What do I say to Maryanne? Should I go on the double date?
I relive the moment CJ reached for my hand Monday morning, his silver eyes earnest and kind. My belly warms just thinking about it.
I press my palms to my cheeks and groan.Meet Linnea, walking disaster and overthinker of literally everything.
When the cell phone rings, it’s so startling in the quiet office that I jump in my chair. I scramble for a pen and my notebook, which is in my pack near my feet, then swipe to answer the call.
“Idaho Fish and Wildlife, how can I help you?”
“A deer jumped outta nowhere. I wasn’t even speeding, I swear,” a guy answers in a shaky tone. A car whooshes by in the background.
IDFW gets all kinds of calls related to wildlife, including reports like this one. “Are you injured? Do you need medical assistance?”
“I’m not hurt. Thank god I have that brush guard or my front end would be wrecked.”
“Is your vehicle off the road?”
“I’m pulled over on the shoulder.”
I put him on speaker and start scribbling details. Time, date. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Jason Marks,” he replies. I ask for his location and his phone number. He’s about ten miles from the office, on the east side of Gibbs.
“Is the animal nearby, Jason?” I ask him.
“That’s why I called. She, uh, she’s here. She’s not getting up but…she’s breathing. If I had my gun, I’d?—”
The knot of dread that’s been slowly building inside me hardens. “I need you to stay there until I can find you.”
“Now that you know where she is, can’t I go?” He’s sounding less panicked now. Maybe the shock of the situation is wearing off, or maybe it’s the realization that his evening plans could be compromised.
“I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”
He huffs a giant sigh. “Okay.”
I hang up and take a few seconds to gather my thoughts, blocking out Keith’s threat. From my training and watching Dad in his role as a conservation officer, I know the steps. Find the animal. Document. Assess the animal’s chances of survival. Then decide.
Did Jason also call the sheriff? Sometimes people call us directly—hunters, usually. But sometimes calls like this get diverted from central dispatch.
I wince because I should have asked Jason. My need for action to help a suffering animal is to blame. I force a steadying breath. In time, this kind of thing will get easier.
But do I want it to?
After gathering my things, I check out a work truck on the sheet and head for the parking area at the back of our building. Once I’m driving, I resist the urge to use the lights and sirens, and call Dad, but not just for moral support. He’s often called to dispatch an injured animal in situations like this. I don’t have that capacity. Both because I’m not law enforcement, and because if euthanizing wild animals had been in the job description, I would never have applied. I’m not cut out for that. It’s the reason I only lasted two months volunteeringat the wildlife shelter. Many of the animals people drop off are too sick or too injured to be healed, and a quick death is the humane choice.
When Dad doesn’t pick up, I call my sheriff’s deputy brother-in-law, Zach.
“Hey, Linn!” he says over the whoosh of cars in the background. “How’s the new job so far?”
“Good,” I say with forced pep. “I’m actually calling about a possible roadkill situation?” I hate the quavery up tone in my voice. I sound uncertain. Nervous.
“They’ve got you manning the tip line already huh?” he asks with a good-natured chuckle.
“Yes. Did your office get notified too?” I cringe at how unprofessional this sounds. Thank god it’s Zach. “It’s on South Fork Road, near a place called Hilltop Farm.”
“Let me call you back.”
He hangs up, and I try not to speed through the tired but quaint downtown of Gibbs, then merge onto South Fork Road, which heads northeast, towards the socked-in Bitterroots.