Page 10

Doris simply lifted one shoulder. “Very dry there,” she added.

Behind me, Barrett sighed.

I studied the permit again. “How often does he actually need to accompany me?”

“Any time you enter a protected area.”

“For the full twenty-one days?”

“If your research requires twenty-one days.”

Twenty-one days.

Twenty-one days of arranging my work around someone else’s availability. Of asking permission before following a lead. Of relying on another person when I’d built most of my adult life around avoiding exactly that.

I didn’t like needing people. People could say no. Funding committees could decide your work wasn’t important enough. Supervisors could promise support until attaching their name to yours became professionally inconvenient. Specialists had looked at Grandma’s test results and explained in careful, sympathetic voices that without a diagnosis, there was very little anyone could do.

Needing something from someone else meant handing them the power to decide whether you got it.

I looked at Barrett. He was already shaking his head. “No,” he said.

“You haven’t heard what I was going to ask.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you rehearse that response?”

“It saves time.”

Doris coughed into one hand.

Barrett set his rope on the end of the counter with a heavy thump. “I have work.”

“So do I,” I said, folding my arms.

His gaze dropped briefly to the permit in my hand before returning to my face. “I clear hazard trees. Storm came through two nights ago, and I’m still three days behind.”

“I’m not asking you to abandon your job.”

“You’re asking me to follow you around while you poke things.” One of his ears twitched as if the prospect offended him on several levels.

“I conduct botanical field research,” I corrected.

Barrett gave me a long look. “You poked a vine until it tied you to the ground.”

Heat crept into my cheeks. “That happened once.”

“It happened this morning,” he said, utterly deadpan.

I pressed my lips together because, irritatingly, I had no useful response to that.

Doris leaned forward. “Barrett, you’re the registered woodland safety specialist attached to the northern conservation zone.”

“That doesn’t mean I escort researchers.”

“No, but the town pays part of your annual certification precisely so we have someone available when protected-area permits are issued.”

One of his rounded ears shifted slightly backward.