"Ollie," I say. "The bin."
"Right." He hauls a replacement latch kit from the truck bed. "Third one this month, if you count the trailhead."
"I count the trailhead."
While Ollie works, I walk Neely along the drag path to the brush line and show her what I'm seeing. The parallel scrapes where the bear pinned the bag. The half-moon of the rear pad print near the fireweed. She crouches to look, asks how old the print is and how I can tell, and writes down the answer.
"So, what happens to him? Doug." She winces. "The bear. If this keeps up."
"First, we make the food stop. Every scrap, every night. When the food stops being easy, most young bears drift back to doing bear things. Berries are coming in up on the ridge, and that will help. But if he doesn't stop breaking into trash cans, Fish and Game gets involved. They’ll try hazing first, using loud noises, lights, and non-lethal slugs. Maybe dogs. If that doesn’t work, they may try to relocate him. But the fact is, a bear that’s too comfortable around humans almost always ends up being put down. We don’t want that.”
She's quiet for a second. "No. The bear shouldn’t have to pay the ultimate price because someone used a bungee cord instead of the latch.”
"Exactly. The good news is this campground now has a host who can help me make sure folks follow the rules. We can still salvage the situation, keeping the people here safe and the bear safe, too.”
She looks up at me with those hazel eyes, and my breath catches. Neely Quinn is a beautiful woman—and she’s also smart, outdoorsy, and cares about nature. It’s enough to make any park ranger’s heart skip a beat.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, neither sure what to say. Ollie, God bless him, fills the sudden silence by dropping a socket wrench on foot.
“Ouch,” he shouts, shaking his foot. “Sometimes, I wish I had a desk job.”
The thought of Ollie sitting at a desk makes me chuckle. “No way, Ollie. You’re like me. We’d die of boredom if we were chained to a desk.”
“True enough, brother. But my toes would be happier.”
By late afternoon, Neely’s back at the campground kiosk sorting fee envelopes, and I’m back in my truck. I've got no operational reason to still be at Ponderosa Flats, so naturally I'm doing a third unnecessary pass of Loop C. I’m not quite ready to leave the pretty campground host on her own.
An hour later, I find myself parked where I can see the host site through the trees, watching her carry firewood and laughing at something a kid on a bike says to her. She's got her sleeves shoved up and her hair falling out of its knot. I can’t help but watch the sway of her curvy hips as she crosses the pad, or the way her faded jeans stretch tightly across her ass. I have to keep myself from whistling in appreciation.
Forty-one years old and staring through trees like a teenager. Or like a weirdo stalker.
There’s no use pining for what I can’t have. She’s only here for fourteen weeks. Then she’s moving on.
It’s fine. I’ll be fine.
I have a good life, in a town I love, a job that matters, a niece who thinks I hung the moon and a nephew who thinks I’mthe coolest man alive. Sure, I sometimes think about meeting a woman and building a family together, but I’m content.
Or I was. Until I met my new camp host.
Movement at site thirty-one catches my eye. There’s a family with a cooler sitting out on the table, and all four of the humans are piling into a minivan in swim gear.
I roll down my window. "Folks. Cooler goes in the box before you leave."
"We'll be back in an hour," the dad says, already pulling the seatbelt across his chest.
I get out of my truck and stand in front of his van with my arms crossed. “Now’s a good time to teach your kids the importance of following the rules. Or we can teach them about consequences. Your choice.”
The man exits the van and puts the cooler in the bear box.
I tip my head to him. “Thank you for doing your part to keep the campground safe. Y’all have fun at the lake.”
As the van pulls away, I come to a decision. With a food-conditioned juvenile bear in the area and a new host starting, this campground warrants increased patrols. Morning radio checks aren’t going to cut it. We’ll need in-person patrols, morning and evening. Daily.
An increased presence is completely justifiable.
The fact that the host has hazel eyes and hair I long to run my fingers through doesn’t need to be the official report.
CHAPTER 3
