Calley Stewart was back doing what she’d been trained for six years ago at Utah State University. She and Melinda Stone crouched behind brush a few hundred yards from Highway 93, northwest of Missoula, waiting for daylight, waiting for what ancient Indians had once considered to be supernatural.

Neither woman spoke while the first fingers of dawn light touched the wooded drainage area. Although Calley’s life had been one of too much tension during the past year, she hadn’t forgotten. This morning, this place, the anticipated experience were what she’d been born to. She felt that fundamental fact in her soul.

Five minutes later the drainage area had become light enough for her to make out the individual western larches dotting the terrain. Silently, she pointed toward a tree missing a slab of bark at least ten feet in length. Melinda nodded, acknowledging the work of the creatures they were waiting for, then cocked her head in a silent signal.

Calley heard the deep, dry cough rumbling out of the forest, an awesome signal echoing from the ages. The grizzlies had arrived.

She rocked back onto her heels, her well-worn boots making no sound despite the strain she put them under as she reached for her expensive digital camera. She knew she’d start shaking when she heard the sound. As Mike had once said, ‘Anyone who isn’t in awe of the grizzly is either an idiot or a damn fool.’ Beside her, Melinda lifted her own camera into position.

Three of them—a full-grown female weighing perhaps seven hundred pounds and two immature youngsters ambling after her, swinging their noses along the ground and sniffing the crisp air as their heavy bodies rolled through thick grass reaching to their bellies. The power contained within their compact frames was evident despite the long, thick hair that covered everything except the tips of their noses.

Nothing mattered except concentrating on what was coming into focus through her camera lens. She’d never become blasé about the sight of nature’s largest carnivorous land-based mammal. The grizzlies represented why she’d returned to her career.

Tears that had nothing to do with the morning cold broke loose. The Indians had been right. These creatures should be treated with reverence—even with a kind of love.

Calley waited another two or three minutes until the bears’ lackadaisical search for food brought them close enough for the wind to introduce their pungent smell. For another moment, she fought then conquered a wave of panic. Then she ran off shot after shot of the trio, thankful for the silent shutter. She thought, briefly, about the nearby highway. She doubted if anyone on it knew how close they were to the ultimate example of Montana’s wilderness. As long as she and Melinda remained out of view and the breeze continued to blow from bears to humans, there was little danger the bears, with their weak eyesight, would locate the intruders in their world.

And if the bears spotted Calley and Melinda, there was less than a fifty-fifty chance they would be challenged. This wasn’t a mother with young cubs to protect or a male during mating season. These grizzlies had stood their ground despite humans brought to their turf by Highway 93. The sight of a couple of women in their territory would probably only bring a loud snort of disgust and a quick fade into the forest.

Just the same, Calley didn’t take her attention off the bears. Complacency in the presence of grizzlies could be a fatal mistake. Calley had more than a degree in wildlife management under her belt. She’d been part of the Border Grizzly Project, based at the University of Montana, for three years. She would have never come here, or allowed Melinda to accompany her, if either woman had been having her period. Neither woman wore any cosmetics. They’d both washed their hands with vinegar after filling the gas tank. She’d learned these things not from textbooks, but because she intended to stay alive.

The sight of three of Montana’s grizzlies lasted no longer than five minutes. The bears were in excellent physical condition. “Not bad for a morning’s work,” she said once she was certain the bears wouldn’t return. “I’m still shaking. That’s what a year away from them does to me. Did you get your pictures?”

The University of Montana research assistant nodded. “We did it! We actually did it!” Melinda laughed. “Dean kept waving his pictures in my face, but they didn’t mean much to me. Not until now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be content to stay on campus doing paperwork for him anymore.”

“Neither of us will do anything for the project if we don’t get a move on. Our boss will have my hide if I don’t get to the Flathead today. This is crazy. I’ve been working for Dean Ramsey for two weeks, and I still haven’t seen the man.”

“Yeah, you have,” Melinda said as the women started trudging through the high grass to where they’d left the Jeep.

“I have not.” She glanced back, hoping for a final sight of the bears, although she wouldn’t be responsible for the sounds that might come from her throat if they suddenly appeared. “He was in Yellowstone all last week and on the Flathead River since he got back. The only proof I have of his existence is a phone call and a couple of emails.”

Melinda winked. “You remember the bigger of those two young grizzlies? The one with the lighter coat. Put him on two feet and you have Dean Ramsey.”

“Wonderful! Don’t tell me he smells like a bear, too. I am definitely not ready to spend the summer working side by side with that.”

“Of course he doesn’t smell like a bear, although maybe he does by now if he’s been out setting snares for days. What I mean is, he has this mess of dark brown hair and a beard going tan instead of gray like the one bear. When he smiles, he has these white teeth that show through all the hair, just like a bear with its mouth open.”

“A bear’s teeth are yellow.”

“Minor point. Take my word for it, the man will make you think about everything positive that can be said about grizzlies. We don’t have to meet him at any particular time, do we? We’re going to be half the day just getting there, let alone finding where he and Steve have camped.”

“No, the email just said he’d be looking for me on the twenty-fourth. You do have the map, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Melinda parted her back pocket. “Given the state of Dean’s desk, it’s no small accomplishment. I swear, the amount of time he spent getting the funds for the project is unreal. I mean, he’s a biologist, not a bureaucrat.”

“He’s not pushing pencils now. Thank goodness the extra funding came through. How do you think I was able to come back here?”

It was a poor choice of words. The reason for Calley’s leaving the project last year had remained a subject the two friends hadn’t touched. Melinda was waiting for Calley to bring it up, but Calley wasn’t ready.

She shook off the past and concentrated on keeping her footing in grass too thick to allow her to see the ground. They walked single file until they’d covered the mile to Calley’s vehicle. They repacked their cameras and placed them on the floor behind their seats. After grabbing a thermos of coffee, they started north to where they hoped Dean Ramsey and Steve Bull were snaring bears as they collected data for the project.

For the past two weeks, she’d been occupied with redefining the job financed by the Endangered Species Act, finding a place to stay and having her Jeep serviced. There’d been little opportunity to learn what Melinda was up to other than assisting Dean. “Are you still entering those photography contests? If those shots of the grizzlies come out, you’ll really have something.”

A smile spread over the compact thirty-year-old’s face, crinkling her and seeming to turn her into a child. “Why do you think I talked you into hooking up with me at four a.m.? And why do you think I’m trailing along on this trip out to the Flathead? My goal is to take pictures of every grizzly south of the border.”

“Your friend doesn’t mind?”

“My friend, as you so charmingly call him, is used to my idiosyncrasies. Poor guy. If he thought he was hooking up with a lonely old maid, he’s wrong. What would you say if I told you I’m thinking of marrying Kirk?”

“Marriage? I don’t know.” Melinda and Kirk had been living together for almost two years now. Melinda was a strong independent woman while Kirk fiercely guarded his personal space. They were hardly the typical couple walking hand in hand through the pathways of life. But maybe that’s why their relationship worked. They complemented each other without intruding.

“I don’t know. I’ve never given it any thought.”

“Well, think about it. I am.”

Mud caked Dean Ramsey’s jeans from the knees down. His boots squished with every step. He cursed the lifestyle that made a beard and shaggy hair more a matter of lack of time for personal grooming than an attempt to imitate one of the creatures he’d spent the past ten years studying. He also needed a shower.

No, he needed to be thrown into a hot, soapy washing machine and left on the wash cycle for an hour. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt partly because he needed to feel air on his muscular forearms and partly because his elbows kept poking through the tears in the sleeves. He was sweating between his shoulder blades, under the extra layer of fabric formed by his bright orange vest. But he knew enough not to remove what should be proof to other humans that he wasn’t something to be brought home to mount over a fireplace.

Biologist Steve Bull followed his lead along the transparent vein of water snaking through the vast roll of mountains making up the Flathead area. Dean had first met the Sioux Indian when Steve worked for the Yellowstone National Park bear-management program. Dean had spirited him away when additional money from public and private conservation groups became available for the Border Grizzly Project. Steve, who’d never adjusted to the demands of tourists, had been a willing transplant. The twenty-six-year-old, who Dean thought of as a boy with an old man’s wisdom of the wilderness, operated on the same wavelength. They sought civilization only when their clothes would no longer come clean in a river and the food in their backpacks could no longer be supplemented with chokecherries, thimbleberry or trout.

Dean was pretty sure it was Wednesday. If so, the newest member of the project team, Calley Stewart, would show up.

He hadn’t given the woman much thought. Knowing she’d worked for the project under its former director, Mike Bailey, was all he needed to know. Despite them having certain philosophical differences, Bailey knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t have tolerated anyone who didn’t understand making peace between humans and grizzlies was the only way the great creatures would survive.

“I don’t know why we have to drag this rotting meat around with us,” Steve whispered. “The way the two of us stink, no bear’s going to be able to smell anything else.”

“You noticed.” Dean wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t turn around. They were getting close to the last of the seven snares they’d fastened to ponderosa pines yesterday. The first six had been empty, but already they could hear angry growls around the bend in the river. To an outsider, all bears probably sounded the same, but Dean already knew from what he heard their prisoner was a black, not a grizzly. It wasn’t what Dean wanted, but he could still learn something from the smaller bear.

A scruffy-looking male weighing just over three hundred pounds glared at Dean and Steve. Its right rear foot was caught in a snug noose that wouldn’t injure it unless the creature had been trapped long enough to become desperate. The two men had no intention of letting it happen. The black raised a free front paw at the humans, pointed its muzzle in their direction and angrily shook its coal-black body. The movement revealed a blaze of white adorning the bear’s chest.

“Look at him,” Steve pointed out. “I’ve seen healthier specimens.”

“I agree.” Dean noticed the strange way the bear kept shaking its head.

Dean pushed closer through the underbrush hanging low over the river shallows until he was close enough for a good shot. Something he recognized all too well clawed its way into his throat and made breathing difficult, but Dean refused to let the emotion control him. He pulled the rifle out of his backpack and took aim, wincing when the dart found its target beneath the thick hide. Fascinated, Dean watched the bear snap its sharply curved teeth at the inaccessible dart. His body was drenched with sweat, which had nothing to do with the day’s heat and might always haunt him. He sensed the Indian watching him, but Steve said nothing. Unless there was no alternative, neither man ever would.

Five minutes later the black was sleeping under the effects of a tranquilizer, its movements no longer taking Dean back fourteen months into hell. While Dean released the trapped foot, Steve started checking the animal for evidence of parasites. It wasn’t until Dean parted the loose lips to check the animal’s teeth for an estimate of its age he located what had robbed the bear of its health. A lower fang was sheared off close to the gum line, leaving an infected stump.

“Bit off more than you could chew, did you, big fellow?” Dean asked his sleeping patient. Now he could relax. The teeth and claws and muscle were immobile. “I wouldn’t be in a very good mood, either. Steve, you got those antibiotics? I think it’s time we turned dentist.”

Removing the stump with improvised tools took fifteen minutes and left the two men limp from the exertion. Finally, Steve applied medication to halt the infection, patted the snoring bear on the nose then rocked to his feet. “Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. Of course, if it was a grizzly—”

“If it was a grizzly, we’d still be working on the tooth,” Dean admitted. “I had to remove one once a few months after college. Biggest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I had it made into a footstool.”

Dean’s joke was lost on Steve, who was closely gauging the bear’s breathing rate. “I think nap time is coming to an end. What say we mosey on down the road? Do you want to reset the snare?”

“Not this one,” Dean answered. “There’s too much of our scent around. Besides, we’d better start back to camp. It’s not going to be light much longer.”

There were still three hours of light left, but it took most of the time to tramp through the thick stands of ponderosa on their way back to the camp situated some twenty miles out of Bigfork. Dean took note of the long lenticular clouds floating downward to touch the mountaintops. Storms, he knew, could come with amazing speed.

Their pup tents were set up side by side between supporting evergreens near the base of a valley serving as one of the wilderness’s many drainage areas. They’d left enough space in the small clearing for Calley Stewart’s tent. They’d managed to park Dean’s battered pickup within a hundred feet of the campsite, which was to their benefit, considering the amount of equipment needed.

Neither man had taken time to set up a campfire because they were never in camp long enough to sit around a fire and because the forest was summer-dry. They went about their tasks of starting the Coleman stove, bringing buckets of water from the shallow river branch running past their camp and opening packages of dried beef and mashed potato flakes and preparing a rare hot meal.

They ate with the quick efficiency of men who saw food as a means of fueling their bodies, washed their plates with water warmed by the Coleman. Steve announced he wanted to wash up before it got much cooler. “Save some of the warm water. I may shave.”

“Shave?” Dean frowned and buried leathery fingers in his beard. “I’ll have to try it someday. Don’t take too long, will you? If I don’t get into some different clothes, I won’t be able to stand myself.”

“Yeah.” Steve winked. “Besides, we’re going to have a female joining us. You wouldn’t want to chase her off on the first night.”

Dean didn’t catch Steve’s meaning until the younger man had headed toward the river. The newest member of the project was a woman. It would change things.

He didn’t know how old Calley Stewart was although the date of her graduation from college gave him a clue she was probably still in her twenties. His predecessor, Mike Bailey, was barely thirty. The two had more than age in common. Not that it had anything to do with Calley’s qualifications for the job. What people did in private was their own business.

“Damn!” Steve shouted from the river. Dean guessed the Indian had stepped naked into the water. He smiled and slipped into his tent to retrieve his log. Steve should try dunking in an Alaskan stream if he wanted to experience cold. Dean wrote by the light of a lantern until Steve returned dressed in faded but clean jeans and a wrinkled cotton shirt.

“Your turn,” Steve said. “It’s good for the soul. Besides, I’ll make you sleep in the woods if you don’t start smelling a hell of a lot better in a hurry.”

Dean figured it would probably be a toss-up which man would win a wrestling match, but he had no objection to ridding himself of the day’s exertions. Steve was shorter but with shoulders that took an extra-large shirt, the same size he wore. The Indian’s thighs were probably larger, but Dean’s calves pressed against whatever pants he wore. They both had big hands.

He pushed through the lower branches of the evergreens standing between him and the river, instinct and keen hearing telling him better than a flashlight where the slope leading to the river began. When he smelled the water, he stopped, stripped off his clothes and walked until biting cold reached his knees. He’d learned from Steve’s outcry. He’d take the river inches at a time, washing from the feet up.

Dean was shivering but clean by the time he emerged from the river with a slippery bar of soap trapped in his right hand. He dropped the soap close to his clean clothes and pulled on shorts, jeans and socks. He didn’t bother with a shirt or boots.

He was making his way through the pine needles when he heard the rumble of a vehicle. A few minutes later feminine voices cut through the darkness.

The higher voice belonged to his assistant, Melinda Stone. The deeper, quieter one sent a sudden shaft of electricity up his spine.

He debated slipping his shirt over his shoulders, but he was burdened with dirty clothes and the soap. He stepped into the flickering light with his boots tied over his shoulder and bouncing against his naked chest.

Calley heard the man before she saw him. A newcomer to the forest would have heard nothing, but she’d been trained out-of-doors. She knew which sounds went with her surroundings and which didn’t. The muffled thump said the man wasn’t wearing boots and packed close to two hundred pounds on his frame.

He stepped into the lantern’s light. Her first impression was the man had spent so many years around grizzlies he’d started to blend in with them and take on their traits. Melinda had been right about the beard and hair. It was too dark to see if there was gray in the mass covering his face, but not so dark she couldn’t see his glittering eyes.

She waited, her hands at her side, letting him make the first move. It was probably the setting, the night, the whispering from the river, but there was no ignoring the pull traveling from him to her.

She shook off the sensation. She didn’t try to deny its existence, only its impact. This was a man, a hard, competent man coming out of the wilderness.

“Calley Stewart. It must be Wednesday.” Dean’s words lessened his spell over her and gave her the freedom to breathe again.

The forest had a way of stripping away a sense of time. The usual landmarks were missing here. When mist settled into the mountain valleys, dawn and dusk became the same. “We’re late,” she said as she drew closer to the flickering lamplight. The man belonged here. Maybe more so than anyone she’d ever known. “I broke a fan belt. It’s a wonder we didn’t get swallowed up in some of those potholes. I swear they’re three feet deep.”

Dean didn’t speak until he was close to the light, showing her there was indeed a hint of tan in the black beard. “Did you get it fixed?”

“Yes.” Talking shouldn’t be so hard. All she had to do was open her mouth and let words out. “See what happens when you grow up driving tractors? You learn to carry spare fan belts.”

“I hope you’re good with brakes. Mine have about had it.” Dean turned from her, freeing her from his gaze. “What are you doing here, Melinda?”

“It was a joint decision,” Calley explained. “Melinda and I go back several years. She’s quite a photographer.”

“So I understand.” His glance swung back toward Calley. His deep blue eyes had black flecks in their center. “She’s hoping to get some shots of grizzlies, right? What about the paperwork I left on my desk?”

“Paperwork can wait,” Melinda said. “Grizzlies won’t. Some fool called yesterday asking about some pictures I’d taken of a bull elk. He wanted directions to the place before hunting season. I didn’t oblige him.”

Dean smiled. Melinda was right. His teeth were white, very white. “I just hope the two of you aren’t going to be disappointed,” he continued. “All we have to show for our time so far is a black with a bad tooth. The signs of grizzlies are here, but no sightings so far.”

“Do you think we should tell them?” Melinda asked.

It took Calley a moment to catch on. “It’s like my father used to say,” she said, noticing Dean wore socks despite the rocky ground. “We knew hunters who’d crawl all over the country looking for mule deer while we had them in with the cattle. ‘Don’t have to look for them,’ Dad would say. ‘They’re right under our noses.’”

At Dean’s puzzled look, she explained how they’d spent the early morning. “It’s strange,” she mused. “Some grizzlies retreat when man pushes them. Others stand their ground. These three decided to stay their ground. I first heard about the grizzly crossing when I was in high school. Some people tried to film a commercial there once. A few of my friends and I drove out there and told them about the bears. Those cameramen didn’t stay long.”

“There’s two other grizzlies who hang out there,” Dean explained. “A mature male and a female I figure is barren. They’re kind of like the deer in your father’s fields. Not quite wild.”

Dean did understand. She wanted to say more, but all thought stopped at the sight of lamplight glinting off his naked chest. Dean was hardened in the manner of men who needed to be fit for the kind of work they did. Black hairs curled away from smooth skin stretched over muscles. Except for the scar running from his right armpit down his ribcage, he represented perfection.

She was still looking at the scar when Dean dropped his pile of clothing and slid a fresh shirt over his shoulders. He touched the hard ridge. “I lost the argument,” he said.

“Grizzly?”

“Grizzly.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. She didn’t know Dean Ramsey well enough to ask about a foot-long scar and memories maybe still invading his dreams. He might have been friendly enough a few minutes ago but something had risen between them, closing off communication. No way could she vault the barrier. She turned away from the light given off by the overhead lamp. “We’ll get our things. I’m still not sure how we got everything in there. I figure Melinda and I can both fit in my tent.”

Steve offered to help unload, and after Dean put on his boots, he joined in carrying the fresh food supplies to the campsite. Within a half hour the women had set up for the night, and Melinda had filled Dean in on correspondence that had arrived during his absence. Steve read a letter his parents had sent him care of the university. Calley slid down the evergreen supporting her tent, found a smooth seat on the ground and listened.

She’d been near here, before. With Mike. Their job had been to study grizzly habits and habitats. She knew how to collect hair, blood, urine and small premolar tooth samples plus how to take readings of blood pressure, pulse rate and body temperature.

In a way, it was good Dean and Steve and Melinda were here. Last year it had been just she and Mike. The presence of more voices, more bodies, took away the rawest edge of memory. She concentrated on the differences between her companions. Melinda bubbled over with enthusiasm for everything. Her voice threatened to disturb the wilderness. In contrast, Steve said more with his eyes and body movements than words.

“I understand you’ve done some work in Yellowstone,” Dean said. “Steve put in his time there, too.”

Calley latched on to the lifeline Dean had unknowingly thrown her. “Yellowstone was a one-shot thing. Vegetation maps sent to earth from the Landsat III satellite showed an unusually rich growth of cow parsnips. The resident biological technician was concerned the plants might draw more grizzlies than usual to the avalanche slopes. Mike Bailey and I went there as consultants. We made the decision to close the trails and campgrounds in the area.”

“Small world, isn’t it? Mike and I did some graduate work together several years ago. Polar bears.”

“You know Mike?”

“He told me about the research director’s job. We go back a long way. After all, there aren’t many of us who make our living off bears. We have a way of bumping into each other.”

It made sense. Just like it made sense for Melinda to reach out and touch her hand.