Ivy launched into an excited description of her vision for the hands-on exhibits, her hands moving expressively as she outlined plans for wildlife tracking demonstrations and forest displays.
“The children’s area will have stations where kids can touch different animal tracks cast in resin, and smell scent markers similar to what predators leave in the wild.”
Corey listened attentively, his pride obvious. Then his expression shifted, concern creasing his brow. “You look tired, Ivy. Those are some impressive shadows under your eyes.”
“Just busy,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “There’s so much happening right now.”
“You know, the institute has dozens of qualified researchers. Letting others help is an important leadership skill.”
Ivy laughed. “I’m letting plenty of people help. You should see the construction team Ronald and I put together.”
Corey’s expression remained thoughtful. “Just remember that not everyone shares your work ethic or attention to detail. Trust but verify, especially with building projects.”
“Dad, stop worrying. We’ve got eight weeks until the grand opening, and everything is on track.”
Her father’s concern wasn’t completely off-base. The quick timeline would require careful coordination from all parties involved. But Ivy had spent months planning for every possible problem. She was determined to prove she could handle a project this big.
They chatted a while longer before ending the call, promising to meet for dinner later in the week. Ivy turned to the stack of reports needing her attention. The afternoon slipped into evening without Ivy noticing the changing light. When she finally looked up, darkness had fallen outside her window.
Ivy glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was nearly nine in the evening. A sandwich wrapper on her desk showed she’d eaten dinner at some point, though she barely remembered it.Instead of packing up and going home right away, Ivy found herself opening her laptop and clicking over to mate.com.
She scrolled through user profiles, trying to ignore the disappointment that crept in with each less than perfect match. With a sigh of frustration, she closed her laptop, fighting the doubt that crept into her thoughts. She turned her chair to face the window, gazing up at the stars. The vastness of the night sky always helped her regain perspective. Her fated mate was out there somewhere. He had to be.
Chapter
Two
Morning mist clungto the forest floor as grizzly shifter Henry Kincaid moved silently through the trees. The first rays of dawn filtered through the canopy, painting dappled patterns across the moss-covered ground. He paused, crouching to examine fresh deer tracks imprinted in the soft earth. His large frame belied his ability to move without sound, a skill honed through years of tracking and watching the wildlife of Fate Mountain.
The tracks told him a family of deer had passed through only hours ago, heading toward the stream that cut through the eastern valley. Henry followed their trail, his senses tuned to the subtle rhythms of the forest. This early morning ritual connected him to the primal essence of his bear shifter nature, even when he stayed in human form.
He stopped suddenly when he discovered fresh ATV tracks cutting across the delicate forest floor. The deep treads had torn through the underbrush. Henry’s jaw clenched as he knelt to examine the damage.
“Damn tourists,” he growled, his bear stirring beneath his skin. “No respect for anything.”
He stood to his full height, an imposing figure in his forest service uniform. Henry followed the ATV tracks with growing irritation. Each passing season brought more people from the city, seeking weekend thrills with no understanding of the ecosystems they damaged.
The tracks led toward the northwestern boundary of the forest preserve, an area that had recently been marked for the new nature center construction. Henry paused at the edge of a small clearing where survey flags and boundary markers created a patchwork of unnatural color against the forest. Something about the markers struck him as wrong.
He pulled a folded map from his back pocket, kneeling as he spread it across a relatively flat boulder. The wildlife corridor—a critical pathway allowing animals to travel safely between different sections of forest—was supposed to remain untouched. Henry had spent months working with the county to ensure these corridors were properly documented and protected.
Yet the markers on the ground didn’t match what his map showed. They had been placed to reduce the wildlife corridor by nearly thirty yards, taking valuable protected land for the construction project.
“What the hell,” he murmured, his eyes darting between the map and the physical markers.
His gaze swept across the entire boundary line, taking in details most would miss. Several ancient trees along the perimeter had strange markings that didn’t match standard survey patterns. Drawing closer to a massive oak that should have been wellwithin the protected zone, Henry noticed subtle damage to the bark. To an untrained eye, it might appear natural, but he recognized the scoring that would slowly harm the tree’s health.
“Deliberate,” he whispered.
The implications troubled him deeply. Someone was changing the approved boundaries and weakening key trees. This wasn’t the work of reckless tourists.
His uncle Cyrus had taught him about these corridors when Henry was a child, during long tracking trips. Cyrus had lived deep in the forest for many years before meeting his mate, Daisy. And the man had made a deep mark on Henry. He’d absorbed Cyrus’s lessons like gospel. Now, staring at the changed boundary, he felt a duty that went beyond his official ranger job.
The sound of an approaching vehicle pulled him from his thoughts. A pickup truck bumped along the rough access road, coming to stop at the edge of the clearing. Three men climbed out. The construction crew had arrived earlier than expected.
Henry straightened to his full height, approaching with deliberate steps. The workers noticed him immediately, their casual conversation dying as they took in his ranger uniform and forbidding expression.
“Morning,” said the oldest of the three, a man in his fifties with a weathered face and cautious eyes. “Something we can help you with, Ranger?”
