I reach for her hand, and she gives mine a squeeze back. “At least you know some of your coworkers already.”
“True. Plus I got to meet the wildlife vet via video conference during my interview.”
I want to reassure her that she’ll find her people, but it would sound hollow and if I’ve learned anything as a parent, it’s to resist such platitudes. “What projects are on tap after you overhaul the emergency feed plan?”
“A watershed restoration in Little Elk Creek.”
I blink at the snowy road illuminated by my headlights. “I thought that got postponed.”
“The grant I helped write during my internship got funded.”
Little Elk Creek feeds into the Elk River and is not far from the Sons of Eden compound. “You’re part of a team, right?”
“Yeah, once things get underway. Before that, I’ll need to collect some data. Stream flow, pool depth, some ecology baselines.”
As a field biologist, Linnea’s used to working alone in the backcountry. She’s capable, skilled, and experienced, and she prefers the solitude to the often conflict-ridden teamwork aspect of the job—something I absolutely relate to.
But the idea of her working solo in Sons of Eden’s backyard makes me uneasy. They aren’t just unpredictable, they’re dangerous.
Chapter Thirteen
Even though Ihave no reason to bring a knife to work, I slip my slender folding knife into my slacks pocket anyway. If nothing else, to make me feel like I haven’t sold my soul completely.
When I walk into the kitchen, Dad’s frying up bacon, the rich, salty scent mixing with his famous sourdough flapjacks browning on the griddle. He’s dressed in work jeans and his uniform black wool sweater with the Idaho Fish and Wildlife CO patch at the shoulder, which means he’s headed into the field. I try and fail to tamp down my pang of envy.
Is CJ meeting him here? My already anxious belly cartwheels.
Dad shoots me a quick smile before flipping two giant flapjacks. “Morning.”
“Morning.” When I was a kid, he’d make a big breakfast for all of us on the first day of school which I learned later on was a major feat because it almost always coincided with the onset of hunting season, when the demands of his job were highest.
“Smells good.” I beeline for the coffeemaker and pour myself a cup, then top off his.
“Happy first day,” he says.
I kiss his cheek, then grab the milk from the fridge. Dad’s coffee is always extra strong, so I have to cut it with milk, or it’ll hit my already knotted stomach like battery acid.
Our eyes meet, and his expression softens. “You look nice.”
I smile. “Thanks, Pop.” Turns out I clean up pretty good, despite how awkward my new clothes feel. I still need a haircut but Sofie’s stylist couldn’t fit me in until next month. Maryanne jokes that I need a sticker that saysMY OTHER CAR IS AN ENDANGERED SPECIES.
I help Dad serve everything up, and we settle in, side by side at the breakfast counter. “Fieldwork today?”
“Yeah. Going to try to catch up with some shed hunters who’ve been harassing the Lost River herd.”
Our house is on the way to the Lost River Basin, where one of Idaho’s biggest elk herds overwinters. This means the chances of a CJ sighting this morning just quadrupled.
I make sure to get my napkin fully over my lap so I don’t drip on my new pants, then fork a bite of my pancake smothered in butter and maple syrup into my mouth. It’s rich and packed with just enough sweetness to draw a contented sigh from my lips. Okay, maybe front-country life won’t be so bad.
“As good as you remember?” Dad asks, nibbling on a piece of bacon.
“Better.” I lean against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He leans into me for a shared moment of warmth, then we eat in silence for a few minutes.
“Are you going to pack a lunch?” he asks. “There’s not much in Gibbs.”
I set down my fork and cradle my coffee. “Last night I packed up some leftovers.”