Page 8 of Cole

BB met him at the door with an indignant yowl, orange fur puffed out like Cole had abandoned her for weeks instead of hours. The cat was fat and loud and completely lacking in dignity, and Cole had to admit he'd grown attached to the demanding furball.

"Yeah, I know. Worst human ever." He scooped canned food into the bowl and watched BB attack it as if she'd never been fed. "You're welcome, Your Majesty."

Cole grabbed a beer from his fridge and dropped onto the couch, flipping through channels until he found a baseball game. BB finished eating and jumped onto his lap, purring like a diesel engine as she kneaded Cole's thigh with sharp claws.

"Easy there." But Cole didn't push her away, just scratched behind the cat's ear while the game played in the background. “By the way, you gotta behave for Evie while I’m gone.” Sisco was bringing his daughter over so that she could feed BB while he was gone.

His phone buzzed, and he grinned. “Hey, Ma.”

“Just wanted to say hello, and hope everything is going well.”

“I’m good… real good. You okay?”

“Lordy, between your sisters, you’d know it if I wasn’t,” his mother laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s for sure.”

“Got any trips planned?”

“Heading out tomorrow for Alaska.”

There were a few seconds of silence, but then his mom said, “Your father would be so proud of you and what you're doing.”

Cole's throat tightened with emotion. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and managed to reply, “I hope so.”

“I know so. Well, I’ll say good night. Love you, honey.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

He set the phone aside and leaned back, BB a warm weight on his lap. The apartment was quiet except for the cat's rumbling purr and the distant murmur of the television. Outside his window, the mountains stood black against a darkening sky, stars beginning to emerge in the vast Montana darkness.

This was his life now. Good work with good people. A place that felt like home. Friends who'd become family. An overfed cat who'd claimed him as property.

It should be enough.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, in that space he only acknowledged during quiet moments like this, a question lingered. The same one that had followed him from growing up in North Dakota to the Army, where he served all over the world. Then he’d followed a fellow Ranger’s recommendation to Maine, where he worked for the original LSI. He thought of those Keepers and smiled. Good people to know and have at his back. Yet he longed to be closer to his family, and when his boss told him about the new LSI opening in Montana, the decision was easy, and he’d never regretted the move.

But was this it? Good work, good friends, good beer, and a fat cat? Or was there something more out there, something he hadn't found yet? Someone who'd make this life feel complete instead of just comfortable?

BB stretched across his lap, claws digging in before settling. Cole stroked the orange fur and let his mind drift, only half-watching the game.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe some men were meant to fly solo, find their satisfaction in the work and the sky and the brotherhood of warriors. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing missing from a life well-lived, even without the partnership some of his teammates had found.

Tonight, he had a cat, a couch, and a quiet apartment with a view of the mountains he'd chosen to call home. He told himself it was enough. And almost believed it.

5

It was already dark, and Janice moved about the cabin with its familiar creaks and the scent of wood smoke still clinging to the walls from this morning's fire. Her pack hung on the hook by the door, next to her outer layers she’d stripped off, leaving them to air out before tomorrow's trek. The propane heater hummed in the corner, taking the edge off the chill.

Her laptop sat waiting on the small table, the screen saver cycling through images from the last few days’ camera haul. From across the small room, she could see photographs of a bull moose, three wolves moving like shadows through dawn light, and a lynx with two kits. She settled into the worn chair and pulled the memory cards from her belt pouch.

The ritual soothed her. She would download, catalog, analyze. She worked methodically through the files, noting timestamps and behaviors, building the database that would reveal patterns invisible to the casual observer.

An hour passed before she leaned back and rubbed her eyes. The numbers from today's water quality tests sat in her field notebook, waiting to be entered. She flipped it open, squinting at her handwriting. The creek readings bothered her. Not catastrophically high, but elevated enough to warrant attention.

She pulled up the spreadsheet where she'd been tracking water chemistry for the past four months. The graph told the story clearly. Nitrogen levels were creeping up. Phosphates were higher than they should be. Nothing that would kill the fish outright, but enough to stress the ecosystem if it continued. Enough to harm the delicate balance that kept everything functioning.

Janice chewed her thumbnail, a habit she'd never quite broken despite her mother's gentle nagging. Where was it coming from? The creek ran clean from its headwaters in the high country, fed by snowmelt and springs that had sustained this watershed for thousands of years. But something upstream was changing the chemistry. Something recent, given that the previous researcher's data showed nothing abnormal.