Part 4
The animal did not look fierce from where June stood. She looked exhausted.
Her dark body had dug a shallow bowl in the snow. Frost clung to the guard hairs along her back, and each time she shifted, the trapped foreleg pulled her sideways. She bared her teeth when the department veterinarian approached within range, but the sound she made was low and hoarse. Luke turned his face away.
“Luke.” June waited until he looked back. “They found her because you went back.”
Keene photographed the unmarked trap while the veterinarian readied a sedative. After the drug took effect, the three professionals entered the hollow and removed the trap. Keene tagged it and locked it in an evidence bin while the veterinarian examined the swollen paw, administered fluids and pain relief, and moved the wolverine to a covered recovery area.
The veterinarian eventually walked back to June and Luke. She had found no obvious fracture or open wound. The foot was swollen but warm, with circulation present, and the female had a reasonable chance of using it again.
“The original den has been opened too far,” the biologist said. “We’ll place an insulated substitute close to the site and put the kits inside. If she wakes well and accepts the location, she may move them herself.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Luke asked.
“If she can’t care for them safely, we pull the kits and change the plan.”
Lena arrived with the kits in a department transport vehicle shortly after noon. The two babies came in a dark, warmed carrier and were moved into the substitute den while their mother recovered at a separate covered spot downhill. The apple crate and its blanket remained sealed at the clinic for investigators.
When the female was alert enough to move safely, the veterinarian opened the barrier and backed away. The wolverine stood, tested the injured foot, and chose the timber. Nobody tried to steer her toward the kits.
For the next hour, June and Luke watched the camera receiver in Keene’s truck. Nothing crossed the screen except a branch shifting in one corner of the frame.
At dusk, June’s neck ached from leaning toward the small screen. Luke sat beside her in the back of the truck, knees drawn up, his phone facedown on his leg.
“Maybe she left,” he said.
“Maybe.”
June did not tell him it would be fine.
After a while, Luke told her why he had chosen Mabel. He remembered the cat carrying a stillborn kitten from box to box after the cold snap, refusing to leave it until June finally sat with her. Luke had thought a mother looking for babies and babies without a mother might hold one another through the night.
“I should’ve called the hotline first,” he said. “I had the number on my phone.”
“You should’ve called somebody.” June rubbed condensation from the window with her sleeve. “And I should’ve answered.”
Luke nodded without looking at her. A few minutes later, he took the thermos from her hands and poured the last coffee into its cap, leaving half for her.
The camera sent another image. A dark muzzle appeared at the edge of the substitute den. Then the mother’s entire head emerged on the screen. She circled once, sniffed the packed snow, and vanished inside.
Three minutes later she backed out carrying the darker-backed kit by the loose skin at its neck. She moved downhill, awkward but purposeful, and disappeared among the firs. Luke pressed both fists against his mouth.
The female did not return before the receiver’s battery began failing in the cold. The remote camera continued recording, but the white-chinned kit remained inside the den in the last image they could see.
“When do you go back in?” Luke asked.
“Not yet,” the biologist said. “Going in now could keep her away. We’ll watch from farther down and step in if she leaves the kit too long.”
One successful move did not guarantee the second, or even the survival of the first. The night team stayed with the receiver while June and Luke returned to the ranch.
Keene joined them at the kitchen table. Amos lay across Luke’s boots, while Mabel searched the rooms and scolded anyone who came near.
Luke signed a written account and showed Keene the messages he had photographed on Cole’s tablet before taking the kits. They showed a price, a meeting point near the Idaho line, and an electronic advance for “the little ones.” The remaining payment was due at pickup.
Keene read them twice. “They support your account. A federal investigator will decide what belongs in the case.”
One of Luke’s photographs showed the advance confirmation. The amount was large enough to cover the outfitting business’s overdue truck payment and three months of insurance. Beside the sender’s name was the date: March 28—the previous day.
June stood so quickly that Amos lifted his head.
In the ranch office, David’s old oak desk still held the ledgers for Mercer Backcountry Outfitters. Cole ran the guides and clients; June kept the books because he hated paperwork and she had not known how to give up the last job she and David had shared.
She brought the current ledger to the kitchen and opened it to March. There was the deposit, entered under client retainers. Cole had called it a late payment from an elk hunter. The money had appeared the previous afternoon. June had noticed there was no client name, asked once, then written the explanation he gave her.
Luke stood on the other side of the kitchen, watching her read.
Keene did not touch the book. “Do you own part of the business?”
“Forty percent.”
“Did you know what the money was?”
“No.”
June looked at her neat handwriting. She had written Cole’s explanation into the ledger and stopped there. At the bottom of the page, beneath the false retainer, were her initials…
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