Chapter 39
It was the end of a day in late November, and Jem sat in the Subaru—the almost new Subaru legally purchased from a nice lesbian couple who had decided they needed, quote, more towing power.
And they’d gotten a great deal on it. Because lesbians liked Jem.
And Jem liked lesbians. And he had no idea why Tean thought it was hilarious whenever the issue came up.
He was parked on a gravel drive next to a cabin in a canyon northwest of Bear Lake.
Cold enough outside that he kept starting the Subaru, in spite of the sweatshirt and coat he was wearing, and the air smelling like pine trees, smelling like water, smelling—this high—thin.
Trees mostly bare. Where the leaves clumped up against the fence, they were brown instead of red and yellow.
And the sun already gone but leaving a red streak in the sky.
Two trucks sat next to him. One was Tean’s, the white DWR truck he’d had returned to him after he’d gone back to work.
The other was a massive Dodge Ram that had the dripping-with-luxury trim level—it was the size of a small boat, and a glance inside suggested it was probably more comfortable than Jem and Tean’s sofa at home.
Two Sprinter vans were parked on the gravel too. Today’s operation required a team.
As dusk settled over the valley, lights came on in the cabin.
It wasn’t really a cabin; it was a few million dollars and several thousand square feet of luxury, but it was the kind of place people who could afford that kind of thing would call a cabin.
The owner, Jennifer Harding, had invited Jem inside twice.
He wanted to be out here, he told her. For when they came back.
So she brought him a ham sandwich, cookies, and a thermos of coffee.
And they talked. And one thing led to another.
And because Jem was on his best behavior these days, he didn’t let her buy him anything nice or give him any cash or anything.
But she did order Scipio some stuff that would get shipped straight to the house, because she was a dog person, and her husband wouldn’t let her have dogs.
And Jem and Tean could use the cabin whenever they wanted.
And Jennifer had a place in Scottsdale—had they ever been to Scottsdale? They were going to love Scottsdale.
Hell, he had to do something to keep from going stir-crazy.
There were a lot of things to like about Jennifer: she had hair like Dolly Parton, and she wore so many diamonds that she was like a one-woman disco ball, and she made an amazing ham sandwich. The secret, she said, was Durkee.
But maybe Jem’s favorite thing about her?
She hated Joe Neff even more than Jem did. And her property butted right up against his.
Movement at the tree line made Jem sit up.
An ATV emerged from the trees and came toward the cabin.
It was moving much more slowly than Jem remembered from that morning, and when Jem strained to make out details through the deepening gloom, the shape of the ATV was different—something boxy rode on the back.
A second, larger ATV emerged from the trees a moment later, following the first at a distance.
As the ATVs approached the cabin, the rumble of their engines broke the silence.
The shape on the back of the first ATV solidified into a ventilated crate.
The ATV passed Jem without slowing and headed for one of the vans.
The second ATV stopped at the end of the gravel drive.
A man in his fifties, gym-toned and salon tan, got out first and put on a big Stetson and looked around.
Jem could practically smell the testosterone rolling off him.
Randy Harding, Jennifer’s husband, who had insisted on accompanying them.
Another man, tall and wiry, stayed behind the wheel. Tean slid out of the back seat.
He had to be tired and cold and ready for a shower—he’d been out there all day, and from the little Jem knew, it hadn’t been easy work.
A fresh scrape showed on the back of his hand, and he had dirt and leaves all up and down one side of him, and something about his face suggested a lot of ibuprofen was in his near future.
But his face. Jem’s eyes stung, and he had to swallow against the sudden rush of emotion.
That was Tean’s face. Again. After a long, long time.
Jem got out of the car.
“You’re out here?” Tean said. “I thought you were going to wait in the cabin.”
Shrugging, Jem said, “I wanted to see you when you came back.” A sheepish grin broke out. “I was worried.”
Tean found his hand and gripped it.
“Everything went okay?” Jem asked.
“Fine,” Tean said. “We found tracks along a stream. They like to follow travel corridors like that. Then it was just a lot of patience and some luck.”
“Everything went great,” Randy Harding said. “I can’t wait to see that son of a bitch’s face when I show him these pictures.”
And laughing to himself, Randy went inside to find Jennifer.
“That must have been fun,” Jem said.
“He did all right,” Tean said. “Stayed back when he was supposed to. I think it was as much about the chance to say he went on a wolf hunt as the fact that he gets to rub it in Neff’s face.”
“Dr. Leon?” The woman’s name was Cameron Hammond, and she’d driven here in one of the Sprinter vans from Colorado. A long drive, but one that the staff of the wolf sanctuary was more than happy to make in exchange for a generous donation from the Hardings. “We’ve got the crate secured.”
Tean glanced at Jem. “Do you want to see him?”
It took a moment before Jem realized the question was for him. He nodded.
The lights were on in the back of the van. The crate was ventilated, with openings big enough for Jem to see through.
The wolf was bigger than Jem had expected.
Even lying on his side in the crate, he seemed enormous—so much bigger than Scipio.
His fur was gray, but so many shades of it, with brown and black mixed in.
The texture wasn’t what Jem had expected either.
Rougher. Denser. For a disorienting moment, he wanted to run his hands through it, and he thought he knew how it would feel: coarse, stiff, but then sliding between his fingers.
It had happened before, but not in a while.
The weight on his chest. The way his skin tightened.
That sense of every hair on his body standing on end while lightning ran along them.
The sense of…presence. Like in his clumsy human way, he had stumbled by accident into a bigger world, and for a moment, he understood how small he was.
It was frightening, yes. But not, at the same time.
Because he was part of this, too. Part of this world he sometimes forgot about, this world he didn’t pretend to understand.
A small part, yes. But connected. He wanted, in that moment, to touch the wolf.
To feel his warmth, the padding of muscle, the hard lines of bones.
Like me. And not. Jem’s heart was pounding in his chest.
“He’s breathing,” Jem whispered.
Tean nodded. “He’s okay. The drugs wear off on their own.”
Something—a cord—protruded from the wolf’s mouth and ran toward the front of the van. “What’s that?”
“A pulse oximeter. It measures the oxygen in his blood to make sure he’s okay.”
“When he wakes up,” Jem said, “he’s going to be somewhere new. He won’t know where he is.”
“They’ll take good care of him. They’ll give him time to adjust. Make sure he’s healthy.”
Jem touched the crate because he couldn’t touch the wolf. The pebbled plastic felt too rough under his hand. “Why was he out there in the first place?”
“A lot of young male wolves leave to find mates and start their own packs.” Something in Tean’s voice changed. “Sometimes, they get lost.”
“And need a little help.”
“Sometimes.”
Jem caught himself biting the collar of his T-shirt. He let it drop. He wiped his mouth. He was surprised that his fingertips felt hot when they brushed his lips. “Good. I’m glad you could help him.”
“Me too.”
“And I’m glad that asshole didn’t shoot him.”
Tean’s laugh carried so much in it, and he said thickly, “Me too.”
Jem straightened. He put his arm around Tean.
And then he rested his hand on his chest. Underneath the heavy coat, underneath the thermal shirt, Tean’s heart beat steadily.
The red streak in the sky was fading. The wind moved the pines and raised goose bumps on the back of Jem’s neck.
One of the men from the sanctuary was scuffing his boot on the gravel, trying to knock loose some mud.
But for a moment, even with all that noise, the world was quiet except for the drumbeat of Tean’s heart.
And the pounding behind Jem’s ribs. And what he thought, if he strained, he could hear beating in the wolf’s chest. The same heart, Jem thought.
The same hurts. The same hopes. The same dreams. The same flesh. The same blood. The same bones.