who’d been at the front and called out something favorable had made his way through the people who were giving her a hard time. Now, standing beside her table, he waved at her and asked, “Can I buy you a snack to go with your drink?” His brown eyes were open wide beneath shaggy blond brows, and his huge smile looked hopeful.
“Thanks,” she said, facing him and using the opportunity to look away from the others, “but I’m good.” She appreciated that he’d been on her side, yet she felt a bit uncomfortable under his happy stare—even though it was way preferable to the potential argument that had just started.
“You certainly are,” he said. He held out his hand. “I’m Trevor Garlona. Trev. And I want to know all about you and WHaM.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But—”
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” The voice across from her sounded familiar—the woman who’d just challenged her. “Don’t you ignore me. And why are you even still in town?”
Maya turned again in her seat just a little. She had already recognized the woman who had confronted her after her talk. That woman now stood at the opposite end of the table from where Maya sat with a glass of wine in front of her. Some other people who’d been at her presentation had just gone up to the bar to order their drinks.
That guy who’d introduced himself as Trev moved in the direction she now faced, although other people, including that woman, didn’t get out of his way. He squeezed in and looked at her, though, from behind them and raised his glass of beer as if toasting her.
She didn’t toast him back, but neither did she try to get away. Not yet, at least.
She felt a little relieved to notice that Ryan had joined her, too, and stood at her side. She wished he’d come here sooner. Despite his attitude before against how she worked, she wanted to spend more time with the great-looking guy. Talk to him more about wildlife.
Especially now, while she was being confronted again. What was this woman’s name? Vinnie? Vinnie Fritts, wife of a man who had the same name as this town and whose family had apparently lived here a long time, had maybe even founded it.
She wasn’t that old, though—maybe midforties. Her hair was a wavy mass of brown that appeared cut and styled to remain exactly so on her head. She wore bright pink lipstick and dark-rimmed glasses. Surprisingly, the whole package went well together.
Now, if she only had a sense of consideration of others and their opinions...
“Do you have any pets at home?” Maya countered, focusing on Vinnie. “Or small children?” She took a sip of her dry white wine in an attempt to bolster her floundering courage but it didn’t help. At least she didn’t think she was projecting any nervousness in her tone of voice.
“No. Our kids are in college, and no way would we have animals in our house.”
That figured.
“Well, I appreciate your coming to my presentation,” Maya lied. “And everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But since you don’t have pets or young family members at home, I doubt that you have to worry about anyone being attacked by the wolves—assuming these wolves run away from confrontations with nonprey creatures, as most do. And—”
“And you’re trying to convince us that you’re not only entitled to your opinion...” said the man in the pale yellow shirt just beyond her who hadn’t spoken before. It was Morton, Vinnie’s husband whom she’d introduced at the talk. “...but that you know everything, and everyone who lives around here should support your ridiculous position? Now look, lady. This is my town. My family’s town, and I intend to protect it. Understand?”
“No,” Maya said quietly. “I don’t.” She noticed then that most conversations in the bar had ceased. It was a lot quieter than when she’d entered. She didn’t see any of the people who’d admitted to being with the media there, though.
“We don’t want any damned predatory creatures around here.” The man spoke through gritted teeth. He appeared older than his wife, maybe in his fifties. His hair was thin, his brows gray and curved over his angry brown eyes. His arms were crossed over a chest that appeared sunken—but his fragility did nothing to ease Maya’s fear of him.
She figured that this man hated wildlife—or, worse, wanted to wipe it out. She might not like the idea, but there were laws protecting some species in specified areas, and requirements of licenses before hunting those that were more plentiful and might actually need to have their numbers limited for the good of the rest of the species. She wasn’t a vegetarian, and she could understand hunting for one’s dinner.
But she had a sense that this guy just despised animals enough to kill for sport. And if that was true, she would despise him.
Right now, though, she did not want to continue this confrontation.
“Look,” she said, “I recognize that we have very different positions on this.”
“Ya
