I know my mother wasn’t trying to make me feel guilty, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty anyway—which may be the lot of all daughters, for all I know. I reminded myself that I ought to be thrilled to learn that my mother had somebody she could turn to when her daughter wasn’t around (which was almost all the time). Sue Ellen could be the heaven-sent answer to my worry about how Leatha was going to manage.
“Of course I’ll be glad to talk to her,” I replied. “And I’m relieved to know that you’ll have some experienced help here.”
“I am, too,” Leatha said. “She may not stay more than a few months, though. She plans to go to college. She knows she needs a degree to get ahead in this world.”
“Good for her,” I said heartily. “But I hope she stays long enough for you to get this new enterprise under way. And for Sam to get a nice, long rest.”
When I talked to Sue Ellen that evening, I’d be sure to make that point.
Chapter Four
Mack had been out on patrol until after 2 a.m. on Wednesday morning, and since she was off duty for the day, she was hoping to sleep a little later. But her cell phone woke her at seven fifteen. They had a lion.
Before she went out the night before, she had met Gene Murray, the Utopia constable, at the mountain lion trap. They replaced the overripe deer carcass with a feral hog that Gene’s brother-in-law had shot on his ranch south of town. The nonnative wild pigs were the offspring of pigs brought by early Spanish settlers. Remarkably prolific and incredibly damaging, they rooted up crops, killed young livestock, and were a threat to native wildlife and the environment. Young pigs were excellent eating, although the old boar that Gene’s brother-in-law had shot would be gamey and tough as tanned cowhide. But he turned out to be just what the mountain lion was looking for. Gene was calling to tell Mack there was a lion in her trap.
Mack climbed into jeans, boots, and a green hoodie over a couple of sweaters—it was cold now, but by midmorning the temperature would be in the sixties and she’d be peeling off the layers. While her coffee was brewing, she called Karen and told her the news. (“Yes, it’s a lion. Honest. Get here as quick as you can.”) She consoled Molly, who wanted to ride along, then grabbed a to-go mug of hot coffee and backed her old blue Toyota pickup out of the single-car garage. She was reluctant to take it because it was running rough, hesitating when she was accelerating, surging when she was idling. But Karen didn’t have a truck they could use, and this morning’s job was definitely not official business. She needed to use her own vehicle, not the state truck, and was crossing her fingers that the Toyota wouldn’t give her any trouble.
Karen, an athletic young woman with gold-rimmed glasses and short-clipped, spiky blond hair, met Mack at the trap an hour later. “Hey, nice!” she said, getting a good look at the lion, a handsome, healthy-looking young male with tawny fur. She sedated him. Then, working quickly and efficiently, she and Mack fitted him with a GPS radio collar, weighed and measured him, and collected blood, DNA, and feces samples.
The prep work done, the two women loaded the cage into the back of Mack’s Toyota and drove it some thirty miles to Karen’s study area at the far northwestern corner of the county, wild hill-and-savannah country on the far side of Boiling Mountain, where there would be plenty of prey. They unloaded the cage beside a clear creek, and Karen turned on her tracking gear and checked the radio collar’s transmission, a steady beep-beep-beep. Then Mack released the lion while Karen snapped photos. The two of them retreated to the safety of the truck and watched as the groggy animal got to his feet and stumbled off into the brush. He could be expected to live for another eight years or so, but he might not live out his natural life. Karen had collared and released seven other lions in the past several years. Two of them had been struck by vehicles, and three of them had been shot.
“Damn shame,” Karen had said when she told Mack about it. “The lions cull the weaker deer and keep the exotic population down. But you can’t convince the ranchers of that. They shoot on sight, even when there’s no evidence of predation.”
Mack, as a conservationist, hated the situation. Texas was the only state in the union where the killing of mountain lions was unregulated. There were no bag limits, no permit requirements. All you had to do was aim and fire. You didn’t even need to report your kills. In Mack’s opinion, it was time to start implementing a plan to maintain a viable population. By helping Karen, she was doing what she could.
Mission accomplished, Mack started the truck and they drove off, bouncing along the gravel track barely etched out in the short grass along a dry creek bed. Karen glanced at her.
“I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s it going with your new guy, what’s-his-name?” Karen was the matchmaker who had brought Mack and Lanny together, back in college. Since the divorce, she had taken an interest in Mack’s love life—or rather, the lack thereof.
“His name is Derek,” Mack said, and hesitated. Karen was the closest thing to a best friend she’d ever had, and rooming with her in college had been fun. But growing up, she had spent more time with guys—her father, her brothers, their friends. She’d never really learned the easy girl-talk that other girls seemed to know instinctively, especially when the subject was boys and sex. “It’s going okay, I guess,” she added. “And I’ve met his daughters. Two. Teens.” She made a little face. “I can’t say that I was a big hit with them.”
“Daughters are tough,” Karen said with sympathy. “Especially teens. They tend to be possessive of fathers. Been to bed with him yet?” She chuckled at the look on Mack’s face. “Just thought I’d ask, Mack. You don’t have to tell, if it’s a state secret. But don’t forget—I used to be a girl. And I was standing right beside you when you and Lanny got married.”
“It’s not a secret, exactly,” Mack said, feeling the heat rise up her neck and trying to hide her embarrassment. “It’s just that . . . I mean, yeah, maybe we did, a couple of times.”
“Maybe you did?” Karen rolled her eyes.
“Okay, we did. Twice. But I’m not sure I . . .” Mack’s voice trailed off.
“Hey.” Karen laughed, crinkling her nose. “I’m just teasing. And it’s okay. Not every guy can be a super stud right out of the starting gate. Some of them just need a little encouragement, especially the first time or two. He’ll get better at it.”
Mack colored. “It’s not Derek,” she said. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s really good.” Remembering, she had to admit that this was true. He had been really good; expert, even. That wasn’t the problem. “It’s me. I just didn’t feel . . . well, turned on. The tingle was sort of missing.” She managed a little shrug, as careless as she could make it, which wasn’t very. “I guess maybe I’m just out of practice. Or—” She stopped.
“Or maybe you’re still hot for Lanny?” Karen inquired gently.
“I don’t think so,” Mack said, trying very hard to be honest. “If that’s true, my conscious mind doesn’t know anything about it.”
But even while she was denying it, she felt a little panicky. Was some part of her still in love with Lanny? Was her past marriage, her failed marriage, going to get in the way of her future relationships—with Derek or anybody else?
“Well, don’t push yourself if it doesn’t feel right,” Karen cautioned in a practical tone. “I’m of the opinion that sex is a pretty good barometer of a relationship. You can keep trying, but if the chemistry isn’t working, there’s probably a reason. You’ll figure it out when it’s time.” She paused, slanting Mack a look. “On the other hand, maybe you’re just not ready to get crazy about another guy. You think?”
Mack pictured Derek, with his quirky eyebrow, his quick laugh, his concern for her safety, which was both touching and troublesome. Was there a reason—a real reason—she wasn’t already crazy about him? But if there were answers to these questions, Mack didn’t know what they were.
To Mack’s relief, the Toyota
made the trip with only a couple of rough-running episodes, and they were back in Utopia by lunchtime. Mack pulled up next to Karen’s car, which they’d left on Main Street, across from the café. “Want to get a sandwich before you go back to San Antonio?” she asked.
“I’ll have to take a rain check,” Karen said. “I’ve got Boyce’s family coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I need to go home and get started doing turkey stuff.” She put her hand on Mack’s arm. “Hey, if you don’t already have an invitation, why don’t you drive to San Antonio and eat with us? My brother will be there. He’s single again, and he’s a pretty hunky guy. I think you’d like him.” She grinned. “I know he’d like you, especially if you wore that red dress Lanny got you a couple of Christmases ago.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already got two invitations,” Mack said. “Derek asked me to his place for brunch, and I’m supposed to have dinner with some friends at four. If I tried to squeeze in another meal, I wouldn’t be able to waddle. Anyway, I’m on call, so I need to stay in the county. And being on call means that the dress is out.” She chuckled at the thought of apprehending a jacklighter in that sinfully tight red dress. He’d think she was soliciting.
Karen raised her eyebrows. “You’re laughing?” she demanded. “You think it’s funny to be on patrol every night and on call on Thanksgiving Day?” She shook her head, frowning. “My life can be a little nuts sometimes, but yours is downright crazy, girl—all the time. You will never find a guy who’ll put up with it.”
“Maybe,” Mack said ruefully. “It’s a good thing I’m not dying for a guy.” Which was true, she told herself. Derek was okay, and they might even make it together. But love and marriage—or love and sex, or even just sex—were not at the top of her priority list. “At least, not until the end of hunting season,” she added, with a crooked grin. “Maybe I’ll take a rain check on meeting your hunky brother. The load gets lighter in January.”
“Atta girl,” Karen said. “Just remember that I’m here for you.” She reached for the door handle then stopped, peering through the windshield. “Whoa.” She gave a low whistle. “Talk about hunky. Who the devil is that, Mackenzie?”
Mack glanced at the dark-haired, uniformed man who had just gotten out of the white sheriff’s department pickup parked in front of the café. He turned around, got his white Stetson out of the truck, and put it on. As he did, he looked up and saw Mack, squinted as if he wasn’t quite sure who she was, then waved.
Surprised that he had recognized her, Mack waved back. “That’s Ethan Conroy. He’s the new deputy sheriff. He’s been on the job for a month or so. We’ve met, but we haven’t had a chance to work together yet. He’s been mostly working the middle of the county, and I’m mostly up here.”
“Well, you should make an effort,” Karen pressed, following him with her glance. “Unless of course he’s married. Is he?”
“No idea,” Mack replied. “I heard that he lives in Sabinal.” She watched as the deputy opened the café door and went in. She hadn’t really noticed until Karen pointed it out, but he was pretty good-looking. Tall, broad shouldered, and lean, he wore an air of personal authority that was emphasized by the .357 on his hip.
“You ought to find out.” Karen raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I mean, if you and Derek aren’t going to hit it off.” When Mack rolled her eyes, she added hastily, “Hey, I’m just offering a recommendation. You know how you are, Mackenzie. If I hadn’t made you get your nose out of your textbook and comb your hair and put on some makeup, you and Lanny would never have gotten together.”
Mack had to admit that there was some justice in that last remark. She had been a conscientious student, and studying was a higher priority than dating. Even with Karen’s encouragement, the thing with Lanny hadn’t been quick and certainly not easy. He’d seemed confident from the beginning, but it had been over a year before she was sure that they were right together. When that had finally happened, she had found herself open and eager and absolutely positive that they could work out any obstacle the future might throw in their path. And look where that had gotten her.
Karen was going on. “And now you’ve got Molly and Cheyenne and your house in Utopia and the dream territory you always wanted, and you think everything’s perfect. You think you don’t need a guy in your life. And you’re wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mack said, trying to ignore the irritation that bubbled up in her. Really. Why was Karen pushing her on this?
“I mean it,” Karen insisted. “And if you want to know what I really think, it’s that you’re holding back with this guy Derek because you’re afraid of getting blindsided again. What Lanny did to you, I mean. Cheating. Betrayal.”
Blindsided? “It wasn’t—” Mack stopped, biting her lip. “Don’t blame Lanny, Karen. Whatever he did, he did because I made him unhappy. I mean, I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t right for him, as things turned out. I loved my job and he wanted me to—”
“He wanted you to quit because he couldn’t take the competition,” Karen put in.
Mack frowned. “No. Really, Karen. When Lanny and I got married, I hadn’t gotten started on my career. He didn’t sign on for the way that turned out. The hours, I mean, and the fear and uncertainty, and—”
“Bull feathers,” Karen said emphatically. “Look, Mack. The truth is that Lanny likes to be the big star in everybody’s universe, and when he’s not, he gets his nose out of joint in a hurry. I didn’t know that about him when I introduced the two of you, but I found it out pretty quick. And I was very proud of you when you told him to kiss off. In my opinion, he’d had it coming for quite a while.”
Mack was startled. “But I didn’t tell him to—”
“Yes, you did.” Karen reached for Mack’s hand and gave it a hard squeeze. “That’s exactly what you did, and you ought to take the credit. You had to do it because Lanny wasn’t special enough. It’s going to take a really special guy to love you and love what you do—because you very much are what you do, you know. In ways other women probably aren’t.”
Not special enough? Mack ducked her head, feeling confused and uncertain but at the same time grateful. Yes, grateful. She and Karen had known each other for a long time, and she trusted her. If Karen saw the situation that way, maybe she should try out that point of view.
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it.”
“See that you do,” Karen directed. “And while you’re at it, check out that hunky deputy. He looks pretty cool.”
Mack nodded, but she was thinking of something else. “When you go up to your study area again, let me know and I’ll try to go with you. I’d like to know more about those lions and what you’re doing up there.”
“Sure thing,” Karen said, opening the truck door. “We can make it an overnight, just us girls. And if you hear about any more lions, give me a call.”
“I will,” Mack said. “I’d much rather trap and release than trap and kill.” Which was what Parks and Wildlife did when a lion began hanging around a populated area and making a nuisance of itself.
“Yeah. That policy stinks.” Karen made a face. “Killing is what happens in the end, though, by vehicle or by rifle. There are too many of us humans living in the lions’ habitat.”
A few minutes later, Mack was letting herself into her house, aiming to have lunch, then spend the next couple of hours catching up on the pile of paperwork on her desk. Molly greeted her with delight and followed her into the kitchen, tail nub wagging an ecstatic welcome. Mack poked her head out of the back door to check on Cheyenne, who pawed the ground at her paddock gate and gave her an inquisitive—and impatient—nicker.
Mack considered for a moment, and then said, “Maybe tomorrow, huh, girl? You could go out to Derek’s place with me and we could give the girls a ride.” Molly pushed with her nose at the back of Mack’s knee, and she laughed down at the dog. “You, too, M
ol?” Derek’s daughters seemed to be more into their smartphones than the great outdoors, but maybe that was just because they hadn’t been introduced to horses or dogs. All girls loved horses, didn’t they? She had, when she was a girl.
Mack made herself a quick cheese and lunch meat sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and snagged some chips and a couple of cookies. Trailed by Molly, she took her lunch into her office and settled down to work. She started by picking up the messages on her office answering machine: a couple regarding holiday changes in the district meeting schedule, one from fellow warden Dusty Ross about some equipment he was trying out, and one from a woman named Amy Roth, calling from Pecan Springs. She identified herself as a member of PETA—People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals—and said that she wanted to talk about a project she and Chris Griffin were working on involving the use of drones.
Mack frowned as she noted the number where Amy Roth could be reached. The name Chris Griffin rang a bell, although she couldn’t quite place him. Something to do with drones? What she did know, though, was that the legislature was considering a bill (cannily titled the Texas Privacy Act) that would make the private use of drone aircraft illegal by individual citizens, by journalists, or by organizations like PETA. It was said to be the most restrictive law in the United States.
But the bill hadn’t yet gotten out of committee, and for the moment, at least, Texas citizens could still fly drones. Parks and Wildlife was using them, too, to track bird habitat in Galveston Bay, monitor invasive tamarisk on Texas rivers, and survey fly-fisherman on the Guadalupe River. Parks and Wildlife hoped that the drones would eventually replace helicopters, which were both costly and dangerous. In fact, three years before, they’d lost an aircraft and air crew to an accident. If they could replace the helicopters with drones, there would be no more risk of fatalities.
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