Page 42 of Wild Heart

“Or someone trying to scare us off.”

“Either way, we need to move. Fast.” Natalie worked quickly, splinting the cub’s leg with practiced hands. The animal whimpered once but didn’t fight. It was too weak.

“Let me carry him,” Mason said.

“No. I’ve got him.”

He didn’t argue, just watched her lift the crate with quiet strength. They climbed steadily, adrenaline dulling the ache in her muscles. The forest felt denser now. Every crack of a twig, every gust of wind seemed loaded with intent. More than once, Natalie turned, sure she’d seen movement. But it was only the woods watching.

At the halfway point, Mason called in their location. “Rescue team’s en route,” he said. “Ten minutes.”

They stopped in a small clearing. Natalie lowered the crate gently and sat beside it, her legs trembling.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been that scared,” she admitted.

Mason sat beside her. “You handled it.”

She turned to him. “I keep thinking about all the things we’re up against. Legal threats. Local opposition. All of it. And sometimes it’s overwhelming and that, back there didn’t help.”

“It didn’t,” he said without hesitation. “But we got through it.”

She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’m not used to all this,” she said. “But at the same time I need it like I need air.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I need you too.”

She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. In the filtered light of the forest, surrounded by the wild and the risk and the weight of everything they carried, she saw something in him that made her heart soar. Devotion.

He touched her cheek gently, his thumb brushing a smear of dirt she hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you,” he said.

Her breath caught. “Same.”

They kissed, slow, steady, their lips tasting of fear overcome, of trust hard-earned. It wasn’t rushed. It was a claiming. A confirmation. When the sound of the approaching vehicle finally broke through the woods, Natalie stood with Mason beside her, the crate between them. She had led the rescue. She had trusted herself. Finally.

17

By the time the community meeting convened at the town’s civic center, word had already spread about the cub rescue, the gunshots, and the sanctuary’s unflinching response. What had once been whispered doubts had begun to shift, nudged by the steady drumbeat of Natalie and Mason’s quiet resilience and Olivia’s no-nonsense fundraising campaign.

Inside the cedar-paneled meeting room, folding chairs filled quickly. There were local ranchers in their sun-bleached denim, PTA parents in clinking charm bracelets, teenagers from the community center, and half the sanctuary’s volunteer team—all gathered under the same vaulted ceiling. Uncertainty hung in the air.

Natalie stood near the side wall with Mason and Davey, heart thudding like a metronome beneath her ribs. Olivia sat at the front table, her cane tucked behind her. She looked calm, even regal, as if she’d been born to speak truth to power.

The mayor, a man with thick glasses and a voice like gravel, opened the meeting with the usual formalities. But his tone changed when he brought up the sanctuary.

“We’ve looked at all the concerns from both sides,” he said. “Some worrying that the sanctuary is attracting predators. Others saying it’s providing vital services for our wildlife. Tonight, we’re here to listen.”

The microphone was passed to Olivia. She stood slowly, deliberately, without using her cane. The room hushed.

“My name is Olivia Hayes,” she said, voice strong. “I founded the sanctuary over twenty years ago with the belief that injured wildlife deserve a second chance. I’m not here to change your minds. I’m here to tell you what we’ve done, and what we will continue to do.”

She outlined the rescue numbers, the education programs, the outreach work in schools. She spoke about the volunteers who gave their time, the donors who had stepped up, the animals that had healed.

Then she paused. “And when our team was targeted last week, when gunshots rang through the woods during a rescue, we didn’t back down. We didn’t run. We carried that cub out of danger because that’s what we do. Not because it’s easy, or safe, or convenient. But because it’s right.”

A silence fell over the room. The kind that holds attention.

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