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“So are you nervous about the meeting?”

Jodie cracked her knuckles. “I guess I must be, if you picked up on it.”

“You’ve got everything in hand, though.” The confidence in his voice was better than any flowery compliment he could have given her.

“It’s just that the BLM has gone vague with their communications.”

“And you hate vague.”

“Boy, do I.”

Mac squeezed her thigh. “Whatever it is, you’ll pivot quickly. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times at work. This is no different, Jodie.”

Corb started singing “Raining Horses,” and Jodie felt her stomach tighten despite Mac’s reassurance.

By the time they reached Craig, Jodie’s nerves had settled into something she could work with.

Friends of High Desert Horses had commandeered one end of the grade school parking lot where the meeting would be held as an unofficial staging area. Trucks and SUVs were backed into spaces with tailgates open, coolers out, and a couple of camp stoves and mini grills going. Jodie recognized several people before she’d even climbed out of the truck.

Willow Smythe, the group’s leader, spotted her first.

“There she is!” The tall, rawboned woman with a windburned complexion crossed the pavement and pulled Jodie into a hug. “My favorite pain in the ass.”

Jodie laughed. “You say that now. Wait until I start asking for your missing GPS coordinates.”

“See? Five seconds.” Willow laughed as she turned. “Come say hi, everyone. Jodie’s decided to join us out here.”

Not everyone was as enthusiastic to see Jodie. A couple of the longtime field volunteers greeted her pleasantly enough before turning back to a discussion about routes and water sources. Jodie caught one woman evaluating her, then glancing at Mac, as if quietly calculating how much babysitting the office girl might require.

Fine.

Jodie had spent years being underestimated from behind a desk. She could survive it in a parking lot.

Within ten minutes she had found and sorted out two conflicting vehicle assignments and caught a transposed band number before it made it onto the weekend’s working sheets. Nobody applauded, and she didn’t expect them to. She was just doing her job, as usual. Then they simply started asking her questions.

Much better.

Sandra arrived in her own SUV. She climbed out with a camera bag over one shoulder and lifted the camera already hanging from her neck.

Jodie pointed a warning finger at her as she ran her other hand over her windblown hair. “Don’t.”

Sandra grinned. “Relax. I only photograph people who look interesting,” she teased.

“Well, Mac’s right there.”

“Don’t I know it?” She winked good-naturedly at Jodie, who rolled her eyes while Mac chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sandra looked over the crowd, quickly found Willow, then excused herself and headed in her direction.

Other vehicles began filling the parking lot one by one. Some were members of FHDH who quickly joined their group. Others were obviously local ranchers and sheepherders judging by their trucks, clothing, and demeanors. They gave a wide berth to the group as they headed into the school, looking for the gym where the meeting would be held. Jodie watched one man, however, walk toward Willow, who spotted him over Sandra’s shoulder and waved. He tipped his Stetson to her in return, then to Sandra, who had turned and was now watching him approach.

“Who’s that?” Mac asked.

“That would be Hank Presser, the rancher who’s offered to let the BLM use his land to corral the horses. He’s worked with us for a few years now, ever since he took over the ranch from his dad, after he got out of the military. Their family’s been here for generations. Good guy. Great about letting us observe.”

The one group Jodie didn’t see, though, was the BLM staff. She’d never met them in person, but had memorized their photos. Jodie glanced at her watch.

“Fifteen minutes before the meeting starts,” she shouted to Willow.