Raising the Stakes

LIAM’S SUV BOUNCED on the backwoods road, the caged cub yipping whenever they smacked along a tooth-rattling rise. The farther into the forest he drove, the dimmer it became, small animals appearing then vanishing as he rounded a bend. Birds swooped before his windshield, chasing each other from the leafed-out trees.

Under other circumstances, Liam would have enjoyed the wild beauty around him. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the animal carrier. But this mission shattered the early-evening peace, shading it in sepia tones that matched his bleak mood. He didn’t want to kill the cub. Had hoped he’d reunite it with its mother. But his time in Afghanistan and work with the DEC had taught him that life wasn’t always fair.

“You get what you put into it.” Jim’s remembered voice sounded real enough to make Liam jerk the wheel. The SUV swerved then straightened, cold sweat slicking the back of Liam’s neck. In an instant, his mind flashed back to Afghanistan and he saw his friend offering him a cigarette as they finished their outpost wall patrol.

“We’re not making it out of this,” Liam insisted. His eyes scanned desert hills that hid more insurgents than their small unit could hold off. When he grabbed the cigarette, he dropped his night-vision gear.

“Don’t lose faith, kid.” Jim patted his arm, his lips curling in a lopsided smile before he bent for the goggles.

“Have it for both of us, Jim.”

A shot rang out and Liam ducked, his heart firing as fast as the bullet.

He reached for his friend.

“Jim?”

No answer.

“Jim!” His hands came away wet, his scream swallowed by the dark night.

The bear’s bark yanked Liam back to the present and he jerked the vehicle into a wider area in the road and parked. His head dropped to the steering wheel, his breath coming hard. A dull roar filled his ears and pain burrowed deep between his eyes.

At last, heart heavy, he turned off the ignition and listened to the engine tick, then quiet. He tossed his hat onto the passenger seat and dropped his head back. How could he do this?

How could he not?

For a moment, he imagined letting the cub go. No one in the department would be the wiser. But then he pictured it unable to find food without its mother’s help, the slow torture of starving to death. Or he envisioned larger animals chasing and killing it. A much crueler way to die than a single bullet. As a former sharpshooter, he could ensure the cub didn’t suffer a moment. Since the department didn’t have the budget to euthanize animals, it was the only way to keep it from a painful, drawn-out death.

The bear rustled behind him, a scratching sound of claws on metal. He should get on with it. If the guys at work saw this, they’d hassle him. Call him out for acting like a wimp. They’d tell him to stop putting off the inevitable. For them, it seemed easy. Yet to him, it was torture.

A high-pitched bark sounded, startling Liam from his thoughts. The cub’s stress was escalating. Delaying this did no one any good. His hands slipped on the door handle before he pushed it down. A clammy sensation crawled along his skin as he trudged to the back of the SUV and threw open the back door.

Killer. Vivie’s accusation whispered in his ear. He jerked, as if she were beside him. No denying her anger was genuine. Justified? No. She didn’t understand. Had unreasonable expectations that would end badly—the cub would likely fail to thrive at her inexperienced hands, and she or the cub could suffer a serious, even fatal, injury if it was mishandled. He shook his head. Better to face the worst now instead of later.

The small cub’s eyes met his through the bars. It was spooked. Had a right to be, he thought, as he hefted the carrier and a length of rope. He forced his leaden legs to carry him to a large maple, its trunk thick enough to secure the bear. He looped the restraint over its head then tied it to the base of the tree.

An image of the mother bear hanging from a similar maple flashed in his mind. Vivie’s comparison of Liam to the poachers had struck a chord, but he acted within the law, while they broke it. Their illegal actions had started this and now he had the horrible, despicable task of finishing it.

Why did it have to be like this?

“Because that’s life,” a voice—his, this time—whispered.

“Sorry, little girl,” he muttered when he headed back for his rifle, the empty pet carrier in hand. He shoved the crate inside and grabbed his gun, his lungs sluggish in his tight chest. He did not want to do this. Would trade places with anyone in the world not to...but that was the coward’s way. Passing off painful jobs because you couldn’t carry out your duty.

The weight of it crushed his chest. Would helping Vivie with her crazy plan be harder than this? Could he build an enclosure after persuading a rehabilitator to take the bear for a week? It might work, though he’d be tying himself to Vivie as her supervisor until they released the bear in the fall or found a home for it. If the cub’s jaw didn’t heal, an animal reserve was the only option. Waiting lists for one were long, if a spot opened up at all. In the end, he and the bear could find themselves in this spot again.

He sighed, air leaving him in a long stream. The plan was improbable when he imagined all that could go wrong.

He slipped a single round into the rifle and snapped it closed. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the only noise coming from the bear—a low, keening wail.

The weapon hung by his side, seeming to weigh a ton. Vivie had fought hard for the bear. Had stayed at the clinic all day and studied up on big-game care. Her devotion was clear. Would it wane when the daily chores turned tedious? Was she one of those people who got caught up in the fantasy, then lost interest in the reality?

He thought of her deaf Labrador and half-blind cat. She seemed attracted to high-needs animals. Was her dedication strong enough to take on this life?

He shook his head, raised his weapon and sighted the small animal through his scope. Too many uncertainties...

* * *

“MR. GOWETTE,” VIVIE called to her departing customer, holding up a water glass. “You forgot your teeth.”

The diner’s door swung shut behind the hunched mechanic and Vivie slumped against the counter. “Again.” She sighed, fished out the dentures with a fork, dropped them in a to-go container and placed them on the shelf beneath the cash register. He’d be back. Had probably done it on purpose to get away from his wife—a notorious faultfinder with a voice that peeled paint.

She glanced at the cat clock hanging above the rear shelves, its black-and-white striped tail swinging in time with its eyes. Eight o’clock. The cub...

A warm arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Hey. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”

Maggie’s topaz eyes smiled into hers.

“No. It’s not.” Vivie’s throat closed tight after the last word and tears threatened. She grabbed a dishrag from the bucket of cleaning solution and wiped the yellow-and-gold-speckled counter.

Maggie’s hand dropped over hers. “You already cleaned that.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Maggie.”

“You’re trying to stay busy. And I get it. I’m so sorry about the cub.”

Vivie ached, thinking about the orphaned bear, dead, alone in the woods, no one to care. No one but her.

“I could have given her a home.” She automatically reached behind her when their laconic short order cook, Rowdy, dinged the “food’s up” bell.

“Who’s got the chef’s salad, no meat, no cheese, no dressing?” Vivie called. A large man wearing camouflage shorts and a white tank raised his hand. “Double-bacon cheeseburger and loaded fries?” A small woman, her gray hair purple under the fluorescent lights, waved her handkerchief from down the counter.

“Right.” She bustled off to one of their chrome-edged tables, the top matching the diner’s counters. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else on this, Pete?”

The logger shook his head, his long earlobes shaking beneath buzzed brown hair. “Watching my weight. Wife and I are renewing our vows next month, and I want to get into my old tux.”

“One Heart Attack.” Maggie presented their burger special with a flourish. “Will you be having anything else, Sister Mary?” she asked the retired nun, a twinkle in her eye.

“If you’ve got any raisin pie left, I’d have a slice of that.”

“One Ministroke, coming up,” Maggie called cheerfully. “I think you got the last slice.”

“Good. Can’t imagine a better way to meet my maker,” the elderly woman joked, lifting a burger bigger than her face and taking an enormous bite. No worries with dentures there, mused Vivie.

She headed back to the counter, grabbing dirty plates off tables as she went. Since the loggers had come and gone, and she’d wanted Maggie to herself, they’d let the waitstaff go after the evening rush had ended.

Brett, Rowdy’s nephew, pushed through the double wooden doors from the kitchen, an empty plastic bin on his hip. “I’ll take those, Miss Harris,” he said softly, his usual lisp barely audible.