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Raising the Stakes
Karen Rock


Hiding from the world… Tucking herself away in the Adirondack woods was supposed to keep Vivienne Harris safe. From dark memories of the Bronx, from danger, from entanglements. But when an orphaned bear cub raids her pantry and conservation officer Liam Walsh appears with news of poachers nearby, her private, peaceful world is turned upside down!Suddenly two forces are drawing her out–Button, the cub who needs her help, and Liam, the man who's dead set against her rehabilitating the bear. If she can just win Liam's support, Vivie knows she can give Button a good life. And maybe find the courage to embrace a future with Liam…







Hiding from the world...

Tucking herself away in the Adirondack woods was supposed to keep Vivienne Harris safe. From dark memories of the Bronx, from danger, from entanglements. But when an orphaned bear cub raids her pantry and conservation officer Liam Walsh appears with news of poachers nearby, her private, peaceful world is turned upside down!

Suddenly two forces are drawing her out—Button, the cub who needs her help, and Liam, the man who’s dead set against her rehabilitating the bear. If she can just win Liam’s support, Vivie knows she can give Button a good life. And maybe find the courage to embrace a future with Liam...


Liam’s leaf-green eyes shone in the lamplight when he smiled at Vivie.

“Are you ready for the wildlife rehabilitator test?” he asked.

She sank onto the couch. “I have to be, or you’ll shoot Button.”

He regarded her gravely. “Wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

She hugged a pillow. “Why?”

“Because it makes her sound like a pet.” Liam leaned forward and the outdoorsy, masculine smell of him filled her senses. Normally being alone with a man this late at night would terrify her. Instead, she felt alive and jittery, her stomach fluttering.

“If you pass tomorrow—”

“When I pass tomorrow,” she interrupted, lifting her chin despite her nerves.

He studied her, his strong face handsome. “When you pass tomorrow, you need to start thinking like a rehabilitator. If you treat the bear like a house pet, I’ll have to remove her.”

The thought of it knocked the breath out of her. “Button is going to make it here.” There was no way she’d let him take her bear...


Dear Reader (#ue2ccb23a-4ebf-5902-ac0e-a275d4852932),

When I was in fifth grade, my dad accepted a promotion to move to Upstate New York. I was as shocked as my classmates when my teacher traced her pointer from our location, Long Island, to the very top of the map: The Adirondacks. It looked like the end of the world and everyone, including me, gasped in horror.

Little did I know how profoundly this move would change me. I lost my city ways and became an avid nature and animal lover. I live my life outdoors as much as indoors. Cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, riding on a Ski-Doo, kayaking, canoeing, swimming, hiking, camping and, best of all, mountain climbing.

Standing on a summit is an almost religious experience. It’s otherworldly to gaze at the breathtaking beauty below and imagine that this is what it must have looked like to the one who made it all. It’s awe-inspiring and humbling. Suddenly a fresh perspective clicks into place, giving my soul a good housecleaning.

It’s also a privilege to live so close to such an abundance of wild animals, including black bears, the amazing subject of this book. The setting and subject of this story couldn’t be any closer to my heart. Please contact me anytime at karenrock@live.com, especially if you’re ever visiting my neck of the woods!

Karen


Raising the Stakes

Karen Rock




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KAREN ROCK is an award-winning YA and adult contemporary author. She holds a master’s degree in English and worked as an ELA instructor before becoming a full-time author. Her Mills & Boon Heartwarming novels have won the 2014 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and the 2014 Golden Quill Award. When she’s not writing, Karen loves scouring estate sales, cooking and hiking. She lives in the Adirondack Mountain region with her husband, daughter and Cavalier King Charles spaniels.

www.KarenRock.com (http://www.karenrock.com)


To Little Bit, who made my life whole. You passed away when I wrote this book and left a hole that can never be filled. I hope your helicopter tail is whipping the clouds into a froth up there. Until we meet again, I love you, my sweet girl.


Contents

Cover (#uf655515e-e8ef-56f2-9eed-871fb46846c0)

Back Cover Text (#u6f2ceadf-6b61-5862-9cf0-3b6f4f8c4d4e)

Introduction (#u9b96fc82-6803-5917-88cd-383b3fbe391a)

Dear Reader

Title Page (#ue33e7614-c155-5665-86ca-c3921e40cbd1)

About the Author (#uc4ceb2bc-a3ba-50f2-9b36-f086df09718f)

Dedication (#u689dd5ca-a287-5eba-85d0-22f9d5386387)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_84a8cdf0-abf0-5601-82fd-9e9305ba18bf)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4bc3347d-a681-5778-8d42-23e49a9aa1c2)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f5179bca-a4eb-55a5-8943-c5c95a4c860f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a264034e-d4fb-5620-9f6c-81e0b9eebeda)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_9c519f2c-997c-5524-b71c-6fe49917bf1a)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_68eacadb-45f4-58b9-a335-1eb36c839b41)

THERE IT WAS.

Again.

A skittering sound followed by a jolting thump. Vivienne Harris huddled beneath her quilt, her mind racing as fast as her heart. Someone—or something—prowled downstairs. She eyed her window and the black night beyond it, pine branches tracing the panes like fingers. If she opened the sash and screamed, who would help?

Her nearest neighbors lived fifteen miles down her Adirondack Mountains road and were on vacation to boot. Emergency services? She’d be a headline before they fired up their engines. Besides, the only phone in her two-hundred-year-old farmhouse was downstairs, and cell service didn’t exist this far off the grid. Why hadn’t the intruder tripped her home alarm?

Was her mind playing tricks? Mistaking her old dog’s after-hours trip to the water bowl for something more ominous? He usually slept like the dead, though, so it seemed unlikely... There was only one way to find out. She wouldn’t cower in fear that her life might be in danger.

Not again.

With a clattering bang, she swung her feet over the side of her bed where they dangled, frozen. She had to move. Do something. Stop whatever darkness crawled her way. Her eyes slid to her nightstand drawer. Pepper spray. Maggie, her business partner, had gifted it to her at her housewarming party three years ago. She sent her friend a silent thank-you as she snatched the canister.

On quaking legs, she crept down her staircase. Careful, she warned herself and skipped over the creaky fifth step. Surprise. Her best weapon and only defense. She forced herself off the last tread and peered at the canister rattling in her hand. How much help would it be? Nightmarish scenarios looped through her mind. She’d never forget that long-ago night and the attack that haunted her still.

A snuffling noise whispered to her left. The kitchen. She inhaled the cinnamon-scented air, picturing the ten pies she’d baked tonight for The Homestead, her diner. They were up high, cooling on open cabinet shelves beyond her yellow Lab’s reach. No. Scooter wouldn’t be after those. Then—what?

Courage starched her spine. She needed those desserts. Loggers returned from their runs tomorrow. Hungry for a taste of home, they’d want pie. Hers.

But the phone rested on a distant end table in her living room... Where to go first?

A hard thunk convinced her, as did the spring breeze that fluttered her kitchen curtains and curled around her throat like an accusation. Fatigue had made her sloppy. She should have closed the window before bed. She squared her shoulders, leaped through the archway and flicked on the light, her pepper spray extended on a shaking arm.

Her eyes darted around the space, frustration washing through her when she surveyed her mostly decimated pies. Many were overturned, nearly empty or dumped on the floor, oozing into the cracked boards. Pie crust bits coated surfaces like dust.

“Darn it!” she exclaimed and advanced into the room, agitation temporarily overriding her fear. Hours of work down the drain. She eyed her half-open window. Whoever or whatever it was had to have squeezed through that.

She reached up and unhooked a skillet from her pot rack. There was no prowler in sight but the pantry door was ajar. Maybe her trespasser lurked there. Hiding. Sweat beaded her forehead; cold shuddered through her. She forced herself onward. No backing down. The pan handle slipped in her sweating palm, and she grabbed it before jumping into the dim entranceway.

“Stay where you are!”

She stepped forward, then remembered the dangling chain in the middle of the deep, dim pantry. Nerves vacuumed her mouth dry. She slashed the air with her pot, her unsteady legs carrying her forward. Just as her fingertips brushed the metal links, a furry body swept by her calves and jetted into the kitchen, snorting.

“What the—?” A wild animal!

She pivoted, heart thumping. Where was Scooter when she needed him? She peered through the archway into the living room and glimpsed her ancient, snoozing Labrador. He was too far away to assist in her catch and release, especially now that he’d lost his hearing and slept heavily.

Shivers danced along her spine. What if it was a skunk? Or a porcupine? If Scooter woke and went after it, he’d take a mouthful of quills.

As for the creature, it skittered beneath her table, a dark thing the size of a microwave. What was it? A raccoon? Fisher? Woodchuck? Living in the wilderness made for a long list of suspects.

She crouched and slid back a seat. With her skillet shielding her face, she braced herself for an odorous spray. A high-pitched yip sounded instead.

The pan dipped and a pair of fearful, velvety-black eyes met hers. Dark fur puffed around a tiny triangular face, the petite snout ending in a quivering black nose.

A bear cub.

Her muscles loosened, her insides melting. Oh. Adorable. And frightened, despite the “terrifying” noises it emitted to scare her off. Poor thing. After eating half a pound of sweets, it should be in a sugar coma by now.

Instead, the bear cowered against the chair legs, pawing at the air. Where was its mother? The thought cooled her warm rush of affection. An angry black bear could be roaming her property. An adult—worse, a mother searching for her child. Reuniting them personally, in the dead of night, would be suicide. But other threats skulked in the surrounding forest. If she simply tossed the cub out, it might get killed before finding its mom.

She gnawed a cuticle, vacillating.

From the living room, Scooter’s breathing deepened into a full-on snore. No threat to the baby animal there. She could chase it back to the pantry, lock it in, then put it outside in the morning once she called 911 and got an officer’s approval. Watch for a parent to lumber along and claim it... Yes. The best compromise. Now, to grab the cub.

“Stay still little guy. I won’t hurt you,” she crooned.

When she stretched for it, her fingers grazed its silky pelt before the bear raced across the room. It wriggled behind her recycling bin and got stuck, its protruding rump shaking. She grinned. Despite her ruined desserts, who could stay mad at such a cute little bum?

She stole across the sticky floor. When she pulled back the plastic bin, the cub barked, then bolted for a towel-drying rack in an opposite corner, squirming on its belly to hide. A whimper rose from behind the straw and her heart broke.

How scared it must be. Motherless, hungry and now chased by a human. No living thing should feel such terror. She fingered the scar that snaked across her throat.

Maybe if she stayed still, lay down and left out one of the demolished pies, it might come out. Either way, hounding it didn’t work. She’d only terrify it more and risk waking Scooter. A yawn escaped her. First she’d clean up the mess, late as it was. She sighed. Would her ant crusade ever end?

She kept an eye on the black snout poking from behind her laden towel rack while she wiped the table, mopped her floor and rinsed out the pans. At least five pies had escaped the little marauder, including her diner’s specialty—raisin. She shot a glare in the cub’s direction, then softened at the sight of its nose, now resting on the floor, flanked by two paws. How had one minuscule creature created such havoc?

At least she had enough pie for the morning and lunch rushes. The rest she’d make at the diner while Maggie ran the front counter alongside the waitresses. Inconvenient, but doable. Once she got her little fur ball squared away, life would return to normal—relatively speaking. For a restaurant owner, that meant controlled chaos. She draped a wet dishrag over her faucet, closed her window and pulled off her rooster-patterned apron.

After untying a couple of seat covers, she made them into a makeshift pillow and stretched against the wall. She thought of Jinx outside on her cat prowl. Hopefully she knew enough to steer clear of a mother bear circling the property.

Vivie listened to the scratch of claws against the floor. A round eye, shiny as a brown button, peeked around a towel on the bottom rack. Holding still, she watched it roam around the room then alight on her. Her breath hitched. Friend or foe? She willed it to know she was the former.

“Come on, little one. Come out,” she crooned. A frustrated breath escaped her when the cub ducked back behind the rack, grunting low. It’d be a long night...for both of them. Protectiveness seized her.

If only she could comfort it, but that would stress it more. No. Instead, she’d stay up. Wait for the half-finished pie she’d left out to tempt the cub from its hiding spot. If it emerged, she’d corral it into the pantry and get some real sleep.

Her eyes drifted closed, her lids heavy. She wouldn’t fall asleep. Not a chance...

* * *

TWITTERING BIRDS ANNOUNCED the dawn. The scrape of tin proclaimed the bear had emerged for breakfast—aka her pie. Vivie leaped to her feet and, through the kitchen archway, saw Scooter lurch awake. Her dog scampered after the squealing cub, which fortunately raced for the pantry. She slammed the door shut just as Scooter bashed into its frame, unable to stop his momentum or his relentless barking.

“No, Scoots. Down.”

Vivie yanked on his collar, then jammed her way inside the pantry.

“I’m so sorry!”

She met the bear’s wide eyes and her heart squeezed as it scuttled backward. Its pink tongue appeared when it cried out, its head weaving, searching out another hiding spot. Luckily, most of her food was in industrial metal bins or cans. It wouldn’t get into too much trouble here.

For the first time, she had a good look at it and noticed something wrong with its jaw. The lower half seemed off-kilter, swelling making it bulge sideways. Was it injured? She had to get help for this button-eyed cutie.

“I’ll be right back. Umph!”

She banged into a hovering, woofing Scooter when she shimmied back through the pantry door. “Hush, boy. Outside.”

At her point and shove, his tail lowered and he headed through the porch door she opened. In a flash of ebony fur, Jinx flew through the entrance. She jumped onto the table and meowed loudly, her good yellow eye narrow and accusing. The other, blinded before she’d shown up on Vivie’s door, was milky white and half-closed.

“Off, Jinx. You know the rules!” Vivie’s shooing had no effect. She picked up her bristling kitty and set her beside her food bowl.

Jinx whipped away and presented her long tail. She sniffed at the empty trays disdainfully.

“So it’s like that, then,” Vivie sighed, pouring cat food and replenishing the water. At her ear scratch, Jinx jerked her head away.

“Jinx, I’m sorry you were stuck outside.” She grabbed a couple of cat treats and set them on the floor. “I couldn’t let you in because of—”

A scratch sounded on the pantry door and Jinx’s back arched, her tail puffing.

“Don’t even think about going near there,” Vivie warned. At Scooter’s bark, she let him in, then went for the phone. Despite the early hour, someone had to be on emergency call.

Vivie flopped on her vintage sofa and heard a squeak. Reaching behind a fringed pillow, she pulled out a hamburger chew toy, a smile beating the frown to her face. Scooter. Would her pets ever learn to stay off her furniture?

She grabbed the phone, dialed 911 and was assured of a conservation officer visit. She hung up and dropped her head on top of her sofa. Great. The Department of Environmental Conservation...a department she’d clashed with once before. They’d probably chuck the cub into the woods, whether coyotes skulked or not. Let nature take its course.

The heck with nature. This was about surviving.

She moved restlessly around her living room, debating if she and the cub should leave before the officer arrived. But where would she go? What would she do? No. She’d stand her ground as she’d taught herself to do.

Her eyes roamed the ceiling, noting that her fan needed dusting. And was that a cobweb in the far corner? Her gaze landed on the Steinway piano she’d inherited along with her great-aunt Nancy’s farmhouse. After a nomadic childhood with a marriage escape-artist mother, it was her first permanent home. The only place Vivie had stayed, growing up, where she’d felt safe.

Above the piano hung last year’s holiday picture: Santa with Scooter and Jinx. Scooter’s long tongue lapped the struggling man’s ear while Jinx batted his hat’s pom-pom. Classic. A true Harris family moment. If not for her aunt’s generosity, Vivie would still be in the Bronx, fighting through the anxiety that’d plagued her since her attack. Here in the Adirondacks, however, she’d found peace. Could breathe.

Vivie turned when a loud woof carried from the kitchen. Scooter. She padded across the faded Oriental carpet, through the entranceway and back into the kitchen. Across the room, Jinx leaped from the table and threw herself against the pantry door. Meanwhile Scooter dug deep grooves into the wood, barking and whining.

“Hey! Knock it off, you two!”

Jinx crashed down, then slunk under the table, her tail lashing. Scooter continued, unhearing, until Vivie tugged his collar. She tempted him away with a bone and eventually he subsided and splayed on the floor, chewing.

Her shoulders sagged. She’d been up for what, thirty minutes? And it was already a long morning.

In the quiet, a small bleat sounded. High and paper-thin. Her chest constricted. Did she dare open the door and risk Jinx snaking between her legs and scaring the cub to death? Or Scooter muscling through? She loved her pets but they were as protective of their home as she was. If she put them outside again, a chance she’d had to take earlier given Scooter’s unreliable bladder, would they cross paths with the mother bear? Possibly. She pushed back her hair and sighed. Nothing to do but wait for the officer.

The officer... She stiffened. Possibly a man. One who would arrive soon. And she was still wearing her sleep shirt...

The doorbell rang.

Darn.

She grabbed an apron and hurried to the door. Scooter scrambled after her, reading the familiar signs for “visitor” that roughly translated, for him, into “person I must scare to death.” She kind of wished he would.

She unlatched the door and hip checked a baying Scooter out of the way. Jinx’s collar bell rang as the cat bolted after them. It seemed the Harris family welcoming party was in full force this morning. She stopped her eye roll before opening the door...and was glad she did.

Wow.

A powerfully built man, well over six feet, stood on her front porch. His green uniform stretched across broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapered down to a lean waist. Matching pants went on forever, ending in black boots bigger than Jinx. Too bad newly single Maggie wasn’t here. Her weakness for men in uniform was legendary and vocalized often.

Reining in her wandering thoughts, Vivie finally glanced up.

A Stetson covered his hair, the brim throwing shadows that pooled beneath high cheekbones and a cleft chin.

He resembled an actor playing an officer. Not the real deal. Not the kind of man she’d meet wearing a faded nightshirt covered by a poultry-patterned apron. She flushed. It shouldn’t matter...especially given who he worked for. Who he was...

“You—” she breathed. Her fingers tightened on the door handle.

“Miss Harris. A pleasure.”

She gave herself a shake, determined not to be swayed by his deep voice and twinkling light green eyes. This was anything but a happy reunion, she reminded herself.

Scooter butted her leg and she stumbled forward, banging her head on the door. Smooth. Real smooth.

“May I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

His full lips curled at the edges. “Not if you’re harboring wildlife again.”

She drummed her fingernails on the molding, wishing she still had her skillet in hand. Infuriating man. The last time she’d seen him, he’d given her a citation for leaving out leftover fresh vegetables and fruits behind her diner during last year’s brutal winter.

“Some would call that protecting.” She cocked an eyebrow and made to shut the door...only his steel-toed boot kept it from closing.

“That’s what I aim to do, ma’am,” he drawled, his confident expression making her flush hot.

“Protect what? Your promotion? Christmas bonus? It sure isn’t the animals because I’ve heard what you people do to injured wildlife.”

He leaned close, his eye flush with the open space of her door. “Is the bear injured?” he asked, his voice low but insistent.

She pictured the cub’s swollen jaw and felt a twinge of guilt. It did need medical attention and help finding its mother. But could she trust him to put the animal’s—not “nature’s”—best interests first? What choice did she have?

“Yes,” she muttered at last and slid the chain back. She paused before pulling the door open farther.

“Could you sort of come in sideways while I hold Scooter?”

“Pardon?” He pulled off his hat to reveal thick, dark hair that curled around the tops of his ears. He shooed the morning gnats away before settling the Stetson back on his head.

“The animals are a little—ah—spirited.” She pushed Scooter back. Relentless dog. Meanwhile Jinx leaped on the curved arm of a nearby chair, looking ready to pounce and take out this stranger. All eight pounds of her.

“Your domestic pets or the wild animal?”

She sighed. Was there a difference? Still, she couldn’t love them more. She thought of the terrified cub in her pantry, her affection including it as well. What would happen to it once this horrible man got hold of it? She eyed the officer.

“Pets.” She grabbed Scooter’s collar and body blocked Jinx, whose leap landed her on Vivie’s shoulder. She winced, then grimaced harder as the officer slid through her door.

“Not sure if you remember my name. I’m Liam Walsh and you’re Vivienne. Vivie, right?” He squatted and held out a hand to Scooter. “Come.”

His firm command quieted Scooter who trotted over and held up a paw. Unbelievable. It was a trick the shelter workers had taught him, one he only did to impress. Officer Walsh gave Scooter a high five, ruffled his ears and stood.

“Nice dog.”

She pressed her lips together to stop the forming smile. She would not be charmed. “Occasionally. The rest of the time, he’s a stinker.”

A low chuckle sounded and Officer Walsh’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Got one like that myself. A collie. Extra Pickles.” Jinx flung herself between them, landing neatly on Officer Walsh’s shoulders.

“You named your dog Extra Pickles?” She blinked up at him, surprised. How odd that this official, by-the-books man would name his dog something so unusual. Maybe he wasn’t just a policy-spouting drone in uniform.

He plucked Jinx from his neck and nuzzled her before setting her on the floor. “Her mom was Pickles so—”

“—she’s extra...” Vivie finished for him, staring.

He cleared his throat and pulled out a notebook and pen, suddenly appearing self-conscious. Her grandfather clock chimed seven times while Scooter sprawled at Officer Walsh’s feet, spit shining his boots.

“The dispatcher mentioned a bear cub...?”

Vivie nodded. “Last night. It came in through my open window. Must have smelled my pies.”

Officer Walsh lifted his fine nose and sniffed. “Is that raisin pie?”

She nodded, proud, despite her sour mood. “It didn’t get ruined, at least.”

“Your customers will be relieved.”

“And Maggie, my co-owner. She’s an amazing cook but hates baking. She was on vacation the week you ordered me to stop feeding the wild animals and let them starve.”

His eyes narrowed on her for a long moment. “Teaching them to fend for themselves rather than relying on handouts would be closer to the truth.”

“We had record low temperatures,” she snapped, her anger rising fresh and raw over the year-old incident.

“And the animals best equipped to survive it, did. Natural selection,” he observed with a mildness that infuriated her more. Didn’t the man have feelings?

“You really don’t care, do you?” she exclaimed.

“I care about doing my job.” He pocketed his notepad. “I’d like to see the bear now. Since my vacation starts tomorrow, I need to get this wrapped up.”

She glared, then turned without a word. Of course he’d be more concerned with his free time than the well-being of an animal. Oblivious to his abominable attitude, Scooter and Jinx trailed him into the kitchen as if he were their new best friend.

“It’s in the pantry. I’m not sure, but I think there’s something wrong with its jaw.”

She held Scooter’s collar while Officer Walsh eased into the food closet. Jinx paced while they waited, the officer’s murmuring voice coming through the thick door, indistinct, but reassuring in tone.

At last he emerged, his face grave.

“The cub’s about five months old. Probably not long out of the den. Definitely the first time without her mother. Her jaw looks dislocated, like you said. Probably fell out of the tree her mother chased her into when she sensed danger. Did you happen to see any lights outside last night?”

Vivie had been so focused on baking. “I might have seen a light, but it was far away. Back there.” She pointed out her kitchen window. “I guessed it was fireflies, or heat lightning. Why?”

His mouth thinned and he glanced down at her rambunctious pets. “It’ll help me narrow the search area. Would you keep your animals inside while I scout the property?”

Her hand rose to her jumping heart. A large predator could be near. One who might confront the officer. As much as she disliked the guy, she didn’t want him hurt. Much. Not that he seemed concerned. In fact, his no-nonsense attitude projected confidence. The pistol on his right hip heightened the impression. “Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”

“That’d be kind of you.” He tipped his hat and let himself out the back door. “Thanks.” His reassuring smile lingered in her mind’s eye, flash lightning in a pale blue sky. She shook the unwelcome sentiment away.

She untied her apron and raced upstairs. No telling how long he’d be gone, but she wouldn’t wear this crazy outfit another second. Within minutes she’d whipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, thrown her hair into a messy bun and dashed back downstairs.

In the kitchen, she paused at the pantry door and pressed her ear against it. Silence. Fear pulsed through her. What if the cub wasn’t well? Guilt welled up inside, filling places she hadn’t known existed. She should have called 911 last night instead of waiting for morning. Maybe they would have responded instead of Officer Walsh. Someone reasonable. With a beating heart.

She glimpsed his hat in the thicket behind her house and hurried to put on the coffee. He’d better take care of the cub. Protect it. Or she would. Hopefully it’d be in a good place soon—maybe with its mom—and she could breathe easier.

A burbling sound, punctuated by a hazelnut aroma, permeated the room in minutes. Officer Walsh talked on his cell outside, pacing alongside her back porch.

What had he found and who was he speaking to?

She set out two mugs of coffee and the sugar doughnuts she’d fried up a couple days ago. She eyed the creamer and sugar and left them beside her mixer. He looked like the kind of guy who took his brew black. Her diner-honed instincts were rarely wrong. At last, the back door creaked and she whirled, swallowing a bite of doughnut.

“Any sign of the mother?”

His features sharpened, his expression grave.

“Possibly. Did you hear any gunshots last night?”

Her heart swooped low. “Maybe. When I turned off my oven timer, I might have heard something. But it was faint and ended too fast for me to be sure.”

“What time?”

She glanced at the cuckoo clock beside her wall calendar, trying to remember. “Somewhere between nine and nine-thirty, I think. Was a bear shot?” Her throat tightened. “The mother?”

His pen flew across his pad and his eyes, more hazel than green now that he was closer, rose to meet hers. A smattering of light freckles dotted his nose. “It’s possible. There are tracks and blood a couple hundred yards east. Looks like big game. Have you seen any strange vehicles or people around your property lately?”

Her gaze swerved to the pepper spray still on her table, a ribbon of nerves moving through her stomach. She might well and truly have confronted an intruder last night. Someone armed. Again.

She held herself, hiding her shudder.

No. Not here. This remote, sleepy town was largely immune to random violence, a major factor in her decision to settle here rather than sell the house.

“My neighbor Muriel and her husband have some nephews from the Midwest house-sitting while they’re away. The guys are here on a fishing trip.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have you met them?”

“No, just heard about it from Muriel. They’re her sister’s sons.”

“Names?” His voice clipped, he sounded different from the guy who’d joked about a dog named Extra Pickles and high-fived Scooter. Back was the man who’d once ignored her pleas to let her keep feeding the animals last winter.

A breeze rushed through the open window above her sink, carrying the crisp smell of a spring morning—pine sap, fresh earth and growing things. It loosened a strand from her bun and sent it fluttering across her mouth.

She handed him a mug, then lifted her own. “She didn’t say. Just told me they’d visited during hunting season last fall and had come back to fish. Would you like a doughnut?” She cursed her ingrained manners, wishing she could give him the boot instead of baked goods.

“Thanks.” He split one in half and dunked it in his coffee before taking a bite. “These are good.” He chewed another piece, his expression intent as he stared outside.

She grabbed a dish towel and wiped up a bit of pie filling she’d missed last night. “Do you think they killed her?”

He gulped more coffee and lowered his mug, his mouth in a straight line. “I’ll find out.”

“What about the cub?”

His gaze swerved to hers. “I’ll have to put it down if I can’t find the mother.”

Vivie clutched the back of a chair, light-headed and nauseous. “What? No!” How could he say that so casually?

“I’ve called around and our wildlife rehabilitators are overloaded. Since the cub is too young to fend for itself, the humane thing to do is—”

“Kill it?” she stormed, interrupting. “How is that humane?” The cub’s frightened eyes came to mind and she backed up against the pantry door. Officer or not, he wouldn’t take the bear. Stop her from helping. It’d come to her home. Had sought refuge here.

He pulled off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Ma’am, I don’t expect you to understand. But you need to trust me and move aside so that I can do my job.”

“Not a chance,” she ground out, wishing her pepper spray wasn’t across the room.

“Please be reasonable.” He raised his eyebrows, looking harmless. His holstered weapon told a different story.

Maybe she could reason with him, though she’d failed before. There had to be a way to save the cub. “How do you become a wildlife rehabilitator?”

He drew in a long breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “Pass a certification test, then work under the supervision of a rehabilitator for six months.”

Tests. She hated them. Had only ever done well on presentation-style exams in culinary school. Still, for the baby bear...anything. “And when is the next one?”

“In a week.” He made a vague motion in the air with his hand. “Look. I’d be happy to discuss that with you another time, but the cub might be suffering. Please step aside so that I can take it.”

She raised her voice over her drumming heartbeat. “I’ll pass the test. Get certified.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making the curl-tipped ends stand up. “You’d have to study hundreds of pages of online material. It’s not easy. Trust me. I took it and barely finished my apprenticeship before my academy training started.”

“So you’re a certified wildlife rehabilitator? You could care for it.”

His chin jerked. “I already have a job.”

Her mind shifted into overdrive, churning up possibilities. “Not next week. You said you’re on vacation. You could take her while I study for the test.”

He blew out a long breath. “I don’t have an enclosure—something you’ll need along with someone to supervise you.”

She tried to come across as commanding, though at five-foot-three inches that was always a challenge. “You could help with both.”

He shook his head, his earnest expression replaced with a wash of annoyance. “Out of the question. There are too many ifs in that idea.”

She tried keeping the heat out of her voice. The DEC. Always so difficult. Especially Walsh. “Why? I’m sure you could call in a favor. Ask one of the rehabilitators to find temporary space for the cub. Then I’ll pass the test and, with your help, be approved to care for it. Don’t you want to do the right thing?”

Wasn’t that his job?

“I do. Which is why I’m taking the bear. Now.”

“Not a chance. You’ll have to go through me first.” She hated to sound dramatic, use a cheesy line from bad TV, but there was no other way to say it.

A crease appeared between his brows, his eyes scanning hers. Finally, he released a long breath.

“How about this—I’ll take her to the vet where they’ll check her jaw, give her some food and a safe place to stay, temporarily, while I continue investigating.”

She considered, wishing she could trust him. But after her dealings with him before, her faith was on the short side.

“Let’s try this,” she countered. “I’ll go with you and stay with the bear until you come back. Then we’ll talk about what happens next.”

He settled his hat back on, pinching the indented top. “There’s no reason to get more involved, ma’am.”

She pulled out her cell and tapped in Maggie’s number. Someone could come by and pick up the pies. Another worker would be called in for an extra shift. The Homestead would manage without her today. She wasn’t leaving the cub’s side until she knew it’d be safe—from nature and the DEC.

“It’s much too late for that, Officer Walsh.”

She studied him for a long, heavy moment, then moved aside. If the cub’s mother was dead, then she’d take on the role.

And nothing was more ferocious than a mama bear...


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f6ee25c6-0e1d-5bb1-b20a-31a866f1dd97)

LIAM HOPPED INTO his black SUV an hour later and backed out of the vet-office parking lot, his mind focused more on the investigation than the road.

Gut instinct told him someone had shot the cub’s mother last night, and the scared orphan had followed its nose to food and shelter. He cranked the wheel, heading back to Vivie’s neighbors’ house.

Poachers.

Had to be.

The visiting nephews might be here on a fishing trip or they might not. His fingers tapped the wheel, his jaw tight. Either way, he’d get to the bottom of it. Eight years on the job and it still surprised him how quickly people confessed when a uniformed officer knocked on their door.

He didn’t expect trouble. Not from the men. The spitfire he’d left at the clinic, on the other hand...she was a handful. Just as she’d vowed, she’d followed him and the bear in a beat-up pickup, tailgating him all the way despite the winding roads. Steel lurked beneath her pretty face and expressive eyes.

She’d put up a fight when he returned for the bear. No doubt about it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find the mother dead and could release the cub to rejoin its parent. The other alternative, however...

The ugly thought lingered. He’d never been a hunter. Didn’t relish killing, though he’d done his duty as a marine in Afghanistan. His mind veered from those brutal memories.

Ending a young animal’s life was horrible. Yet the cub couldn’t survive on its own, and without a trained caregiver, humanely putting it down might be the only option.

Unless he considered Vivie’s outrageous proposal...

He punched on the radio, the music overriding his crazy thoughts. Of course he wouldn’t let a novice take on such a large task, even under his supervision. Vivie didn’t have a clue what it entailed.

Plus, she was already acting possessive of the cub. If he went along with her plan, she’d still have to surrender it when he released it this fall. If the jaw didn’t heal properly, he’d need to find a permanent home at an animal reserve or sanctuary. Would she be able to let it go? He doubted it. She seemed like the type to get emotionally involved.

He shook his head, thankful he’d never let himself get attached to anyone or any place...not after the war. Room. Freedom. That was what he needed.

When he opened the windows, the rushing air making him want to follow wherever it led. His sister Mary Ann accused him of having wanderlust and he didn’t correct her. She couldn’t know what’d really happened to him in Kunar, Afghanistan. None of his family needed the extra pressure while they helped his twin brother, Niall—also an army vet—deal with losing his leg. Instead, Liam kept what had happened to him buried deep, wishing he could hide it from himself, too.

Every few years the compulsion to get out was too intense, so he relocated. He’d been investigating positions in Yellowstone National Park lately, the familiar pressure growing stronger and heavier each day. Hopefully it wouldn’t be difficult to get time off for Mary Ann’s August wedding if he got hired.

Mammoth fir trees flashed by as he whizzed up Vivie’s road, the majestic sentinels impressive as always. A small brook wove along the roadside, its water sparkling under the strengthening sun. Cedar-scented air filled his lungs.

As he rounded a bend, a smallish home, two stories, with white siding and a red tin roof came into view. He’d passed it on his way to Vivie’s this morning and noted that the mailbox number matched the address she’d given him. He pulled in behind a navy truck parked in front of a detached, single-car garage. As he eased outside, a large pit bull perked up its ears, then raced toward him, barking and straining against its chain.

“Easy, big guy,” Liam murmured, pitching his voice low and firm. The dog’s massive jaws snapped a foot short of his leg. Liam’s eyes roamed over the thick metal links wrapped around a willow tree, an overturned water bowl and a bone the size of his calf resting beneath it. He gave the animal a wide berth and strode up to the porch, his hand automatically running over his Glock and flipping open the holster’s snap. It paid to be ready in case these guys surprised him.

He rang the bell a few times, then tugged open the metal screen to knock, peering through the side glass panels. An empty living room and a narrow hall were visible. Little else. Still, with a vehicle on the premises, his suspects could be out back.

He shooed away the blackflies nagging at his ears and paced around the house, listening for voices.

Tinkling wind chimes sounded and birds called out their territory from the surrounding trees. Otherwise, silence reigned. When he rounded the house’s rear corner he pulled up short, the air sticking inside his lungs.

A black bear hung from a massive maple, rope tying its paws to a thick limb. He smothered an exclamation, his worst suspicions confirmed when he noted the animal’s swollen teats. A lactating female. Most likely the cub’s mother. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a couple of photos.

Had the men answered the front door, any evidence he found without a search warrant wouldn’t be admissible. Yet glimpsing it while trying to contact them at the back door—that would squeak by the judge. And these guys would see their day in court.

His eyes narrowed as he turned away from the bear. He’d haul them in today. Vivie had mentioned they weren’t New Yorkers. Out-of-state meant flight risk and an appearance before the bench. His lips stretched in a grim smile. Justice was sweetest when served fast.

After another regretful look at the beautiful animal, he called in backup, then marched up concrete-block steps and rapped on the door. When no one answered, he pounded on it again, using the side of his fist. He doubted the hunters would leave their prize unguarded. They were skulking inside and someone better open the door, quick, before his patience ran out.

Poachers.

The lowest life-form on the planet.

“Open up. DEC!” he ordered loudly.

At last a man swung the door open, his eyes red and puffy, dark stubble shading his sagging jaw, chin and neck. At the sight of Liam, he straightened his slouch, his lax mouth closing.

Liam flashed his badge. “Officer Walsh. May I come in?”

The man nodded, then seemed to remember he had a voice. “Uh, yeah.” His eyes darted over Liam’s shoulder to the bear, then swerved back. “Come in.”

Liam stepped inside a small, square kitchen littered with beer cans and a nearly empty pizza box on the table. He scrunched his nose at the sour smell of cheap malt and sweat, and noted a high-powered rifle with a scope leaning in the far corner. No signs of fishing gear...

Liam pulled out his notebook and spoke, keeping his voice neutral. Measured. “If anyone else is here, go get them.”

The man dug at his ear and gaped at him.

“Now,” Liam repeated, his voice harder. This wasn’t a social call. Not by a stretch.

The man hurried off, his loose belly jiggling over a pair of boxers. When he returned, another man trudged behind the first, his face pinched, skin pale. In contrast to his fleshy friend, his limbs were elongated and sticklike, kneecaps nearly cutting through flesh.

“Any more weapons in the house?”

The thin man nodded, his eyes darting around the kitchen like hummingbirds. “My rifle.”

“Go get it.” Liam wasn’t worried about these guys pulling anything on him. Besides, his backup would be here in minutes.

The guy whirled and disappeared the way he’d come.

“ID?”

“I’m Tim Favero and that’s my brother Matt.” Tim lumbered over to a couple of flannel jackets hanging on the backs of chairs, pulled out wallets and fished out Montana driver’s licenses.

Liam scribbled down the information, then glanced up as Matt returned carrying his weapon.

“This is it.” He placed his gun beside the pizza box, scattering empty cans. They clattered to the floor and rolled.

“How’d that bear end up in the backyard?” Liam stared them down. Tim lowered his gaze and Matt’s mouth worked for a moment.

“Someone needs to start talking,” Liam barked. “Now.”

“I-it’s ours,” Matt sputtered, cracking his bony knuckles.

“Looks like it’s been shot.”

“Tim got it last night. About eight miles west of here.”

Matt ducked his head at his brother’s accusing stare and scratched the back of his neck.

“Could have been your shot,” Tim’s voice rose, accusingly. “We only had the one floodlight and we both fired at her.”

An argument broke out, silenced when Liam held up a hand. “You knew it was a female right away?”

The men quieted and studied their feet. At last, Tim said, “Saw a cub run up a tree, I guess.”

A sinking feeling settled in Liam’s gut. No doubt about it. Vivie’s cub was orphaned. Would need to be put down. He dragged his mind off the miserable thought. He had to focus on this job first. Hopefully his backup would arrive soon so he could ticket them and call the judge. Get things on a predictable, all-too-familiar track.

“You two have hunting licenses?”

Matt nodded, his movement jerky as he pulled the paperwork from their wallets.

Liam scanned the Montana paperwork, then glanced up. “You got some for New York?”

Tim shrugged. “Didn’t think it was necessary. We hunt big game out there.”

Liam willed the irritation off his face. Every hunter knew to get a state license. What a wise guy.

“Off season?”

The guys exchanged an uneasy glance. “No,” Matt squeaked.

“So you thought you’d come to the Adirondacks and try it?”

“Yes. I mean, no,” Matt’s answer changed at a sharp glance from his brother. “I don’t know,” he added lamely, shoving back a greasy lock of hair.

“Are these the weapons you used last night?” Liam pointed at the rifles.

The men nodded. “We’ve got our gun permits.”

Liam didn’t doubt it. Still, it paid to double-check. “Let’s see them.”

As Tim grabbed the paperwork, a loud barking erupted. Backup. Liam breathed a sigh of relief. These guys were cooperating, but an extra pair of hands would make this easier.

“Matt. Call off your dog and let in my colleague. He’ll be coming up to the front door now.”

“Got it.” The man smiled unevenly and stumbled away.

Were these guys still drunk? Hungover from celebrating last night’s kill? Worse, had they been intoxicated while shooting near Vivie’s house? The thought stabbed through him. She shouldn’t be living on her own so deep in the woods.

He studied the gun permits then looked up when another officer, James Ruffalo, strode into the room, his back as straight as his pants’ crease. Since they were the same age—twenty-seven—and had joined the department around the same time, they’d hung out and become friends.

“I’m Officer Ruffalo.” He nodded curtly to Tim then glanced at Liam, a grim smile ghosting across his face. “Officer Walsh.”

“James.” Liam jerked his chin. “They’re getting ticketed and then arraigned since they’re out of state. I’d appreciate you taking Tim to the courthouse while Matt and I follow.”

“Got it.”

“We’re going to court?” sputtered Tim, his body shaking in indignation, his thick face flushing red. James shot him a stern look that settled him down. Matt, on the other hand, grew paler, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead and upper lip.

Liam pulled out another pad and began writing. In the tense silence, James headed to the back window and whistled long and sharp at what Liam guessed was his sighting of the dead bear. Matt repeatedly cleared his throat. After a couple of minutes, Liam clicked his pen, ripped off the last slip and handed a small pile of paper to Tim.

“You’re being ticketed with the following misdemeanors—taking wildlife out of season, illegally taking wildlife and taking a bear with the use of artificial light, as well as hunting without a license—a violation.”

“Both of us?” Matt picked up an open beer can and drained what was left of it.

Liam nodded. “Let’s go, boys.”

Just as he’d hoped, they followed him and James, a textbook arrest.

If only the woman waiting back at the vet clinic would be as easy to handle...

* * *

“MISS HARRIS, WE have the results for the cub.”

Vivie stood and straightened her cramped back. How long had she been sitting in that plastic chair? It felt like hours. She scanned her cell-phone screen, the time confirming her suspicions.

“How is she, Doctor Morrison?”

The pretty veterinarian smiled, the creases around her mouth and eyes deepening. “Her jaw was dislocated. Looks like she hit it hard—maybe in a fall. Hopefully it will heal properly now that I’ve reset it or she’ll have trouble feeding in the wild. Otherwise, she’s dehydrated and stressed, but healthy. No life-threatening issues.”

Vivie’s joints loosened and her breath rushed in, easier than it had this morning.

“So she’ll be all right.”

Doctor Morrison freed her gray-streaked braid from her name tag then nodded. “As long as her jaw heals well, there’s no impediment to her living a long life.”

None except Officer Walsh...

Vivie wondered what had kept him so long. She’d thought he’d be back in an hour or so, but was glad for the chance to delay whatever he had in mind for the bear’s future. Rather than dwell on the negative, she’d spent her time studying the DEC’s online material for the certification test. If Officer Walsh had been around, he might have said it was unnecessary, bursting the lovely plans inflating in her head.

“May I see her?”

The doctor nodded and gestured behind her. “Right this way. We had to sedate her earlier, so she might be a bit sleepy.”

Vivie entered a spacious room with several cages, all empty except one.

Her pulse leaped at the sight of the small black animal behind metal bars, her claws poking through them.

“Hi, sweetie.” She stuck a finger inside and stroked the cub’s nose, making her lids lift slowly, her deep brown eyes meeting Vivie’s.

Immediately, the bear jerked to her feet and pressed against the cage door, grunting.

“It’s okay.” Vivie imagined the poking and prodding she’d gotten today. No wonder she was disoriented and frightened. What a long ordeal for such a young animal. “Everything is going to be all right from now on. Promise.”

She turned to the doctor. “May I hold her?”

The veterinarian studied her then nodded slowly. “Just for a moment. We’re not supposed to let wild animals around people, but you were so good to those animals last winter.” They smiled at each other, remembering when Vivie had sought medical attention for the lame critter she’d found by her dumpster.

The doctor lifted the latch and swung open the door, gently pulling out the struggling bear.

“She’s heavier than she looks!” Vivie exclaimed, holding her tight when Doctor Morrison handed her over.

“Twenty-three pounds. A little underweight, actually, but within range. ”

Vivie inhaled the musky, clean scent of the cub, pulling her warm body closer still. She sniffed Vivie and seemed to relax. Vivie held in a laugh at the ticklish wet nose poking her ear.

The doctor stroked the cub’s back. “She likes you. She gave the vet tech a bit of a hard time earlier. Hardly got her to take half the bottle. But that’s understandable given her dislocation.”

Vivie snuggled the bear closer, kissing the top of her head when she burrowed under Vivie’s chin. “Can I try?”

Dr. Morrison appeared torn. “This is going against policy, but I’d sure like to see her eat.”

A minute later, Vivie was in a rocking chair, a blanket spread on her lap, the cub on its back, pulling hard at the rubber nipple from the uninjured side of her mouth.

“She likes it!” Joy filled Vivie as she watched the hungry youngster eat. The cub held the bottle between her paws, her eyes locked on Vivie’s. Too cute.

“I’m glad she’s eating so well,” observed Dr. Morrison. “Wasn’t sure if she’d be able to do it. But she seems like a pro now. Once the swelling goes down, she should be able to try regular food.”

“Of course she’s a champion.” Vivie smiled, feeling absurdly proud. She’d helped the bear eat. Had saved her last night. Everything about this moment felt right. Meant to be. If only Officer Walsh wasn’t in the picture...

As if on cue, the tall, trim man pushed through the swinging door and came toward them, his face grim.

“Thank you for caring for the bear today, Doctor Morrison.”

The older woman smiled up at him. “Always happy to help out the DEC. Any word about the cub’s mother?”

Vivie tensed, guessing his news from his expression. He glanced at her, his sad eyes belying the firm set of his mouth. “She’s been killed. Just finished up at the court house arraigning the poachers.”

“You’re sure it’s her?” Vivie gasped, fear snaking through her. She contemplated the oblivious cub who’d nearly finished her bottle. Was this her last meal? If the DEC had its way, it would be.

He nodded slowly. “Positive. The men confessed to everything.”

She stroked the cub’s face, imagining armed strangers trekking through her woods, the vicious assault on the mother bear, the frightened orphan with nowhere to turn until it’d found her.

“So then...” She couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence.

Officer Walsh’s face gentled as he gazed at her, then the cub.

“I’ll be taking the bear and you can return to your diner. Thank you, Vivie, for helping today. If there were more people like you, we wouldn’t have these kinds of incidents.”

“I’ll get the cub in its carrier.” Dr. Morrison pulled the bear from Vivie and hurried away, leaving a strained silence behind.

“You’re just like the men you arrested,” Vivie accused when she could speak, despair and fury washing through her. “Killing an innocent animal.”

Officer Walsh took off his hat, his hair flatter than it’d been this morning, the strain around his eyes turning their color to moss.

“I’m performing a legal act. A humane one. The cub’s mother is dead and given her injured jaw and age, she’ll starve on her own.” He touched Vivie’s arm lightly and she jerked away. “I have no choice.”

“You do have a choice. We could save this animal’s life.” She held up her smartphone. “I’ve been studying all day for the test. Give me this chance.”

His eyes widened. “This isn’t about you, it’s about the bear.”

Insulted, she stuffed her cell away. “Yes. An animal you’re supposed to protect. I’m taking this seriously. So should you.”

Silence hung between them, tight and brittle, thrumming.

He glanced over at the eavesdropping vet tech. “Let’s discuss this outside.”

In the parking lot, he stopped beside his black SUV, the DEC police emblem painted in gold. She craned her neck to meet his eyes, hoping for some compassion, understanding, agreement, but the emotion she’d glimpsed earlier was gone, replaced by a shuttered expression.

“I’m taking this very seriously,” he began, his boots planted shoulder width apart, his hands linked behind his back. “Putting the bear down is the only sensible solution.”

“Sensible or easy?” she asked, feeling violent enough to push that mountain of a man. Get him to wake up. Realize how wrong he was.

He rocked back on his heels, as if her words had shoved him.

“It’s not that black-and-white. Let’s say you do pass the test. I help you build a code-approved structure and supervise your apprenticeship. Are you prepared for the rigors of caring for a wild animal? Big game? She could be nearing eighty pounds before she’s released or I locate a permanent home for her.”

The smell of barbecue floated on the late afternoon air and her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten since...when? The doughnut this morning? If anything, that showed how dedicated she was to the cub. To all of her pet family.

“If she’s injured, she’d be better off staying with me. Permanently. No release needed.” The sun slanted over a line of birches, spinning the fine hairs on his arms into gold.

Officer Walsh’s face softened. “That’d be the worst outcome...and unlikely. Wildlife rehabilitators only care for animals until they can either be returned to their habitat or placed in a sanctuary or reserve. Sooner or later you would lose her.”

“Then let it be later!” she cried, pacing. She’d fight that battle when the time came. For now, she had to win this war. Convince him to give her a chance. The bear had sought a home last night and Vivie would give it to her.

“And what about your diner?” He tapped the cleft in his chin. “You’re running a business. Taking care of the cub, especially in the early weeks, will be time-consuming.”

“I can make my own hours. Bake desserts and do the books, the schedules and ordering from home.” She leaned in, sure she could persuade him—if he had a beating heart. “That’s my usual contribution, anyway, since Maggie oversees the cooking and staff. Going in and seeing the customers every day isn’t necessary. Trust me, I’ve got this figured out.”

She clenched her chattering teeth and thought of the years she’d struggled to put her life together after her own attack. Her hands balled at her sides. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let this bear be a victim of circumstances beyond its control. It was a survivor, hadn’t given up. And neither would Vivie.

The bell above the clinic door jingled and Doctor Morrison emerged, lugging the oversize pet carrier. Officer Walsh reached the veterinarian in three long strides and grabbed the handle.

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Please send the bill to the DEC.”

Doctor Morrison glanced between the two of them then nodded. “Will do. Take care, now.”

Vivie waited until the clinic’s door swung shut to speak again.

“Please give me the cub.”

“We both know that can’t happen.” He placed the carrier atop the SUV, beyond her reach, and opened his trunk. “This is life, Vivie. Not everything, or everyone, gets a happy ending.”

She almost choked. Who knew that better than her? The bear’s fate shouldn’t be decided on someone else’s whim.

When Officer Walsh placed the carrier in the trunk, the little cub rushed to the wire grate and poked out her nose. Vivie thrust her fingers inside and stroked her fur. She met the animal’s wide, frightened eyes, her heart surging.

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. Was that a rifle behind the carrier? Would he use it to shoot the little bear?

“It’s the kindest thing I can do for her.” His low words plunged through Vivie.

She whirled, her vision blurring. “You’re nothing but a cold-blooded killer.”

His face tightened as he slammed the trunk and pulled his keys from his pocket.

“It was nice to see you again, Vivie. And believe me. I’m sorry about all of this.”

“I wish I’d never seen you again.” She collapsed against the side of her truck and watched the SUV drive away, her bear inside.

Images of the horrible deed about to unfold flashed through her mind—a nightmarish slideshow. How could she have let this happen?

She leaned her forehead against her pickup’s window.

Another crime was about to be committed, and just like last time, she was helpless to stop it.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_e7857ef4-6029-5d07-83e4-f17d72971efa)

LIAM’S SUV BOUNCED on the backwoods road, the caged cub yipping whenever they smacked along a tooth-rattling rise. The farther into the forest he drove, the dimmer it became, small animals appearing then vanishing as he rounded a bend. Birds swooped before his windshield, chasing each other from the leafed-out trees.

Under other circumstances, Liam would have enjoyed the wild beauty around him. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the animal carrier. But this mission shattered the early-evening peace, shading it in sepia tones that matched his bleak mood. He didn’t want to kill the cub. Had hoped he’d reunite it with its mother. But his time in Afghanistan and work with the DEC had taught him that life wasn’t always fair.

“You get what you put into it.” Jim’s remembered voice sounded real enough to make Liam jerk the wheel. The SUV swerved then straightened, cold sweat slicking the back of Liam’s neck. In an instant, his mind flashed back to Afghanistan and he saw his friend offering him a cigarette as they finished their outpost wall patrol.

“We’re not making it out of this,” Liam insisted. His eyes scanned desert hills that hid more insurgents than their small unit could hold off. When he grabbed the cigarette, he dropped his night-vision gear.

“Don’t lose faith, kid.” Jim patted his arm, his lips curling in a lopsided smile before he bent for the goggles.

“Have it for both of us, Jim.”

A shot rang out and Liam ducked, his heart firing as fast as the bullet.

He reached for his friend.

“Jim?”

No answer.

“Jim!” His hands came away wet, his scream swallowed by the dark night.

The bear’s bark yanked Liam back to the present and he jerked the vehicle into a wider area in the road and parked. His head dropped to the steering wheel, his breath coming hard. A dull roar filled his ears and pain burrowed deep between his eyes.

At last, heart heavy, he turned off the ignition and listened to the engine tick, then quiet. He tossed his hat onto the passenger seat and dropped his head back. How could he do this?

How could he not?

For a moment, he imagined letting the cub go. No one in the department would be the wiser. But then he pictured it unable to find food without its mother’s help, the slow torture of starving to death. Or he envisioned larger animals chasing and killing it. A much crueler way to die than a single bullet. As a former sharpshooter, he could ensure the cub didn’t suffer a moment. Since the department didn’t have the budget to euthanize animals, it was the only way to keep it from a painful, drawn-out death.

The bear rustled behind him, a scratching sound of claws on metal. He should get on with it. If the guys at work saw this, they’d hassle him. Call him out for acting like a wimp. They’d tell him to stop putting off the inevitable. For them, it seemed easy. Yet to him, it was torture.

A high-pitched bark sounded, startling Liam from his thoughts. The cub’s stress was escalating. Delaying this did no one any good. His hands slipped on the door handle before he pushed it down. A clammy sensation crawled along his skin as he trudged to the back of the SUV and threw open the back door.

Killer. Vivie’s accusation whispered in his ear. He jerked, as if she were beside him. No denying her anger was genuine. Justified? No. She didn’t understand. Had unreasonable expectations that would end badly—the cub would likely fail to thrive at her inexperienced hands, and she or the cub could suffer a serious, even fatal, injury if it was mishandled. He shook his head. Better to face the worst now instead of later.

The small cub’s eyes met his through the bars. It was spooked. Had a right to be, he thought, as he hefted the carrier and a length of rope. He forced his leaden legs to carry him to a large maple, its trunk thick enough to secure the bear. He looped the restraint over its head then tied it to the base of the tree.

An image of the mother bear hanging from a similar maple flashed in his mind. Vivie’s comparison of Liam to the poachers had struck a chord, but he acted within the law, while they broke it. Their illegal actions had started this and now he had the horrible, despicable task of finishing it.

Why did it have to be like this?

“Because that’s life,” a voice—his, this time—whispered.

“Sorry, little girl,” he muttered when he headed back for his rifle, the empty pet carrier in hand. He shoved the crate inside and grabbed his gun, his lungs sluggish in his tight chest. He did not want to do this. Would trade places with anyone in the world not to...but that was the coward’s way. Passing off painful jobs because you couldn’t carry out your duty.

The weight of it crushed his chest. Would helping Vivie with her crazy plan be harder than this? Could he build an enclosure after persuading a rehabilitator to take the bear for a week? It might work, though he’d be tying himself to Vivie as her supervisor until they released the bear in the fall or found a home for it. If the cub’s jaw didn’t heal, an animal reserve was the only option. Waiting lists for one were long, if a spot opened up at all. In the end, he and the bear could find themselves in this spot again.

He sighed, air leaving him in a long stream. The plan was improbable when he imagined all that could go wrong.

He slipped a single round into the rifle and snapped it closed. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the only noise coming from the bear—a low, keening wail.

The weapon hung by his side, seeming to weigh a ton. Vivie had fought hard for the bear. Had stayed at the clinic all day and studied up on big-game care. Her devotion was clear. Would it wane when the daily chores turned tedious? Was she one of those people who got caught up in the fantasy, then lost interest in the reality?

He thought of her deaf Labrador and half-blind cat. She seemed attracted to high-needs animals. Was her dedication strong enough to take on this life?

He shook his head, raised his weapon and sighted the small animal through his scope. Too many uncertainties...

* * *

“MR. GOWETTE,” VIVIE called to her departing customer, holding up a water glass. “You forgot your teeth.”

The diner’s door swung shut behind the hunched mechanic and Vivie slumped against the counter. “Again.” She sighed, fished out the dentures with a fork, dropped them in a to-go container and placed them on the shelf beneath the cash register. He’d be back. Had probably done it on purpose to get away from his wife—a notorious faultfinder with a voice that peeled paint.

She glanced at the cat clock hanging above the rear shelves, its black-and-white striped tail swinging in time with its eyes. Eight o’clock. The cub...

A warm arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Hey. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”

Maggie’s topaz eyes smiled into hers.

“No. It’s not.” Vivie’s throat closed tight after the last word and tears threatened. She grabbed a dishrag from the bucket of cleaning solution and wiped the yellow-and-gold-speckled counter.

Maggie’s hand dropped over hers. “You already cleaned that.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Maggie.”

“You’re trying to stay busy. And I get it. I’m so sorry about the cub.”

Vivie ached, thinking about the orphaned bear, dead, alone in the woods, no one to care. No one but her.

“I could have given her a home.” She automatically reached behind her when their laconic short order cook, Rowdy, dinged the “food’s up” bell.

“Who’s got the chef’s salad, no meat, no cheese, no dressing?” Vivie called. A large man wearing camouflage shorts and a white tank raised his hand. “Double-bacon cheeseburger and loaded fries?” A small woman, her gray hair purple under the fluorescent lights, waved her handkerchief from down the counter.

“Right.” She bustled off to one of their chrome-edged tables, the top matching the diner’s counters. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else on this, Pete?”

The logger shook his head, his long earlobes shaking beneath buzzed brown hair. “Watching my weight. Wife and I are renewing our vows next month, and I want to get into my old tux.”

“One Heart Attack.” Maggie presented their burger special with a flourish. “Will you be having anything else, Sister Mary?” she asked the retired nun, a twinkle in her eye.

“If you’ve got any raisin pie left, I’d have a slice of that.”

“One Ministroke, coming up,” Maggie called cheerfully. “I think you got the last slice.”

“Good. Can’t imagine a better way to meet my maker,” the elderly woman joked, lifting a burger bigger than her face and taking an enormous bite. No worries with dentures there, mused Vivie.

She headed back to the counter, grabbing dirty plates off tables as she went. Since the loggers had come and gone, and she’d wanted Maggie to herself, they’d let the waitstaff go after the evening rush had ended.

Brett, Rowdy’s nephew, pushed through the double wooden doors from the kitchen, an empty plastic bin on his hip. “I’ll take those, Miss Harris,” he said softly, his usual lisp barely audible.

She handed over the dishes and joined Maggie at the counter, grabbing a salt container and refilling the shakers.

“Why don’t you go home?” Maggie offered. “I don’t mind staying and Brett can wait tables if we get busy.” She untied a scarf from her bright red hair and shook the curling mass loose.

Vivie contemplated the cozy diner, the yellow tables, the floral-patterned wallpaper covered with vintage local pictures, the spider plants that hung at each window. This felt like home—as much so as her real one. And going back meant facing the empty pantry and thoughts of the cub’s fate. No. She wasn’t ready for that. The extra food and water she’d left out for Scooter and Jinx would do.

“Life isn’t fair, is it, Sister Mary?” She sidled down the counter and passed the woman a jar of hot sauce, anticipating her customer’s usual request.

“Nope. And then you die,” drawled the woman, who nodded her thanks before dumping a quarter of the bottle’s contents over her fries.

Vivie shivered, imagining the bear.

“You want me to start tomorrow’s goulash, Maggie?” Rowdy rested his elbows on the stainless-steel surface in the cutout between the kitchen and the restaurant, his white tank top sticking to his damp chest.

“Might as well.” Maggie rolled cutlery into paper napkins and wound a self-stick wrapper around it, making a pile on the counter beside her. Vivie caught her sideways glance. “I’ll be back to help in a few minutes.”

“Suit yourself.” Rowdy disappeared into his domain and Vivie joined Maggie, grabbing a fork, knife and spoon to help out.

“The cub’s in a better place, now. Not suffering.” Maggie patted Vivie’s hand before grabbing more utensils.

Vivie’s fingers fumbled, the wrapper sliding off the napkin. “She would have been better off with me than dead.”

Melodic whistling rose from the kitchen, a heavy metal tune turned into elevator music on Rowdy’s lips. Brett hustled back into the kitchen, his dish container half-full.

“The cub would have grown into a full-sized bear. You never could have cared for something that big.”

“I would have tried.”

“You did everything you could, Vivie. You always do. Don’t torture yourself.”

“I know,” she said, though she didn’t believe it. Not deep down. There must have been something else she could have done. Words that might have convinced the stubborn officer. It’d been a long time since she’d felt so helpless—her life out of her control. She’d thought she’d never have that desperate feeling again after making a secure home and career for herself.

“Officer Walsh sounds like a terrible person.” Maggie’s smile drooped a little, the closest her upbeat friend came to a frown.

“He—” Vivie dropped the napkin she’d just rolled as the bell above their glass door jingled and the man himself strode in. What was he doing here? Did he honestly think she’d put out the welcome mat? Of all the arrogant, egotistical...

He doffed his hat and smiled. “Good evening, ladies.”

Vivie flicked her eyes at Maggie. Given her friend’s soft gasp, she’d been right to think the officer was her type.

“What are you doing here, Officer Walsh?” she ground out. Maggie gawked at her, then at the man nonchalantly seating himself at the counter. Her counter! Now she regretted wiping it. If she could give him salmonella, she would; it’d be worth the lawsuit.

“Call me Liam. I came for a piece of your raisin pie,” he said lightly, his face relaxed, green eyes unnervingly guilt-free. Did the man have no remorse? No soul?

“Claimed it!” called Sister Mary, waving a dripping french fry.

The whistling in the kitchen stopped and Rowdy pushed through the kitchen door. He stopped beside Vivie and glowered at their latest customer. Brett was right behind his uncle, a similar expression on his face. No welcome for the man she’d been complaining about this past hour.

“What’s he doing here?” mumbled Rowdy, the flick of his braid over his shoulder as agitated a move as she’d ever seen him make.

“Wants pie,” put in Pete. He held up his empty salad bowl. “I’ll have a piece of the apple with some ice cream after all, if you’ve got it.”

“That’s the spirit, Pete!” the sister called, her mouth full of burger. “Your wife didn’t marry you for your looks, anyway.”

An appalled silence fell. Then Maggie’s pixie laugh rang out and the others joined in, Pete the loudest. Only Vivie and Officer Walsh remained silent, eying each other.

“Guess not,” Pete sputtered, still chuckling. “Better make that two scoops, Maggie.”

“Coming up.” She pulled a couple of pie tins from the glass case on the counter and slid pieces onto plates. She passed the apple to Rowdy. “Would you make that à la mode?”

“Sure.” After eyeballing Officer Walsh, their cook headed back into the kitchen.

Maggie squirted whipped cream beside the raisin pie and delivered it to Sister Mary.

“Thank you, dear.”

“You’re lucky to get it. We’re usually out by noon.”

“Guess my years of service come in handy sometimes.” She smiled at the ceiling. “Got an in with the big guy.”

“More like good karma,” Brett spoke up, lifting his red, wooden-bead necklace and shaking it before wiping down a table.

“You’ve got a nice place here.” Officer Walsh scanned the room, the lights picking up auburn strands in his dark hair.

“We think so. This is my partner, Maggie Wilson.”

Maggie smiled, a winsome turn of her lips that pulled in more customers than the raisin pie. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Officer Walsh’s gaze slid to Vivie. “I’m sure. Can we have a word, Vivie? In private.”

“Not interested.”

Maggie laced her fingers in Vivie’s and squeezed. “Hear him out,” her friend whispered in her ear. “He’s seems sincere.”

“Not interested,” Vivie repeated under her breath.

“You never are. That’s the problem.” Her partner sighed, then gave her a little shove. “We can manage these out-of-control customers, can’t we Rowdy?”

A grunt sounded from the kitchen as he passed a slice of pie with ice cream through the open window. Maggie grabbed it and turned to Vivie, her eyes a warm gold. “Go outside. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“You have my blessing.” The nun made some kind of motion in the air with her fork, then tucked back into her pie.

Vivie glanced between her so-called friends—the traitors—and grabbed her purse. After hearing the officer out, she’d want to go home. Deal with it. Officer Walsh hurried to the door and held it open when she reached it.

Outside, in the soft, spring night, it was hard to observe this handsome man and imagine his horrible deed. His hands might be clean, but there was blood on them. Crickets sang a funeral dirge in the nearby bushes, and the rushing flap of bat wings swirled the air into a living thing.

“Look. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to see you right now.” She glowered up at him, wishing he’d leave.

His eyes delved into hers. “Vivie, the bear’s—”

“Please leave. I don’t need the details.”

When she turned, clouds drifted away from the full moon, turning the world into a black-and-white movie. Officer Walsh—Liam—leaned against his SUV, his hat sitting low on his forehead, his face looking as tired as she felt. Maybe he wasn’t enjoying this. Was just doing his job.

Despite everything, she softened toward him. “Fine. If this is some job requirement, a mandatory update to the original caller, then let’s get this over with. What happened?”

She wished she could put her fingers in her ears, block out the words about to be spoken.

“The cub’s at the Adirondack Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. My friends, Steve and Wendy Reed, agreed to take her for the week.”

Surprise forked through her, as electric as lightning. “I don’t understand. You didn’t kill her?”

His lips quirked upward but his eyes remained sober. “No. I considered what you said. We’re going to save her. If you’re still in.”

He held out a hand and she slipped hers into it, heat flooding up her arm. Unbelievable. Elation filled her. The bear was hers. Whatever Officer Walsh had said about releasing her, or finding her another home someday, didn’t matter. For now, the cub was coming home. To her home.

“I’m in, Officer Walsh.” She turned on her heel and hurried away. After a few steps she stopped and whirled. “And thank you. Thank you so much. This means...” she struggled for a moment “...a lot.”

His smile reached all the way to his eyes. “We might both regret it.”

“Never!”

“Where are you going?” he called when she reached her pickup. “I was hoping we could talk more over pie.”

“Call me tomorrow. In the meantime, Maggie will fix you up.” She inserted her key and opened the door. Those two would hit it off. As for her, she had more important priorities than socializing, especially with a DEC officer. He might have spared the bear, but that didn’t mean they had the same outlook when it came to caring for wildlife. Not even close.

She hopped in her truck then leaned out her open window, catching her own grin in the side mirror.

“I’ve got a test to ace.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d1e63a88-fa03-5a3a-ba32-c9bbe3fed37a)

LIAM MOPPED HIS dripping brow and leaned on the two-by-four he’d just nailed into place. He glanced around Vivie’s transformed backyard. Soon the excavated site would hold the cub’s pen. He’d poured the concrete forms yesterday—the resulting foundation walls were set a foot deep in the ground. He’d secure the nine-gauge chain-link fencing to them, and that, combined with the electrified overhang, would keep the little one secure.

But how to protect Vivie? She’d been hovering like a gnat these past couple of days. Was he sure forty feet was enough room? Was the waterfall flowing into a shallow pool a safe water supply? Did he need to cover the chain link with plywood, keeping the bear from seeing humans?

Yes to all three—especially the last one.

He hefted another piece of lumber, positioned it and began hammering. Despite the nonstop studying, which had put shadows beneath her eyes, Vivie still didn’t grasp that the cub’s time here was temporary. Once it could fend for itself, assuming its jaw healed, they’d release it to the forest. A return to the wild home it deserved. But he knew Vivie’s attachment would grow once she cared for the bear and she’d end up with a broken heart.

He swore when the hammer smashed his thumb instead of the wood. Rubbing his throbbing digit, he glanced around the area. Above him, a maple tree in the center of the enclosure rustled softly in the breeze. He’d left it uncut, save for the branches approaching the overhang. The bear would enjoy climbing on it and swinging from the tire he’d hung from lower branches. The rest of the toys, including a rubber turtle that squeaked whenever he stepped on it, he wasn’t so sure about. But like some obsessed mother-to-be, Vivie returned from work each day with new goodies to toss into the pen. She’d even had a handmade sign crafted, the name Button burned into its wood. It hung over the snug wood-sided shelter he’d built to protect the young animal from the elements.

“Looking good, Liam,” a familiar voice called. He turned, ignoring the leap of his pulse at the beauty approaching him. Vivie. Her toffee-colored hair swung in a high ponytail, exposing a long, graceful neck. A backpack hung from one golden shoulder.

“Thanks. How are things at The Homestead?”

“Slow.” Vivie perched on the concrete and held up a cardboard container. “Thought you might like some lunch.”

He scanned the blue sky, seeing the midday sun glaring on his neck. “Hadn’t realized it was that time. I appreciate it.”

Once seated, he pulled out a cheeseburger and swallowed a quarter of it in one bite. Man, he was hungry. Thirsty, too. No sooner had the thought occurred than she passed him a water bottle.

“Filled it up at Cold Creek spring on my way over here.”

He closed his eyes in appreciation as the pure, icy liquid splashed down his throat. It was better than any manufactured drink. No matter how much man imitated, Mother Nature had the best recipe.

“How’s the cub doing?” he asked after another bite. The tart pickle and crispy bacon woke up his taste buds.

Vivie pushed back a stray piece of hair, the faintest gleam of moisture on her forehead. For late May, it was already hot.

“Saw the Reeds before I went in this morning and they let me feed Button,” she said. “She’s still drinking the formula since her jaw’s not right yet.”

He frowned. With the bear struggling to eat, he understood human contact was needed. Still, that would only make Vivie more attached. Given the light in her eyes, this seemed like a lost battle—not that he’d quit trying to make her see sense.

“Once she’s in the pen, you’ll feed her through a chute. Don’t let her get used to humans. If she does, a successful release will be impossible.”

She nodded automatically, her eyes roaming the green mountain peaks in the distance. “Do we have to board up all sides? She should be able to see nature, especially if she’s going to return to it, so it doesn’t seem totally foreign.”

“Sounds good as long as it’s facing away from you and the house. This—” Liam gestured to the partial construction “—is only a temporary home.” He pointed to a patch of berry bushes bordering the forest that ringed her property. “That is her real habitat. Never forget it.”

“How could I?” she asked drily. “You never let up on it.”

“You wanted this.” He crumpled his napkin and closed the now-empty container. “If it was up to me—”

“Button wouldn’t have had a second chance,” she muttered so quietly he had to lean close to catch it. Her light floral scent reminded him of their wild surroundings. For a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed her in.

“Unfair, Vivie.” He stood and brushed a maple seedpod from his pants. “I’ve worked here every day to make this possible.”

She scrambled to her feet, her expression earnest. The gold flecks in her light brown eyes gleamed. “I know. And I’m grateful every time I wake up and hear you outside. But I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on me. And Button.”

“I’m doing what’s right. Not what’s easy.” He watched a couple of rabbits grazing on white-topped clover. That was the future he wanted for the cub. He glanced back at the lumber pile. Not one that stole her freedom.

Vivie nodded and picked up another hammer. “What can I do?”

He blinked in surprise. In her blue sundress, the short hem fluttering around her legs, she resembled a princess. Not a construction worker.

“Know anything about carpentry work?” Since it was a rhetorical question, her nod caught him off guard.

“One of my stepdads had a contracting business. I can even do roofing.”

“Roofing...” he repeated, imagining her slipping on an angled roof and breaking something. He shook off the image.

“You had more than one stepfather?” he asked once he’d passed her some nails and they’d begun hammering.

“Six,” she mumbled around a mouthful of nails. Did the woman have no concern for her safety?

He unbuckled his tool belt and wrapped it around her narrow hips, his fingers a little unsteady when they grazed her. “You’re going to choke if you keep them in your mouth. Put them in the pouch.”

She spit the nails into her hand and dropped them into the pocket. “Okay, Mr. Doom and Gloom.”

“I’d rather be Sir Reality Check, if you don’t mind.”

Her eye roll said it all. “Your reality, I guess.” She resumed hammering. “Sir.”

He picked up more nails and stuffed them into his jeans pockets. “So, six stepfathers, huh? Sounds rough.” He couldn’t deny his curiosity about Vivie. She’d surprised him at every turn.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Finished with the board, they moved to the pile of lumber and carried another two-by-four to the next spot. He steadied it in place while she expertly sank nails in its base. Her aim was dead-on and the nails disappeared into the wood after two or three hits. Was it his imagination or was she smashing them harder than ever?

He knew he should leave the topic alone, but something fragile in her tone brought out his protective streak. Had she been hurt?

“Where’s your mom now?”

Her hammer slammed dead center into another nail and buried it in one blow. “Don’t know. Haven’t spoken to her in ten years.”

With her lips pressed together and her eyes narrow, all signs indicated he should change the subject, but somehow he couldn’t.

“Why’s that?”

“She didn’t exactly leave a forwarding number when she walked out on me and her latest husband.”

That sounded hard. “And how old were you?”

She stopped and gulped from her water bottle. After a long drink, she wiped her mouth and met his eyes. “Seventeen. Any more questions, Hardy boy?”

He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt. “Not really.” He began nailing another board. “Just passing time.”

Only he wasn’t. Every moment with Vivie intrigued him. He looked forward to seeing her more than he dared admit. More than was good for his peace of mind. Like her, he shouldn’t get attached...especially if he got that job in Yellowstone Park. He wondered when the résumé he’d emailed would get a response.

She moved around him and held the next piece of wood as he secured it to the foundation. “So how about you? Did you grow up with the white picket fence? Have a dog and a sister?”

“A cat and six siblings. No fence, though the Korean vegetable market on the corner had a customers-only line we couldn’t cross. Especially after my sister Mary Ann filched a mango.”

She considered him, something spooked in her expression. “Sounds like you grew up in the city.”

He pressed the beam, testing its stability, then pounded in another nail for good measure. “SoHo. My family owns a pub there and we lived in an apartment above it. Most of them still do. Mary Ann’s getting married there in August.”

She lowered her hammer. “I lived in the city when I was in culinary school.”

“Yeah? What part?”

Her hand rose to her neck and her voice grew faint. “The Bronx.”

Before he could ask her more, she hurried on, “So all nine of you, plus a cat, in one apartment? That must have been cramped.”

He forced a shrug. It had been tough, but he’d been in tighter spots... The memory of Kunar punched his throat.

“My dad died when I was seventeen, so there were only eight of us. He was a Korean War vet. It inspired my twin, Niall, and I to join the military after 9/11.”

A soft hand fell on his arm and he studied her concerned eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Liam. Did your mother remarry?”

Spots appeared in the corners of his vision. He sat on a nearby stump and took another swig of water. “My mom has Alzheimer’s. My oldest brother, Aiden, pretty much raised the rest of us.” Crazy that he was telling her so much. He’d only ever opened up to his battle buddies. He stared down at the water bottle, his chest aching. Now those buddies were all gone...the nearest he could get to them was atop a mountain, where he felt closest to heaven.

Vivie plunked down by his feet and handed him a wrapped cookie from her backpack. “Aiden sounds like a great brother. Want one? Raisin oatmeal.”

He bit into the chewy dessert, grateful she’d switched subjects. “Good,” he said after polishing it off in two bites.

“Thanks. One of my stepdads owned a bakery. That’s where I got started making desserts.”

“Guess it wasn’t all bad then, your childhood.”

“There were worse things,” she muttered, almost to herself.

He tried catching her eye but she stared at a copse of papery-white birches. Her shuttered expression made her look guarded and breakable. Something bad had happened to her. But what? He clamped his mouth shut before he could ask. It wasn’t his business. She wasn’t his concern...so why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

No good would come of it.

None at all.

* * *

THE NEXT EVENING, Vivie curled up on her couch with her laptop. The farmhouse smelled pine fresh from the scrub she’d given it after her own soak in the tub. Laboring outside all afternoon, alongside a gorgeous, shirtless DEC officer no less, had been sweaty work. Not that she should be working herself into a lather over chiseled abs. This was the guy who’d almost killed Button.

And spared her, a voice whispered in her head. Would another officer have given her, and the cub, this chance? She pictured Liam working every day this week in her backyard. He never complained. Didn’t seem to tire. Always showed up. It was a far cry from a lot of the men she’d known growing up. Still, she felt better keeping an eye on him, seeing him follow through on his promises.

She should have used the extra time preparing for her certification test, but she’d studied him instead. It made no sense, but she looked forward to working, eating and talking together. Learning about his childhood made her see the man more than the uniform.

She lifted her mug of mint tea and sipped. Her eyes glazed over as she reread, for the third time, question number two hundred and sixteen on the New York State Wildlife Rehabilitator certification practice test. This was hard. Much more challenging than she’d imagined when she’d vowed to pass it.

For the first time, doubt set in. The test was tomorrow and she’d still missed too many questions. What if she failed? Her heart stumbled to a halt. Without a home, would Button be put down after all? The bear’s temporary spot at the rescue center expired at the end of the week. Vivie was all she had.

Vivie gripped the mug handle. She couldn’t let Button down. The cub had kept going after the shooting, dislocated jaw and all. She hadn’t quit, and neither would Vivie.

She answered several more questions, relieved when she missed only three. Progress. For a reward, she tossed back a handful of chocolate. This had to work. Button deserved a safe home.

Didn’t everyone?

The thought brought her up short. Once, she wouldn’t have asked that question at all. Would have assumed that personal safety was a guarantee. Her mind flashed back to her last year in culinary school, the sudden hand over her mouth as she walked home from her late-night cooking job. How her masked attackers had tortured and tormented her, then left her for dead.

She shuddered and pushed away the thought. The journey to recovery had taken her too far to go back there.

When a sharp knock sounded on her front door, Jinx leaped from her lap and slunk under the piano bench. Vivie wished she could curl under there with her, but made her feet take her to the door. After the attack, her support group, Reclaim the Dark, had helped her think like a survivor. Not a victim.

She would not live her life afraid.

She eased open the door as far as the chain allowed and body blocked Scooter.

Liam’s leaf-green eyes shone under the porch light. “I was coming back from a rescue call and thought I’d stop by. See how you were doing with your studies.”

“What’d you rescue?”

His mouth pursed. “Another heron caught in a fishing line. It’ll be touch and go for the rehabilitator tonight.”

“That’s awful.” She unlocked the chain and let him in. Scooter leaped, putting both paws on Liam’s stomach.

The officer caught them in his hands and smiled down at the rambunctious dog. “Shall we dance?” he asked in such a formal tone that Vivie laughed, her mood lifting.

“I think he might need some breath mints first.”

“Thought that was you.”

She swatted Liam’s arm. “My breath is minty fresh, thank you very much. Would you like some tea?”

He shook his head and sat on her side chair, his size dwarfing it. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

She sank onto the couch. “I have to be, right?”

“Right.”

“Or you’ll shoot Button.”

He regarded her gravely. “Wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

She hugged a pillow. “Why?”

“Because it makes her sound like a pet.” Liam leaned forward and the outdoorsy, masculine smell of him filled her senses. Normally, being alone with any man this late at night would terrify her. Instead, she felt alive and jittery, her stomach fluttering.

“If you pass tomorrow—” he continued.

“When I pass tomorrow,” she interrupted, lifting her chin despite her nerves.

He studied her, his strong face handsome. “When you pass tomorrow, you need to start thinking like a rehabilitator. If you treat the bear like a house pet, I’ll have to remove her.”

The thought knocked the breath out of her like ice water. “Button is going to make it here.”

She pictured the nearly finished enclosure, how the sides facing the house had been boarded up, the back open save for the fence. Would she only ever glimpse the bear through the feeding slot? How would she let Button know she wasn’t alone? It was important to have support after being attacked.

Liam nodded at her laptop. “Are you studying now?”

She nodded. “I’m not getting the material,” she admitted.

“Want me to quiz you?” Jinx had jumped into his lap and was kneading his stomach, purring like a race-car engine. He didn’t seem to notice the holes she’d punctured in his shirt as he petted her. When she turned and began shredding his pants, he pushed her tail from his face.

“That’s okay. I’m fine on my own.” He was acting kind, yet he was still a threat to Button if things didn’t work out. How to focus on the test with so many warring thoughts?

“So do you know whether or not all incoming wildlife should be treated with antibiotics to ward off infection?” he pressed, the fur in front of his mouth fluttering with every word.

Jinx’s purring filled the room as Vivie wrestled with the question. She’d seen it on the practice test but couldn’t recall the answer, so she went with her gut.

“Of course. It’s better to be proactive.” She tucked her jiggling foot underneath her opposite leg.

Liam pulled a protesting Jinx away and shook his head. “Wrong. Antibiotics are only effective against bacterial disease and some types of parasites, but not viruses. Plus, they have side effects. Misuse of antibiotics can cause development of resistant bacteria. Oral antibiotics can destroy delicate gut microbes, leading to diarrhea. Some types of antibiotics can cause fatal enteritis in some species. Antibiotic treatment should be given only after careful examination of an animal’s condition and consultation with a veterinarian.”

When he sat back, a smug look on his face, she remembered to close her mouth. “Do you have this whole manual memorized?”

Liam studied his hands, a wry flip to the corner of his mouth. “I have a photographic memory.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you probably only had to read this once to know it, right?”

He nodded, abashed.

“Some people have it so easy,” she mumbled to herself. He had looks and brains, yet somehow she couldn’t resent him for it. The opposite actually, she thought, a blush creeping up her neck as she took in his strong jaw, dimpled chin and the width of his shoulders in his close-fitting T-shirt. He must have taken off his uniform shirt in the SUV...

“Why don’t you give your eyes a rest—I’ll read the questions and multiple-choice answers to you.”

Her traitorous heart leaped. That sounded good...too good...

“Why would you do that?”

His soulful eyes met into hers. “Because despite what you think, I’m on your side.”

She peered at him, sideways. “I want to believe that.”

“Do you think I want to put down the bear?”

“Button,” she contradicted stubbornly.

“Do you believe I would willingly harm her?”

She thought about his hard work this week, laboring during his vacation to make an enclosure that met code.

“No,” she admitted. “But you will if you feel you have to, and that’s as bad.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice low and level. “It is. So will you save me from doing something I don’t want to do and let me help you pass this test?”

She blinked at him in surprise. She hadn’t thought of it from his point of view. That he’d want her to succeed as much as she did. They might have different opinions on how best to raise Button, but they both wanted the bear alive. She could get behind that. She eyed Liam. If she wasn’t careful, there was a lot about this man she could support.

Vivie handed him the laptop and Scooter threw himself across Liam’s boots as if settling in for the evening.

“I was on question two hundred and sixteen.”

His scrutinized her over the screen. “How many of those did you get right?”

“A hundred?”

He glanced at her wall clock and settled deeper into the chair. “Guess I will have that tea. This is going to be a long night.”


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_a4f7a011-a9c2-5185-afa5-e2871d813104)

“STOP CHEWING YOUR NAILS. It’s not hygienic and besides, what will Officer Walsh think about those cuticles?”




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