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Maybe he’s right, but that means he would’ve been trapped under this wood for days.
My focus shifts to the shotgun. “Do you always have that thing by your side?”
“I’ve got twelve goats and a flock of chickens in bear country. What do you think?” He winces in pain, reminding me that I probably shouldn’t be asking him all these questions. I can’t help myself, though—this is the most normal Roy has acted since I’ve met him.
Plus, I now have a pressing concern. “How often do you get bears here?”
“I lost count years ago.”
I think about the distance between here and home, through the woods.
It’s too close.
My stomach tightens with anxiety. It’s one thing to get used to a roaming fox and a moose. But bears in my backyard?
“Don’t look so worried, city slicker. You can’t raise livestock around these parts without a predator pacing your fence line, trying to find a way in. It’s the way things work out here.” He pauses. “Muriel didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Tell me what?”
“That there’s been one hangin’ around the past month that could become a problem. A brown bear.”
Icy dread slides down my spine. “No. She didn’t mention that.”
“He gets zapped by the fence every time, but he keeps comin’ back. Been comin’ during the day, too. The hounds chased him away last week after lunch. Another time, I fired a warning shot to scare him off. But he keeps comin’ back.”
I look to the wide-open barn door. When will this bear decide to make another attempt? The dogs would sense a bear nearby, wouldn’t they? “Are you going to shoot him?”
“Why? You gonna try to stop me?”
“Uh … No, actually.”
He smirks. “He hasn’t done anythin’ that warrants a bullet yet. He’s a big boy but young. Probably lost his mama and hasn’t figured out how to forage for food. I figure once the salmon are in full swing, he’ll move on to the river where he’ll be more productive.”
This is what Roy was talking about that night at the Ale House when he asked if there’d been anything sniffing around Zeke. He wasn’t wondering about Oscar. He was wondering if this bear was coming around our place, too.
Has it been?
I feel Roy’s gaze dissecting me. “You know … you don’t belong here, girl.”
His words are blunt and yet delivered with a razor-sharp edge, and they stir the twinge of worry deep inside me—that he’s right, that there are too many things for me to “get used to” to ever truly feel like Alaska is my home.
But I won’t allow Roy to get to me today. I set my jaw stubbornly. “I belong wherever Jonah is.”
“Oh. You’re one of those girls.” There’s no missing the disparaging tone. The judgment. The disdain.
Even injured—gravely, possibly—Roy is caustic, at best.
“You know, I’m so happy Oscar dragged me here today. You’re always such delightful company.”
He grunts in response, though I note how the corners of his mouth curl, ever so slightly. As if my sarcastic retort amuses him.
The dogs suddenly rush out the door, barking. The sound of squeaking brakes announces a vehicle.
“That should be Toby.” Thank God. I climb to my feet and head for the barn door, relieved that help is here and I no longer have to bear Roy’s acerbic personality alone.
“Go on, get back!” Muriel’s commanding voice carries.
I stifle my groan. I’m n
