Teagan shot her an arched-eyebrow look, because she seemed to think that someone else was going to volunteer for that task, and he wondered who she had in mind.
“Your job’s not going to ever love you back,” she amended.
“I don’t expect it to.”
“You’re purposefully misunderstanding me,” she said grumpily. “If I had all the credentials in the world, all the money in the world, all the choices in the world, the way you do, I’d do something I loved. You could go get any job. Someone else could do yours.”
“I should be the one doing this one. The foundation is eighty years old, it’s founded on my great-grandfather’s dirty sweatshop money, and it’s basically the only good thing anyone in my family has ever done. My mother nearly ran it into the ground, and I had to go in and save it from being dissolved when she died.”
“You really think you have to do it for her?” Darcy demanded. “She’s dead. She doesn’t care.”
“I think I have to do what I said I was going to do,” Teagan replied, and that, at least, felt honest. He heard Darcy swallow. It seemed she didn’t have an argument against that.
The stereo was blessedly silent as they drove through the heavily forested roads of the park. When they turned into a side road, Darcy tapped her phone.
“Will you copy the GPS coordinates? From Ranger Ralph’s DM.”
Teagan gingerly pulled up Darcy’s Twitter app, not sure what to expect. It was open to a message from an account whose profile picture was an elderly man holding a very large fish, the message consisting of a simple string of numbers and letters. Teagan dutifully copied the coordinates to the truck’s console, then very accidentally clicked out of Darcy’s messages to look at her account’s home page. Her profile consisted of a photograph of a fat opossum climbing out of an unsecured dumpster, the description blank.
He blinked in surprise when he scanned the rest of the home screen.
“Why do you have six thousand followers?” he asked.
Darcy took her eyes off the road long enough to leer in his direction.
“Sometimes I feel insecure, and I post thirst traps,” she said.
Teagan choked as his thumb moved, as of its own accord, to the media tab of her account.
“No, really,” he said before he could click on it. There wasn’t any signal out here anyway. Nothing would load. He put the phone in the cupholder and folded his hands in his lap.
“The Twitter account’s just for my wolf photos,” Darcy said, eyes intent on the road. “Last winter I checked all the snowmobile trails first thing in the morning, so I’d run into the wolves a lot. I posted some pretty awesome shots. You’llsee. This is going to make the whole day worth it. The whole trip.”
She shifted the truck into higher gear as the pavement turned to gravel, and her restored confidence made it impossible to doubt her.
“This is going to change your life,” she promised.
eleven
“is that melanistic yearling one of 317f’s?” Ranger Ralph asked Darcy, passing his binoculars over to her and sweeping stringy gray hair out of his face.
Ralph had not actually been a park ranger before retiring, but he’d lived in West Yellowstone for thirty years, and he could usually be found wherever the wolves were. He and half a dozen other wolf enthusiasts were clustered at the top of the rise over First Meadow, watching the Junction Butte pack feast on the unfortunate elk a few hundred yards away. One actual uniformed park ranger—a new hire, Darcy didn’t know him—kept a watchful eye on the wolf-watchers lest they try to take selfies with the wildlife or otherwise do something inadvisable off-trail.
“No, I think he was one of 1094F’s last litter before the Phantom Lake pack was exterminated this spring. Looks healthy though,” Darcy said, squinting at the distant black shape and speaking into her phone.
The Junction Butte pack was viewable from this trail several times a week, but this chance to watch their feeding behavior—with the juveniles, no less!—was a rare treat. The other wolf-watchers were humming with satisfaction as they recorded video and photographs. This might make the news.
Darcy pointed for Teagan, who was quietly watching the pack through Darcy’s binoculars. “See that one? His whole family was wiped out by baited traps in Montana, just off park boundaries.”
“That’s awful,” Teagan murmured. Darcy gave him a sharp look under the assumption that he was just saying what she wanted to hear, but he kept the binoculars up. He hadn’t fought her for the rest of the ride to the trailhead, and he’d jogged two miles up the trail at the speed Darcy demanded. He’d been quiet the whole time.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. That he’d get down the trail, get an eyeful of the wolves, and have an epiphany?Oh, wow. I am awestruck by the majesty and strangeness of the wilderness, and I perceive how small and unimportant my own mistakes are when viewed against the size of the world. I’m cured! Thank you. You changed my life. I’m sober, quitting my terrible job, and moving to Montana to raise money for wolf protection causes.
She hadn’t really thought through how bringing him out to watch the wolves would aid in his recovery. She’d just wanted to do something... big. Something meaningful, with a lasting impact. She’d already saved him from a bear, she supposed. That was pretty permanent. But Teagan kept looking at her like he thought she had the answers to all his problems, and she unexpectedly expected more from herself.
Was this good for him? He looked good here—broad shoulders relaxed, the wind ruffling his hair and his sleeves casually shoved up to his elbows—but making voice notes on wolf behavior was Darcy’s idea of a good time, probably nobody else’s.
“Feeling better?” Teagan asked. He let the binoculars dangle from his wrist and gave her a soft, searching look.
