Part 2
“They’re wolverine kits,” Lena said. “Two of them, probably six or seven weeks old—and somebody put them in your barn.”
She backed June out of the isolation room and pulled the door shut. Through the window, Mabel remained curled around the babies, offended by the interruption and apparently unmoved by their new name. June looked from Lena to the carrier.
“Wolverines?”
“I want a wildlife biologist to confirm it, but yes. The feet, the ears, the coat pattern, the way they move.” Lena pointed through the glass. “A female wolverine doesn’t leave kits in a working-ranch hayloft miles below suitable denning terrain.”
The technician, Marcy, prepared a secure containment kennel while Lena called Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks. She used careful phrases—probable wolverine kits, condition not yet assessed, no known adult present—then ended the call and put on heavy gloves.
Under instructions from the responding wildlife veterinarian, Lena and Marcy moved the carrier inside the secure kennel and separated Mabel with a sliding panel. One kit appeared thin beneath its dense coat. The other had an abrasion around a back leg and several bright orange fibers caught in its fur.
“Baler twine?” June asked.
“Could be. It tells us they rubbed against something rough. It doesn’t tell us where or who put them there.” Lena straightened. “They can bite hard at that age. Keep the carrier closed.”
Once Mabel was safely separate, Lena checked the cat. Her milk had not dried up after losing her litter, and two of her teats were damp. The wild kits had nursed, at least briefly. Lena found no punctures, confirmed Mabel’s rabies vaccination was current, and told June to keep her indoors until the wildlife team advised otherwise.
“She may have kept them alive last night,” June said.
“She may have. But she can’t raise them.”
June remembered the orange twist in her pocket. Lena placed it in a clean paper envelope, wrote down where June had found it, and left it for the game warden.
Marcy settled Mabel in her carrier near the back door. Amos lowered himself stiffly beside her but kept watching the isolation-room window.
June’s phone showed another missed call from Luke. This time she called immediately. It rang five times before voicemail answered.
“Luke, I need you to call me. Mabel had two animals in her nest. Dr. Ortiz says they’re wolverines.”
She stopped, unsure why she felt foolish saying the word aloud. Meltwater ran beneath a crust of gravel outside and carried a paper cup toward the highway ditch. Amos raised his head when she said Luke’s name.
“If you know anything about how they got there, tell me now.”
Warden Mara Keene arrived twenty minutes later in a green state truck. She wore field pants, a brown jacket, and mud to both knees. After conferring with Lena, she examined the envelope with the orange fiber, sealed it inside a larger evidence bag, and asked June to show her the exact spot at the ranch later.
“Dr. Ortiz’s identification is almost certainly right,” Keene said. “I need to ask you some questions about your property.”
She explained that wolverines in the Lower 48 were federally protected. An unlawful capture, possession, or attempted sale could bring in the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service as well as state officers.
They sat in the cramped staff room. Keene drew a rough map while June described the barn, the north pasture, the forest boundary, and every vehicle she remembered seeing over the past week. There had been Cole’s outfitting truck on Sunday, Luke’s old pickup when he came to do chores, and a propane delivery. She also described the fresh narrow ruts entering from the north service road.
“Who has a key to the barn?”
“My son, Cole. Luke. A couple of men who help at shearing.” June looked at the map. “Half the valley, if we’re honest. We never locked that barn when David was alive.”
Her husband’s name seemed to alter the air between them. Lena had treated David’s horses for years and had come to the house twice during the final month of his illness, not because the horses needed her but because June did. June had thanked her by failing to return three phone calls after the funeral.
“Any unusual noise last night?” Keene asked.
June thought of the wind worrying the eaves and Amos pacing once around midnight. “The dog asked to go out. He was gone maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Which direction?”
“North.”
Keene marked the map. “The kits didn’t reach your loft by themselves. Human placement is the working assumption. We still need the person, the original location, and the adult female if she’s out there.”
June’s phone vibrated on the table. The message was from Luke.
ARE THEY ALIVE?
June’s thumb hovered over the screen. Keene watched her expression but did not reach for the phone.
YES, June typed. HOW DID YOU KNOW?
The three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again. Because I put them there. A second message arrived before June could breathe. Please don’t tell Dad…
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