Sharp Shootin' Cowboy (Hot Cowboy Nights, #3)(17)

Haley had stayed on to join the confederation of wildlife activists who gathered at the state capital. They’d stood vigil outside the Department of Fish and Game, offering the same wolf hunters two hundred dollars for the paws that they now used as a visual symbol of the slaughter. But after weeks of protests, the governor still refused to meet them or to be interviewed. Adding insult to injury, the media had paid the protest minimal attention.

“How are you holding up?” Jeffrey appeared by her side bearing an encouraging smile and a steaming cup of coffee.

She needed both. Her frustration was growing, along with her fear of losing her fingers and toes to frostbite. She chided herself that the fight against aerial gunning was far more important than her discomfort. And she was incredibly lucky to be working with someone like Jeffrey Greene. The association with him would surely open new doors to her.

“N-not v-very well, I’m afraid,” Haley answered through chattering teeth. “The only people who seem to care are the ones marching with us.”

“The people here aren’t apathetic,” Jeffrey argued. “But they’re feeling defeated. Alaska has already voted this issue down twice, only to be overridden. If the hunting lobbyists had their way, they’d turn Alaska into a giant game park. That’s why we have to stop this now.”

“How? We don’t have money or legislative support.”

“Perhaps not here, but we have other options. We have a strong conservation base in California and sympathetic legislators. All we need to do is prove we have public support and money, and new federal legislation will follow.”

“But how can we do that when we can’t even get any local news coverage?”

“We have to find a way to get national attention. All we need to do is capture this brutality on video and show the world the ugly truth. The documentary Wolves and the Wolf Men led to the Federal Airborne Hunting Act in the seventies.” Jeffrey’s jaw was set with determination. “It worked once before. It’ll work again.”

“That sounds easier said than done,” Haley replied. “I can’t imagine any hunters are going to invite us to go along for the ride.”

“We’ll just hire a pilot and follow them with a film crew. As long as we don’t interfere, we’re still operating inside the law.”

“But how do you expect to even find these hunters? They don’t exactly advertise their activities.”

Jeffrey eyed her slowly up and down. “I won’t. You will.”

*

“A Berserker, two Arctic Devils, and three Duck Farts.” Haley rolled her eyes as she called out the order to the bartender.

She’d thought her waitressing days were over when she’d left San Jacinto, but here she was, dressed as a nineteenth-century saloon girl in a smoke-filled bar in the middle of nowhere. She could barely breathe from all the cigars and cigarettes. At almost eight bucks a pack in Alaska, you’d think people would give it up.

Her mission hadn’t proven as difficult as she’d first thought. The Hole in the Wall Saloon catered to the beer-swilling, Duck Fart–shooting, big-money hunters from the Lower 48 who’d drop seven to ten grand without batting an eye just for a chance at big game.

Although winter days in Alaska were short and unbearably cold, the darkness and frigid temperatures didn’t keep people from the bars. If anything, it seemed to foster social drinking, and drinking encouraged talk. Over the past weeks she’d compiled an entire notepad filled with places, dates, and times. It was only a matter of weeks before the days would be long enough for these would-be wolf hunters to take to the skies.

While Haley gathered information, Jeffrey had returned to California to hire a film crew. With several California legislators friendly to conservation, all they needed was video evidence to garner legislative support. Although she’d hoped to be home for Christmas, and missed her grandparents and the California sun, she told herself that her future required sacrificing certain creature comforts for the greater good.

Haley filled three frosty mugs from the tap while the bartender topped the trio of shooters with Crown Royal. “Thanks, Mike.” She offered a smile, adjusted her corset, and then scooped up the tray. She delivered the drinks with a forced smile, endured a lewd joke and a slap on the ass, and then moved on to bus the next table.

She was on her break when her phone vibrated. Her pulse sped. Jeffrey said he’d try to return to spend Christmas with her. Maybe she wouldn’t be alone for the holidays after all.

Her heart sank when she didn’t recognize the number. She debated whether to answer, but it was a California area code. Her next thought was for her grandparents. Maybe something had happened? “Hello?” she answered tentatively, half-braced for bad news.

“Merry Christmas,” replied a deep, velvety baritone.

Was her imagination playing tricks? It couldn’t be him after all this time.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“It’s Reid.”

“Reid?” she repeated dumbly. “You’re back? You’re safe?”

“Yeah. Just arrived in Wyoming, actually.”

“So you’re spending Christmas with your family? I’m glad.”

“Thanks. I took a detour to San Jacinto hoping to convince you to come with me.”

“You did?”