Read Online Wyoming Bold (Mills & Boon M&B) by Diana Palmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diana Palmer
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a leg missing, even a raven with a broken wing.
“What happened to all of these?” Tank asked.
“Kids with guns” came the irritated reply. “A teenager shot the raven for sport. I had words with him and his father, and court action is pending.”
Tank shook his head. “And the wolf?”
“Ate two of a rancher’s calves. He was trapped. He lost the leg and would have died if I hadn’t found him. People and wild animals just don’t mix.”
“Ranchers have to live.”
The rehabilitator nodded. “So they do. Nobody wins in a situation like this. The rancher is being fined for trapping the wolf. It’s an endangered species. The rancher said his calves were also endangered, but it won’t help him.” He glanced at Tank. “Most of the people who write law concerning wild animals have never seen one.” He had a strange, wicked look on his face. “You know, I have this recurring daydream about putting a couple of these legislators in a room with several hungry wolves...” He sighed. “Well, never mind. But I guarantee it would change attitudes. The survivors would probably legislate for change.” He put his hand to the wolf’s muzzle through the cage and stroked it. The wolf didn’t seem to mind. “Not you, old fellow,” he said gently. “There are sweet wolves and mean wolves. Sort of like people.” He glanced at Tank. “But in the wild, a wolf is going to do what comes naturally, whether it’s kill and eat elk or cattle. The trick is to make sure the numbers aren’t so big that the habitat can support the pack and they don’t resort to raiding cattle ranches.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell Congress.”
“Wouldn’t I love to tell Congress how I feel about what goes on in the real world out here. How do you tell a wolf it can’t cross a property line? Or a raven that if it goes to ground hunting a rabbit it’s likely to be shot in lieu of a target?”
“At least you’re trying to help,” Tank pointed out.
Greg smiled. “Trying to. Yes.” He waved an arm around the room full of cages. “I have two more rooms like this.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Ever wonder why I’m not married?”
Tank chuckled. “Not really. I don’t know a lot of women who’d like to share space with a wolf. Even one in a cage.”
“Got a cougar in the other room. A ferret and a couple of skunks. All victims of trapping.” He shook his head. “The raven was a special case, I mostly do mammals.”
“Who brought him to you?”
He grimaced. “The boy’s mother. His dad thought it was great, how he hit the raven on the fly. His mother was horrified.”
“Good for her. I like to target shoot, but I don’t do it with animals. Well, except deer, in hunting season,” he amended. “I love venison.”
“Me, too,” Greg confessed. “That’s rather a different case. Not enough forage for an overpopulation of deer, so we hunt the excess to keep the herds healthy. Can’t explain that to outsiders, either. We’re killing Bambi.”
“Bambi can kill you with those hooves,” Tank commented. “They’re like razor blades.”
“Indeed they are. Deer are powerful, especially the bucks, with those big racks.”
“Think the squirrel will live?”
“If he doesn’t it won’t be my fault,” Greg said. He smiled. “I love animals.”
“Maybe someday you’ll find a woman who does, too.”
He shrugged. “Or not.” He eyed Tank. “You got this squirrel from Merissa Baker, didn’t you?” he asked.
“No comments about curdling milk,” Tank said defensively.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg replied. “She’s got this way with animals, is what I meant,” he said. “Brought me a snake one day that she’d bandaged. She was afraid the bandage wouldn’t stay on.” He whistled. “Biggest damned timber rattler I ever saw, and it was lying in her arms like a baby. Minute I touched it, it tried to strike at me. But I bandaged it and nursed it back to health and turned it
“What happened to all of these?” Tank asked.
“Kids with guns” came the irritated reply. “A teenager shot the raven for sport. I had words with him and his father, and court action is pending.”
Tank shook his head. “And the wolf?”
“Ate two of a rancher’s calves. He was trapped. He lost the leg and would have died if I hadn’t found him. People and wild animals just don’t mix.”
“Ranchers have to live.”
The rehabilitator nodded. “So they do. Nobody wins in a situation like this. The rancher is being fined for trapping the wolf. It’s an endangered species. The rancher said his calves were also endangered, but it won’t help him.” He glanced at Tank. “Most of the people who write law concerning wild animals have never seen one.” He had a strange, wicked look on his face. “You know, I have this recurring daydream about putting a couple of these legislators in a room with several hungry wolves...” He sighed. “Well, never mind. But I guarantee it would change attitudes. The survivors would probably legislate for change.” He put his hand to the wolf’s muzzle through the cage and stroked it. The wolf didn’t seem to mind. “Not you, old fellow,” he said gently. “There are sweet wolves and mean wolves. Sort of like people.” He glanced at Tank. “But in the wild, a wolf is going to do what comes naturally, whether it’s kill and eat elk or cattle. The trick is to make sure the numbers aren’t so big that the habitat can support the pack and they don’t resort to raiding cattle ranches.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell Congress.”
“Wouldn’t I love to tell Congress how I feel about what goes on in the real world out here. How do you tell a wolf it can’t cross a property line? Or a raven that if it goes to ground hunting a rabbit it’s likely to be shot in lieu of a target?”
“At least you’re trying to help,” Tank pointed out.
Greg smiled. “Trying to. Yes.” He waved an arm around the room full of cages. “I have two more rooms like this.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Ever wonder why I’m not married?”
Tank chuckled. “Not really. I don’t know a lot of women who’d like to share space with a wolf. Even one in a cage.”
“Got a cougar in the other room. A ferret and a couple of skunks. All victims of trapping.” He shook his head. “The raven was a special case, I mostly do mammals.”
“Who brought him to you?”
He grimaced. “The boy’s mother. His dad thought it was great, how he hit the raven on the fly. His mother was horrified.”
“Good for her. I like to target shoot, but I don’t do it with animals. Well, except deer, in hunting season,” he amended. “I love venison.”
“Me, too,” Greg confessed. “That’s rather a different case. Not enough forage for an overpopulation of deer, so we hunt the excess to keep the herds healthy. Can’t explain that to outsiders, either. We’re killing Bambi.”
“Bambi can kill you with those hooves,” Tank commented. “They’re like razor blades.”
“Indeed they are. Deer are powerful, especially the bucks, with those big racks.”
“Think the squirrel will live?”
“If he doesn’t it won’t be my fault,” Greg said. He smiled. “I love animals.”
“Maybe someday you’ll find a woman who does, too.”
He shrugged. “Or not.” He eyed Tank. “You got this squirrel from Merissa Baker, didn’t you?” he asked.
“No comments about curdling milk,” Tank said defensively.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg replied. “She’s got this way with animals, is what I meant,” he said. “Brought me a snake one day that she’d bandaged. She was afraid the bandage wouldn’t stay on.” He whistled. “Biggest damned timber rattler I ever saw, and it was lying in her arms like a baby. Minute I touched it, it tried to strike at me. But I bandaged it and nursed it back to health and turned it
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