Chapter 29 #2
“They got in again!” Jon exclaims, interrupting Logan mid-sentence as he holds up his tablet. A pack of wolves lingers outside a fence line. “How’d they get into the eastern back forty again? You said you fixed that break!”
“I did.” Logan frowns at the screen.
“Obviously you did somethin’ wrong. Did you leave space between the staples and the post? Because if you put them too flush—”
“I know how to fix a fucking fence,” Logan snaps. “It was solid when I left it. They must be getting in from somewhere else.”
“Maybe you left the gate open again,” Jon mumbles under his breath.
Logan’s teeth grind. “I didn’t leave that gate open.”
“When’s this feed from?” Jack interrupts the back-and-forth bickering.
“Last night. Second time this month the wolves have gotten this close to the calves. See that one?” He points out a large gray one with a torn ear. “It’s the same pack.”
“At least the fences are doing their job,” I offer. As are the Anatolian shepherds who basically live with the calves in the pastures, guarding them from predators.
But there’s clearly brewing strife between Jon and Logan over this.
“For now. But watch this.” Jon fast-forwards the video, stopping it in time to show a wolf charge the fence, as if testing. The bison rush away as the dogs stalk in. “They’re bound to find a weak spot, eventually.”
“Big pack for a big herd, and now’s when they start getting really hungry.” Holt watches his grandson skate past. “I remember the last time the wolves got in, twelve years ago. They got a calf before the dogs killed one and scared the rest off. Annie made mittens with its fur.”
“We don’t have enough shepherds to keep a pack this size away,” Jon mutters. “I guess I’m spending the day trying to move the herd in closer.”
“I’ll check all the fences again, but I’m telling you, that section I put up is solid,” Logan says with full conviction.
“Maybe a tree came down, or there’s a drift somewhere that’s making it easy for them to jump over,” Holt says in apparent support of his son’s claim. “I’d follow their tracks if I were you. See what you can learn.”
“And shoot the fuckers if you see them,” Jon adds in a rare display of anger.
Logan shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can! We have video proof. This is predatory behavior.” Jon jabs his finger against his screen. “Next thing you know, they’ll be coming up to the chicken coop in the middle of the day! We can’t have that with kids running around.”
While wolf sightings aren’t common, especially during the day, they do occur, and living on a bison ranch in the winter ups the odds.
“Yeah, I can’t shoot anything,” Logan reminds him with a stern look. “Not unless I want to go back to prison.”
“Shit, I forgot.” Jon leans over the boards, eyeing me. “Hey, you’re not working today. Why don’t you go with him?”
Me? “How did I get pulled into this?”
“You’re a cop! No one’s gonna say a thing if you’re out there with Logan and you’re the one carrying. Take my rifle.”
“I’ve got my own, thanks.” My father left me two, along with a shotgun that my grandfather owned. I clean them once a year in the fall but otherwise they sit in the safe, untouched.
“Come on!” Jon pushes. “From what Annie says, you two used to run around these fields all day long, even in the winter.”
“That’s not the only thing they did,” Jack says under his breath, just loud enough.
Holt offers his nephew a glare before saying, “We could use your keen investigative skills, McAllister. You always were good at tracking animal prints.”
“I’m sure even Egan could follow any tracks a pack this size left in the snow.”
In all this, Logan hasn’t said a word, for or against the idea of me accompanying him.
I look up at him now, trying to decipher his thoughts.
“You’re welcome to come with me, but I’m sure you have other things to do,” he says, his eyes unreadable.
An invitation and an excuse served up in a single sentence.
It’s Saturday and my day off. I was going to beg my massage therapist to squeeze me in this afternoon.
Other than household chores and reviewing video of the Bale House from the night of Holly’s disappearance for the hundredth time, I have no plans.
Logan did say he needs to talk to me, and I sense he doesn’t want anyone else overhearing. I can’t think of a better place to talk openly than out there, surrounded by nothing but hundreds of acres of snowy landscape.
“I’ll need fifteen minutes to get dressed.” My stomach flips as I commit to a morning alone with him.
An unmistakable flash of excitement dances in his eyes. “I’ll gas up.”
The low hum of an approaching snowmobile engine sounds as I’m lacing up my boots, earning Duke’s warning grumble.
“It’s okay. It’s just Logan,” I say, though his ears stay perked, listening intently as the engine cuts.
Just Logan. As if it’s inconsequential that he’s here. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Heavy footfalls stomp outside. I rush to open the door before Logan has a chance to knock, but it doesn’t stop Duke from scrambling to his feet and rushing over, his deep barks echoing through the house.
The hulking figure in full snow gear and helmet stands on the stoop. “It’s me. Relax.” Logan offers his hand to sniff before ruffling the old dog’s head.
With his task satisfactorily accomplished, Duke moseys back to his bed.
Logan’s eyes roam the interior of my house in wonder. “Wow,” he says after a beat, “Just like I remember it.”
“Mostly.” I convinced my mother to let go of the beige walls for a warm gray, and our downstairs bathroom faucet exploded, earning a remodel.
But for the guy who spent as much time here as I did next door, those details probably don’t matter.
“I’d invite you in, but I’m about to die from heat stroke.
” Sweat is already building under my thermal underwear.
Something glints in Logan’s eyes as they linger on the kitchen. “Hey, did your dad ever find out about that hole in the roof?”
“Oh my God.” I smile as a memory stirs. Logan used to sneak up to my bedroom late at night using the small kitchen window gable for footing.
Unbeknownst to us, there was a rotten part, and his foot went right through it.
Thankfully it wasn’t visible from anywhere but my bedroom window and so, while my parents were out during the day, we scrambled to fix it as best we could with scraps of plywood and roofing cement. Jay helped.
“They had the roof redone a few years later and I’m pretty sure he figured it out.” But my father didn’t say anything to me because it would mean bringing up Logan, and he tried really hard to not bring up Logan with me for any reason.
“I remember being so worried about what your dad would think of me after that.” Logan shakes his head, then snorts as he moves toward the sled. “Life is ironic, isn’t it?”
“It’s definitely something.” I grab my insulated gloves and tug the door closed behind me as I eye the two-seater. “We’re riding together?” Because I know for a fact there’s a second perfectly good snowmobile in the barn.
“Jon doesn’t want us causing the herd too much stress with two engines. I’ve already gotten a lecture about my speed and keeping distance.”
“And you care what Jon has to say?” Because from what Annie has told me during my regular check-ins, their interactions have been lukewarm.
“He’s already on my back about making mistakes I didn’t make. Plus, if it means you’re riding with me, then yeah, I’ll listen to him all day long.” Even hidden within his helmet, I can see the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Come on. It’ll be like old times.”
“I remember falling off the back of one of these in the old times.” We weren’t going fast, thankfully.
“That was a solo rider. This one’s meant for you. It’s got a seat and everything.” He pats the passenger spot. “I won’t let you fall off.”
My pulse races as I close in, my body acutely aware of his size and presence. “I’m not bringing the rifle. Obviously.” I hold out my empty hands.
“Good, ’cause I’m not up for watching things die today. They’re just doing what wolves do.” Logan climbs into the driver’s seat, his powerful thighs straddling the machine.
This is fine. You can’t get yourself into trouble out there, I remind myself. I’m wearing three layers, and there is nothing remotely sexy about tracking wild animals and mending fences in frigid temperatures.
With a heavy sigh of resignation, I mutter, “Are you even allowed to drive this with a G1 license?”
He barks with laughter. “Shut up.”
“It’s a serious question,” I tease.
“Do you wanna drive?” he counters, gesturing at the handlebars.
“No thanks.”
“You sure?” He pauses. “I don’t mind you taking control.”
The offer is dripping with sexual innuendo—or maybe that’s where my starved mind is going as vivid memories from our night together months ago still play daily.
“Give me the damn helmet.” I affix it and then, using his broad shoulder for balance, climb into my seat.
“What’d you want to tell me about? You said something about a run-in? ”
“Later. Not here.” He peers over his shoulder, allowing me a moment to admire his hazel eyes before he flips his visor down. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I grip the passenger handles.
He starts the engine and pulls away.
Routes around the Landrys’ ranch are already mapped by snowmobile tracks that follow the various fence lines. Logan chooses the path farthest from the roaming herd, driving slowly and stopping to open a gate here and there.
The journey to the back of their expansive property takes about twenty-five minutes and I enjoy every minute of it, admiring the view of rolling hills blanketed by pristine white snow that weighs down evergreen branches and conceals the many crops of boulders and bushes that mark the Landrys’ frozen landscape as readily as the bison.
The farther we get from everyone and everything, the less I worry about anything.
The more I focus on the man taking me away from it all.