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“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Walk along the bank. I doubt there are any beavers, but look for scat. It looks kind of like wood chips. If you find any, that means we’ll need to have the animals relocated so they don’t rebuild.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Very reasonable. I don’t want my father to have any further reason to be upset with the Bridgers, though they can hardly be blamed for what a beaver does.
“Our responsibility is to notify the Fish and Wildlife Service and the Montana Fish and Wildlife Commission if we find evidence of them,” Lexie continues. “They’ll take care of the relocation.”
I shake my head. “We didn’t learn about beavers in the first year of vet school.”
“Vet school won’t teach you about natural habitat. You’ll learn more about that by doing hands-on work on the ranch than you’d learn at school.” Lexie wipes a hand across her sweaty brow. “Trust me.”
Yeah. Easy for her to say. She got to finish school. I turn and begin scouting for beaver scat.
This is what I’m doing today. Searching for shit. I want to laugh, but the other option was shoveling it back at the stable.
I remove my gloves for a moment to check my phone. Surely Austin has texted by now. I pull the phone from my pocket and—
No service. I sigh as I glance around. Open fields, a creek that twists and meanders through them. Cottonwood trees loom in shady patches over the water. It’s a beautiful spot, but not as pretty as the spring I showed Austin. Which only makes me think of what we did there together. My whole body warms—and not from the sun.
I continue my walk along the bank of the creek. No evidence of beavers so far, but I spot a ground squirrel and a circling raptor. I walk away from the water, checking secluded areas.
Still nothing.
I return to Lexie. “Rabbit pellets but no beaver scat. I’ll check the other side. Have you found anything?”
She turns and glances up at me from mid-creek. “Just one poor trout that got tangled in the brush. Otherwise, the water is flowing smoothly through the area where they broke up the dam. The guys did a good job, but I expected no less. Chance Bridger knows this land better than anyone. He’s got a sixth sense about everything that lives here, both his animals and the wildlife. It’s pretty amazing. He’s a born rancher.”
“Seems his brothers aren’t,” I say.
She smiles. “They’ll learn. Bridger blood. Jonathan Bridger may have been an ass, but he knew his stuff. Chance learned from the best.”
Interesting. Obviously she met Jonathan Bridger with him being her boss and all. Still, the guy was literally infamous. He married and discarded three wives after they each gave him a son.
He also somehow turned the biggest ranch in Montana into a billion-dollar enterprise.
But couldn’t be bothered to care for his wives or sons.
And now, according to my father…
He might have been behind my abduction.
I shake my head to clear the thoughts. I have a job to do, and that is to cross the creek and keep looking for beaver shit. Dare to dream.
I trudge through the water and as I wade farther it deepens where the original creek bed probably meandered pre-dam. I get wet up to my thighs.
When I finally hit the other side, my jeans are clinging to me and mud has caked through my boots. “Jeez,” I mutter. I’d better find some beaver poop to make this all worthwhile.
One more step, and I’ll be back on solid—
I stumble over a rock or log underneath the water.
“You okay?” Lexie asks from the other side.
“Yeah. Just tripped over something.”
“Probably just a big rock,” she calls.
“Right.”
