Noah shook his head. But it seemed more of a contemplation than a rejection. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. Or the head bump knocked all the sense out of me.”
“That would imply you had any sense to begin with.”
“Fair point.”
Noah let out another long sigh, as if genuinely considering it.
“Just hurry up and let her climb already. These neck muscles aren’t going to massage themselves.”
“Okay,” Noah said finally. “If your shoulder starts hurting though, we’re done.”
“Deal.” I chalked my hands again, the fine powder coating my scraped palms. “But I’m holding you to those muffins.”
I stared up at the wall, mapping out a different route. I put one hand on the first rock, my other hand on a second. My foot found a hold. Three points of contact.
I channeled my inner Spider Woman.
And for the first time since arriving in Colorado, I caught Noah Barrett looking at me like I might be worth the trouble, after all.
That’s when Jenn’s phone rang.
Her expression shifted from casual to concerned as she listened to what was being said on the other end. Her shoulders tensed, and she began pacing.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good.
The lake came into view through a break in the pines, a perfect mirror reflecting mountains and sky. A small crowd gathered at the edge of the water.
“Follow my lead,” said Noah, the muscles in his forearm tensed as he twisted the steering wheel. “Trapped animals can be aggressive.” Noah angled the Jeep toward the group assembled near the shoreline. “Could get real ugly, real fast.”
The call Jenn got was a report of an osprey tangled in a fishing line. As soon as Noah declared he was the one going down to the lake to handle it, I declared I was the one going with him.
“No getting close unless I say it’s safe.” Noah pulled the Jeep in as close as he could to the water. He jumped out, grabbing his climbing gear and a fully stocked first aid kit. I followed on his heels, the adrenaline numbing the lingering pain in my shoulder.
Since there was another animal involved, Noah made Yeti stay back at the Adventure Center with Diego and Jenn. Apparently, there had been a recent opossum incident no one really wanted to talk about, and she was still grounded.
The group of onlookers parted as we approached, all eyes turned upward.
As soon as I saw it, my heart stopped.
About twenty feet up, tangled in fishing line wrapped around a dead branch, an osprey hung suspended over the water. Its magnificent wings were splayed at awkward angles. Though it still moved, its struggles were weak and sporadic. The once-proud raptor looked defeated, its head drooping.
“Oh God.” The words caught in my throat. I’d seen the pair of ospreys on the river, diving gracefully for fish or soaring overhead, but this was different. This was wrong. All that majestyreduced to helpless struggling against something that never should have been there in the first place. Someone else’s carelessness had created this crisis, and now it was paying the price.
Noah assessed the situation instantly, his jaw tight enough to crack boulders. “Line’s wrapped around its wing and leg. Bird’s exhausted itself, fighting to get out.”
“We need to call 9-1-1 or wildlife rescue or something, right?” I reached for my phone.
“Nearest rescue team is too far out.” Noah shook his head. “Bird won’t last that long in this state. The stress can do more damage than the injury. If we don’t get it down soon ...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“This is what happens when people don’t clean up after themselves.” Noah’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowed. “People come out here, snap their lines, leave them hanging in the trees. They don’t think about what happens after. These birds see the glint, think it’s a fish.”
I watched the osprey’s wings twitch feebly, thinking about the pair we’d seen on our river trip. The way Diego had described them, mates for life, returning to the same nest year after year. Was this one of a pair? Was its partner somewhere nearby, wondering why it hadn’t returned? Maybe there were baby ospreys back at the nest, crying for their mommy or daddy.
“There has to be something we can do.”
Noah studied the dead branch, the angle of the line, the distance to the water. His expression shifted from concerned to determined, like someone who’d made calculations and arrived at a solution.
