Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Natalie
D awn light bleeds across the mountain peaks, painting them in shades of rose gold and amber. I adjust my camera settings, trying to capture the exact moment the sun crests the ridge. My breath fogs in the crisp morning air as I frame the shot—waiting, watching, ready.
Perfect light is worth frozen fingers and a 4 a.m. wake-up call. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway, as I shift my weight on the dew-dampened boulder. The preserve feels different in these liminal hours, more ancient, like I'm borrowing time in a world that doesn't belong to me.
Movement catches my eye—a flash of brown against the brightening sky. I swing my camera up, tracking the shape, but something's wrong. The bird's flight is erratic, one wing drooping slightly. My heart squeezes as it disappears behind a stand of pines.
"Hey!" I call out softly, knowing it's pointless. Sunrise forgotten, I pick my way down the rocky slope, careful of loose scree in the dim light. The moisture from the rocks seeps through my cargo pants, but I barely notice.
I find it in a small clearing, hunched against the base of a pine. Even injured, it's magnificent—a juvenile golden eagle, brown feathers edged with gold in the growing light. Its wing hangs at an awkward angle, and my stomach twists at the sight of matted feathers and what might be blood.
"Oh, sweetheart." I lower myself slowly, keeping my movements steady and calm despite my racing pulse. "What happened to you?"
The eagle's eyes fix on me, wild and afraid. I've photographed enough raptors to know how dangerous those talons and beak can be, especially when the bird is terrified. But I can't leave it here.
I reach for my phone, cursing under my breath when I see the "No Service" message. Of course. I'm in one of the preserve's dead zones, where the mountains block any signal. The ranger station is at least two miles back, and I don't want to leave the eagle unprotected.
"Okay," I whisper, more to myself than the bird. "Okay, think."
The eagle shifts, trying to spread its wings, and lets out a cry that breaks my heart. I edge closer, knowing I'm probably breaking fifty different regulations. But there's a difference between rules and right, and leaving an injured creature to suffer isn't right.
"I know you're scared." I keep my voice low, soothing, like I'm talking to a spooked horse. "I know humans probably aren't your favorite thing right now. But I want to help."
My camera bag contains an emergency blanket—light, metallic, hopefully strong enough to create a temporary barrier between those talons and my skin. As I reach for it, a twig snaps behind me.
"Step away from the eagle."
I know that voice. Of course he's here. Of course the universe would make sure Ben Holloway finds me breaking preservation rules again.
"It's injured," I say without turning around, keeping my attention on the eagle. "The wing?—"
"I can see that." His footsteps are nearly silent as he approaches, and somehow that doesn't surprise me. He moves through his preserve like he's part of it. "But unless you're secretly a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, you need to let me handle this."
"I was trying to?—"
"Get yourself badly hurt?" Now he's beside me, and I catch the scent of pine and coffee. His voice softens slightly. "Golden eagles can take down a small deer. One swipe of those talons..."
"I know." I finally look up at him. The rising sun catches in his hair, turning it from sandy to gold. His ranger's uniform is slightly rumpled, like he's been up as long as I have. "I couldn't just walk away."
Surprise flickers in his green eyes. He shrugs off his jacket, and I realize what he's planning.
"The emergency blanket in my bag," I say quickly. "It might work better. Lighter, but strong."
He pauses, studies me for a moment. "Good thinking." His voice is gruff, but not unkind. "Hand it to me. Slowly."
Our fingers brush as I pass him the blanket, and I tell myself the jolt I feel is just adrenaline. He moves with careful precision, his presence somehow both gentle and commanding.
"Hey there, friend," he murmurs to the eagle, and my chest tightens at the tenderness in his voice. "Let's get you some help."
The eagle watches him with those fierce golden eyes, and for a moment, they remind me of Ben's own steady gaze. Both wild, both protective, both intensely focused on their mission.
"What can I do?" I ask, already knowing his answer.
"Stay back. Keep still."
I raise my camera, adjusting the settings for the changing light. Through the viewfinder, I watch him work, capturing the way his hands move with such sure gentleness, the way the sunrise gilds everything in hope.
Click. The eagle allowing him closer. Click. The careful way he assesses the wing. Click. The moment he becomes so focused on helping that he forgets to be angry at my presence.
And I realize I'm no longer just documenting the eagle's condition. I'm capturing something else entirely.