The cub licked the last drops of water from the bowl, its small tongue rasping softly against the metal. When it looked up again, her heart pulled in two directions at once. Reason and instinct locked in quiet war. She stepped back, closed the door carefully, and went straight to the phone.
By noon, the rangers arrived in their weathered pickup, the green-and-tan logo barely visible beneath layers of red dust. Two men. Both young, sunburned, calm in the way that came from experience climbed out and greeted her with nods. “Morning, ma’am,” one said. “We got your call about a stray cub?”