by Kelly Wacker
Melissa had said yes without even thinking twice about it and then nearly fell asleep from the day’s exertion, the beer, and the altitude. She felt bad about that, but Sula had just looked at her tenderly and offered to drive her back to the cabin. Recalling her sweet face, Melissa imagined being tucked in, among other delightful things, by this woman that she was falling for. Falling? She laughed to herself. Fallen was more like it. She shivered with anticipation and desire.
The shop bell tinkled as the lodge door opened, and she looked up to see Betty walk in.
“Well, hello!” Betty smiled at her with a big grin. “Good morning, Melissa.”
“Good morning.”
Betty paused and looked at her, the grin not leaving her face. “Did you have a good weekend?”
“I did. Very good, in fact.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Betty went into the office, returning with a cup that said “Lady Boss” on one side and featuring a vintage image of a cowgirl with a lasso on the other. She filled it from the communal pot.
“I went on a hike with Sula,” Melissa blurted, the words tumbling out. “She took me to one of the places in the paintings, and then she took me to her house. I saw so many paintings by Ursula!”
“I know. Sula told me.” Betty took a sip from her cup and winced. “She came over for Sunday dinner.”
Melissa suspected that Betty’s smile and knowing expression indicated that Sula had talked with her about more than just the hike and the visit to the house. Her cheeks warmed with a blush. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”
“I’m sure you haven’t.”
That seemed an odd thing to say, and Betty’s expression changed as soon as the words came out of her mouth. She pulled a chair back from the table and sat across from her.
“Sula’s her own person. She doesn’t warm up to people easily.”
“Yes. I’ve realized that.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all those paintings in her house, but it wasn’t my place.”
“Oh, believe me, I understand. God, that house is amazing, with all the artwork in it and the decor…I’d be very careful about who I let in the door, too.”
Betty looked relieved.
“But her degree of caution seems unusual. She’s very guarded.” Melissa hesitated for a moment. “Betty, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable with the question.”
Betty cocked her head and took a sip from her mug. “Okay.”
“Has Sula ever dated anyone before? I mean seriously dated, like had a relationship?”
Betty looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “Let me put it this way. Sula’s not a babe in the woods. But she’s never had what you’d call a meaningful relationship.”
“I haven’t been able to tell if she’s just shy or she’s had her heart broken and is being careful.”
“You seem to understand her. Surprisingly well.” Betty regarded her with a serious expression. “Sula is shy and she’s cautious. Above all, she is always cautious. But, no, her heart’s never been broken because she’s never given it to someone.”
Betty took a sip of coffee and had opened her mouth to say something when the shop bell tinkled. She glanced at the people walking in and excused herself to go talk with them.
When Betty left the table, Melissa wondered what she had been about to say.
Sula reached for her cell phone to make a call and realized it wasn’t in her messenger bag. She must have left it in the truck. She’d been distracted all morning. The anger over finding the snares and then learning that Wildlife Services was responsible for them lingered, making her feel dark and melancholic. She hunkered down in her office to work but found it difficult not to brood on who was involved.
Wildlife Services was the sanitized name for a federal agency that, up until the late 1990s, was known as Animal Damage Control. The old name was better suited to its sole mission to kill any animal, no matter how large or small, that had been deemed detrimental to agricultural or ranching operations. If a rancher thought that a mountain lion or a bear was reducing his profits by picking off the cows or sheep that he should have been paying better attention to rather than sitting in the comfort of his forty-thousand-dollar pickup truck, he could call in Wildlife Services to eliminate the competition for free.
The last report Sula read calculated that, in the last twenty years alone, they had slaughtered tens of millions of animals, including endangered species. Mountain lions, bears, wolves, coyotes, foxes, bobcats, beavers, prairie dogs—the sickening list went on and on. To make matters worse, they were notorious for turning a blind eye to the sadistic methods their agents used, things like running down animals with helicopters, bombing dens with explosive cyanide capsules, strangling or clubbing pups and cubs, and leaving animals to suffer in traps for days and then turning hunting dogs on them to rip them apart instead of humanely dispatching them.
Not surprisingly, the agency operated quietly, trying not to draw unwanted attention, because when people learned about what was happening, they tended to be rightfully shocked and outraged. Much as Sula wanted public opinion to force a change of sentiment that would shut it down, that didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, and probably not in her lifetime, if ever. That was perhaps the most depressing thing about it. The people who kept the agency busy—the ranchers and large landowners who also often ran hunting operations where an elk hunt could cost a single client fifteen or twenty thousand dollars—had deep pockets and even deeper political clout.
Those bastards. Sula pounded a fist on her desk. In bear form she would have let out a roar of rage loud enough to shake the whole building and everyone in it. She jumped up, flung open the office door, and trotted downstairs and out to the parking lot to retrieve her phone. It lay in the center console of her truck, and when she picked it up, the screen flashed, alerting her to new messages.
Seeing Melissa’s name in the list was like a fresh breeze pushing away the dark, angry cloud hanging over her. She smiled and opened her message first. It was written in such a cheerful tone, Sula could almost hear the excitement in Melissa’s voice as she read it. She wanted to know when Sula needed to be in Denver tomorrow, so she’d know what time to pick her up.
Shit. Tomorrow. Denver. The hotel. She’d forgotten to call the hotel about changing her reservation. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.
Chapter Fifteen
Melissa pulled up to Sula’s house at six thirty in the morning as planned for the two-hour trip. They hoped to miss the worst of Denver’s rush-hour traffic so Sula would arrive on time for her conference at the wildlife refuge. After dropping her off, Melissa would head downtown to the art museum for the day and then swing back to get Sula. Together they’d check in at the hotel and freshen up for dinner and an evening out. Sula had been intriguingly vague about where they’d be staying. Melissa teased her about maybe not really having reservations, but Sula assured her that she did and that she would like her choice.
Sula was on the porch, coffee cup in one hand and petting the tabby cats with the other. When Melissa got out of her car to open the back hatch, she wasn’t sure of what was more awe inspiring—the house or the woman who owned it—though she knew deep down it was the woman. Sula was dressed a bit like a park ranger, minus the hat, in her conservancy uniform of long-sleeved tan shirt with embroidered logo and name tag, forest-green trousers, and polished dark-brown boots. Her wavy hair was styled and seemed a little shorter; she must have gotten a trim. The sight of her caused a pleasant flutter in Melissa’s chest. Sula waved briskly, put the cup down on a table between two wicker chairs, and reached for her bags.
“Good morning, Goldie,” Sula said cheerfully as she came down the stairs carrying a messenger bag and an overnight bag.
“Good morning, bear.”
Sula stopped abruptly on the bottom step with an expression of shock. “Bear?
What do you mean by ‘bear’?”
“Well, if you’re going to call me Goldie, the only other characters in that story are bears. So I figure that makes you a bear.”
Sula raised an eyebrow—a well-shaped eyebrow at that, Melissa noticed. Her makeup this morning was more pronounced, accentuating her eyes, highlighting the contours of her cheeks, and drawing attention to her lips. Oh, those lips. Sula tossed her messenger bag into the back seat and placed her overnight bag next to Melissa’s in the back. When she turned around, Melissa stood up on her toes and kissed her lightly.
“Mmm, coffee.”
Sula stepped back, putting her hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll go brush my teeth again.”
“No, don’t.” Melissa grabbed her hand, smiling mischievously. “I want more coffee.”
“I only made a small pot, and I drank it all. I could brew another one if you—”
“No, silly. I want another kiss. A coffee-flavored kiss.”
“Oh.” Sula dropped her hand and put her arm around her.
Melissa gave her a lingering passionate kiss and enjoyed the feeling of being in Sula’s arms. She leaned back to stare into Sula’s eyes, and the morning light made the amber highlights seemed almost golden. She traced her finger down the line of her jaw and felt Sula shudder under her touch. “Much as I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you, if you want to be on time for your meeting, we better get going.”
“Oh, yeah…the meeting,” Sula joked, releasing Melissa from her embrace.
As they drove into Buckhorn, the main street was devoid of activity; the tourists apparently hadn’t woken up yet. Melissa glanced at the gas gauge, surprised to see that the tank was less than half full. “I’d better stop for gas before we get out of town.”
Sula pointed ahead. “The station on the other side of town always has a good price, and even better coffee, if you want some. I wouldn’t mind another cup for the drive.”
Melissa stopped at the station, which was painted such a bright shade of yellow with red trim that you couldn’t possibly miss seeing it. That seemed to be the point of the paint job. It looked like a mom-and-pop operation, with hand-painted signs in large block letters advertising bait, beer, and ice. Sula went inside while Melissa attended to the gas. Standing there, listening to the whirr and click of the pump, she wondered how the evening with Sula would unfold. She was entertaining some stimulating ideas when a deep rumble jarred her thoughts back to the present. A big pickup towing a pop-up camping trailer pulled up on the other side of the pump, and a sleepy-looking woman got out, yawned, and reached for the nozzle as kids spilled out of the back seat and ran toward the convenience mart. A family heading home, it seemed; they all look tanned and like they could use a good shower.
The two-tone electronic chime of the convenience mart door dinged, and Melissa turned to see the kids go in and Sula come out, walking toward her with a large cup of coffee in each hand and gripping the top of a white pastry bag between her teeth. She wiggled her eyebrows comically when they made eye contact.
Smiling, Melissa hung the nozzle back on the pump and grabbed the receipt. “We’ve got gas, coffee, and whatever’s in that bag. Let’s hit the road.”
As they descended into the canyon, Melissa heard the rustle of the paper sack and glanced over to see Sula opening the bag. “So, what did you get?” Melissa asked.
“Honey buns.”
Melissa laughed. “You just couldn’t resist them, could you?”
“Of course not. They’re really good.”
Melissa glanced at the gooey roll in Sula hand. “Well, to keep the steering wheel from getting sticky, you’re going to have to feed it to me.”
“Hm. You don’t look like wildlife to me,” Sula said with a playfully skeptical tone. “So I guess I won’t be breaking any rules.”
“I can imitate a squirrel pretty well,” Melissa said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” And just as she was about to demonstrate her chatter, she remembered the bag of raw peanuts in Sula’s vehicle. “Hey, wait a minute. You keep peanuts in your Bronco to feed the jays.”
“What happens on my property stays on my property,” Sula said with a chuckle. “Don’t give away my secret.”
“I promise not to tell anyone about your deep, dark secret.”
“Well then, I suppose I can reward you with this.” Sula held up a piece of sticky bun in front of her lips so she could accept it without taking her eyes off the road.
It was tender and tasted more like honey than sugar. Sula was funny, appearing so shocked when Melissa had called her a bear. Her life was devoted to bears. She studied them and protected them through the conservancy, she had bear art in her home, and she certainly seemed to like honey as much as any bear did. And based on what she had learned recently from the exhibits at the conservancy, Sula also seemed to share the bear-like qualities of being curious, watchful, cautious, and easygoing. But, as she had seen at the bar with Kerry, Sula would stand her ground if provoked. She’d be a formidable foe.
Melissa enjoyed driving down the winding canyon road, and in between bites of the honey bun that Sula offered her, she asked about her meeting. Sula explained that she’d be giving a presentation about the conservancy’s mission and their collaboration with the City of Buckhorn. Melissa learned that they had been nationally recognized for not having had any bear-related human injuries in over ten years.
“So that kid who had food in his tent and got dragged off by the bear broke your record, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey. Whatever happened to that bear?”
“Oh, Parks and Wildlife never found him. He was a young bear, still learning the rules.” Sula paused and then added quickly, “At least that’s my assumption. He must have moved into another range.”
“I bet that kid made you angry.”
“No, not angry. Just concerned that we need to keep the pressure on education. You know, living with bears is really just about applying some basic common sense.”
“Which is often lacking in far too much of the population.”
“Agreed,” Sula said, and balled up the empty paper sack. “Our program works because we have such strong support from the city and the community.”
“You said the city sometimes calls you if there’s a problem bear.”
“Yeah, but that’s not often. We train all the police officers, since they’re first responders, on how to react to bear calls. In most cases the bears are just moving through a neighborhood, maybe pausing to take a nap in the shade of a porch. If a bear’s not behaving in an aggressive or unusual manner, the officer will call one of our bear-watch volunteers. They’ll help monitor the bear and, more importantly, talk to the people who gather to watch it. It’s a great opportunity to educate people. If a bear’s doing something that’s going to get it into trouble, the police call Parks and Wildlife, who decide the best course of action.”
“Like what?”
“Pepper spray, or a device called a banger that makes a loud sound near the bear. If the bear won’t move on, like if it won’t leave the bird feeder that shouldn’t have been hung where the bear could get to it, they might have to shoot it with a bean bag. That’s pretty rare, though.”
Melissa nodded as she listened. “So I take it that the goal is to get the bear to associate people with unpleasant things.”
“Sort of. Mostly we don’t want the bears getting habituated to human food or food sources associated with humans, like bird feeders. Just moseying through the neighborhood is fine, but stopping and raiding bird feeders or climbing into an open window to get a jar of peanut butter that was left on a kitchen counter is not acceptable. A smart bear figures that out.”
“Has a bear really broken into a house for peanut butter?”
“More than once.”
“Wow.” That put the ranch rules about keeping ground-floor cabin windows closed at night or if you weren’t there into perspecti
ve. “So what happens to a bear that’s not so smart?”
“It gets relocated. And I really hate when that happens, because more often than not, that bear will find its way back. And repeat offenders usually get labeled as bad bears.”
“And so-called bad bears come to a bad end, I’m guessing.”
“Mm-hmm. Luckily, we haven’t had to do that in Buckhorn in nearly twenty years.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is.” Sula laughed unexpectedly. “I think I just gave you my talk.”
“Well, I’m impressed. I hope the people attending are equally impressed and inspired to take these ideas home with them to implement.” The truth was, Melissa was more than impressed; she was deeply moved. “You really do make the world a better place.”
“I try,” Sula said softly.
As the mountains turned into foothills, which in turn gave way to the plateau below, the urban sprawl along the Front Range made the drive much less visually interesting. There were no lulls in conversation, and the time flew by as Sula entertained Melissa with stories about when she was a college intern spending the summers working in Montana. Some were funny, like a story about a black bear who had gotten drunk on peaches that a family had let collect on the ground in their backyard. After eating the fermented fruit, he’d played in the swimming pool, biting holes in all the children’s inflatable toys, and then passed out cold on a picnic table. Melissa had tears in her eyes from laughter when Sula said the family didn’t understand why the bear couldn’t be arrested for drunk-and-disorderly behavior. Other stories, like the one about a tranquilized bear being transported in the back seat of an SUV that woke up sooner than expected, kept her on the edge of her seat.